The Complaints

‘Mmm. They’re an intriguing couple, Brogan and Broughton.’

‘Joa

There was a momentary silence on the line. ‘You’re right to add Father Jack to the mix,’ she eventually said.

‘You reckon Brogan has done a Reggie Perrin on us?’

‘Or he’s crossed the pa-in-law in some way.’

‘And what way would that be?’

‘Malcolm…’ She almost sang his name. ‘You’re the detective, not me. My job’s to vacuum up the crumbs. Think of me as a house-maid… ’

‘That won’t be easy when I know your true identity, Linda.’

‘And what’s that?’

‘A hard-nosed investigative reporter – which is what I need you to be for me right now.’

‘You’ve got me intrigued, big boy.’

‘It would be useful to know how Brogan’s company is organised – maybe it’s a case of companies plural… we don’t know the extent of his empire. He’ll have shareholders, people he owed money to. Who exactly are they?’

‘Companies House is the place to start… I’ve already got quite a lot of info, including the details of his accountants. I suppose I could talk to them, but I’m not sure how helpful they’d be… to a journalist, I mean. On the other hand, they’d have to talk to the police.’

‘Sadly, as you’ve already noted, I’m suspended from duty.’

‘Which begs the question – what’s all this in aid of?’

‘It’s in aid of whatever the opposite of suspension is,’ Fox told her. They were just arriving at the road bridge. It was, as ever, magnificent. To the right sat the complex, intertwined geometry of the Forth Rail Bridge. There was talk of a new bridge being built to relieve the strain on the present road bridge. Some of the cables were showing their age. But where was the money to come from? Linda Dearborn was saying that she’d see what she could do.

‘One other thing that might be fun for both of us…’ Fox added.

‘Do tell.’

‘You could look up Lovatt’s firm at the same time, get an idea of just how far their tentacles stretch.’ Fox ended the call and Breck turned the radio back up a little.

‘Think we can trust her?’ he asked.

‘I’m not that stupid, Jamie.’

‘Glad to hear it.’

Forty minutes later they were on the outskirts of Dundee. The trip had been Breck’s idea. He hadn’t been to the city on business before, but a cop he’d gone through training with had ended up in Tayside CID. One phone call later, the friend had agreed to meet with them ‘on the quiet’.

‘How many roundabouts can one city have?’ Breck complained as he followed the signs towards the waterfront. He’d been told to park next to the train station and cross the road to where the Discovery was docked. Fox asked why the boat was moored there.

‘I think it was built in Dundee.’

Fox nodded. ‘Shackleton took it to the Arctic, right?’

‘Arctic… Antarctic… who knows?’

Whoever had the answer, it wasn’t Mark Kelly. He was a DS, same rank as Breck, and he was waiting for them by the metal fence in front of the ship. Fox pretended an interest in the mast and rigging while the two friends shared a brief hug and exchanged comments about hair loss and body mass. When Breck asked about the boat, Kelly said he’d no idea.

‘We going on board or what?’ Breck asked.

‘It’s just a landmark, Jamie – I seem to remember navigation’s not your strong point and Dundee’s a tough gig for the first-timer. Come on…’ He led them back across the road and past another roundabout. Their destination was a café, whose clientele seemed to be biding their time until they could be elsewhere. Once seated with their coffees, the real conversation began.

‘I took a look at Bull’s file,’ Kelly said, keeping his voice low.

‘The file didn’t come with you,’ Breck commented.

‘Couldn’t do it, Jamie. Alarm bells would have sounded.’

‘Then let’s hope your memory’s better than it used to be.’

Kelly accepted this with a smile. ‘Bull keeps being lucky – bullets bounce off him… metaphorically speaking.’

‘Has anyone tried the other kind?’ Fox interrupted.

‘There are stories… But it seems Bull’s been taking a few tips from his old man. He used to be quite a physical sort, if you get my meaning.’

‘And now?’

‘Now he’s building bridges rather than knocking them down.’

‘This all sounds like code to me,’ Jamie Breck complained. ‘Can we go somewhere a bit more private so you can just spit it out?’

Kelly leaned across the table towards him. ‘Bull’s been driving up and down Scotland with his trusted lieutenant, meeting some of the other players – the ones that count. Aberdeen one day, Lanarkshire the next.’

‘Has this been going on a while?’ Fox asked.

‘A few months… maybe a bit longer. It took time for us to notice what was happening.’

‘You thought maybe he was writing a guidebook?’ Breck asked.

Kelly just glowered at him. ‘We’ve no idea what he was doing.’

‘But you can hazard a guess,’ Fox said.

Kelly took a deep breath. ‘Maybe he’s playing peacemaker on his dad’s behalf. Or could be he’s scared that with the old man inside, a competitor will try muscling in.’

‘Then he could be trying to extend his own reach,’ Fox added. ‘Tentacles again…’

Kelly nodded at this. ‘On the surface, of course, he’s a legitimate businessman.’

‘Of course.’

‘But not too many of those need muscle like Terry Vass.’

‘His lieutenant?’ Fox guessed.

‘With a criminal record the approximate length of War and Peace.’

‘I’m assuming drugs play a part in all of this,’ Breck interrupted.

‘I’m sure they do,’ Kelly snorted.

‘But you’ve got no proof?’

Kelly shrugged. ‘Any help you can give…’ He looked from one man to the other. ‘Actually, you were pretty vague on the phone, Jamie. Maybe I should be asking what this is all about.’

‘It’s complicated,’ Breck replied.

‘But it might,’ Fox interrupted, ‘have to do with a murder and a missing person.’

‘The missing person being Charlie Brogan,’ Breck added.

‘Never heard of him,’ Kelly said, stirring his spoon in his cup.

‘He’s a developer in Edinburgh… don’t you watch the news, Mark?’

Kelly gave another shrug. ‘Bad time to be a developer… we had one top himself a couple of months back.’ He paused. ‘Hang on… is this the guy with the boat?’

‘What did you just say?’ Fox asked.

‘I asked if it was the guy who went missing from his boat.’

Fox was shaking his head. ‘Before that – you’ve got your own dead developer?’

Kelly nodded again. He was still stirring his coffee and it was driving Fox demented. Another minute or two and he’d be snatching the spoon and tossing it the length of the café.

‘Don’t recall the name,’ Kelly was saying. ‘There’s a bunch of high-rises they’re demolishing. He jumped from one of the upper floors.’ Kelly noticed that Fox and Breck were staring fixedly at one another. ‘You don’t think there’s a co

Now the two men were staring at him.

Jamie Breck’s study.

Darkness had fallen. Food had been fetched from a Chinese takeaway, but half of it sat congealing on the worktop in the kitchen. Breck had opened a bottle of lager for himself, while the takeaway had sold Fox a couple of cans of Irn-Bru. Breck had shifted over a little to make room for Fox’s chair in front of the computer screen.

‘And there we were accusing Dundee of being parochial,’ Fox said as Breck found the news item. There was a photograph of the ‘tragic suicide’. He was smiling at somebody’s wedding. There was a big, bold carnation pi

His name was Philip Norquay and he’d lived in the city all his life – local high school, local university, local businessman. He’d come to property developing ‘almost by accident’ – his parents had owned a shop, making their home in the flat above. On their death, there had been lots of interest in the property, leading the son to do some detective work. Turned out there were plans for a new housing estate nearby. Norquay hung on to his parents’ place until he could contact a supermarket group, who were glad of the chance to knock it down and rebuild, paying over the odds for the privilege.