The Complaints

Breck started to make the call. ‘I’m just wondering…’

‘What?’

‘Now that I think about it, why did Heaton do that? Why take me with him when he went to see his bit on the side?’

‘He was showing off,’ Fox decided. ‘Pure and simple.’

Breck considered this, then nodded. His call had been picked up. ‘Hey, A

By mid-afternoon, Fox knew several things.

Courtesy of Tony Kaye, he now knew that the lap-dancer’s name was Sonya Michie and that she lived in a block of flats in Sighthill. She was a single mum with two kids at the local primary school. There was no mention in her file of any employment in a sauna, and she had no arrests to her name.

The information from A

‘Better known as Jack,’ Fox had commented.

‘So at least he had a reason to be there,’ Breck had added. ‘Business rather than pleasure, I mean.’

‘At that time of night?’

But Cartwright hadn’t been finished. Wauchope got its name from Bruce Wauchope, who was currently serving fifteen years at Her Majesty’s Pleasure for his role in a drug-smuggling scheme in the north-east.

‘Fishing boats working out of the likes of Aberdeen,’ she explained. She’d arrived at Fox’s house with a sheaf of photocopied pages – mostly newspaper articles about Wauchope, but also the transcript of the interview with the cabbie who’d dropped Vince off at the Cowgate. It hadn’t added much.

Took him the best part of a minute to decide he was getting out, the cab-driver stated. I thought he was going to change his mind…

Cartwright had been offered a drink and decided on water. Breck had given her a kiss. Her cheeks were flushed, and she appeared energised by completion of her tasks. She had noted Fox’s injuries but hadn’t asked anything, knowing she’d be told if necessary. Nor had she mentioned the piles of books, which had been lifted from the coffee table and now sat on the floor, threatening to fall over at any moment.

‘Nobody noticed what you were up to?’ Fox thought to check, receiving a shake of the head in answer.

‘The trawlers would meet with other boats out in the North Sea,’ she explained between sips of water. ‘The drugs would come ashore, finding a ready market with fishermen and oil workers…’

Fox was studying a grainy photograph of a scowling Bruce Wauchope. The man would be in his early fifties.

‘He looks like a right thug,’ Jamie Breck offered.

‘Wait till you see his son.’ Cartwright sifted through the paperwork. The photo she found was small, and accompanied a news report from Bruce Wauchope’s trial. ‘His name’s Bruce, too – Bruce Junior, I suppose – but he goes by the nickname “Bull”.’

Fox and Breck studied the article while Cartwright added a few details.

‘He’s got a fierce reputation in Dundee. Kicked out of half a dozen schools by the time he was fifteen. Ran a local gang. No doubt made his dad proud of him. With Wauchope Senior out of action, Bull’s the one in charge.’

‘In charge of what exactly?’

‘For that, I’d probably need to chat up Tayside CID – either of you got a contact there?’

‘I might know someone,’ Breck admitted.

‘Does Wauchope own anything else in Edinburgh?’ Fox asked, still intent on his reading.

‘Again, that would need a bit more work.’ Cartwright paused. ‘Why is it so important?’ The question had been asked of Breck, but he fixed his attention on Fox, who could only shrug. The room remained quiet as Fox continued to pore over the photocopies. Breck had walked over to the window.

‘I don’t see your car,’ he commented.

‘I left it round the corner,’ Cartwright explained. ‘Didn’t want anyone seeing it here.’

‘Probably wise.’ Fox glanced up from his reading.

She was checking her watch. ‘I’ve got to get back. Doesn’t normally take me this long to buy a sandwich.’

‘Thanks for all this,’ Fox said.

‘I just hope it helps.’ She slung her bag over her shoulder. Jamie had already left the room and opened the front door for her. Fox couldn’t make out what was said, but he heard a final wet-sounding kiss before the door closed. Breck came back into the room and watched her from the window.

‘She’s too good for you,’ Fox told him.

‘Don’t I know it.’ Breck turned and came back to his chair.

‘She’d stand by you, I’m sure of it,’ Fox went on. ‘If you told her, I mean. She wouldn’t believe any of it.’

‘I’ll do it in my own time, if that’s all right with you, Inspector.’ Fox took the hint and held up his hands in surrender. Breck rubbed his own hands together.

‘So,’ he said, perching himself on the arm of the chair, ‘what have we got exactly?’

‘Your guess is as good as mine.’ Fox paused. ‘Have you contacted your credit card company about that debit?’

Breck stared at him. ‘What makes you ask all of a sudden?’

‘Just popped into my head.’

‘I’ve been on to them. The payment to SEIL was an online transaction, so there’s not much they can say.’

‘Anyone with your card details could have done it?’

‘As long as they knew the security number, plus maybe my address and postcode.’

‘So we’re not really any further forward?’

‘I can’t prove it wasn’t me, if that’s what you’re suggesting.’ Breck got to his feet again. ‘Still got a nagging doubt, Malcolm?’

‘No.’

‘Try to sound a bit more convincing.’

Before he could answer, Fox’s phone rang. It was A

‘Nothing really.’

Breck had gestured that he would leave the room. Without waiting, he was already on his way. Fox leaned back in his chair with the phone to his ear, then recoiled in pain. His back throbbed a fresh complaint.

‘How are things at the Chop Shop?’ he asked through gritted teeth. ‘Have they given you a replacement for Gilchrist yet?’

‘Still working solo.’

‘That can’t be good.’

‘It’s not.’

‘How’s Duncan?’

‘He’s fine. How about you, Malcolm?’

‘I’ve got my feet up.’

‘Really?’

‘Well, sort of.’ He listened to her laugh.

‘How soon will you be back at work?’

‘That’s up to Grampian.’

‘I’ve met DI Stoddart. She seems very… efficient.’

‘Was she asking you about me?’

‘Just in passing.’

‘I was supposed to come in today for another session on the rack.’

‘So she said.’

‘I told her I was ill.’

‘But you’re all right really?’

‘Actually, I’ve got a few aches and pains.’

‘This time of year, who hasn’t?’

‘A bit more sympathy wouldn’t go amiss.’

She laughed again. ‘Do you want me to drop by after work? Bring you some grapes and Lucozade?’

Fox was touching his fingers to his bruised and battered face. ‘It’s a tempting offer, but no thanks.’

‘Don’t say I didn’t ask.’

‘I’ll be fine in a few days, A

‘Yes?’

‘Well, the cop you put me on to in Melbourne seems to have other ideas.’

‘You know I can’t talk about this, Malcolm.’ Inglis’s voice had hardened.

‘I’m just wondering who it is that’s lying to me, A