Authors: Ian Rankin
The Complaints (13 page)
‘Yes?’
‘Did you know about the convictions?’ She watched him as he gave a slow nod of the head. ‘You never told me.’
‘By the time I found out, he was already dead.’
‘You could still have told me. Better to hear it from you than that vile man.’
‘Yes,’ Fox agreed. ‘Sorry, sis. But how about you? Did you really not know?’
It was Jude’s turn to shake her head. ‘Doesn’t matter now,’ she said, her attention drifting back to her dead lover’s shirt. ‘Nothing matters now . . .’
At Fettes, there was a message that DS Inglis wanted to see him.
‘She delivered it herself,’ Tony Kaye teased as Fox read the note. ‘Tidy body on her . . .’
‘Where’s the boss?’ Fox asked.
‘Knocked off early; says he’s got a speech to write.’ When Fox looked at him, Kaye just shrugged. ‘Some conference in Glasgow.’
‘Methods of Policing an Expected Surge in Civil Unrest,’ Joe Naysmith recited. ‘All down to the credit crunch, apparently.’
Kaye tutted. ‘They’ll be lynching bankers next.’
‘What’s that got to do with the Complaints?’ Fox asked.
‘If our lads go in a bit too hard at the protesters,’ Kaye explained, ‘might end up coming to us.’ He had risen from his desk and was moving towards Fox’s. ‘Good to see you escaped unscathed - kept you there long enough.’
‘Bad Billy Giles was doing his Torquemada impression.’
‘Only to be expected. How’s your sister bearing up?’
‘Fine, so far. I went to see her after Torphichen.’
‘Did you learn anything?’
‘Faulker had a run-in with some rugby fans Saturday night.’
‘Oh?’
‘Seemed to peter out.’
‘All the same . . . Is that the last sighting?’ Kaye watched his colleague nod. ‘And Jude’s been interviewed?’
‘By both Giles and Jamie Breck.’
‘Did she have anything to tell them?’
‘I don’t think so.’ Fox was pinching the bridge of his nose. He wished the head cold would either explode into life or else burn itself out. At the moment, all it was doing was shadowing him like a stalker.
‘Are you going to go see the talent?’
‘What?’ Fox looked up at Kaye.
‘The Chop Shop glamour puss.’ Kaye gestured towards the note. ‘I can always nip along on your behalf, pass on a message.’
‘It’s fine,’ Fox said, getting back to his feet. Kaye shrugged and turned away.
‘Hey, Starbuck,’ he called to Joe Naysmith, ‘get the coffee on . . .’
Fox walked the short distance to the CEOP office and pressed the buzzer. Annie Inglis herself opened the door. Just an inch at first, checking it was him. She beamed a smile and ushered him inside. DC Gilchrist nodded a greeting. The blinds were drawn against the low mid-afternoon sun.
‘I haven’t got long,’ Fox warned Inglis.
‘Just wondered how things were.’ She held her hand out towards the same chair he’d taken on his first visit. He sat down opposite her, their knees brushing for a moment. She was dressed in a skirt and black tights, and an open-necked white blouse with a string of pearls around her neck. The pearls looked old; maybe some sort of heirloom.
‘Things are fine,’ he said. Gilchrist, his back to them, was lifting the casing from a hard drive, peering inside for anything of interest.
‘Our opposite numbers in Melbourne are readying to jump the gun,’ Inglis said.
‘How do you mean?’
‘The cop down there, the one I showed you . . .’ She indicated her desk monitor. ‘They’re worried he has friends on the force, meaning he’ll find out we’re on to him.’
‘They’re getting ready to question him?’
Inglis nodded. ‘We might lose any number of his UK clients.’
‘The ones who’ve coughed up the cash,’ Gilchrist added without looking up, ‘but not the rest of the joining fee. They’ll have to be let off with a caution.’
‘Breck still hasn’t sent any pictures?’
Inglis shook her head. ‘Hasn’t posted anything on the group’s message board either.’ She paused. ‘This has happened before - information gets leaked, leaving plenty of time for evidence to disappear or be tampered with.’
‘But you’ve
got
the evidence.’ It was Fox’s turn to gesture towards the monitor.
got
the evidence.’ It was Fox’s turn to gesture towards the monitor.
