The Complaints

McEwan stared back at him. ‘Not much,’ he eventually conceded, adjusting the knot in his scarf.

‘Not too tight, Bob,’ Fox advised him. ‘If you end up strangling yourself, they’re bound to find a way to pin it on me.’

‘You’ve not done yourself any favours, Malcolm. Look at it from their point of view. You’ve interfered in an inquiry, and when ordered to stop you seemed to push your foot to the pedal that bit harder.’

‘Grampian Complaints already had me in their sights,’ Fox stressed. ‘Is there any way you can look into that?’ He paused. ‘I know I’m asking a lot under the circumstances…’

‘I’ve already set the ball rolling.’

Fox looked at him. ‘I forgot,’ he said, ‘you have friends in Grampian CID.’

‘I seem to remember telling you that I’ve friends nowhere.’

Fox thought for a moment. ‘Say that there is something rotten in Aberdeen. Could they be trying for a pre-emptive strike?’

‘It’s doubtful. The job I mentioned up there has gone to Strathclyde instead of us. And besides – why pick on you? If I were them, I’d have zeroed in on Tony Kaye. He’s the one with the history.’ McEwan paused. ‘Are you going to heed the warning and keep away from Breck?’

‘I’d rather not answer that, sir.’ Fox watched his boss’s face cloud over. ‘I think he’s being set up, Bob. There’s not a shred of evidence that he’s got inclinations that way.’

‘Then how did his name end up on the list?’

‘Someone got hold of his credit card,’ Fox said with a shrug. ‘Maybe you could ask DS Inglis if that’s possible. Could someone have signed up in Breck’s name without his knowledge?’ Fox broke off and held up a cautionary hand. ‘Best if Gilchrist doesn’t know, though.’

McEwan’s eyes narrowed. ‘Why?’

‘The fewer the better,’ Fox offered.

McEwan shuffled his feet. ‘Give me a single good reason why I should go out on a limb for you.’

Fox considered this, then gave another shrug. ‘To be honest, sir, I can’t actually think of one.’

McEwan nodded slowly. ‘That’s the word I was looking for.’

‘What word, sir?’

‘Honest,’ Bob McEwan said as he marched towards his car.

Home felt like a cage. Fox did everything but dismantle the landline to look for bugs. Thing was, that was straight out of The Ipcress File. These days, you eavesdropped in other ways. A couple of months back, the Complaints had attended a series of seminars at Tulliallan Police College. They’d been shown various bits of new technology. A suspect might be making a phone call, but it was software doing the listening, and it would only start to record if certain pre-programmed keywords came up. Same went for computers – the gadgets in the van could isolate an individual laptop or hard drive and withdraw information from it. Fox kept walking over to the windows and peering out. If he heard a car engine, he’d be at the window again. He held his new phone in his hand, wondering who he could call. He’d made toast, but the slices sat untouched on their plate. When had he last eaten something? Breakfast? He still couldn’t summon up any appetite. He’d made a start at replacing the books on the living-room shelves, but had given up after the first few minutes. Even the Birdsong cha

‘Don’t be so bloody stupid,’ he admonished himself.

Making a mug of tea in the unlit kitchen, he poured in too much milk, and ended up tipping the drink down the sink. Drink… now there was a thing. The supermarket was open late. He could almost recite from memory the bottles in its malt whisky display: Bowmore, Talisker, Highland Park… Macallan, Glenmorangie, Glenlivet… Laphroaig, Lagavulin, Glenfiddich…

At half past eight, his phone gave a momentary chirrup. He stared at it. Not a call, but a text. He tried to focus on the screen.

Hunters Tryst 10 mins.

Hunters Tryst was a pub nearby. Fox checked the texter’s identity: Anonymous Caller. Only a handful of people had his new number. The pub was a ten-minute walk, but there was parking. Then again, it might be good to arrive early: reco

Well, what else was he going to do?

But when he eventually headed out to the Volvo, he looked up and down the street, then, once in the car, made a circuit of his estate, slowing at every corner and junction, until he was confident no one was following.

A week night in February: the Tryst was quiet. He walked in and took a good look around. Three drinkers in the whole place: a middle-aged couple who looked as if they’d fallen out a decade before, each still waiting for the other to offer the first apology; and an elderly man whose face was known to Fox. The guy had owned a dog, used to walk it three times a day. When he’d stopped being visible, Fox had assumed he’d croaked, but now it looked as if the dog had been the victim rather than its master. There was a young woman behind the bar. She managed a smile for Fox and asked him what he was having.

‘Tomato juice,’ he said. His eyes lingered on the row of optics as she shook the bottle and prised off its top.

‘Ice?’

‘No thanks.’

‘It’s a bit warm,’ she warned him.

‘It’ll be fine.’ He was reaching into his pocket for some coins when the door opened again. The couple who entered had their arms around one another’s waist. The middle-aged couple gave a disapproving look.

‘Look who’s here,’ the male half of this new couple said. Breck held out his hand for Fox to shake.

‘This is a coincidence,’ A

‘What are you having?’ Fox asked.

‘Red wine for me, white for A

‘Let’s grab a table,’ Breck said, as though chairs were at a premium. They headed for the furthest corner, and got themselves settled, removing coats and jackets. ‘Cheers,’ Breck said, chinking glasses.

‘How was it?’ Fox asked him without preamble.

Breck knew what he was referring to and pretended to give it some thought. ‘DI Stoddart’s a piece of work,’ he told Fox, keeping his voice low, ‘but I didn’t think much of those two blokes she’s saddled with – and I don’t think she reckons them much cop either… if you’ll pardon the pun.’

Fox nodded and took a sip of his drink. The barmaid had been right: it was like soup that had been left to cool for a few minutes. ‘What’s with the text?’ he asked. ‘You changed your number?’

‘New phone,’ Breck explained, waving the handset in his face. ‘Rental, believe it or not. Visitors from the States and suchlike use them all the time. I’d no idea till I started looking…’

‘What he means is, he asked me and I told him.’ A

‘So what’s with the pow-wow?’ Fox asked.

‘Again, that was A

She looked at him. ‘I wouldn’t go that far…’

Breck turned to face her. ‘Maybe not, but you’re the one with the news.’

‘What news?’ Fox asked.

Cartwright looked from Fox to Breck and back again. ‘I could get in so much trouble for this.’

‘That’s true,’ Fox said. Then, to Breck: ‘So why don’t you tell me, Jamie? That way, we can say hand on heart that the only person A