Ian Rankin - The Complaints

‘We’ve never talked about it much.’ She tucked her legs beneath her, having kicked off her shoes. Fox could hear some sort of brass instrument being practised nearby.

‘Is that Duncan?’

She shook her head. ‘One of the kids downstairs. Tuba, his mum tells me. And there’s a drummer through that wall.’ She nodded in the direction of the shelving unit.

‘How about Duncan?’

‘An electric guitar for his birthday last year, but he won’t take lessons.’

‘I was like that when my parents bought me a set of golf clubs – reckoned I’d teach myself.’

‘Teenage boys can be stubborn. Are your parents still alive?’

‘My dad is.’

‘And how’s your sister doing? There’ll be the funeral to plan, I suppose.’

‘Might take a while for them to release the body.’

‘And there’s still no news?’ It was his turn to shake his head. ‘So you started making your own enquiries…’

‘As a result of which, I get a nice paid holiday.’

‘Are you thinking of going somewhere?’

‘I might just stay close to home.’ He paused. ‘Is there any point in me asking Gilchrist a few questions?’

She looked at him. ‘I wouldn’t think so, Malcolm. You do understand what the word “suspension” means?’

‘Of course.’

A smile spread across her face. ‘I wouldn’t have taken you for a rebel.’

‘That’s because I wear braces with my suit.’

Now she laughed. ‘Maybe.’

Duncan stuck his head around the door. ‘I’m just going out.’ ‘Where?’ his mother asked.

‘Princes Street.’

‘Meeting up with anyone?’ He shrugged. ‘Okay, then. Say goodbye to Malcolm.’

‘Bye,’ Duncan said. ‘Thanks again for the…’

‘Maybe see you again,’ Fox replied. He sat in silence with Inglis until the front door had closed.

‘I thought he was going to help you in the kitchen,’ Fox said.

‘He’ll do it when he comes back.’

‘Must be hard.’ Fox paused. ‘Not having his dad around, I mean. Do your parents still help out?’

‘We see them some weekends.’

‘Are they still in Fife?’

She gave him a look. ‘I never told you I grew up in Fife.’

‘You must have.’

But she was shaking her head slowly, never taking her eyes off him. ‘You saw it in my file, didn’t you?’

‘I like you, Annie…’

‘So you had a trawl through my personnel file. Find out anything interesting, Inspector?’

‘Only that you never bothered to mention Duncan.’

Her voice was steely. ‘I didn’t want anyone seeing me as a single parent first, and a cop second.’

‘I can understand that.’

‘I can’t believe you checked up on me!’

‘It’s what I do.’ He paused. ‘What I used to do,’ he corrected himself.

‘It was still out of order, Malcolm.’

He was trying to shape an explanation, but Annie Inglis had risen to her feet.

‘Time for you to leave, I think.’

‘Annie, I just wanted to know a little more about you…’

‘Thanks again for the wine and the flowers and…’ She looked about her, avoiding eye contact, then turned towards the door. ‘I need to get started in the kitchen.’

He watched her go. He was standing by this time, still holding his coffee cup. He placed it on the table and put his jacket back on. She had closed the kitchen door. He could hear her moving stuff around. His fingers brushed the door handle, without enough force to open it. He stayed there a further minute, willing her to come out. But she had switched the radio on. Classic FM: same station he sometimes listened to.

Out of order, Malcolm…

He could open the door and apologise. But instead, he padded down the hall and let himself out. On the pavement outside, he craned his neck. There was no one watching from the bay window, or from the next window along. The car next to Fox’s was being washed by its owner.

‘Nice day, for a change,’ the man said. Fox drove away without responding. He was halfway home when his phone rang. He answered it, hoping to hear Annie’s voice. But it was Tony Kaye.

‘What do you want?’ Fox asked.

‘You were the one who told me to ring,’ Kaye complained. ‘And it went okay, thanks for asking.’

Fox remembered then: Torphichen. ‘Sorry, Tony. I was lost for a minute there.’

‘Bad Billy wants me in the frame for Faulkner’s demise – he wants it a lot, but he knows it’s not going to happen, and that’s driving him nuts.’

‘Good,’ Fox said.

‘Other scenario he’s got is you thumping Faulkner and me acting the messenger. He said maybe it wasn’t my idea, or even yours – maybe Jude got you to do it.’ Kaye paused. ‘She didn’t, did she?’

‘Look, Tony, I’ve just had lunch round at Annie Inglis’s flat.’

‘Nice one.’

‘It ended badly. She worked out that I’d taken a look at her personnel file.’

‘Christ, when did that happen?’

‘I was down at HR for background on Jamie Breck…’

‘And thought you’d take a peek at Annie while you were at it? Seems fair enough to me.’

‘She didn’t see it that way.’

‘Sounds like an overreaction.’

Fox thought so too, but he still had a favour to ask. ‘I need you to have a word with her.’

‘What?’

‘Let her know I’m not some sort of stalker.’

‘Well, I’ve only got your word for that…’

‘It’ll give you something to do tomorrow while Naysmith and the new boy are getting cosy.’

Kaye let out a hiss of air. ‘I’d forgotten we were getting lumbered with Gilchrist.’

‘While the Techie Twins are chatting, you can be at the Chop Shop.’

‘Interceding on your behalf? I’d’ve thought Annie Inglis was the least of your worries.’

‘Can’t afford any more enemies right now, Tony.’

‘Good point. Consider it done. But if she starts falling for my charms in place of yours…’

‘I’ll be sure to let your wife of twelve years know.’

‘You miserable sod.’ Kaye gave a laugh. ‘I bet you would, too.’

‘Are you all done with Torphichen?’

‘I dare say Giles will drag me in again. Plus, Grampian will want a word, apparently.’

‘The Complaints?’

‘Giles was quick to tell them about me turning up at your sister’s. No chance of them investigating your misdemeanours without dragging me into it too.’

‘Things just get better and better, don’t they?’

‘Look on the bright side – the restaurant last night forgot to charge me for our second bottle of wine.’

Fox managed the beginnings of a smile, then reminded Kaye to talk to Annie Inglis.

‘Relax,’ Kaye told him. ‘So what are you doing the rest of the day? Want to meet up at Minter’s?’

‘I’ve got stuff to do.’

‘Such as?’

‘Alphabetising my bookshelves.’ Fox ended the call and drove home in silence.

The rest of the day, he couldn’t really concentrate on anything. The piles of books sat untouched. There were sections of the various papers still unbrowsed. The TV proved little comfort and he had no view from his window other than the house identical to his across the street. Then, at eight o’clock, someone rang his doorbell. He ticked off possible visitors – Jamie, Tony Kaye, Annie Inglis…

It was Jude. The taxi that had just dropped her was leaving. Her arm was still in a sling, so she’d only managed to drape her three-quarter-length coat around her shoulders.

‘Good to see you,’ he said, pecking her cheek and ushering her inside.

‘Are you moving out?’ she asked when she saw the state of the living room.

Fox shook his head. ‘Been a while since you were last here,’ he commented.