The Complaints

DFW: the Dead Files Warehouse. Every now and again, the police stations in and around the city had a clear-out. Files were dusted off, their existence recorded for posterity, and they were then sentenced to life imprisonment on a shelf in a vast warehouse on Dumbryden Industrial Estate. Fox had had reason to visit the facility at times in the past. By rights everything in the archives should have been transferred to digital format – the process had been green-lighted by a previous Chief Constable – but funding had become an issue. When Kaye handed Fox the three A4 sheets, the first thing Fox did was study the foot of the final page. There were several references to the DFW. The references were dated – 1968, 1973, 1978. The computer printout listed further brushes with the law in 1984 and 1988. One was for aiding and abetting a fugitive. It never made it to trial. The other was for receiving stolen goods – again, charges dropped. Jack Broughton’s year of birth was given as 1937, making him seventy-one, going on seventy-two.

‘Over twenty years since he was in any trouble,’ Fox commented. ‘And now he’s the same age as my dad.’

Kaye was reading the report over Fox’s shoulder. ‘I remember one of the older cops telling me about him when I was a probationary. Guy definitely had a reputation in those days.’

‘At the casino, there was a woman in her thirties – I think she’s front-of-house.’

‘You’ve been there?’

Fox glowered at him. ‘Don’t ask.’ He started reading the next page. Jack Broughton had two sons and a daughter, but both sons had predeceased their father, one dying in a car crash, the other in a bar brawl gone wrong. ‘I wonder if it’s the daughter…’

‘The licensing board will know,’ Kaye informed him. ‘Want me to get on to them?’

‘You know someone there?’

‘Might do.’ Kaye started to retreat to his desk. ‘Bring me over a mug when it’s brewed, will you?’

‘Three sugars?’ Fox asked, with just a hint of sarcasm.

‘Heaped,’ Tony Kaye confirmed.

But Joe Naysmith was back before the machine had finished its business. He seemed concerned that something terrible might have happened to the percolator in his absence.

‘How did it go with Gilchrist?’ Fox asked him.

‘DS Inglis wants a word with you.’ Naysmith was avoiding eye contact.

‘Why? What have I done?’

‘She just said she wants a word.’

‘Better run along and see her, Foxy,’ Kaye said, his hand pressed over the telephone receiver. ‘Maybe a quick skoosh of Lynx beforehand…’

But when Fox looked, A

‘Why?’ she asked without preamble.

‘Why what?’

‘Why pull the surveillance on Breck?’

‘It didn’t get us anywhere last night.’

Her eyes narrowed. ‘You’ve had meetings with him, haven’t you?’

‘You having me followed, DS Inglis?’

‘Just answer the question.’

‘Answer mine first.’

‘No, I’m not having you followed.’

‘He’s investigating a murder pretty close to home, unless you’d forgotten – I’m keeping tabs on it, so yes, I’ve talked to him.’

‘From what I hear, he puts up a good front: conscientious, likeable, generous…’

‘So?’

‘They all do, Malcolm. It’s how they win the trust of children and sometimes even the kids’ parents. It’s why we don’t catch them nearly often enough – they’re good at this. They’re good at acting as if they’re just like you and me…’

‘He’s not like me,’ Fox stated.

‘Is that what’s getting to you?’

‘Nothing’s getting to me.’ There was irritation in his voice. Inglis looked down towards the floor and gave a sigh. ‘He spent an hour last night on an online role-playing game called Quidnunc. He has an avatar. You know what that is?’

‘Yes.’

‘It’s someone he creates so he can hide his true self – it lets him become someone else.’

‘Him and a few million other players.’

She looked up at Fox. ‘He told you about it?’

‘Yes.’

Inglis was thoughtful for a moment. She pushed the hair back from her forehead, taking her time. ‘Is there any possibility he knows we’re on to him?’

Fox thought back to what Breck had told him – the van outside his home, driving away soon after he’d gone to bed. ‘I don’t think so,’ he said.

‘Because if he does, he’ll start getting rid of the evidence.’

‘I don’t think he does,’ Fox repeated.

She considered this for a few moments more. ‘It fits with offender profiling,’ she said at last, her voice softening. ‘These men, they’ll join online communities, pretend to be fourteen or fifteen, ask others in the group to send them photos…’

‘I get it,’ Fox told her.

‘They’re good at role-playing. They hone their skills by playing online games. Sometimes they even get to meet other players along the way…’

‘You want Gilchrist and Naysmith to go out again tonight?’

‘They’re keen.’

Fox nodded slowly. ‘Can they park further away? Same spot two nights ru

Inglis nodded back at him, and reached out to touch his arm. ‘Thank you,’ she said, turning to go. But then she paused.

‘Your sister’s boyfriend – is there any news?’

Fox shook his head and watched her retreat. Then he took out his phone and called Jude, guilty that he hadn’t done so earlier. But there was no answer, so he left a message and went back into the office.

‘You’re out in the wagon again tonight,’ he told Naysmith.

‘Tell me I’m not needed,’ Kaye pleaded. He had just put down his receiver, and was holding a slip of paper.

‘That for me?’ Fox asked.

‘The very name you wanted.’ Kaye waved the slip.

‘All right,’ Fox told him, ‘you’re exempt from holding Joe’s hand tonight.’

‘You’ve got Gilchrist for that, haven’t you, Joe?’ Kaye teased, folding the piece of paper into a glider and sending it flying towards Fox’s desk. It landed on the floor, and Fox stooped to retrieve it. A name was printed there. The J in J. Broughton didn’t stand for Jack.

It was Joa

Fox thought back to the woman who’d pulled up outside the Oliver. Pulled up in her Bentley and sauntered inside. She hadn’t stopped to ask them what they were doing in her car park, because she’d had a bit of training at her father’s knee – she could smell a cop a mile off.

Joa

‘The J is for Joa

‘Fast work.’

‘And I’m assuming you know who she is?’

‘Jack Broughton’s daughter?’ Breck pretended to guess.

‘So is she fronting the place for him or what?’

‘You’re assuming the woman we saw earlier today is Ms Broughton.’

‘I’m not assuming anything,’ Fox corrected him. ‘But I think you know it was. What is it about the Oliver and her? Something you’re holding back on me, Jamie?’

‘I’m working on a murder inquiry, Malcolm. There may be times when I can’t open my heart to you.’

‘Is this one of them?’

‘Maybe I’ll tell you later. For now, I need to get back to work.’ Breck ended the call and Fox placed his mobile phone on his desk and settled himself in his chair. His braces were cutting into his shoulders, and he adjusted both straps. Inglis’s words were bouncing around his head: conscientious… likeable… generous… Is that what’s getting to you? When his mobile rang, he picked it up and studied the number on the screen – Jude.

‘Hey, sis, thanks for getting back to me…’ There was silence on the line, but for a muffled sound, very like someone sobbing. ‘Jude?’ he prompted.

‘Malcolm…’ Her voice cracked halfway through his name.

‘What’s going on?’