Ian Rankin - The Complaints

McEwan stared at him and started reaching into his pocket, pulling out a phone. ‘I’m thrilled at your high regard for me,’ he said quietly, pushing buttons. When his call was answered, he spoke only four words.

‘You better come in.’

Fox heard another car door open and close. McEwan had exited the living room long enough to let in the new arrival. There was a quick, muttered conversation in the hall. Fox had risen to his feet. Surely McEwan hadn’t brought Glen Heaton with him… But if he had, Fox was ready. The door opened, and McEwan led a distinguished-looking man into the room.

‘Malcolm,’ he said by way of introduction, ‘you’ve maybe not met the Chief Constable…’

The Chief’s name was Jim Byars and he held out a hand for Fox to shake. He was in his late fifties, with thick silver hair combed straight back from the forehead.

‘Sir,’ Fox said by way of greeting.

‘Bob here tells me you’ve grabbed the wrong end of the stick,’ Byars said. His eyes were deep-set but probing. ‘Maybe we should all sit down, eh?’

The Chief Constable waited until they were settled, then turned towards Fox. ‘You looked at Adam Traynor’s file, didn’t you?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Notice anything?’

Fox nodded slowly. ‘Some of your own comments were in there… Reading between the lines, it looked to me as if you never really rated Traynor as a possible successor.’

Byars turned his attention to McEwan. ‘He’s a sharp one, Bob.’

‘Yes, sir,’ McEwan agreed. ‘On occasion.’

Byars was facing Fox again. ‘As it happens, you’re quite right – there had always been whispers about Adam Traynor.’

‘Dating back to his days in Dundee?’ Fox guessed.

‘Suspicions that he’d kept the wrong company in the past. Bruce Wauchope for one…’

‘It was probably Wauchope who introduced Traynor to Glen Heaton,’ Bob McEwan interrupted, fixing Fox with a look. ‘You’re right to say that me and Heaton go back a long way… but I’d never sell out one of my men, Malcolm.’

Fox swallowed. Blood had begun to colour his cheeks.

‘Bob here,’ the Chief Constable went on, ‘knew something was up – no way Traynor should have sanctioned a surveillance operation on you without Bob being kept in the loop. Bob already knew I had some concerns about my deputy, concerns he was now sharing. DI Stoddart has had a word with her DCC up in Grampian, and he’s admitted it was Traynor who ordered your surveillance.’

‘He’s admitted it? Just like that?’

The Chief Constable offered a shrug. ‘On the understanding that we keep a few details to ourselves.’

‘In other words, we don’t go shouting from the rooftops that Traynor offered him a deal – if Grampian kept tabs on me, the Complaints in Edinburgh wouldn’t take on the Aberdeen inquiry?’

‘Something along those lines… Look, I can appreciate you’re upset…’

‘Not half as upset as me,’ McEwan interrupted, eyes on Fox. ‘You really thought I was behind all this?’

‘You’re not the one who was left out there as cannon-fodder,’ Fox muttered. He slumped back in his chair and ran a hand through his hair. He was remembering something his father had said to him – You’ve got to be careful… Machinery… it’s not to be trusted… Maybe the old boy hadn’t been so confused after all. The police force consisted of a series of connected mechanisms, any one of which could be tampered with, or become misaligned, or need patching up…

‘Why did Traynor pull the Breck surveillance?’ he eventually asked. It was McEwan who answered.

‘Best guess is, he already had enough on both of you to kick you out of the park. The longer the Breck thing went on, the more suspicions it was bound to raise.’

‘Breck’s credit card payment to SEIL went back five weeks,’ Fox commented.

McEwan nodded. ‘This whole thing had been a while in the planning. Probably they were waiting to see if he’d notice it and query it.’

‘Or it could be that all they needed,’ Fox added, ‘was for Wishaw to know Jamie Breck would be kicked out of the park at some time, and so wouldn’t keep on nipping at his heels…’ He thought for a moment. ‘Breck’s credit card details…’

‘He worked alongside Glen Heaton,’ McEwan reminded him. ‘Heaton likes to know everything there is to know – no telling when it’ll come in handy.’

‘He copied out the details?’

McEwan offered a shrug. ‘Best guess,’ he offered. The Chief Constable looked from one man to the other, then pressed his hands to his knees, readying to rise to his feet.

‘It was Traynor?’ Fox asked. McEwan nodded.

‘Traynor,’ he agreed. ‘Heaton asked a favour, and Traynor saw a way to kill two birds.’

‘But when I accused you just now… before you hauled the Chief in… why didn’t you say something?’

‘Can’t a man have a bit of fun?’ Bob McEwan said. But then his face darkened. ‘Although you and me will be having words about those conclusions you jumped to.’

‘Yes, sir,’ Fox managed to reply, watching the Chief Constable head towards the door. ‘One thing, sir,’ he called out to him. ‘I think I’m owed…’

Jim Byars paused. ‘Owed?’

‘Owed,’ Fox repeated. ‘I want Dickson and Hall taken down a peg.’

Byars looked to McEwan for an explanation. ‘They’re Billy Giles’s men,’ McEwan obliged.

‘They gave me a doing,’ Fox added, indicating what remained of the damage to his face.

‘I see,’ the Chief Constable said. Then, after a moment’s thought: ‘There are channels, you know?’

Fox made no answer, and it was left to McEwan to step in.

‘I think Malcolm knows that, sir,’ he told Byars. ‘He is the Complaints, after all…’

Fox stopped for a double espresso at a Starbucks near Annie Inglis’s street. He hadn’t had any sleep at all. The café seemed to comprise students with essay deadlines and mothers who’d just dropped their children at day-care. The background music was 1980s electro-pop. Fox took a stool next to the door and watched cars queuing at the Holy Corner junction. The caffeine didn’t seem to be having any immediate effect, but he decided against a refill. Besides, it was time.

He drove his car the hundred yards to Inglis’s tenement and sat there, waiting. As before, Duncan was the first to leave. Fox watched him trudge sleepily schoolwards, then got out of the Volvo and made for the tenement’s main door. He was about to press the buzzer marked Inglis when he heard footsteps descending the stone stairwell. He bided his time, and when the door was opened from within, Annie Inglis herself was standing there. Her eyebrows shot up when she saw him.

‘Malcolm!’ she gasped. ‘What in hell’s name…?’

‘Have you heard?’ he asked.

‘Heard what?’ She looked him up and down. ‘Have you started sleeping rough?’

He ignored this, keeping his eyes fixed on hers. ‘Traynor’s career’s on its way to the knacker’s yard,’ he stated. ‘You need to be careful he doesn’t take you with him.’

She stared at him, saying nothing.

‘When Gilchrist got that call,’ Fox went on, repeating words he’d rehearsed time and again in his head, ‘the call telling him to pull the Breck surveillance… it was you on the other end, wasn’t it?’

‘Malcolm…’

‘You owe me this, Annie.’ He’d taken a step towards her so that their faces were only inches apart. She played with her bag’s shoulder strap. ‘You really do,’ he nudged her.

‘I didn’t know it was a set-up, Malcolm – you’ve got to believe that. Would I have given you that contact in the Melbourne police if I hadn’t trusted you?’