Ian Rankin - The Complaints

Fox thought back to the woman who’d pulled up outside the Oliver. Pulled up in her Bentley and sauntered inside. She hadn’t stopped to ask them what they were doing in her car park, because she’d had a bit of training at her father’s knee – she could smell a cop a mile off.

Joanna Broughton. Fox called Jamie Breck on his mobile.

‘The J is for Joanna, right?’ he asked without introduction. There was a smile in Breck’s voice as he answered.

‘Fast work.’

‘And I’m assuming you know who she is?’

‘Jack Broughton’s daughter?’ Breck pretended to guess.

‘So is she fronting the place for him or what?’

‘You’re assuming the woman we saw earlier today is Ms Broughton.’

‘I’m not assuming anything,’ Fox corrected him. ‘But I think you know it was. What is it about the Oliver and her? Something you’re holding back on me, Jamie?’

‘I’m working on a murder inquiry, Malcolm. There may be times when I can’t open my heart to you.’

‘Is this one of them?’

‘Maybe I’ll tell you later. For now, I need to get back to work.’ Breck ended the call and Fox placed his mobile phone on his desk and settled himself in his chair. His braces were cutting into his shoulders, and he adjusted both straps. Inglis’s words were bouncing around his head: conscientious… likeable… generous… Is that what’s getting to you? When his mobile rang, he picked it up and studied the number on the screen – Jude.

‘Hey, sis, thanks for getting back to me…’ There was silence on the line, but for a muffled sound, very like someone sobbing. ‘Jude?’ he prompted.

‘Malcolm…’ Her voice cracked halfway through his name.

‘What’s going on?’

‘They’re digging in the garden.’

‘What?’

‘The police – your lot – they’re…’ She gulped down another sob.

‘I’m on my way,’ Fox told her. Ending the call, he shrugged his arms back into his jacket. Kaye asked him what was happening.

‘Got to go,’ was all Fox said. Out in the car park, the interior of his car still retained a trace of warmth.

Some of Jude’s neighbours were at their windows again. Three patrol cars, two white vans. Jude’s front door was open. There was no sign of any disruption in the front garden. The back could be accessed only from a door in the kitchen. It wasn’t much of a garden either, maybe sixty feet by twenty, most of it paving slabs and weeds. There was a uniformed officer on duty at the front door, but Fox was waved inside when he showed his warrant card. The interior of the house was ice cold – both front and rear doors open, defeating anything the radiators could do.

‘Who let you in?’ DCI Billy Giles roared. He was standing in the kitchen, holding a mug of tea in one hand and a half-eaten Mars Bar in the other.

‘Where’s my sister?’

‘Next-door neighbour’s,’ Giles stated, chewing on the snack. Fox had advanced far enough into the room to be able to see out of the rear window. There was a team hard at work with shovels and pickaxes. They were digging in some spots, lifting the paving slabs in others. Muck had been trailed into the house, so recently cleaned by Alison Pettifer. Someone from Forensics was running a hand-held scanner down the walls in the living room, seeking any microscopic bloodstains.

‘You still here?’ Giles growled, tossing the empty chocolate wrapper on to the floor.

‘What are you playing at, Giles?’

‘I’m not playing at anything – I’m being a cop.’ He glowered at Fox. ‘Something your lot don’t seem to like. I’m beginning to think it’s jealousy.’

‘I can’t decide what this smacks of more – intimidation or desperation. ’

‘We got a call from a concerned neighbour,’ Giles said. His voice was coarse, his breathing ragged as he bore down on Fox. ‘Heard digging in the garden Sunday night. Horticulture at midnight – is that something your family makes a habit of?’

‘Did this neighbour give a name?’ Giles didn’t say anything to that, and Fox barked out a laugh. ‘Are you really going to lend an ear to every nutter who phones you? Did you bother trying to track them down?’ Fox paused. ‘I’m assuming you noted their number?’

‘Pub in Corstorphine,’ Giles stated. Then, snapping his head round as one of his team walked in from the garden: ‘Anything?’

‘A few bones… been there for years – Phil says a pet cat or maybe a puppy.’

‘What is it you think you’re going to find?’ Fox asked into the silence. ‘You know damned well this isn’t about cats or puppies… it’s about the wild goose you’ve been sent to chase.’

Giles pointed a stubby finger at him. ‘This man’s contaminating my crime scene and I want him out of here!’

A hand grabbed Fox’s arm from behind. He made to shrug it off, but turned and saw that it was Jamie Breck.

‘Come on, you,’ Breck said sternly, leading Fox towards the front door.

Outside on the path, both men kept their voices low. ‘This is horseshit,’ Fox hissed.

‘Maybe so, but we’re duty-bound to follow any and all leads. You know that, Malcolm.’

‘Giles is trying to get at me and mine, Jamie – that’s what this boils down to. You’ve got to tighten his leash.’

Breck’s eyebrows went up. ‘Me?’

‘Who else is going to stand up to him?’

‘You looked to be doing a pretty good job…’ There was a tapping sound. Fingers against the window of the house next door. ‘You’re wanted,’ was all Breck said. Fox turned to look, saw Alison Pettifer gesturing for him to join her. Fox held up his hand, signalling that he was on his way, but then turned back to face Jamie Breck.

‘Tighten his leash,’ he repeated, making for the door of the neighbouring house.

He’d stayed for the best part of an hour, downing two mugs of tea while both women sat on the sofa, Pettifer occasionally taking Jude’s hand and patting or stroking it. He’d asked the neighbour if he could unlock her back door, take a look over the fence as another flagstone was lifted. Giles had glowered at him, but there was nothing he could do.

‘Can’t you stop them?’ Jude had asked her brother more than once. ‘Surely you can make it stop.’

‘I’m not sure I can,’ he’d answered defensively, knowing how weak it made him sound. He could have added that it was precisely his fault it was happening. Giles couldn’t get to him, so he was getting at his loved ones instead. Fox knew he could make a complaint to McEwan, but he knew, too, that the complaint would make him look foolish. It was simplicity itself for Giles to defend the charge: there’s been a murder… we have to pursue every avenue… I can’t believe a fellow officer wouldn’t appreciate that…

No, he couldn’t take it to McEwan. He’d considered telling Jude to get a lawyer, but he knew how that would look – and all cops, the Complaints included, had a deep-seated mistrust of lawyers. The truth was, he couldn’t take it anywhere, and Giles knew as much. So instead Fox had said goodbye, pecking Jude on the cheek and shaking Pettifer’s hand. Then he’d sat in his car for five minutes, trying to decide whether to go back to Fettes or not. Mind made up, he’d driven to the supermarket in Oxgangs, lugging the bags into his house and spending half an hour putting away the food, checking the sell-by dates of everything so he could arrange what needed eating when – stuff for later to the back of the fridge and stuff for sooner to the front. Fresh pasta with pesto sauce for his evening meal. At the supermarket, he’d found himself in the drinks section, wondering about buying a couple of bottles of alcohol-free beer, then had walked past the wines and spirits, noting that some whiskies were actually cheaper than when he’d last bought any of them. The pricier bottles had little neck-band alarms to deter shoplifters. Back at one of the chill cabinets, he’d picked up a litre carton of mango and pear juice. Better for you by far, boy, he’d told himself.