‘We’ve just scratched the surface, Malcolm.’
‘Tip of the iceberg,’ Gilchrist agreed as he started to dismantle the drive unit. ‘What we could really do with . . .’ he seemed to be talking to himself, ‘...is access to the suspect’s home computer.’
Fox looked at Inglis. She was staring back at him. ‘Thing is,’ she said, ‘we’d have to apply for a search-and-seize. Breck’s bound to have a friend somewhere in the system who might be tempted to alert him.’
‘You on the other hand,’ Gilchrist added, still seemingly intent on his task, ‘can do a bit of breaking and entering - and all of it above board. The Complaints have got powers beyond us mere mortals.’
‘I thought it was general background you wanted?’
‘A bit of evidence would be nice,’ Inglis mused.
‘We’d get a gold star from London,’ her colleague continued.
‘Is that what this is about?’ Fox asked. ‘Impressing the big kids?’
‘You want them to think we’re all amateurs north of the border?’ Inglis waited for a response, which didn’t come. ‘He’ll have a store of images at home - either on his hard drive or a memory stick,’ she continued quietly but determinedly. ‘Even if he’s transferred them, they’ll have left traces.’
‘Traces?’ Fox echoed.
She nodded slowly. ‘It’s like forensics, Malcolm - everyone leaves a bit of a trail.’
‘Or a trail of bits,’ Gilchrist added, in what Fox assumed was a private joke. Inglis certainly offered her colleague a smile. Fox leaned back in his chair, thinking of the trail Tony Kaye had left on the PNC.
‘Nice line of patter the two of you have got. All for my benefit, or is it a tried and tested routine?’
‘Whatever it takes,’ Inglis said.
‘Thing is, though,’ he told her, ‘we don’t just go breaking into people’s homes without okaying it first.’
‘But permission can be granted retrospectively,’ Inglis stated.
‘It has to be justified to the Surveillance Commissioner,’ Fox cautioned.
‘Eventually,’ Inglis agreed. ‘As far as I understand it, in emergencies you’re allowed to act first and consult later.’
‘But this isn’t my case,’ Fox said quietly. ‘I’m not the one investigating Jamie Breck. In point of fact, he could argue that
he’s
investigating me. And how’s that going to look?’
he’s
investigating me. And how’s that going to look?’
There was silence in the room for a moment. ‘Not great,’ Inglis eventually conceded. The glimmer of hope had vanished from her eyes. She looked to Gilchrist, and received a shrug in reply.
‘We had to try,’ she told Fox.
‘We hate to lose one,’ Gilchrist added, tossing a small screwdriver on to the desk.
‘Maybe there’s some other way,’ Fox offered. ‘For B and E, we need the Surveillance Commissioner’s okay . . . but if Breck’s using his home computer, we could set up the van outside, zero in on his keystrokes and find out what he’s doing.’
‘You don’t need judicial approval for the van?’ Inglis asked, her spirits lifting.
‘Fox shook his head. ‘DCC can give the go-ahead, and even then it can be retrospective.’
‘Well, the DCC’s on our side,’ Inglis commented. She had nudged the mouse on the desk next to her. The computer screen sprang back into life, showing the same photograph as before - the Melbourne cop with the Asian kid. ‘You know what their defence is?’ she asked. ‘They call it a victimless crime. They share photos. In most cases that’s all they say they do. They’re not the ones doing the actual abusing.’
‘Doesn’t mean it’s not abuse,’ Gilchrist stated.
‘Look,’ Fox said with a sigh, ‘I appreciate the job you’re trying to do—’
‘With one arm tied behind our backs,’ Inglis interrupted.
‘Let me see if I can help,’ Fox went on. ‘The surveillance van’s a real option, if he is what you say he is . . .’
‘
If ?
’
If ?
’
Gilchrist’s voice had risen. He was staring hard at Fox. But Inglis calmed him with a wave of her hand. ‘Thanks, Malcolm,’ she said to Fox. ‘Anything at all would be appreciated.’
‘Okay then,’ Fox said, rising to his feet. ‘Leave it with me.’
