The Complaints

Wednesday 18 February 2009

21

At seven next morning, his mobile phone – his old one, rather than the pay-and-go – chirruped to let him know he had a message. It was from DI Caroline Stoddart. She wanted him at Fettes at nine for another interview. Fox texted back: unwell, sorry – can we postpone?

Did ‘unwell’ cover it, though? He’d had colds and flu and ear-ache and migraines, but never anything like this. Had he just gone three rounds with a grizzly bear? It took him over a minute to cross from his bed to the bathroom. Face nicely swollen and chin scabbed over but stinging when touched. And from what he could see of his back, bruising either side of his spine in the perfectly legible shape of two human paws. After twenty minutes in the shower, he found another text waiting for him in the bedroom. It was from Stoddart.

Tomorrow then, it said.

Fox decided he would stay at home the rest of the day. He had milk and bread, enough food to see him through. By nine he was lying along the sofa nursing his second mug of coffee and with the BBC’s news cha

‘I got croissants from the supermarket,’ Breck was saying. But then he got his first close-up of Fox’s damaged face. ‘Christ! What happened to you?’

Fox led the way back into the house. He was still in his pyjamas with his dressing gown wrapped around him. ‘Somebody jumped me,’ he explained.

‘Last night? Between Hunters Tryst and here?’ Breck sounded incredulous.

‘The Cowgate,’ Fox corrected him. He’d switched the kettle on and found a clean mug for his visitor. ‘Coffee or tea?’ he asked.

‘Because Vince took a taxi there?’ Breck was nodding to himself. ‘After Hunters Tryst you headed down for a recce? So who was it gave you the doing?’

‘They came at me from behind; I didn’t see anything. But when I woke up, Jack Broughton was standing over me.’

‘Say that again.’

‘You heard the first time. Tea or coffee?’

‘Tea’s fine. What was Jack Broughton doing there?’

‘He didn’t say.’

‘Was he the one who…?’

‘I don’t think so.’ The two men stood in silence for a minute or so as the kettle came to the boil. When the tea was made, they headed through to the living room. Fox brought a plate for each of them, and they shared the croissants. Breck sat on the very edge of his chair, leaning well forward.

‘I just thought we’d have a quiet breakfast.’

‘We still can.’

‘You doing a spot of spring-cleaning?’ Breck gestured towards the piles of books.

‘Anything takes your fancy, it’s yours.’ Fox lifted his plate from the table, trying not to hiss in pain as he stretched. ‘Something I wanted to ask you…’ He bit into the croissant.

‘Fire away.’

‘Why don’t you want A

Breck chewed thoughtfully, then swallowed. ‘You mean about SEIL Ents and my credit card? I’m still weighing up the pros and cons.’

‘If she finds out the hard way, she’s not going to be too happy,’ Fox said. ‘And we really need her on our team…’

‘So you’re not just thinking of my best interests?’

‘Perish the thought.’

Breck picked crumbs from the knees of his trousers. ‘She keeps asking, though, why I’ve not gone to the Federation to ask them for a lawyer.’

‘It’s a fair question – why haven’t you?’

Breck decided not to answer. Instead, he had a question of his own. ‘What in God’s name did you hope to find in the Cowgate?’

‘Torphichen had been along, handing out flyers.’

‘So at least you know they’re doing their job. Where were you when you got thumped?’

‘There’s an alley with a sauna down it…’ Fox noticed the change in Jamie Breck’s face. ‘You know it?’ he guessed.

‘There’s a sign, just says “Sauna”? Narrow little lane?’

‘Spit it out.’

But Breck needed some tea first. He placed his plate on top of some of the books on the coffee table, half the croissant still untouched. ‘I went there once with Glen Heaton,’ he admitted.

‘What?’

‘Not inside,’ Breck quickly corrected himself. ‘We’d been out to Jock’s Lodge… talking to a witness. On the way back, Heaton said to take the route through the Cowgate. Then he sent a text, and told me to pull up when we reached that lane. He got out of the car and a woman came out of the building. She was wearing a raincoat, but I got the feeling there wasn’t a whole lot underneath. The two of them did some talking. At the end, she pecked him on the cheek. I think he might even have given her some money.’ Breck’s face was creased in concentration. ‘She was tiny – had to stand on tiptoe to reach his face. Younger than him; maybe late twenties. Anyway, she headed back indoors and he got into the car.’ He gave a shrug.

‘Did he tell you her name?’

‘No. I asked him what it was all about and he just winked and hinted that she was a contact of some kind.’

‘An informer?’

Breck gave another shrug. ‘There were things I knew it was best not to ask. Glen had a way of letting you know…’

‘How long ago was this?’

‘Last autumn.’

Fox thought for a moment. ‘She was tiny, you say?’

‘Under five foot.’

‘Curly blonde hair?’ Breck stared at him, and Fox decided to explain. ‘We had Heaton under surveillance for months – checked his e-mails, taped his phone calls, followed him. There was a woman he was seeing behind his wife’s back. Worked as a lap-dancer on Lothian Road. Little slip of a thing called…’ But Fox couldn’t summon up her name.

‘Looks like she’s holding down two jobs,’ Breck commented. Then, fixing Fox with a stare: ‘You don’t think…?’

It was Fox’s turn to shrug. ‘Whoever it was, they just wanted to dole out a bit of punishment – not a huge amount; just enough.’

‘Glen Heaton would have motive,’ Breck agreed. Fox was already punching Tony Kaye’s number into his phone.

‘Wondered when I’d be hearing from you,’ were Kaye’s answering words. ‘Give me a sec, will you?’

Fox listened as Kaye got up from behind his desk and moved into the corridor. ‘Can I assume Gilchrist’s hard at work?’

‘McEwan’s got him busy on a few bits and pieces,’ Kaye acknowledged. ‘I’m assuming this is purely a social call?’

‘I need you to look something up for me, Tony – might mean a trip to the Fiscal’s office, if they’re the ones with the paperwork.’

‘Or I could just call them…’

‘Fewer people in the know, the better I’ll like it,’ Fox countered.

‘Fair enough – so what do you need?’

‘Info on Glen Heaton’s squeeze.’

‘The lap-dancer?’

‘Do you recall her name?’

‘We never bothered interviewing her. She was going to be leverage, remember? If we needed Heaton to ’fess up.’

‘Just get me what you can, Tony.’

‘Mind telling me why?’

‘Later.’ Fox ended the call and made to tap the phone against his chin, before remembering that it would sting.

‘What was Jack Broughton doing there?’ Breck was asking himself.

‘Customer maybe – his wife’s dead and the old bastard’s probably still got some juice.’ Fox paused. ‘Or could he be the proprietor?’

‘A pimp, you mean?’

Fox shook his head. ‘Might own the building, though… maybe he’s the landlord or leaseholder.’ He looked at Breck. ‘Could A

‘Under what pretext?’

‘The inquiry team’s not finished with the Cowgate – she could be looking for background…’

Breck puffed his cheeks and expelled some air. ‘I suppose so,’ he said. ‘You want me to call her?’ He had his own phone in his hand.

‘Why not?’ Malcolm Fox said.