The Complaints

‘This is Mr Bailey’s show,’ Breck explained, stretching out an arm towards the expanse of the site. Then, turning to Bailey: ‘Could you give me a minute with my colleague?’

‘I should really fetch him a hard hat.’

‘He won’t be staying.’

Bailey nodded and headed for the door at the far end of the platform. Breck slid his hands into his pockets and stared at Fox.

‘Has that given you enough time to come up with a plausible story?’ he asked.

‘You know why I’m here – same reason you are.’

‘Not quite, Malcolm. I’m here because I’m part of the inquiry team. You, on the other hand, are here to stick your oar in.’

‘I was just hoping for a quiet word with Vince’s friend Ro

‘That’ll be Ro

‘You’re going to speak to him?’

Breck nodded slowly. ‘And ask him the same questions you probably would.’ After a moment’s pause, Breck gave a sigh and looked down at his muddied shoes. ‘What if it had been Billy Giles waiting here instead of me? He’d have had you on report – not the sort of thing I’d imagine your boss would be thrilled with.’

‘My sister’s lost her partner. I’m just after a word with that partner’s best friend. Could be I want to discuss the funeral arrangements… ask Ro

‘You really think Giles would fall for that?’

Fox shrugged. ‘I’m not really that worried about Billy Giles.’

‘You should be – and you know it.’

Fox turned and rested his hands against one of the scaffolding poles. The warehouses across the street were going to be redeveloped too, by the look of things. Their windows had been boarded up, and a small tree was doing its best to grow from the edge of the mossy roof. A car was driving past – a black Astra.

‘You’re not having me tailed by any chance?’ Fox asked Breck.

‘No.’

‘Could Billy Giles be doing it without you knowing?’

‘I doubt we’ve got men to spare. And why would he want you tailed?’

‘A black Vauxhall Astra? Green Ford Ka?’

Breck shook his head. ‘Odd thing, though…’

‘What?’

‘After I’d walked home last night, there was a van parked outside. Just after I got into bed, I heard it leave.’

‘So?’ Fox was still pretending to be taking in the view. His grip on the pole had tightened.

Breck had taken off his hard hat to rub a hand through his hair. ‘We’re all getting a bit twitchy,’ he decided. Below them, a man had come into sight. He was dressed for work, his spattered denims tucked into thick grey woollen socks and those socks emerging from steel-toed boots. He wore his hard hat cocked high on his head, and under his high-visibility jacket was a denim one, not unlike Breck’s from the previous night. Fox knew it had to be Ro

‘Let me sit in,’ he said.

Breck stared back at him. Hendry had reached the foot of the ladder and was starting to climb.

‘Please,’ Fox said.

‘You don’t say anything,’ Breck warned him. ‘Not one word. Has he met you before?’

Fox shook his head.

‘You’ve said it yourself,’ Breck went on, ‘he’ll see you at the funeral if not before. He’ll know then that he’s seen you somewhere…’ He rubbed a finger down his nose, obviously in a quandary. Then, as Hendry’s head appeared through the gap in the flooring, he uttered the one word Fox wanted to hear.

‘Okay.’

Fox stood back as Breck introduced himself to Ro

‘Mr Bailey’s letting us use this office here,’ Breck told Hendry, opening the door nearest them. ‘My colleague’s going to sit in.’ Breck was leading them inside, giving Hendry no time to study Malcolm Fox. It was a utilitarian space, just a desk with a plan lying on it, weighted down at all four corners with chunks of masonry. There were three folding chairs, a free-standing electric heater, and not much else. Hendry held his hands to the heater and rubbed some warmth back into them.

‘Not much of a job in this weather,’ Breck sympathised. Hendry gave a nod of agreement and removed his hard hat. His first name had been felt-pe

‘I wanted to ask you about Vince Faulkner,’ Breck told Hendry.

‘Hellish thing.’ The voice was gruffly local.

‘The two of you were friends.’

‘That’s right.’

‘You didn’t see him last Saturday?’

Hendry shook his head. ‘Got a text from him in the afternoon.’

‘Oh?’

‘Just a comment about the football half-times.’

‘You didn’t speak to him?’

‘No.’

‘Did you hear from him after that?’

Hendry shook his head again. ‘Next thing I knew, I was hearing he was dead.’

‘Must’ve come as a shock.’

‘Too true, pal.’ Hendry shifted in his chair.

‘The two of you worked together?’

‘Sometimes. Depends which gang you end up in. Vince was a solid worker, so I’d always pitch for him.’

‘Did he specialise in anything?’

‘He could lay bricks, mix the cement. He’d trained as a brickie, but he would turn his hand to pretty well anything you asked.’

‘He was English,’ Breck stated casually. ‘Was that ever a problem? ’

‘How do you mean?’

‘Did the guys ever give him stick?’

‘If they had, he’d’ve given them pelters.’

‘He was a bit hot-headed, then?’

‘I’m just saying he stood up for himself.’

‘Did you know he sometimes hit his partner?’

‘Jude?’ Hendry thought for a moment before answering. ‘Sandra tells me she’s got a broken arm.’

‘And that doesn’t exactly surprise you?’

‘The pair of them liked a good rammy. Oftentimes it was Jude who started it. She’d just keep having a go at him until he started to snap.’

‘I’ve known women like that.’ Breck was nodding his apparent agreement. ‘They seem to get a buzz out of it…’

Fox shifted his weight a little and bit down on his bottom lip. He’s only doing his job, he told himself, getting the man to open up…

‘So you can imagine him getting into a fight on Saturday night?’ Breck was asking.

‘I suppose so.’

‘When he didn’t turn up for work Monday morning, what did you think?’

Another shrug. ‘I was up to my eyes. Didn’t really have time to think. Tried phoning him…’ He paused. ‘Or did I? I know I texted him for definite.’

Breck nodded. ‘We checked his phone. The text was there, but no one had read it. We took a look at all the messages he had stored. There were a fair few to and from you.’

‘Oh aye?’

‘And mention of the Oliver…’

‘It’s a casino. Just around the corner from here, actually. We sometimes took the wives there.’

‘He liked gambling?’

‘He didn’t like losing,’ Hendry said with a thin smile.

‘We think maybe he went there Saturday night. Would that have been like him – going there without you?’

‘If he’d had an argy-bargy with Jude… gone out drinking… Yeah, maybe.’

‘What about you, Mr Hendry – what did you get up to on Saturday?’

Hendry puffed out his cheeks and expelled a ball of air. ‘Long lie-in the morning, as per… shopping at the Gyle with Sandra, also as per… football results and an evening kick-off on Sky. I fetched an Indian…’ He paused again, remembering something. ‘Hang on, that’s right – Sandra was out with her sister and some mates. I ate enough curry for two and fell asleep in front of the telly.’