Her hand touched his forearm. They locked eyes and he nodded. She mouthed three words as he readied to leave.
Anything at all
.
.
Back in the Complaints, he crooked a forefinger at Tony Kaye. Kaye approached Fox’s desk, arms folded.
‘How would you feel,’ Fox asked him, ‘about a night-time stint in the van?’
Kaye gave a snort and a grin. ‘What’s she giving you in return?’
Fox shook his head. ‘But how would you feel?’ he persisted.
‘I’d feel grumpy and tired. Is this in the hope that we catch Breck drooling over internet porn?’
‘Yes.’
‘He’s not our customer, Foxy.’
‘He could be, if he’s doing what the Chop Shop say he is.’
‘A joint operation?’
‘I think DS Inglis or her colleague would need to be in the van . . .’
‘Is her colleague as tasty as she is?’
‘Not quite.’ Fox looked over towards the coffee machine. ‘You’d need Naysmith, too, of course.’
Kaye seemed to deflate. ‘Sadly, that’s true.’ Naysmith was the one who knew how to get the best out of the technology.
‘But while he’s breaking sweat,’ Fox added, ‘you’ll have plenty of time to work your charm on DS Inglis.’
‘Also true,’ Kaye agreed, perking up again. ‘But where would you be?’
‘I can’t get involved, Tony.’
Kaye nodded his acceptance of this. ‘Tonight?’ he asked.
‘Sooner the better. The van’s not on other duties?’
Kaye shook his head. ‘Cold night for it. Might need to snuggle up for warmth.’
‘I’m sure DS Inglis would like that. Go tell Naysmith and I’ll let the Chop Shop know.’
Fox watched Kaye retreat, then picked up the telephone and punched in the number for CEOP. Inglis answered, and he cupped his hand to his mouth so Kaye wouldn’t overhear.
‘We can do a surveillance tonight. It’ll be two of my men - Kaye and Naysmith.’
‘Nights are . . .’
Fox knew what she was about to say. ‘Difficult? Yes, with your son and everything. But as it happens, Sergeant Kaye would be a lot more comfortable with a male officer.’
‘Gilchrist would be up for it,’ Annie Inglis stated. Then, prickling: ‘Why’s Kaye uncomfortable working with a woman officer?’
‘It’s women in general, Annie,’ Fox explained in an undertone.
‘Oh,’ she said. Kaye and Naysmith were approaching his desk, so Fox ended the call.
‘That’s sorted, then,’ he told them.
Tony Kaye just rubbed his hands together and smiled.
8
On his way home that evening, Fox stopped off at a Chinese restaurant. He’d half a mind to take a table, but the place was empty - it would just have been him and the staff. So instead he ordered some food to eat at home. Fifteen minutes later, he was in the car, the carrier bag on the passenger seat: chicken with fresh ginger and spring onion; soft noodles; Chinese greens. The owner had offered him a helping of prawn crackers on the house, but Fox had declined. Once home, he emptied the whole lot on to a plate, then decided it was too much and scooped half the noodles back into their container. He ate at the dining table, a dishtowel tucked into his shirt collar. There had been no messages on his phone, and no mail waiting for him. A couple of dogs were having an argument a street or two away. A motorbike passed the house, being driven too quickly. Fox turned the radio on to the Birdsong channel, poured himself a glass of Appletiser, and thought back to the visit to Lauder Lodge.
He’d picked Jude up at four as agreed, the two of them not saying much on the drive. The staff at the care home had tried not to look too interested in Jude. It wasn’t just the cast on her arm - they’d been reading their papers and watching the local TV news. They knew who she was and what had happened.
‘I forgot to wear my mourning veil,’ Jude muttered to her brother as they headed down the corridor to their father’s room. Mitch was waiting for them. He insisted on getting to his feet so he could offer Jude a consoling embrace. As they all sat down, two staff members arrived to ask if they wanted a cup of tea. Mitch decided this would be acceptable. But after the tea had been fetched, another staffer stuck her head round the door to see if they might like a biscuit. Malcolm Fox decided enough was enough, and closed the door. But almost immediately there was a knock. This time they wanted Mr Fox to know that it was whist night, starting straight after supper.
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