The Complaints

‘Traces?’ Fox echoed.

She nodded slowly. ‘It’s like forensics, Malcolm – everyone leaves a bit of a trail.’

‘Or a trail of bits,’ Gilchrist added, in what Fox assumed was a private joke. Inglis certainly offered her colleague a smile. Fox leaned back in his chair, thinking of the trail Tony Kaye had left on the PNC.

‘Nice line of patter the two of you have got. All for my benefit, or is it a tried and tested routine?’

‘Whatever it takes,’ Inglis said.

‘Thing is, though,’ he told her, ‘we don’t just go breaking into people’s homes without okaying it first.’

‘But permission can be granted retrospectively,’ Inglis stated.

‘It has to be justified to the Surveillance Commissioner,’ Fox cautioned.

‘Eventually,’ Inglis agreed. ‘As far as I understand it, in emergencies you’re allowed to act first and consult later.’

‘But this isn’t my case,’ Fox said quietly. ‘I’m not the one investigating Jamie Breck. In point of fact, he could argue that he’s investigating me. And how’s that going to look?’

There was silence in the room for a moment. ‘Not great,’ Inglis eventually conceded. The glimmer of hope had vanished from her eyes. She looked to Gilchrist, and received a shrug in reply.

‘We had to try,’ she told Fox.

‘We hate to lose one,’ Gilchrist added, tossing a small screwdriver on to the desk.

‘Maybe there’s some other way,’ Fox offered. ‘For B and E, we need the Surveillance Commissioner’s okay… but if Breck’s using his home computer, we could set up the van outside, zero in on his keystrokes and find out what he’s doing.’

‘You don’t need judicial approval for the van?’ Inglis asked, her spirits lifting.

‘Fox shook his head. ‘DCC can give the go-ahead, and even then it can be retrospective.’

‘Well, the DCC’s on our side,’ Inglis commented. She had nudged the mouse on the desk next to her. The computer screen sprang back into life, showing the same photograph as before – the Melbourne cop with the Asian kid. ‘You know what their defence is?’ she asked. ‘They call it a victimless crime. They share photos. In most cases that’s all they say they do. They’re not the ones doing the actual abusing.’

‘Doesn’t mean it’s not abuse,’ Gilchrist stated.

‘Look,’ Fox said with a sigh, ‘I appreciate the job you’re trying to do-’

‘With one arm tied behind our backs,’ Inglis interrupted.

‘Let me see if I can help,’ Fox went on. ‘The surveillance van’s a real option, if he is what you say he is…’

‘If?’

Gilchrist’s voice had risen. He was staring hard at Fox. But Inglis calmed him with a wave of her hand. ‘Thanks, Malcolm,’ she said to Fox. ‘Anything at all would be appreciated.’

‘Okay then,’ Fox said, rising to his feet. ‘Leave it with me.’

Her hand touched his forearm. They locked eyes and he nodded. She mouthed three words as he readied to leave.

Anything at all.

Back in the Complaints, he crooked a forefinger at Tony Kaye. Kaye approached Fox’s desk, arms folded.

‘How would you feel,’ Fox asked him, ‘about a night-time stint in the van?’

Kaye gave a snort and a grin. ‘What’s she giving you in return?’

Fox shook his head. ‘But how would you feel?’ he persisted.

‘I’d feel grumpy and tired. Is this in the hope that we catch Breck drooling over internet porn?’

‘Yes.’

‘He’s not our customer, Foxy.’

‘He could be, if he’s doing what the Chop Shop say he is.’

‘A joint operation?’

‘I think DS Inglis or her colleague would need to be in the van…’

‘Is her colleague as tasty as she is?’

‘Not quite.’ Fox looked over towards the coffee machine. ‘You’d need Naysmith, too, of course.’

Kaye seemed to deflate. ‘Sadly, that’s true.’ Naysmith was the one who knew how to get the best out of the technology.

‘But while he’s breaking sweat,’ Fox added, ‘you’ll have plenty of time to work your charm on DS Inglis.’

‘Also true,’ Kaye agreed, perking up again. ‘But where would you be?’

‘I can’t get involved, Tony.’

Kaye nodded his acceptance of this. ‘Tonight?’ he asked.

‘Sooner the better. The van’s not on other duties?’

Kaye shook his head. ‘Cold night for it. Might need to snuggle up for warmth.’

‘I’m sure DS Inglis would like that. Go tell Naysmith and I’ll let the Chop Shop know.’

Fox watched Kaye retreat, then picked up the telephone and punched in the number for CEOP. Inglis answered, and he cupped his hand to his mouth so Kaye wouldn’t overhear.

‘We can do a surveillance tonight. It’ll be two of my men – Kaye and Naysmith.’

‘Nights are…’

Fox knew what she was about to say. ‘Difficult? Yes, with your son and everything. But as it happens, Sergeant Kaye would be a lot more comfortable with a male officer.’

‘Gilchrist would be up for it,’ A

‘It’s women in general, A

‘Oh,’ she said. Kaye and Naysmith were approaching his desk, so Fox ended the call.

‘That’s sorted, then,’ he told them.

Tony Kaye just rubbed his hands together and smiled.

8

On his way home that evening, Fox stopped off at a Chinese restaurant. He’d half a mind to take a table, but the place was empty – it would just have been him and the staff. So instead he ordered some food to eat at home. Fifteen minutes later, he was in the car, the carrier bag on the passenger seat: chicken with fresh ginger and spring onion; soft noodles; Chinese greens. The owner had offered him a helping of prawn crackers on the house, but Fox had declined. Once home, he emptied the whole lot on to a plate, then decided it was too much and scooped half the noodles back into their container. He ate at the dining table, a dishtowel tucked into his shirt collar. There had been no messages on his phone, and no mail waiting for him. A couple of dogs were having an argument a street or two away. A motorbike passed the house, being driven too quickly. Fox turned the radio on to the Birdsong cha

He’d picked Jude up at four as agreed, the two of them not saying much on the drive. The staff at the care home had tried not to look too interested in Jude. It wasn’t just the cast on her arm – they’d been reading their papers and watching the local TV news. They knew who she was and what had happened.

‘I forgot to wear my mourning veil,’ Jude muttered to her brother as they headed down the corridor to their father’s room. Mitch was waiting for them. He insisted on getting to his feet so he could offer Jude a consoling embrace. As they all sat down, two staff members arrived to ask if they wanted a cup of tea. Mitch decided this would be acceptable. But after the tea had been fetched, another staffer stuck her head round the door to see if they might like a biscuit. Malcolm Fox decided enough was enough, and closed the door. But almost immediately there was a knock. This time they wanted Mr Fox to know that it was whist night, starting straight after supper.

‘Yes, I know,’ he said. ‘Now bugger off and leave us in peace.’

He turned his attention back to his daughter. ‘How are you, Jude?’

‘I’m okay.’

‘You don’t look it. It’s hellish about that man of yours.’

‘His name’s Vince, Dad.’

‘Hellish,’ Mitch Fox repeated, staring at her arm.

‘Sorry, Dad,’ Fox apologised. ‘I should have told you…’

‘What happened?’

‘I fell in the kitchen,’ Jude blurted out.

‘I’m sure you did,’ her father muttered.

The visit hadn’t been a complete disaster. Mitch had managed not to say anything like ‘I told you so’ or ‘He was never right for you’; Jude had managed to say nothing to offend her father.

‘You’re quiet,’ Malcolm’s father had chided him at one point. Fox had just shrugged, making show of concentrating on the cup of tea he was holding.