Ian Rankin - The Complaints

Fox pulled Gilchrist forward, then hurled him into the wall again.

‘McEwan’s going to love this when I…’

‘Tell him whatever you like,’ Fox said. ‘All I want to know is – whose idea was it?’

‘You already know.’

‘I don’t.’

‘I think you do… you just don’t want to believe it. She wanted me gone, Fox. Never, ever liked me. Sure, I was keen on a move, but I didn’t have anything to negotiate with. She did.’

Fox had loosened his grip. ‘You mean Annie Inglis?’

Now Gilchrist turned his eyes towards him. ‘Who else?’

‘You’re lying.’

‘Fine… doesn’t matter. You asked me the question and I’ve given you the only answer I’ve got. Inglis was the one who said we were going to ask the Complaints for help – and it was your name she had.’

‘Was it Inglis who called you that night to cancel the surveillance? ’

Gilchrist hesitated, and Fox knew that whatever came out of his mouth, it wouldn’t be the truth.

‘You’re still a turd,’ Fox stated, breaking the silence. ‘I want you to lay off Joe.’

‘Lay off him? I can’t get away from him! You and Kaye must have treated him like shit.’

Fox released his grip completely, his hands falling to his sides. ‘I’m coming back,’ he said quietly.

‘And that’s when they move me elsewhere – anywhere Annie Inglis isn’t.’ Gilchrist was straightening his jacket. ‘Are we finished here?’

Fox shook his head. ‘Whether it was Annie Inglis or you, the order had to come from somebody upstairs.’

‘So go ask Inglis.’

‘I’ll definitely do that.’ Fox paused, remembering something. ‘Do you recall me asking what was happening about Simeon Latham? You told me the Aussies were readying to go to trial. But when I spoke to someone on the inquiry, they contradicted that.’

‘So?’

‘So you lied.’

Gilchrist shook his head. ‘It’s what I was told. How often do you want me to say it – go ask your girlfriend.’ He looked Fox up and down. ‘Except she’s not, is she? Not now she’s got what she needed from you.’ Gilchrist gave a smirk. ‘There was that look of desperation about you, first time you walked into the office, wearing your braces and your red tie, hoping they’d get you noticed. Annie Inglis is good at her job, Fox. She’s good at pretending to be what she’s not – she does it each and every day online…’

The door was opening. Fox expected to see Naysmith, but it was Margaret Sime, cigarette at the ready. She assessed the scene in an instant.

‘No nonsense, lads,’ she warned them.

‘We done?’ Gilchrist asked Fox.

Fox just nodded, and Gilchrist headed back inside.

‘Since I first set eyes on that young man,’ Margaret Sime commented as she lit her cigarette, ‘I’ve had just the one thought.’

‘What’s that?’ Fox felt compelled to ask.

‘He’s got a face deserving of a good hard skelp.’

‘Sorry I let you down, Mrs Sime,’ Fox apologised.

He spent an hour on the sofa, with the TV playing, sound turned down. He was wondering what sort of conversation he could have with Detective Sergeant Annie Inglis. She had invited him into her home… made up with him after their falling-out. Was he really now going to accuse her of setting him up in the first place? Was he going to accept Gilchrist at face value? If so, then Inglis had set Jamie Breck up, too…

Fox thought about Deputy Chief Constable Adam Traynor, confronting him with Bad Billy Giles in the interview room at Torphichen. Then he spooled further back, to the Complaints office, McEwan teasing him: Chief thinks there’s the whiff of something septic up in Aberdeen… After the chat with Stoddart, Fox’s thinking was that a deal had been done. But if all of this had been the Chief Constable’s idea, why would he have hinted to McEwan that the team might have to investigate Grampian Police? No, it had to be Traynor, didn’t it? And that was when Fox knew he had his question. He swung his legs off the sofa and reached over to the coffee table for his phone, punching in Annie Inglis’s number. When she answered, he hesitated.

‘Hello?’ she said, her voice taking on an edge. ‘Hello?’

‘It’s me,’ Fox eventually admitted. He was gouging his thumb into the space between his eyebrows, just above the bridge of his nose, eyes screwed shut.

‘Malcolm? What’s the matter? You sound-’

‘Just a yes or no answer, Annie. That’s all I need, and I won’t bother you again.’

There was silence on the line. When she spoke, it was with a tone of concern. ‘Malcolm, what’s happened? Do you want me to come over?’

‘One question, Annie,’ he persisted.

‘I’m not sure I want to hear it. You’re in a bit of a state, Malcolm. Maybe wait till tomorrow…’

‘Annie…’ He swallowed hard. ‘What did Traynor promise you?’ He listened to the silence. ‘If you brought me in on Jamie Breck, he’d move Gilchrist out – was that the deal? Was that all it took?’

‘Malcolm…’

‘Just answer!’

‘I’m putting the phone down.’

‘I deserve to be told, Annie! This whole thing’s a stitch-up and it wouldn’t have worked without you!’

But he was talking to the dial tone. She’d hung up on him. Fox cursed and considered calling her again, but he doubted she would answer. He could drive to her flat, keep his finger pressed to her buzzer, but she wouldn’t let him in. She was too wise.

Too wise and too calculating.

Good at pretending to be what she’s not…

Fox paced the room. He had half a mind to call Jamie, but Jamie was wining and dining Annabel. And how come he was doing that? Why wasn’t he pacing his own living room, snarling at the unfairness of it all? Fox grabbed his phone again and made the call.

‘Hang on a sec,’ Breck said upon answering. ‘I’m taking this outside. ’ Then, to Annabel: ‘It’s Malcolm, sweetheart.’

‘Tell her I’m sorry for butting in,’ Fox said.

‘I will, when I get back to the table.’

‘Nice dinner?’

‘What is it that can’t wait till morning, Malcolm?’ Fox listened to the sound of a door opening and closing. The atmosphere changed – Breck had stepped out of the restaurant. Fox thought he could hear distant traffic, the sounds of the city at night.

‘If it wasn’t urgent, Jamie…’

‘But obviously it is, so let’s hear it.’

Fox began to walk a diagonal of the room, and explained as best he could. Breck didn’t interrupt once, except to posit the theory that Gilchrist, being so keen to take a beating, might well be a masochist. When Fox finished, there was silence for a good fifteen seconds.

‘Yes,’ Breck eventually said. ‘Well…’

‘You mean you’d already figured this out?’ Fox blurted out, sinking down on to the sofa.

‘I’m a gamer, Malcolm. Role-playing games – and that’s just what this has been. There are roles someone knew we’d end up playing – I’d get to like you; you’d come to trust me… and we’d end up with our careers blown to smithereens because of it. It’s down to our natures, Malcolm.’ Breck paused. ‘We’ve been played.’

‘By one of our own? Our Deputy Chief Constable?’

‘I’m not sure that really matters. What’s more important is the why.’

‘And have you come to any other conclusions? Ones you’ve seen fit to keep from me?’

‘We’re back in the game, Malcolm. We got blown up once, but they misjudged us – we’ve got a second life, and that’s down to our natures, too.’

‘I’m not sure I follow…’

‘You don’t need to. All this work we’ve been doing…’ Breck paused to correct himself. ‘Work you’ve been doing… it’s leading to one thing and one thing only.’