Ian Rankin - The Complaints

‘Is he even in the country?’ Fox asked her. ‘I’m guessing he is – hard not to leave a trail otherwise. He could even be in one of the flats on the floors below… sneaking up here at night… living like a hermit in the daytime…’

‘I want you to leave.’

‘If you care about him, you’ll talk to him about this. We’re not his friends, Joanna, but we’re far and away his best bet. What did you tell your father? Did you even think of asking him for help?’ Her eyes burned into his. ‘Probably not,’ he went on. ‘Because you can look after yourself, and Jack’s never had much faith in your husband anyway… that’s how it is with fathers and daughters.’ Fox offered a shrug.

‘Get out,’ she repeated, with fresh venom.

Fox was holding a business card by the tips of his thumb and forefinger. ‘My new number’s on the back,’ he explained, setting it on the arm of the sofa. ‘We figured it out,’ he reminded her. ‘Wauchope will figure it out – and he will come asking, Joanna.’

‘My dad would have something to say about that. He’ll have something to say about you, too!’

Fox shook his head slowly. ‘Jack’s tired – you can see it in his eyes, the way he walks. I know you still respect him, but that’s because you remember him the way he was. Maybe you were even more than a little scared of him. But that’s all changed. Think about it – if Charlie had been scared of him, he’d never have got involved with Wauchope and the others. He’d have run a mile, for fear of offending the infamous Jack Broughton.’ Fox bent at the knees a little, the better to sustain eye contact. ‘Some of the stuff Wauchope owns in Edinburgh… I’m guessing it used to be part of your father’s empire. He’s been letting Wauchope buy into it because he knows the future when he sees it. These days, Jack’s not much more than a minority shareholder. And Wauchope knows weakness when he sees it. Bull wants your husband, Joanna, and I’m not sure you can stop that happening on your own.’

This time, Joanna Broughton was unable to stop the tears. She wiped them away with the arm of her blouse, smearing mascara across both cheeks.

‘Go,’ she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

‘You’ll talk to Charlie?’

‘Just go, will you?’ She pushed her shoulders back and filled her lungs with oxygen. ‘Get out!’ she screamed. ‘I want you out of here!’

‘My card’s there when you need it,’ Fox reminded her.

‘Out.’

‘We’re going.’

In the lift on the way down, Breck nodded in appreciation of his partner’s performance.

‘Couldn’t really fault it,’ he commented. Fox shrugged away the compliment.

‘Let’s see if it gets us anywhere,’ he cautioned.

Outside, a large black BMW with tinted windows was being parked next to the Volvo. When the driver emerged, Fox recognised him.

‘It’s Mr Broughton, isn’t it?’ he asked.

Jack Broughton stared at the proffered hand but decided against shaking it.

‘You probably don’t recognise me,’ Fox went on. ‘I was in a bit of a state last time we met.’

‘You’re that cop… you were here once before.’

Fox nodded. ‘But I was also attacked one night in the Cowgate…’

Broughton’s eyes narrowed as he studied Fox afresh. ‘I hope you’ve not been upsetting Joanna?’

‘Perish the thought. That sauna on the Cowgate… you used to own it, didn’t you?’

‘I owned the building – whatever happens inside is nobody’s business, so long as it’s legal.’

‘With the Wauchopes in charge, there’s not much hope of that.’

It took Jack Broughton a few moments to decide not to respond. ‘I’m taking my daughter out for breakfast,’ he said, making to move past Fox. When the two men were side by side, he paused. ‘I’ll let you in on a secret, though… I did see something that night. There were two of them. I only saw them from behind, but… well, you get a feeling for these things after a while.’

‘What sort of feeling?’

‘They were cops – and bloody good luck to them.’

He used his own key to enter the building. Fox stared at the door. Two of them… Yes, one to kneel on his back, while one swung a foot at his jaw. Two cops.

‘He’s just trying to rattle you,’ Jamie Breck commented. Fox turned towards him.

‘You reckon?’ Fox wasn’t so sure. Breck was checking his watch.

‘I need to be at Fettes for my session with Stoddart…’

‘I’ll take you.’ Fox unlocked the Volvo and started to get in, fastening his seat belt but then just sitting there, hands on the steering wheel.

‘In your own time,’ Breck prompted him.

‘Sure.’ Fox started the engine and angled the car towards the gate, which had already started opening inwards.

‘You’re not taking the old bastard seriously?’ Breck asked.

‘Of course not, but do me a favour, will you?’

‘What?’

‘Call Annabel and ask her a question.’

Breck dug into his pocket for his phone. ‘What is it you want to know?’

‘The team handing out the Vince Faulkner flyers on Tuesday night…’

‘You are taking him seriously.’

‘Two cops, Jamie… one of them dying for payback…’

Breck eventually got it. ‘Dickson and Hall,’ he stated.

‘Dickson and Hall,’ Malcolm Fox concurred.

It was afternoon when the text arrived on Fox’s mobile. Breck had gone to meet Annabel for a coffee. There was some apologising to be done. They’d been planning to spend Saturday night in Amsterdam, flying back Sunday evening, and now Breck was cancelling. Fox had told him not to, but Breck had been adamant.

‘I need to be around for this,’ he’d explained.

‘What if there is no “this”?’ Fox had retorted.

But now here was a text – Waverley 7 p.m. buy ticket Dundee n wait WH Smith. There was no name, and when Fox called the number there was no reply. But he knew all the same. He paced his living room for a few minutes, then called Jamie Breck.

‘You still with Annabel?’ he asked.

‘She’s gone to the loo. I think she’s starting to hate me, Malcolm.’

‘You can make it up to her later. How did it go with Stoddart?’

‘As you suspected, I think it was for the benefit of her colleagues more than anything else.’

‘Did either of them think to ask you about the little jaunt we took with their boss?’

‘She didn’t give them the chance – escorted me on to and off the premises; never left the room for a minute.’

‘That’s good…’

Breck could tell from his tone that something had happened. ‘Tell me,’ he prompted.

‘We’ve got a meet. Seven tonight at Waverley station. He wants us to buy tickets to Dundee.’

‘Dundee? Am I missing something or is that the last place he’d hide?’

‘Plenty of stops between here and there.’ Fox took Breck’s silence for agreement. ‘Once we’ve got the tickets, he wants us to wait by the newsagent’s.’

‘Why?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘You didn’t ask him?’

‘It was a text message.’

‘Did you try calling back?’

‘No one’s answering.’

‘We should give the number to someone… get them to put a trace on it… Can we even be sure it’s from him? Did he give his name?’

‘No.’

‘So it might not be?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘Annabel’s coming back,’ Breck said.

‘You should take her out tonight…’

‘You don’t get rid of me that easily. I’ll see you there at seven.’

The phone went dead. Fox slipped it back into his pocket and rubbed at his temples. He lifted a book from one of the piles and placed it on the half-filled shelf.