Ian Rankin - The Complaints

‘I don’t trust you,’ he said.

‘The feeling’s mutual,’ Fox answered. ‘If it comes to it, it’s us two against you and your gorilla – I’m not entirely sure I fancy those odds.’

Wauchope almost smiled, but didn’t. He glanced in Vass’s direction. The man-mountain was resting his weight against the top of the bar, arms folded, breathing noisily through his mouth. Fox knew what Wauchope was thinking: if he stuck to the deal, he really was going to lose his lieutenant. When Wauchope turned his attention back to Fox, Fox knew the decision had been made.

Terry Vass could be replaced.

But there was something else: Vass couldn’t be handed over to the police; he might start talking. Fox gave the briefest of nods, letting Wauchope know this was the gangster’s problem and no one else’s.

‘Where is he?’ Wauchope asked, jabbing a fat finger at the screen.

‘We need to hear the story first.’

‘What’s to tell?’ Wauchope said with a shrug. ‘You already know the way it happened. Your pal here was sniffing around a councillor called Wishaw, but Brogan needed Wishaw.’

‘Why?’

‘He was the last lifebelt on the Titanic. Brogan’s plan was to get the council to buy his unfinished flats and all that spare land he had on his books. They’d then have a place to put all the dregs on their waiting lists. Wishaw was supposed to be made head of housing, but it never happened. Still, he sat on the committee – there was a chance he could swing it. But then he got panicky, said the police were hassling him about some drug thing from way back.’ Wauchope was looking at Breck. ‘So it’s all your fault, really.’

‘I had to be discredited?’ Breck asked. Wauchope nodded and leaned back against the bench. It creaked under the strain.

‘You already knew Ernie Wishaw, didn’t you?’ Fox asked Wauchope. ‘Glen Heaton had done you a favour, made sure Wishaw didn’t get dragged into the case against his driver. That meant Wishaw owed you, but at the same time you owed Heaton, and Heaton wanted a favour – if he went to trial, stuff would start spilling out. That couldn’t happen. Your job was to set me up for Vince Faulkner’s murder.’

‘I really don’t know what you’re talking about.’ Wauchope gave a slow shake of the head. ‘Like I said before, I only know about him.’ He stabbed a finger in Jamie Breck’s direction, and it was Breck who responded.

‘You had to have someone inside the force. Someone who knew what was happening in Australia. Someone with access to my credit card…’

‘Think I’m going to tell you?’

‘If you want Brogan, you’re going to have to,’ Fox interrupted. ‘Only problem is, it’s not going to go down well with your dad, is it?’

Wauchope glared at him. ‘You already know,’ he said.

‘I’m the Complaints, Bull. Other cops are an open book to me. I just had to go back through the files far enough.’ Fox paused. ‘Long before he became Deputy Chief Constable, Adam Traynor worked right here on Tayside. He had a couple of run-ins with your dad, but nothing ever came to trial. Funny that… the way those cases kept falling apart… Did you ask your dad to put you in touch?’

Wauchope kept glaring. The silence lengthened. When he eventually moved his head, the signal was ambiguous.

‘Is that a yes?’ Fox asked.

‘It’s a yes,’ the gangster said.

‘Traynor arranged all the details?’

‘Yes.’

‘For old times’ sake?’

‘He owed Dad a few favours – plenty of cops owe my dad favours, Fox.’

‘Probably explains why it took Tayside so long to lock him up.’ Fox watched the scowl spread across the son’s face. ‘So Brogan needs DS Breck kicked into touch and you arrange the details. But then what happens? He sets Vince Faulkner on you?’

‘Faulkner was amateur hour. Terry saw him as a living, breathing insult.’

‘You didn’t give an order?’

Wauchope shook his head. ‘First I knew of it was when Terry phoned me.’

Fox turned in his chair so he was half facing the man at the bar. ‘The argument got out of hand? You whacked him a bit too hard? See, Brogan has a different take – he says Faulkner was tortured and his screams fed down the phone to send him a message.’ When Vass said nothing, Fox turned back to Wauchope. ‘Did Brogan lie to me?’

‘What do you say, Terry?’ the gangster called to his lieutenant. Then, to Fox: ‘Like I said, Terry felt insulted. Maybe the phone call was to let Brogan know.’ Wauchope gazed at the screen again. ‘He’s still sitting there. Can you get your pal to punch him or something? ’

‘Where was Vince Faulkner killed? That sauna of yours in the Cowgate?’

Wauchope turned his attention back to Vass. ‘Terry?’

‘Back of the van,’ Vass muttered.

‘I didn’t catch that,’ Fox complained.

‘Terry took one of the vans down to Edinburgh,’ Wauchope explained. ‘You didn’t really mean for him to die, did you, Terry? You just thought you were putting him in hospital.’

Fox didn’t bother checking Vass’s reaction. ‘Where do I come in?’ he asked instead.

‘You don’t,’ Wauchope said with a shrug. ‘Not as far as I’m concerned. ’

‘I was under surveillance… then I got put on to DS Breck’s case. No coincidence.’

‘Nothing to do with me.’

‘I need more than that,’ Fox said.

‘There isn’t any more than that!’ Wauchope slapped his palm against the surface of the table.

‘Then you need to ask another favour from Traynor – because if you really don’t know, maybe he does.’

Wauchope wagged a finger. ‘No more favours till I’ve got my hands on Charlie Brogan.’

The two men stared at one another.

‘I hand him over,’ Fox guessed, ‘and you rip him to pieces in front of an invited audience?’

‘That’s the deal we had.’

Fox turned towards Breck. ‘You were right,’ he said. ‘We folded when we should have raised.’

‘We can still raise,’ Breck commented.

‘Not if you want to leave here without the help of paramedics,’ Wauchope growled. ‘Fun’s over – all I want from you now is the address.’

Fox drew a beer mat towards himself and took out a pen. ‘It’s quarter to twelve now,’ he said. ‘It’s going to take you an hour and a bit to get to Edinburgh. At half past one, my pal walks out of the house. Once he’s gone, you can go in whenever you like.’ He had written down an address. He pushed the mat in Wauchope’s direction.

‘And if this is all a ruse?’ the gangster asked.

‘Come and get us,’ Fox answered with a shrug. Wauchope slid a fingernail under the mat and lifted it to peer at the address.

‘Is this a joke?’ he asked.

‘No joke,’ Fox assured him, tucking the pen back into his pocket. ‘There are dozens of finished properties still on the books at Salamander Point. Some of them are even furnished – an enticement to buy, I suppose.’

Wauchope was staring past Fox towards Terry Vass. ‘First place we should have looked,’ he rasped.

‘You’re cleverer than Breck and me, then,’ Fox stated. ‘It was number three or four on our list.’ He paused. ‘Are we done here?’

Wauchope fixed him with another long, cold stare. Breck was unplugging the laptop and shutting it down.

‘We’re done,’ the gangster eventually said. And then: ‘Terry, go fetch the van…’

Fox and Breck drove back to Edinburgh at speed and with Breck on his phone for most of the way. Their destination was Police HQ at Fettes. Tony Kaye’s Nissan was parked outside the main entrance. Fox pulled up next to him and got out, Breck following suit. Kaye came to meet them, while Charles Brogan stayed in the Nissan’s passenger seat.