The Complaints

You don’t know his name’s Jamie, Fox reminded himself. On the phone, he called himself DS Breck. Breck was walking towards him now. Fox managed to push Jude back a little, but as gently as possible. He held out a hand to the other detective. Breck was smiling, almost sheepishly.

‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘I should have known it was a Fettes number.’ He gestured towards Jude. ‘Your sister tells me you’re a DI.’

‘Just plain Inspector,’ Fox corrected him. ‘In PSU we drop the Detective bit.’

Breck nodded. ‘PSU means the Complaints?’

Fox nodded back at him, then turned his attention to Jude. ‘I’m so sorry,’ he said, squeezing her hand. ‘Are you all right?’ She shivered in response, and he asked Breck if the identification had taken place.

‘Two minutes,’ Breck said, pretending to look at his watch. Fox knew what was happening behind the door: they were making the corpse as presentable as possible. Only the face would be visible, unless identification necessitated the revealing of a tattoo or distinguishing feature.

‘Where was he found?’ Fox asked.

‘A building site by the canal.’

‘Where they’re knocking down the brewery?’

‘He wasn’t working there,’ Jude stated tremulously. ‘I don’t know what he was doing there.’

‘When was he found?’ Fox asked Breck, squeezing his sister’s hand a little more tightly.

‘Early this morning. Couple of joggers on the towpath. One got a stitch, so they stopped. Leaning against the fence, doing stretches or whatever. That’s when they saw him.’

‘And you’re sure it’s…?’

‘Couple of credit cards in the pocket. I gave Ms Fox a description of the deceased and his clothing…’

Jamie Breck had blonde hair tending towards the curly, and a face speckled with freckles. His eyes were a milky blue. He stood an inch or so shorter than Fox, and was probably only two thirds his waist measurement. He wore a dark brown suit with all three buttons done up. Fox was trying to dismiss from his mind everything he knew about him: schooled at George Watson’s… parents both doctors… lives near the supermarket… has yet to comply with the twenty-five-pic minimum… He found himself stroking Jude’s hair.

‘They beat him up,’ she was saying, voice cracking. ‘They beat him up and left him for dead.’ Fox looked to Breck for confirmation.

‘Injuries consistent with,’ was all the younger man said. Then the door of the room behind them slid open. The body lay on a trolley, swaddled except for the face. Even the hair and ears had been covered. The face was pulpy, but recognisable, even from a distance. Fox caught sight of it before his sister.

‘Jude,’ he cautioned her, ‘I can do this if you don’t want to.’

‘I need to do it,’ she answered. ‘I need to…’

‘You’ll want to go home with her,’ Breck was telling Fox. Both men held plastic beakers of tea. They were standing in the Family Room. A pile of children’s books had been placed on one of the chairs, and someone had pi

‘What time was he found?’ Fox asked quietly.

‘Just after six.’

‘It’s still dark at six.’

‘There were streetlights.’

‘Was he attacked there or just dumped there?’

‘Look, Inspector Fox, this can all wait… you’ll want to be with Jude now.’

Fox stared at his sister. ‘There’s a neighbour,’ he found himself saying. ‘Alison Pettifer. Maybe she could take Jude home and stay with her.’

Breck pulled back his shoulders. ‘Due respect, I know you outrank me, but…’

‘I just want to see the locus. Any harm in that, DS Breck?’

Breck seemed to consider this for a moment, then let his shoulders relax. ‘Call me Jamie,’ he said.

Twenty-five-pic minimum, Fox thought to himself.

It was another hour before the paperwork was finalised and Alison Pettifer was fetched from her home. Fox shook hands with her and thanked her again for calling him the previous day.

‘And now this,’ was all she said. She was tall and slim and in her fifties. She took charge, coaxing Jude to her feet and telling her everything was going to be fine. ‘You’re coming home with me…’

Jude’s eyes were still raw-looking as Fox kissed her on both cheeks.

‘I’ll come as soon as I can,’ he said. A uniformed officer was waiting for the women, his patrol car parked outside. He looked almost bored, and Fox wanted to shake him. He checked his mobile phone instead: two messages from Tony Kaye, which were actually the same message sent twice – Do u need me?

Fox started to punch in ‘no’, but lengthened it to ‘not yet’. As he was sending it, Jamie Breck reappeared.

‘Not needed at the autopsy?’ Fox asked.

‘They can’t get to it for another hour.’ Breck looked at his wristwatch. ‘Means I can take you out there, if you like.’

‘I’ve got my car.’

‘Then you can drive us…’

Four minutes into the journey, Breck commented that they’d have been quicker walking. It was a straight run – Cowgate to West Port to Fountainbridge – but traffic had stalled again: a contraflow controlled by two workmen in fluorescent jackets and toting signs saying STOP and GO.

‘It can drive men mad,’ Breck said, ‘suddenly having all that power…’

Fox just nodded.

‘Mind if I ask something?’

Fox minded a lot, but gave a shrug.

‘How did your sister break her arm?’

‘She fell over in the kitchen.’

Breck pretended to mull this over. ‘Mr Faulkner worked as a builder?’

‘Yes.’

‘Didn’t seem to be dressed for the job – good-quality chinos; polo shirt and leather jacket. The jacket was a Christmas present from Ms Fox.’

‘Was it?’

‘Were they getting married?’

‘You’d have to ask her.’

‘The two of you aren’t close?’

Fox could feel his grip tightening on the steering wheel. ‘We’re close,’ he said.

‘And Mr Faulkner?’

‘What about him?’

‘Did you like him?’

‘Not especially.’

‘Why not?’

‘No particular reason.’

‘Or too many to mention?’ Breck nodded to himself. ‘My brother’s partner… I don’t get on too well with him, either.’

‘Him?’

‘My brother’s gay.’

‘I didn’t know.’

Breck looked at Fox. ‘No reason why you should.’

That’s right, and no reason to know that that same brother’s an engineer in America…

Fox cleared his throat. ‘So what’s your feeling about this?’ he asked.

Breck took his time answering. ‘There’s a hole in the fence, next to where the body was found. Little side road there, too, where a car or van could park.’

‘The body was dumped?’

Breck shrugged and began working his neck muscles. ‘I asked Ms Fox when she last saw Mr Faulkner.’

‘And?’

‘She says Saturday afternoon.’ Fox could hear the grinding of gristle in the younger man’s neck and shoulders. ‘That cast looks pretty new…’

‘Happened Saturday,’ Fox confirmed, keeping his voice level, concentrating on the road ahead: two more sets of traffic lights and one roundabout and they’d be there.

‘So she heads to A and E and Mr Faulkner goes out on the town.’ Breck stopped exercising and leaned forward a little, turning his head so he could make eye contact with Fox. ‘Fell over in the kitchen?’

‘That’s what she told me.’

‘And you repeated it for my benefit… but your face tightened just a little when you spoke.’

‘Are you supposed to be Columbo or something?’

‘Just observant, Inspector Fox. You need to take the next left.’

‘I know.’

‘And there’s that facial tightening again,’ Jamie Breck said, just loud enough for Fox to hear.