The Complaints

‘And Sunday?’

‘Not much different.’

‘So there’s no weekend overtime going on?’

‘Phase One there was, but nobody’s buying now we’re in Phase Two. I’d say we’re a fortnight away from lay-offs. Another fortnight after that, the whole site could be mothballed.’

‘Not so nice for the people who’re already living here.’

‘We reckon if they tried selling up, they’d get half to two thirds what they paid originally.’

‘So there are bargains to be had?’

‘If you’re interested, make Helena in sales an offer. She’ll probably throw in a lap-dance.’

‘I’ll bear that in mind.’ Breck managed a smile.

‘Tell you what’s really worrying the bosses, though,’ Hendry went on. ‘They can’t see an end in sight. This whole development – council sold the land for almost six million. Lucky if it would fetch a third of that.’

‘Ouch,’ Breck sympathised.

‘Well, that’s one way of putting it. The guys reckon the only reason we’ll finish the next high-rise is so the developer can top himself by jumping from it.’

‘What’s the developer’s name?’ Breck asked.

‘Charlie Brogan – you going to put him on suicide watch?’

‘Reckon we should?’

This got a bark of laughter from Ro

Breck offered another smile and decided on a change of direction. ‘Did you know that Vince Faulkner has a criminal record?’

‘Plenty of guys in the building trade could say the same.’

‘So you knew?’

‘He never made it a secret – it was there on his job application.’

‘His partner doesn’t seem to have known.’

‘Jude?’ Hendry gave a shrug and folded his arms. ‘That’s between the two of them.’

‘Did he ask you not to mention it in front of her?’

‘What does it matter if he did? Ancient history’s what it was.’

It was Breck’s turn to shrug. ‘Okay, so let’s say he’s had a fight with his partner. Her arm gets broken and she heads to A and E. Vince opts not to go with her and heads out on the lash instead. Ends up at the Oliver and loses some money… What do you think he would do next, Mr Hendry?’

‘No idea.’ Hendry’s arms were still folded. He was definitely on the defensive. Fox decided an interruption was in order.

‘His partner says he sometimes stayed out all night, slept at friends’ houses…’

‘Yeah, that happened once or twice.’

‘So it could have happened that night?’ Breck asked.

‘Not at mine,’ Hendry stated with a shake of the head.

‘Where then?’

‘You tell me – you lot are supposed to be the ones with the brains.’

Jamie Breck’s car was parked on the site, just next to the Portakabins. It was a red Mazda RX8, low-slung and sporty. Breck leaned his elbows against its roof as he watched Ro

‘Anything I forgot to ask?’

Fox shook his head. ‘I don’t think so.’

‘What did you make of him?’

‘I can see why Faulkner liked him. He’s the sort who’d back you up in a fight, but at the same time he’s probably ca

‘He didn’t seem exactly numb with shock, did he?’

‘Isn’t that the Scottish way?’

‘Bottling it up for later?’ Breck guessed. Then he nodded slowly in agreement.

‘Sorry for butting in like that.’

‘It was a fair point, though. I didn’t know he was prone to sleeping around.’

‘Jude never mentioned other women,’ Fox stipulated. ‘By the way, have you done anything about Jude’s mystery visitor?’

‘It’s now a matter of record,’ Breck confirmed.

‘So where next?’ Fox asked. ‘The Oliver?’

Breck looked at him. ‘And you’ll be wanting to tag along, I presume? ’

‘Might as well,’ Fox said. ‘Last one there’s a scabby dog…’

But in fact, by the time he’d unlocked his Volvo and executed a three-point turn, the Mazda was a hundred yards ahead. As he pulled into the casino car park, Breck was standing by the door of the building, trying to look as if he’d been there for hours.

‘Hiya, Scabby,’ Breck said in greeting. ‘Any suspicious-looking Astras to report?’

‘No,’ Fox admitted. Then he pulled open the door. ‘After you,’ he said.

Although the casino was open for business, no actual business was taking place. There was nobody on duty at the cloakroom, and only one croupier stationed at a blackjack table, practising her skills in front of three empty stools. A couple of tiny, foreign-looking women in tabards were polishing the brass fittings and rails. The downstairs barman looked to be doing a stock check, ticking off items on a clipboard. Upstairs, Fox could hear a vacuum cleaner at work.

‘Boss around?’ Breck asked the young croupier. She had blonde hair tied back in a ponytail, and was dressed in regulation black waistcoat with a white blouse and sky-blue bowtie.

‘You’ll need to talk to Simon.’ She gestured towards the barman.

‘Thanks,’ Breck said. He started walking in that direction, pulling his warrant card from his pocket. ‘Need a word with you, Simon.’

‘Oh, aye?’ The barman hadn’t bothered looking up from the task in hand, but Fox knew he’d noticed the warrant card… and recognised it for what it was.

‘You in charge here?’ Breck was asking.

‘Boss is due back in quarter of an hour.’

‘Would you mind looking me in the eye when you speak?’ Breck was managing to sound polite, yet there was steel just below the surface. Simon took a few moments before complying. ‘Thank you,’ Breck said. ‘Okay if I put my ID away now? You’re satisfied you’re talking to a detective and not some neighbourhood divvy?’

The barman gave a half-smirk, but Breck had his attention. Fox noticed that his colleague had roughened his natural voice and was bringing in more glottal stops.

‘If it’s anything to do with licences or that,’ Simon was saying, ‘it’s the boss you need to speak to.’

‘But the boss isn’t here, so it’s your job to answer a few questions.’ Breck had put his warrant card away, but was now producing a photograph from the same pocket. It was a snap of Vince Faulkner. Fox reckoned it had been lifted from Jude’s house.

‘This guy’s a regular,’ Breck was saying, ‘so I’m assuming you know him.’

The barman looked at the photo and shrugged.

‘Actually,’ Breck went on, ‘I should’ve stipulated that he was a regular. Poor sod got himself killed at the weekend, after visiting this place.’

‘Which night?’

‘Saturday.’ The barman didn’t say anything for a moment. Breck decided to speak for him. ‘You’re trying to work out the odds, aren’t you? Do you lie or tell the truth – which is going to work out best? And that means just one thing, Simon – you were here Saturday night.’

‘It was busy,’ the barman admitted with another shrug.

‘But he was in here.’ Breck waved the photo to and fro. ‘And it was out of character, because whenever you’d seen him in the past, he’d always been with people.’

‘So?’

Fox had been sca

Breck stiffened a little. He’d had a flow going, and Fox had broken it.

‘My colleague’s right,’ he stated eventually.

‘Talk to the boss.’

‘We will,’ Breck confirmed. ‘But you do remember Vince Faulkner?’

‘I never knew his name.’

‘You saw in the papers that he was dead?’

‘Suppose so.’ The admission was grudging at best. Simon was ru

‘You saw him in here Saturday night?’

‘Can’t remember.’

‘He got here around ten.’

‘Place was heaving by then.’

‘But Mr Faulkner was on his own, and I’m betting that meant he’d be sitting on one of these stools.’ Breck slapped the seat of the bar stool next to him.