Authors: Ian Rankin
The Complaints (12 page)
‘Saturday night. A few rugby fans were in - Welsh guys. Words were exchanged and they took it outside.’
‘They beat him up?’
Breck shook his head. ‘From the footage I’ve seen, he pushed one of them and they gave his head a slap. Three against one . . . Faulkner weighed it up and sloped off with a few final insults.’
‘They didn’t go after him?’
‘Doesn’t mean he didn’t bump into them again later.’
‘No.’ Fox was thoughtful.
‘Your sister says he doesn’t have any family left down south - is that right?’
Fox shrugged. ‘She’d know better than me.’ He paused. ‘This doesn’t have anything to do with her, you know.’
Breck nodded slowly. ‘All the same . . . it’s the way the game’s played.’
‘Will her house be a mess?’
‘I asked the SOCOs to go easy.’
‘They won’t have found anything.’ The two men had started walking again. When they turned left into Dewar Place, Fox realised they were doing a circuit. Another left into the lane and they’d be back at the police station and Fox’s car.
‘You live quite close to me,’ Breck was saying.
Fox opened his mouth to reply, then made a swallowing motion instead. He’d been about to say,
I know
.
I know
.
‘Is that right?’ was what he eventually answered.
‘It came up,’ Breck explained with a shrug. ‘I’m on the estate behind Morrisons.’
‘You married?’
‘Girlfriend.’
‘How serious?’
‘Only a couple of months - she’s not moved in yet. How about you?’
‘I used to be married,’ Fox replied.
‘Family life’s tough when you’re a cop,’ Breck decided.
‘Yes, it is,’ Fox agreed. He was thinking about the girlfriend. Plenty of abusers and offenders had partners. It made for good cover - ‘the quiet family man’. Only a tiny part of their everyday life was given over to their secret self. On the other hand, there were probably lots of men out there who’d stumbled upon websites they wished they hadn’t, then had lingered . . . not altogether sure why. Drawn in by something.
How many, though, ended up handing over their credit card?
‘Is that what you’ve got so far?’ Fox asked. ‘Marooned and some Welsh rugby fans?’
‘That’s about it.’
‘No sightings Sunday or Monday?’
‘It’s early days, Inspector.’
Fox nodded and thought of something. ‘Where did he work?’ ‘You don’t know?’
‘I know he was a labourer . . .’
‘He was on a short-term contract at Salamander Point.’
‘I thought it had gone bust?’
‘Not quite.’ They had almost reached the end of Dewar Place Lane. Breck touched Fox on the shoulder. ‘Best if we split up here.’
Fox nodded. ‘Thanks for the chat.’
Breck smiled and stuck out his hand. The two men shook.
7
Fox called Lauder Lodge from the car. They asked if he wanted to speak to his father, but he told them just to pass on the message. He couldn’t take Mitch to Jude’s today. Maybe tomorrow.
Marooned was about halfway between Torphichen Place and Saughtonhall. It was down a side street, not far from the Heart of Midlothian stadium. Fox didn’t get out of the car, just sat there long enough to get an idea of the place. The single-storey brick building dated back to the seventies. Must have been a gap site at one time, maybe a garage or builder’s yard before that. Four-storey tenements flanked it, with another across the street. A chalkboard to the left of the main door promised quiz nights, karaoke and hot food. There was a double-measure/single-price deal on spirits. Just the one CCTV camera, bolted high up on the wall and protected by a wire cage. Fox knew he could go inside and flash his warrant card, ask to see the footage, but what good would it do? And if word got back to Billy Giles that he’d been there . . . Instead, he executed a three-point turn and got back on to the road to Saughtonhall.
The door was answered by a woman he didn’t know. He introduced himself as Jude’s brother.
‘I’m Sandra,’ the woman said. ‘Sandra Hendry.’ She was around Jude’s age, with dark, tired eyes and a blotchy face. The outfit - artfully ripped and patched denims; top trimmed to show her midriff - would have suited someone half her age and forty pounds lighter. Her hair resembled candyfloss, beginning to darken at its roots. Gold hoop earrings dangled from her lobes. Her nose and tongue were pierced and studded. ‘Jude’s in bed,’ she said, leading him inside. ‘Do you want to go up?’
