Ian Rankin - The Complaints

And that’s important to you?

Everybody wants to change the world, don’t they? And yet most of us, all we leave behind is an obituary and maybe a few kids.

You want people to remember you?

I’d rather they noticed me while I’m here! I’m in the business of making an impression.

Fox wondered to himself: an impression on who? Joanna Broughton? Or her successful dad, maybe? Didn’t men always want to prove themselves to their in-laws? Fox recalled that he’d been nervous when he’d met Elaine’s parents, even though he’d known them when he was a school-kid. He’d been to birthday parties at their house. But flash forward two decades and he was greeting them as their daughter’s boyfriend.

‘Elaine tells us you’re in the police,’ the mother had said. ‘I’d no idea you were that way inclined…’ The tone of voice said it all: our lovely, talented daughter could have done so much better. So much better…

Fox could well imagine Brogan’s first encounter with Pa Broughton. Both sons were dead, meaning there was a lot for Joanna to prove. She’d left it late to get married. Fox reckoned her doting and protective father would have chased off many a previous suitor. But Charlie Brogan knew what he wanted – he wanted Joanna. She was glamorous and her family had money. More than that, her father had about him the whiff of power. When you got hitched to the daughter, you kept her father’s name in your pocket like a number for the emergency services. Anybody tried to turn you over, the name would be dropped into the conversation.

Not that Fox could imagine Jack Broughton liking that.

So when CBBJ started hitting the skids, there was no insurance policy. Maybe Brogan had approached the old boy on the quiet – definitely wouldn’t want Joanna knowing about it – but if he had, he’d given Jack the perfect opportunity to tell his son-in-law just how useless he’d always reckoned him. You say you lost all your money in the downturn? Well, Charlie, I didn’t know you were that way inclined.

And by the way, my lovely talented daughter could have done so much better.

‘Poor sod,’ Fox said to himself.

Half an hour later, he was done with the three of them. He found a link to Quidnunc but couldn’t enter the game without the relevant software. Instead, he stared at the website’s home page with its colourful graphics. Some sort of monster was being dispatched by half a dozen muscle-men.

‘The Warrior Is In You’ ran the strapline. Fox thought of Jamie Breck. He hadn’t been much of a warrior in Billy Giles’s office. Breck: losing himself in this fiction while a real life with Annabel was kept on pause. Fox wondered what sort of role he himself had played throughout his life. Had he used alcohol the same way Breck used the online game – sinking into a virtual world as an escape from the real thing? He wondered, too, whether he really did trust Jamie Breck. He thought he did, but then again, Breck had said it himself: does it just mean I’m your very last hope? Failing to come up with an answer, he set the computer to ‘sleep’ mode and headed for bed. He lay on his side, the only way he could rest without pain. The curtains were illuminated by the sodium glare of a street lamp. The peas were defrosting in their bag. Birdsong was playing on the radio…

At seven next morning, his mobile phone – his old one, rather than the pay-and-go – chirruped to let him know he had a message. It was from DI Caroline Stoddart. She wanted him at Fettes at nine for another interview. Fox texted back: unwell, sorry – can we postpone?

Did ‘unwell’ cover it, though? He’d had colds and flu and ear-ache and migraines, but never anything like this. Had he just gone three rounds with a grizzly bear? It took him over a minute to cross from his bed to the bathroom. Face nicely swollen and chin scabbed over but stinging when touched. And from what he could see of his back, bruising either side of his spine in the perfectly legible shape of two human paws. After twenty minutes in the shower, he found another text waiting for him in the bedroom. It was from Stoddart.

Tomorrow then, it said.

Fox decided he would stay at home the rest of the day. He had milk and bread, enough food to see him through. By nine he was lying along the sofa nursing his second mug of coffee and with the BBC’s news channel on the television. When his doorbell sounded, he considered not answering. Maybe it was Stoddart, checking his story. But curiosity got the better of him and he crossed to the window. Jamie Breck had taken a couple of steps back from the door and was staring straight at him. He lifted a grocery bag and gave a smile. Fox went to let him in.

‘I got croissants from the supermarket,’ Breck was saying. But then he got his first close-up of Fox’s damaged face. ‘Christ! What happened to you?’

Fox led the way back into the house. He was still in his pyjamas with his dressing gown wrapped around him. ‘Somebody jumped me,’ he explained.

‘Last night? Between Hunters Tryst and here?’ Breck sounded incredulous.

‘The Cowgate,’ Fox corrected him. He’d switched the kettle on and found a clean mug for his visitor. ‘Coffee or tea?’ he asked.

‘Because Vince took a taxi there?’ Breck was nodding to himself. ‘After Hunters Tryst you headed down for a recce? So who was it gave you the doing?’

‘They came at me from behind; I didn’t see anything. But when I woke up, Jack Broughton was standing over me.’

‘Say that again.’

‘You heard the first time. Tea or coffee?’

‘Tea’s fine. What was Jack Broughton doing there?’

‘He didn’t say.’

‘Was he the one who…?’

‘I don’t think so.’ The two men stood in silence for a minute or so as the kettle came to the boil. When the tea was made, they headed through to the living room. Fox brought a plate for each of them, and they shared the croissants. Breck sat on the very edge of his chair, leaning well forward.

‘I just thought we’d have a quiet breakfast.’

‘We still can.’

‘You doing a spot of spring-cleaning?’ Breck gestured towards the piles of books.

‘Anything takes your fancy, it’s yours.’ Fox lifted his plate from the table, trying not to hiss in pain as he stretched. ‘Something I wanted to ask you…’ He bit into the croissant.

‘Fire away.’

‘Why don’t you want Annabel to know?’

Breck chewed thoughtfully, then swallowed. ‘You mean about SEIL Ents and my credit card? I’m still weighing up the pros and cons.’

‘If she finds out the hard way, she’s not going to be too happy,’ Fox said. ‘And we really need her on our team…’

‘So you’re not just thinking of my best interests?’

‘Perish the thought.’

Breck picked crumbs from the knees of his trousers. ‘She keeps asking, though, why I’ve not gone to the Federation to ask them for a lawyer.’

‘It’s a fair question – why haven’t you?’

Breck decided not to answer. Instead, he had a question of his own. ‘What in God’s name did you hope to find in the Cowgate?’

‘Torphichen had been along, handing out flyers.’

‘So at least you know they’re doing their job. Where were you when you got thumped?’

‘There’s an alley with a sauna down it…’ Fox noticed the change in Jamie Breck’s face. ‘You know it?’ he guessed.

‘There’s a sign, just says “Sauna”? Narrow little lane?’

‘Spit it out.’

But Breck needed some tea first. He placed his plate on top of some of the books on the coffee table, half the croissant still untouched. ‘I went there once with Glen Heaton,’ he admitted.