Ian Rankin - The Complaints

‘The payment was in US dollars…’

‘He’s got an account in the Caribbean. Latham’s been running this thing for years without us knowing – he’s learned all the old tricks and invented a few of his own.’ Dawlish paused. ‘This is a secure line, right, Gilchrist?’

‘Absolutely,’ Fox assured her. ‘And thanks for your help.’

‘Paperwork’s killing this job,’ Dawlish commented, ending the call.

Fox stared at Jamie Breck. ‘Far as the Aussies are concerned, you’re still in the frame.’

‘Thanks for not setting the record straight.’

‘Thing is, Jamie, we did one night’s surveillance on you, and the second night was pulled. Thinking seemed to be that the Aussies didn’t need you any more, or had crossed your name off their list. When I spoke to Gilchrist last night, he as good as said the same thing – Sim Latham was headed for trial.’

‘And he’s not?’

‘Inquiry’s ongoing, according to Dawlish.’

‘So why did Gilchrist tell you different?’

‘Maybe we should ask him.’

‘I can go solo on this,’ Breck said, ‘if you’d rather keep out of it.’

But Fox shook his head before attacking the final chunk of croissant.

‘Are we done here?’ Breck asked, tapping the edge of his laptop’s screen. Fox glanced at his watch: fifteen minutes left on the meter.

‘There’s one final thing,’ he said. ‘And that computer of yours could come in handy.’ He wiped the pastry crumbs from his mouth. ‘Something I asked you when we were at the pool hall.’

‘Yes?’

‘I asked if Charlie Brogan could have been one of the developers. ’

‘We can take a look,’ Breck said, busying himself at the keyboard. Within a couple of minutes, he had found enough information to confirm that CBBJ was indeed part of the consortium.

‘CB stands for Charles Brogan,’ Fox commented, ‘but what about BJ?’

‘Broughton, Joanna?’ Breck guessed.

‘That makes sense, I suppose.’ Fox was peering at the screen. ‘I got a look at his diary, you know…’

‘What?’ Breck was staring at him.

‘Brogan’s diary. Joanna Broughton asked me to drop it into Leith Police Station.’ Fox paused. ‘It’s a long story.’

Breck folded his arms. ‘I’ve got time, partner.’

‘I recognised her when she was standing outside the station. Offered her a lift home.’

‘To the penthouse?’

Fox nodded. ‘Triplex, actually.’

‘You were inside? She knew you were a cop?’

Fox kept nodding. ‘Leith wanted to see Brogan’s appointments diary. She asked me if I’d take it.’

Breck was chuckling. ‘It’s always the quiet ones you have to watch out for. I can’t believe you got away with it.’

‘I didn’t. On the way out, I bumped into Gordon Lovatt. She told him who I was, and he got on to Leith, who got on to DI Stoddart and her merry men.’

Breck gave a low whistle, then was thoughtful for a moment. ‘Was the diary worth the effort?’ he eventually asked.

‘Not really. Work was drying up for Charlie Brogan. He spent more time planning what TV shows to watch than scheduling meetings.’ Fox paused to collect his thoughts. ‘Think it through, though. Vince Faulkner works on one of Brogan’s projects. He’s last seen in a casino owned by Brogan’s other half. He winds up dead and his body’s dumped at yet another site owned by Brogan’s company. Then, just to put some icing on top, Brogan goes for a swim in the Forth and doesn’t bother coming up for air.’

Breck was rubbing the stubble on the underside of his chin. ‘You should take this to Billy Giles.’

‘Oh, sure,’ Fox replied. ‘Because I’m dead sure DCI Giles would take me seriously.’ Breck had opened his mouth, but Fox stilled him with a gesture of the hand. ‘And you can hardly go to him with it, because you’re his little Judas. So where exactly does that leave us?’ When Breck didn’t answer, Fox glanced at his watch again. ‘I need to put more money in the meter,’ he said.

‘Let’s finish up here and I’ll come with you.’ Breck had already started shutting down the laptop. Fox noticed that he’d left most of his coffee untouched.

‘Where are we going?’ he asked.

‘Back to Salamander Point.’

They used the same Portakabin as before. Breck had asked the site manager what would happen now that the developer was dead.

‘We keep working until we’re ordered to stop – or the wages dry up,’ the man had replied.

But Malcolm Fox had noticed some changes. The sales office was locked shut, no sign of life inside. And once they’d climbed the ladder to the upper level of temporary offices, he could see that over to one side of the site an impromptu game of football was in progress, piles of bricks substituting for goalposts. When Ronnie Hendry arrived, he was sweating and breathing hard.

‘We’re waiting for a delivery of ready-mix,’ he explained, removing his hard hat and wiping a sleeve across his face.

Breck gestured for him to sit at the table. The three men were then positioned as before, Fox maintaining his silence.

‘Just a couple of follow-up questions,’ Breck was telling Hendry. ‘How have things been since Charlie Brogan jumped ship?’

Hendry stared at him, wondering how to react to the pun, but Breck remained stony-faced.

‘The men are worried about pay day.’

‘Your gaffer just said much the same thing.’

‘He’s got more at stake, money he makes for standing around all day with his dick in his hand and not a clue in his head.’

‘You sound aggrieved.’

Hendry wriggled in his chair. ‘Not really.’ But he folded his arms across his chest – a defensive gesture, in Fox’s eyes. ‘You any closer to finding out who killed Vince?’

‘We think the “why” might help answer that. But meantime, I wanted to ask about Mr Brogan.’

‘What’s he got to do with it?’

‘Well, now that he’s gone the same way as Vince Faulkner…’ Breck’s voice drifted off.

‘But there’s no connection,’ Hendry stated, eyes shifting from one detective to the other. ‘Is there?’

‘We can’t know that for sure. I’m assuming Mr Brogan visited Salamander Point?’

‘He was pretty hands-on,’ Hendry agreed.

‘How often did you see him?’

‘Maybe once a week, twice a week sometimes. Gaffer would be able to say for sure.’

‘But it’s you I’m asking. Did he just sit in here with a mug of tea and the plans spread out in front of him?’

Hendry shook his head. ‘He liked to give the whole site a good look-see.’

‘So you’d have met him, then?’

‘Spoke to him a few times. He always had a couple of questions. Seemed like a good guy – not all developers are.’

‘How do you mean?’

Hendry shifted in the chair again. ‘Some jobs I’ve worked on, they turn up wearing pinstripe suits and shiny brogues – one or two from CBBJ were that way inclined. But Mr Brogan… with him it was work boots and jeans. And he always shook your hand without brushing the dirt off after.’ Hendry was nodding slowly at the memory. ‘Like I say, a good guy.’

‘Did Vince Faulkner think the same?’

‘Never said any different, not to me.’

‘He met Brogan, too?’

Hendry nodded again. ‘Mr Brogan knew most of the guys by name. And he remembered who you were. There was always some detail or other he’d toss into the conversation.’

‘Gleaned from the personnel files?’ Fox interrupted. Hendry turned his head towards him.

‘Maybe,’ he said.

‘How often did the two of them meet?’ Breck asked, drawing Hendry’s attention back to him.

It took the man a few seconds to answer. ‘Don’t know,’ he eventually stated.