Ian Rankin - The Complaints

‘This isn’t happening,’ Breck said. ‘I’m being fast-tracked, everybody knows it. Another year and I’ll be a DI.’

‘That’s what your file seemed to say.’

Breck nodded. ‘And that’s how you knew all about me – you’d seen it in my personnel file.’ His eyes fixed on Fox. ‘So why own up now, Malcolm?’

Fox poured himself another glass of tap water. ‘You said it yourself, Jamie – I need somebody I can trust.’

‘And you think that’s me?’ Breck waited until Fox had nodded. ‘Well, thanks for that at least – or does it just mean I’m your very last hope?’

‘Thing is, Jamie, there’s a lot going on that I’m not even close to understanding. I think maybe you can help.’

‘What you’re saying is, me being a suspected paedophile is the least of your worries? And my girlfriend could come in useful along the way?’

Fox managed a smile. ‘Something like that, yes.’

Breck gave a snort as he smiled into his drink. ‘Well, at least we know where we stand. Is there any point in me contacting my credit card company? They must be able to trace the transaction back.’

Fox offered a shrug. ‘Worth a try,’ he said.

‘Meantime I can run a check on SEIL Ents.’

‘A word of caution – the guy behind the site is a cop in Australia. They’re on to him but they definitely don’t want him to know that. If he finds out and shuts everything down…’

‘There’ll be some who might think I’d warned him off?’ Breck nodded slowly. ‘How near are they to nailing him?’

‘I don’t really know.’

‘Can you find out?’

Fox nodded.

‘And I’ll make sure Annabel keeps in touch with Billy Giles and all his doings – does that sound fair?’

Fox gave another nod and watched Breck hold up a finger.

‘But I don’t want Annabel to know about this.’

‘She won’t hear it from me,’ Fox promised.

‘Does Stoddart know?’ Breck asked.

‘Yes.’

‘But I don’t want to let her know that I know?’

‘That’s up to you, Jamie.’

‘They’d realise it was you who told me. And that would look even worse for us.’

‘True.’

Breck had turned round, so that the small of his back rested against the edge of the black marble work surface. The glass was still in his hand, half an inch of liquid left in it.

‘Look at the pair of us,’ he said with another tired smile. And then, raising his glass in a toast: ‘But thanks for taking me into your trust, Malcolm – better late than never.’ He tipped the glass to his mouth, finishing the whisky and tossing the ice into the sink. ‘So,’ he said, smacking his lips, ‘do you have a particular plan of action in mind?’

‘I’m the one who thinks stuff just happens to us, remember? It’s you that thinks we control our destinies.’

‘Seems to me you’re in the process of changing.’

‘Speaking of changing…’ Fox lifted a card from his pocket and handed it over. ‘I’ve bought myself a new mobile phone.’

‘You think I should do the same?’ Breck studied the card. Fox’s old mobile number had been scored out and the new one written in biro. He looked up at Fox. ‘The Complaints can tap my phone?’

‘Not easily. But they can grab the records of any calls in or out.’

‘You said “they” rather than “we”…’ Fox didn’t say anything to this, and Breck was thoughtful for a further few seconds. ‘Why am I being set up, Malcolm?’ he asked quietly. ‘Who’d do something like that? An Australian porn site?’ He shook his head slowly. ‘It doesn’t make any sense.’

‘It will,’ Fox stated, straightening his shoulders. ‘We just need to work at it.’

Tuesday morning, Fox was waiting for Annie Inglis outside her tenement. Duncan appeared first, slouching his way to school under the weight of his backpack. Ten minutes later, it was Inglis’s turn. Fox, seated across the road in his car, sounded his horn and waved her across. Traffic was busy – people on their way to work or dropping their kids off at the school gates. A warden had paused his scooter beside Fox’s car, but had scuttled off again when he saw that the indicators were flashing and there was someone behind the steering wheel. Annie Inglis stood her ground for a moment, and when she did cross the road she didn’t get into the car. Instead, she leaned down so her face was at the passenger-side window. Fox slid the window down.

‘What are you doing here?’ she asked. He handed her a business card, on the back of which was written the number of his new mobile phone.

‘That’s in case you need to reach me,’ he explained. ‘But keep it to yourself.’ Then: ‘I need a favour, Annie.’

‘Look, Malcolm…’

‘It would be easier to talk if you got in. I can even give you a lift.’

‘I don’t need a lift.’ When he made no answer to this, she sighed and opened the door. He’d removed the sweet-wrappers from the passenger seat. There was a street map on the floor, which she handed to him. He tossed it into the back.

‘Is it to do with Jamie Breck?’ she asked.

‘Gilchrist’s being obstructive.’

‘You’re suspended, Malcolm! It’s not his job to help you out.’

‘All the same…’

She gave another heavy sigh. ‘What is it you want?’

‘A contact at the Australian end – someone from the team there. Name, phone number, e-mail… anything at all, really.’

‘Do I get to ask why?’

‘Not yet.’

She looked at him. Her work face differed from the one she wore at home – there was a little more make-up. It hardened her features.

‘They’re going to know it was me,’ she stated. She didn’t mean the cops in Australia; she meant Fettes.

‘I’ll say it wasn’t.’

‘That’s all right, then – after all, there’s no reason for them not to take you at your word, is there?’

‘No reason at all,’ he said with a smile.

Annie Inglis opened her door and started to get out. She was still holding his business card. ‘What’s the matter with your old phone?’ she asked. Then: ‘No… on second thoughts, I really don’t want to know.’ She closed the door after her and crossed the road again, unlocking her own car.

It took Fox five minutes to drive to the café on Morningside Road, but another five to find a parking space. He put enough coins in the meter for an hour, and walked the short distance to his destination. Jamie Breck was already there, plugging his laptop into one of the power sockets next to the corner table he’d secured.

‘Just got here,’ he told Fox as the two men shook hands.

‘How are you feeling?’

‘I didn’t get much sleep, thanks to your confession.’

Fox’s mouth twitched at the word. He shrugged off his coat and asked what Breck wanted to drink.

‘Americano with a spot of milk.’

Fox did the ordering, adding a cappuccino for himself. ‘Anything to eat?’ he asked Breck.

‘Maybe a croissant.’

‘Make that two,’ Fox told the assistant. By the time he got back to the table, Breck had angled the laptop so that the low sun wouldn’t hit the screen. Fox drew a chair round to Breck’s side of the table. This had been Fox’s idea, and looking around at the other customers he felt vindicated. Even if someone was outside in a surveillance van – and he’d taken a good look, spotting no obvious candidates – there were half a dozen people in the café logged on to the internet, courtesy of the free wi-fi. Most looked like students, the others business people. Naysmith had told him once how hard it was to untangle one user from another in such a cluster.