Ian Rankin - The Complaints

‘Malcolm Fox,’ he said by way of greeting.

It was Lauder Lodge. Mitch wanted to know if he’d be visiting today or tomorrow. He wanted to see him. Fox was about to suggest Sunday until he remembered lunch with Annie Inglis. He glanced at his watch, then asked the caller to tell his father he was on his way.

He took the city bypass to the Sheriffhall roundabout, and headed for The Wisp, cutting through Niddrie and reaching the care home in under twenty minutes. Mitch was seated in reception, dressed in coat, scarf and hat.

‘I want to go out,’ he told his son.

‘Sure,’ Fox agreed. ‘I can bring the car round.’

‘My legs haven’t seized up entirely.’ So they walked around the corner to where Fox had found a parking space. He had to help his father with his seat belt, and they took the short drive to Portobello, parking on a side road by the promenade.

‘We should have invited Mrs Sanderson.’

‘Audrey’s spending the day in her bed,’ Mitch explained. ‘She’s got a cold coming.’ Then, as Malcolm unclipped his seat belt for him: ‘I asked them to phone Jude for me, but she wasn’t answering. ’

‘She’s been getting a lot of calls from journalists. Or it could be she’s next door with a neighbour.’

‘How is she?’

‘Bearing up.’

‘Are you any nearer catching whoever did it?’

‘It’s not my case, Dad.’

‘I’d hope you’d be keeping a bloody eye on it, though.’

Fox nodded slowly. ‘I don’t think there’s been much progress…’

The sun was shining, and the seafront was busy. There were dog-walkers and children down on the beach itself. Kids with in-line skates were being guided along the concrete walkway by their parents. A sharp wind was whipping across the Firth of Forth. Fox wondered if Charlie Brogan’s boat would have been visible from here. According to the papers, it had been towed to North Queensferry, which meant that Fife Constabulary were vying with Lothian and Borders for jurisdiction. The respective Chief Constables would sort it out, with Edinburgh the likely winner, much as the Fife cops might fancy a few days or weeks stationed in the capital.

‘What are you thinking?’ Fox’s father asked him. They were standing by the sea wall, staring out at the view.

‘Weekends aren’t for thinking,’ Malcolm stated.

‘Meaning you had your mind on work.’

Fox couldn’t deny it. ‘Things have been a bit rough,’ he admitted.

‘You need a holiday.’

‘I had a decent break at Christmas.’

‘And did what exactly? I mean a proper holiday with sunshine and a hotel swimming pool and meals served on the terrace.’ Mitch Fox paused. ‘You could well afford it, if you didn’t have my bills hanging over you.’

Fox looked at his father. ‘Lauder Lodge was a godsend, Dad. I don’t begrudge a penny of it.’

‘I’m betting your sister doesn’t chip in.’

‘She doesn’t need to – I can afford it.’

‘But it leaves things tight, doesn’t it? I know damned well how much my room costs, and I can guess how much you make…’

Fox gave a short laugh, but said nothing.

‘What if you meet a nice girl and want to take her away somewhere? ’ his father continued.

‘What’s brought this on?’ Fox asked with a smile.

‘I’m not going to be here much longer, Malcolm – we both know that. I just want to be sure in my mind that my son and daughter are all right.’

‘We’re fine.’ Fox touched the sleeve of his father’s coat. ‘And you shouldn’t be talking like that.’

‘I think I’ve earned the privilege.’

‘Maybe so, but all the same…’ Fox blew his nose and looked up and down the promenade. ‘Let’s get something to eat,’ he said.

They ate fish and chips from the paper, seated by the sea wall. ‘Sure you’re not too cold?’ Fox asked his father. The old man shook his head. ‘The smell of vinegar,’ Fox confided, ‘always takes me back to holidays and high days.’

‘A treat on Saturday night,’ Mitch Fox agreed. ‘Except your mother was never so keen on the fish – had to be chicken or steak pie for her.’

‘What was the name of the chippie near us?’ Fox was frowning in concentration, but his father thought for a moment and shook his head.

‘Can’t help.’

‘Maybe I should ask Lauder Lodge if there’s a room there for me…’

‘You’ll get it eventually.’

‘The room, or the name of the chippie?’

Mitch Fox smiled at this. He’d had enough to eat, so offered the remainder to Malcolm, who shook his head. They rose to their feet and started walking. Mitch was stiff at first, but tried not to show it. People they passed either nodded a greeting or said hello. There were plenty of gulls around, but Fox dumped the remains of the food in a bin instead.

‘Are Hearts home or away?’ Mitch asked.

‘Couldn’t even tell you who they’re playing.’

‘You loved going to a game when you were a kid.’

‘I think it was the swearing I liked. And I’ve not been to a match all season.’ Fox’s father had paused again, leaning against the sea wall.

‘Are things really okay, son?’ he asked.

‘No, not really.’

‘Do you want to tell your old man about it?’

But all Malcolm Fox could do was shake his head.

They found a pub and went inside, Mitch selecting their table while Malcolm fetched the drinks – a sparkling water and a half of IPA. His father asked him how long it was since he’d had a ‘real’ drink, and confessed that Audrey Sanderson kept a supply of brandy in her bedside cabinet. Fox sat in silence for a minute, then took a deep breath.

‘Do you really want to know why I stopped drinking?’

‘Because you realised it was going to end up killing you?’ his father guessed. But Fox shook his head.

‘After Elaine left, I took to it hard. Kept pestering her, to the point where I could probably have been done as a stalker. I went round to see her one night. I’d had a skinful, and I ended up punching her.’ He went quiet, but his father wasn’t about to interrupt. ‘She could have had me prosecuted. My career would have been in tatters. When I phoned her to apologise… well, it took some persuading before she’d even talk to me, and then all she said was “stop drinking”. And I knew she was right.’

‘Why are you telling me this?’ Mitch asked quietly. ‘Why now?’

‘Because of what happened to Vince,’ his son explained. ‘I’ve always hated him, hated the way he treated Jude, but now that he’s dead…’

Mitch waited for Fox to make eye contact. ‘You’re not like him,’ he stated. ‘Don’t go thinking you are.’

They settled back to watch the football on TV, staying for the results. It was five o’clock and nearly dark when they emerged. Fox drove his father back to Lauder Lodge in silence, receiving a firm look from one of the staff members. Mr Fox, it transpired, was late for supper.

‘Lucky we’ve kept it for you,’ the woman advised.

‘That’s debatable,’ Mitch muttered, stretching a hand out towards his son. The two men shook.

On his way home, Fox thought about stopping and buying some flowers for Annie Inglis. She had texted him her address, unaware that he already knew it. He wondered, too, if he should buy something for her son. But what? And might flowers not start to wilt overnight? Straight home then, to dinner from the fridge and more sorting of books. He thought back to the pub. You’re not like him… don’t go thinking you are. When he unlocked his door, there was a note inside his letter box. It was from Jamie Breck.

CALL ME WHEN YOU GET IN.

Fox took out his phone but then paused, tapping it against his teeth. He locked the door after him and got back into his car. Five minutes later, he was parking on the street outside Breck’s home. The houses had their own driveways and garages, meaning there was plenty of space kerbside. It struck him, though, that the surveillance van really must have stood out because of this. As he pressed the remote-locking button, he noticed that a young woman was just coming out of Breck’s, shrugging her arms into her coat and wrapping a scarf around her neck. She was heading towards Breck’s Mazda, but saw him and managed to place him. She gave a wave and a smile.