‘In a minute.’ They were in the living room by now. The place looked relatively tidy. The woman called Sandra had retreated to the armchair and was crossing one leg over the other. The TV was on, but with the sound just audible. A tanned man seemed to be trying to train an unruly dog.
‘Love this,’ Sandra commented. Fox noticed that one of her ankles sported a tattoo of a scorpion.
‘How’s she doing?’ Fox asked, commencing a circuit of the room.
‘Just got back from the Gestapo . . .’ She broke off and stared at him, eyes widening as she remembered what Jude’s brother did for a living.
‘I’ve heard worse,’ he reassured her.
‘She was shattered, reckoned a nap might help.’
Fox nodded his understanding. Flipping open the lid of the kitchen bin, he saw that its inner bag had been removed. Forensics would be busy at their Howdenhall HQ, poring over its contents.
‘I appreciate you looking after her.’
Sandra shrugged. ‘My shift doesn’t start till four.’
‘Where do you work?’
‘The Asda on Chesser Avenue.’ She offered him a stick of gum, but he shook his head. The empty bottles and cans had gone. Ashtrays had been cleaned. The breakfast bar now boasted only a couple of dirty mugs and a pizza carton.
‘Did you ever meet Vince?’ Fox asked.
‘Four of us used to go out.’
‘You and your partner?’
‘He works with Vince.’ She paused, stopped chewing. ‘Past tense, I suppose.’
‘He’s in construction, then?’
She nodded. ‘Foreman - Vince’s boss, I suppose.’
‘So was it your partner who took Vince on?’
She shrugged. ‘Husband, not partner. Sixteen years - you’d get less for murdering someone, that’s what Ronnie says.’
‘He’s probably right. You and Ronnie knew Vince pretty well, then?’
‘Suppose so.’
‘Ever end up at a place called Marooned?’
‘That shit-hole? Not if we could help it. In the better weather, the boys liked the Golf Tavern - meant they could play pitch ’n’ putt on Bruntsfield Links.’
‘You and Jude didn’t play?’
‘Dinner and a few games of roulette or blackjack - that’s more my thing.’
‘Which casino?’
‘The Oliver.’
‘At Ocean Terminal?’ He’d finished looking around and was standing in the middle of the room, facing her as she stared at the TV.
‘That’s the one.’
‘Not far from Salamander Point, then.’
‘Within staggering distance.’
Fox nodded to himself. ‘What did you make of him, Sandra?’
At mention of her name, she peered up at him. ‘Vince, you mean?’ She considered his question. ‘He was all right - bit of a laugh when you got him in the right mood.’
‘Meaning he sometimes wasn’t?’
‘I knew he had a temper - but Jude’s not exactly lacking in that department either.’
‘What do you think about him breaking her arm?’
‘She says she fell.’
‘But we both know she didn’t.’
‘My motto is: don’t get involved. Just leads to more grief.’ Her interest in him had waned. Onscreen, the dog-handler was making obvious progress.
‘But you’re her friend . . . you must’ve . . .’ Fox broke off, thinking to himself:
you’re
her brother, and
you
didn’t. ‘I’m going to go upstairs, ’ he said instead.
you’re
her brother, and
you
didn’t. ‘I’m going to go upstairs, ’ he said instead.
Sandra nodded distractedly. ‘I’d offer to make you a cuppa, but we’re all out.’
The door to Vince’s den was wide open and Fox saw that his computer had been removed by the investigators. Jude’s bedroom door was ajar. He knocked and pushed it all the way open. His sister was sitting on the bed, surrounded by piles of clothes. The fitted wardrobe had been half emptied, along with the chest of drawers. It was all Faulkner’s stuff - his jeans and T-shirts, socks and pants. Jude was holding a short-sleeved shirt in her good hand, working at the cloth with her fingers. She was sniffing back tears.
