The Complaints

25

‘Slow down,’ Jamie Breck said. He was dressed as if for jogging and his hair was wet from the shower. ‘You look like you’ve just bitten through a mains cable.’

They had reached Breck’s living room. There was ambient music on the hi-fi. Breck sat down and used a remote control to lessen the volume. Malcolm Fox was pacing up and down.

‘How can you be so laid-back?’ Fox asked, accusingly.

‘What else am I supposed to do?’

‘Someone’s tried setting you up as a paedophile.’

‘True – and if I start complaining, everyone knows you told me.’

‘You should do it anyway.’

But Breck was shaking his head. ‘We find out why it happened – after that, everything falls into place.’

Fox paused in his walking. ‘You think you know?’

Breck folded his arms. ‘It’s both of us. They brought us together knowing we’d get along… start to trust one another. You’d see it was a set-up and maybe tell me. Meantime, I’d be letting you walk all over the Faulkner case. Once that was established, we could both be kicked into touch.’

‘It’s other cops, then? Has to be.’ Fox had started pacing again.

‘What’s on your mind, Malcolm?’

‘Vince and Brogan kept phoning one another; means they weren’t just boss and employee. The day I took Joa

‘Terry Vass,’ Breck said quietly, nodding to himself. ‘Same initials.’

‘They weren’t TV shows, Jamie. Brogan must have been meeting Vass. Now why would that be? Why would Wauchope keep sending his enforcer down to Edinburgh?’

‘Brogan owed him money.’

‘Brogan owed him money,’ Fox echoed. ‘And here’s another thing – Joa

‘So?’

‘She says it’s because people might call who don’t know what’s happened.’

‘Seems plausible,’ Breck said with a shrug. Fox gnawed at his bottom lip, then got out his phone and called Max Dearborn.

‘Max, it’s Malcolm Fox.’

‘Linda says you talked to her.’

‘This morning. I’m going to help her if I can, but listen… I’ve got a quick question – was Charlie Brogan’s phone on the boat?’

‘We had it checked, then gave it back to the wife.’

Fox’s shoulders slumped. He placed his palm over the mouthpiece. ‘It was on the boat,’ he told Breck.

‘Why do you want to know?’ Dearborn was asking.

‘It’s probably nothing, Max. In fact, it is nothing.’ But Breck was clicking his fingers, trying to get Fox’s attention. ‘Hang on a sec,’ Fox said, placing his hand over the mouthpiece again.

‘Wouldn’t someone like Brogan have more than one phone?’ Breck asked, voice just above a whisper. Fox took a moment to digest this, then spoke to Dearborn again.

‘Max… do you happen to know the number of the phone?’

‘It’ll take me a minute.’ Dearborn was obviously in the inquiry room. There was a rustling sound as he cupped the phone between shoulder and chin, then a clacking sound as he worked at a keyboard.

‘How are things anyway?’ Fox decided to ask.

‘Still no trace of the sod, one way or the other.’

‘You keeping a watch on the widow?’

‘We’re thinking about it.’

‘She’d know it was happening.’

‘Maybe… Okay, here’s the number.’ Dearborn reeled it off.

‘Thanks, Max,’ Fox said, ending the call and looking at Breck. ‘Good tip,’ he said with a nod.

‘The numbers don’t match?’ Breck guessed.

‘No.’

‘So the phone she’s keeping beside her isn’t the one that was left on the boat?’

‘No.’

‘Yet she told you it was?’

‘She did.’

‘Might be the sort of thing better discussed in person?’

‘If we can get to her,’ Fox mused. Breck suddenly sat bolt upright.

‘Time is it?’ he asked.

‘Just gone one.’

Breck cursed under his breath. ‘I’m due at Fettes at half past.’

‘That might be a bit tight – unless you don’t bother changing.’

Breck had risen to his feet. He studied himself. ‘That’s an idea,’ he said.

‘Here’s another one – I’m coming with you.’

Breck stared at him. ‘Why?’

‘Because we have no idea who we can trust on our own patch.’ Breck’s eyes narrowed. ‘Stoddart?’

Malcolm Fox slipped his hands into his pockets and offered a shrug.

‘She’s the Complaints,’ Breck protested.

‘So am I, remember. Let’s fight about it on the way. If you’re not convinced, I won’t get out of the car…’

Fox didn’t get out of the car. It was his car and he sat in the driver’s seat with the radio playing, watching as Breck marched into Police HQ. He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel, staring ahead of him, but with his eyes focused on nothing. After five minutes, he heard a noise and turned his head. Breck was coming back, and he was not alone. Inspector Caroline Stoddart looked less than enthusiastic. Her two colleagues, Wilson and Mason, watched from the doorway. Fox got out of the car, not knowing quite what to say. Breck skipped forward and opened the passenger-side door for Stoddart. She glared at Fox.

‘You two were told to cease communication.’

‘We’re bad boys,’ Breck seemed to concur. Stoddart stood her ground for a moment, then ducked her head and got into the car. Breck offered Fox a wink before climbing into the back. Fox stood for a further moment, staring at Wilson and Mason. They turned and headed back indoors.

‘Let’s get this little pantomime over with,’ Stoddart was saying. Fox sat back down and closed his door. ‘All right,’ she went on, ‘you’ve got five minutes.’

‘Might take a bit longer,’ Breck warned her. Then, to Fox: ‘We’d be better doing this elsewhere – if walls have ears, then windows definitely have eyes.’

Fox looked at the building, realised Breck had a point, and switched the engine on.

‘Am I being abducted?’ Stoddart complained.

‘You can leave any time you like,’ Breck assured her. ‘But what we’re about to tell you… trust me, this isn’t exactly the best place.’

‘Do I just drive around?’ Fox asked, eyes on the rearview mirror. He was aware of Stoddart next to him, tugging at the hem of her skirt.

‘As long as you can drive and talk at the same time,’ Breck responded.

So Malcolm Fox drove.

Their route took them around the periphery of the Botanic Gardens and uphill towards the city centre. Traffic became sluggish, and Fox said less, concentrating his attention on the road. Breck filled in, and soon they were crossing the top of Leith Walk. Royal Terrace, then Abbeyhill, and down past the Parliament building and the Palace of Holyrood, before entering Holyrood Park itself. Past St Margaret’s Loch and entering the one-way section that snaked around the immensity of Arthur’s Seat. It felt like the middle of nowhere. There were stretches where no signs of habitation could be glimpsed; just heath and hill. The drive had lasted almost thirty minutes, and Stoddart was asking Fox to pull over.

‘A bad place to leave us,’ Breck warned her. ‘Taxis don’t come by here.’

She looked around her. ‘Where is here?’

Fox had brought the car to a stop next to Dunsapie Loch. A couple of joggers trotted past. A young mother had paused with her baby buggy. There was a nest in the middle of the loch. In a few weeks, a pair of swans would be setting up home.

‘Another side of Edinburgh,’ Breck was explaining to Stoddart. ‘I’d be happy to act the tour guide some time…’

She said nothing to this, just opened her door and tried to get out. She flinched, perhaps thinking they were holding her down, but it was only her seat belt. She unlocked it and stepped from the car, slamming the door behind her.