The Complaints

‘Jude’s had some bad news, Dad,’ Fox said.

‘Oh?’

‘It’s Vince. He’s been killed.’

Mrs Sanderson stared up at him, mouth opening in an O.

‘Killed?’ Mitch Fox echoed.

‘Do you want me to…?’ Mrs Sanderson was trying to rise to her feet.

‘You sit back down,’ Mitch ordered. ‘This is your room, Audrey.’

‘Looks like he got himself into a spot of bother,’ Fox was trying to explain, ‘and ended up taking a beating.’

‘No more than he deserved.’

‘Now really, Mitch!’ Mrs Sanderson protested. Then, to Fox: ‘How’s Jude taking it, Malcolm?’

‘She’s bearing up.’

‘She’ll need all the help you can give her.’ She turned to Mitch. ‘You should go see her.’

‘What good would that do?’

‘It would show her that you cared. Malcolm will take you…’ She looked at Fox for confirmation. He managed something between a nod and a shrug. Her voice softened a little. ‘Malcolm will take you,’ she repeated, leaning forward and stretching out an arm. After a moment, Mitch Fox copied her. Their hands met and clasped.

‘Maybe not just yet, though,’ Fox cautioned, remembering the plaster cast. ‘She’s not really up to visitors… She’s sleeping a fair bit.’

‘Tomorrow then,’ Mrs Sanderson decided.

‘Tomorrow,’ Fox eventually conceded.

On the drive home, he thought about visiting Jude, but decided he would phone her instead, just before bedtime. She’d given Alison Pettifer the details of a couple of her closest friends, and the neighbour had promised Fox she would call them and get them to take turns with Jude.

‘She won’t be alone,’ had been Pettifer’s closing words to him.

He wondered, too, what A

But Duncan ’s not on your file, A

At the next set of traffic lights, he stared at an off-licence’s window display. Little halogen spotlights threw each bottle into sharp relief. He wondered if Jude’s friends were drinkers. Would they turn up with carrier bags and a collection of memories, tragic stories for the telling and retelling?

‘Cup of tea for you, Foxy,’ he told himself as the queue of traffic began its crawl across the junction.

The mail waiting for him on the hall carpet was the usual stuff: bills and junk and a bank statement. At least the Royal Bank of Scotland was still in business. There was nothing in the envelope with the statement, no letter of grovelling apology for getting above itself and letting down its customers. Lauder Lodge’s monthly payment had gone out. The rest seemed to be petrol and groceries. He looked in the fridge, seeking inspiration for a quick di

When the food was ready, he took it through to the living room and switched on the TV. There was birdsong still audible from the kitchen; sometimes he left it on all night. He flicked through the Freeview cha

‘Can I stand the pace?’

He’d left his mobile to recharge on the worktop in the kitchen. When it started ringing, he considered not answering. A scoop of di

‘Where are you?’ Kaye asked.

‘I’m not pubbing tonight,’ Fox warned him. He could hear the background hubbub. Minter’s or some place like it.

‘Yes, you are,’ Kaye informed him. ‘We’ve got trouble. How soon can you get here?’

‘What sort of trouble?’

‘Your friend Breck’s been on the blower.’

‘Get him to call me at home.’

‘It wasn’t you he wanted – it was me.’

Fox had dug his fork back into the chilli, but now left it there. ‘What do you mean?’

‘You’re going to have to square this, Foxy. Breck’s going to be here at the top of the hour.’

Fox lifted the phone from his ear long enough to check its clock. Seventeen minutes. ‘I can be there in twenty,’ he said, rising from the sofa and switching off the TV. ‘What does he want with you?’

‘He’s keen to know why I had a mate look up Vince Faulkner on the PNC.’

Fox cursed under his breath. ‘Twenty,’ he repeated as he grabbed his coat and car keys. ‘Don’t say anything till I get there. Minter’s, right?’

‘Right.’

Fox cursed again and ended the call, slamming the front door on his way out.

The same two customers were at the bar, conferring with the landlord on a question from yet another TV quiz show. Jamie Breck recognised Fox and nodded a greeting. He was seated at Tony Kaye’s regular table, Kaye himself seated opposite, his face stern.

‘What can I get you?’ Breck asked. Fox shook his head and sat down. He noted that Kaye was drinking tomato juice, Breck a half-pint of orange and lemonade. ‘How’s your sister doing?’

Fox just nodded and rolled his shoulders. ‘Let’s get this sorted, eh?’

Breck looked at him. ‘I hope you appreciate,’ he began, ‘that I’m trying to do you a favour here.’

‘A favour?’ Tony Kaye didn’t sound convinced.

‘A heads-up. We’re not idiots, Sergeant Kaye. First thing we did was a background check. PNC keeps a record of recent searches, and that’s what led us to your pal in Hull CID.’

‘Some pal,’ Kaye muttered, folding his arms.

‘He was slow enough giving us your name, if that’s any consolation. Took his boss to do a bit of the strongarm.’

‘How did the autopsy go?’ Fox interrupted.

Breck turned his attention to him. ‘Blunt trauma, internal injuries… We’re pretty sure he was dead when they dumped him.’

‘Dead how long?’

‘Day, day and a half.’ Breck paused, rotating his glass on its coaster. ‘The PNC search was yesterday. Is that the same day you found out about Jude’s broken arm?’

‘Yes,’ Fox admitted.

‘You went looking for Faulkner?’

‘No.’

Breck raised an eyebrow, though his stare remained focused on the glass in front of him. ‘The man who’d just broken your sister’s arm – you didn’t want a word with him?’

‘I wanted a word, but I didn’t go looking.’

‘And how about you, Sergeant Kaye?’

Kaye opened his mouth to answer, but Fox held up a hand to stop him. ‘This has nothing to do with Sergeant Kaye,’ he stated. ‘I asked him for a background check on Faulkner.’

‘Why?’

‘Ammunition – if there was anything there, I was hoping maybe Jude would see sense.’

‘Leave him, you mean?’ Fox nodded. ‘You told her?’

‘Never got the chance – Faulkner was already dead, wasn’t he?’

Breck didn’t bother answering. Fox made eye contact with Tony Kaye, giving the slightest of nods to let him know this was how he wanted it. If there was going to be flak, it was Fox’s to take.