‘I can still smell him - on the sheets, the pillows . . . Part of him’s still here.’ She paused for a moment and gave her brother a look. ‘Know what they told me, Malcolm? They said we can’t have the funeral. They need to hold on to his body. Might take weeks, they said. Nobody knows how long.’
There was a corner of the bed going spare, so Fox rested his weight there, but stayed silent.
‘Sandra says we need to start cancelling stuff and telling the proper authorities. But what’s left of him after that?’ She sniffed again, and rubbed her forearm across her eyes. ‘They kept asking me all these questions. They think I did it . . .’
‘They don’t.’ Fox assured her, reaching out to give her shoulder a squeeze.
‘That man . . . Giles, his name was . . . he kept on at me about Vince being an abuser - that’s the word he used, “abuser”. He said Vince had past convictions. He said they were for violence. Told me no one would blame me for getting my own back. But that’s not what happened, Malcolm.’
‘Giles knows that, Jude - they all do.’
‘Then why did he keep saying it?’
‘He’s a prick, sis.’
She managed a fleeting smile at this. Fox wasn’t letting go of her shoulder just yet, but she turned to look at his hand. ‘That hurts,’ she explained, and he realised the shoulder belonged to her broken arm.
‘Christ, sorry.’
Another half-smile. ‘There was a nicer detective ... Breck, I think. Yes, because we read that book one holiday when we were kids.’
‘
Kidnapped
,’ Fox reminded her. ‘The hero’s called Alan Breck. You wanted me to read it to you.’
Kidnapped
,’ Fox reminded her. ‘The hero’s called Alan Breck. You wanted me to read it to you.’
‘At bedtime.’ She nodded, remembering. ‘Every night for two weeks. And now look at us . . .’ She turned to him, tears running down her cheeks. ‘I loved him, Malcolm.’
‘I know.’
She started wiping her tears on the shirt she was holding. ‘I’m not going to cope without him.’
‘Yes, you are . . . trust me. Can I get you anything?’
‘How about a time machine?’
‘Might take a while to build. Sandra says you’re out of tea and coffee - I could go to the shop and fetch some.’
She shook her head. ‘She’s going to bring some back from Asda - says there’s a discount for staff.’
‘She was telling me the four of you used to go to the casino. I never knew you liked a flutter.’
Jude took a deep breath and exhaled. ‘It wasn’t me so much as the other three. I liked the meal and a few drinks . . . They were always good nights.’ She paused. ‘They had people here, you know, rifling through all our stuff. I had to sign for some things they took. It’s why . . .’ She gestured towards the clothes surrounding her. ‘Drawers were already open, so I thought I might as well . . .’
Fox nodded. ‘I’ll leave you to it, if you’re sure there’s nothing I . . .’
‘Does Mitch know?’
‘Yes. I’ve put him off visiting.’
‘I’ll go see him. That would be easier, wouldn’t it?’
‘I can take you. How about later - three o’clock, four?’
‘Shouldn’t you be at work?’
Fox just shrugged.
‘Okay then,’ Jude said. Her brother started to get to his feet. He was at the door when she thought of something. ‘Monday night, someone came to the house.’
Fox paused with his hand on the handle.
‘Said he was looking for Vince,’ Jude went on. ‘I told him I didn’t know where he was. Closed the door on him and that was that.’
‘You didn’t know him?’
Jude shook her head. ‘Tall guy, dark hair. I went to the window and watched him leave, but all I saw was his back.’
‘Did he get into a car?’
‘Maybe . . .’
‘You told Giles this?’
She shook her head again. ‘Mad as it seems, I wasn’t in the mood. Maybe you could tell him instead?’
‘Sure. One thing, though, Jude . . .’
‘What?’
‘Was Vince in any sort of trouble? Maybe he’d been on a shorter fuse than usual?’
She considered this, holding the shirt up to her nose. ‘He was just Vince,’ she told Fox. ‘Always will be. But Malcolm . . .?’
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