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Authors: Ian Rankin

The Complaints (55 page)

BOOK: The Complaints
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Wauchope was staring at him again. Breck cleared his throat.
‘Malcolm ... maybe we’re cheating ourselves here.’
‘How do you mean?’ Fox asked.
‘We’re trading him for a few scraps of information. Seems to me he’s worth a whole lot more now.’
‘Don’t go getting greedy,’ Wauchope snarled.
‘Then start talking,’ Fox said. He had risen and shifted to the seat next to Breck. Wauchope’s eyes were on the screen again. There was a sheen of sweat on his forehead. He had an inch of lager left in his glass, and he drained it, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. He made a smacking sound with his lips, then stared across the table.
‘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 ...’
30
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.
‘He all right?’ Fox asked.
‘Scared shitless,’ Kaye answered with a smile.
‘He heard the whole thing?’
‘Clear as a bell.’
‘So he’s convinced it’s us or nothing?’
‘He’s convinced. Doesn’t mean he’s happy about it.’
‘He did well, though,’ Jamie Breck said. ‘If Wauchope had screamed at me like that, I’d have started running for the hills.’
‘I kept the volume low,’ Kaye explained. ‘And there was a bit of prep beforehand ...’
Breck had bent a little at the knees so he could give Brogan a thumbs-up sign, while Brogan resolutely ignored him.
‘Have you tried playing it back?’ Fox was asking Kaye.
‘It’s fine - sound and vision, and copied on to an external hard drive, date- and time-stamped.’
‘What would we have done if he’d spotted the camera?’ Breck asked Fox.
‘Told him the truth,’ Fox replied. ‘It’s built into the laptop, meaning there’s nothing to be done about it.’
‘He’d have wanted it covered up.’
‘We’d still have the audio.’ Fox looked to Kaye for confirmation. Kaye nodded back at him and Fox patted his friend’s arm. Truth to tell, he’d harboured doubts about Tony Kaye, had even wondered for a time if Kaye might have been got at. He felt a little bad about that ... but not
too
bad.
Fox’s phone rang and he answered it. It was Bob McEwan, letting them know the squad was in position at Salamander Point.
‘The van’s got to go to Forensics,’ Fox reminded him. ‘Could well be the same one they used with Vince Faulkner.’
‘Relax, Malcolm,’ McEwan said, ending the call.
‘He says we should relax,’ Fox informed Breck and Kaye.
‘Want to go watch the fun?’ Breck asked. Fox checked his watch.
‘If they catch so much as a glimpse of us,’ he warned, ‘they’ll know something’s up.’
‘What about our resident scaredy-cat?’ Kaye gestured towards Brogan.
‘We keep him at HQ for the interview - I’d hate for him to have an “accident”.’
‘You’re saying Leith’s not safe?’
‘Is anywhere?’ Fox asked, sounding deadly serious.
It was another five minutes before the surveillance vehicle arrived, driven by Joe Naysmith and with Gilchrist as his passenger. Fox hauled open the driver’s-side door.
‘Well?’ he asked.
Naysmith jumped down from the van and Breck tossed him the three-pin adaptor. This, rather than the laptop’s mains cable, was what he’d plugged into the wall socket at the pub. The device only looked like an adaptor, but was actually a bug with its own transmitter and a range of seventy-five metres. Terry Vass had looked up and down the street, but the van had been parked around the corner.
‘Picked up every word,’ Naysmith said, beaming a smile.
‘And duly recorded.’ Gilchrist was holding a freshly burned CD in his hand.
Breck started counting off on his fingers. ‘Brogan’s evidence ... plus the laptop ... plus the surveillance ...’
‘Any evidence Forensics can lift from the van,’ Fox added. ‘And the fact they’re about to be caught red-handed ...’
‘Just about wraps it up,’ Breck concluded. ‘Doesn’t it?’
‘Just about,’ Fox seemed to agree. The two men stared at one another.
‘All right then,’ Fox relented. ‘Let’s go.’
It took them only a few minutes to reach Salamander Point, helped by the fact that the roads were deserted. They had borrowed Kaye’s car to make them less recognisable to Wauchope and Vass. Fox was in the driving seat, slowing only marginally for red lights and then going through them if there was no other traffic.
‘We’re not going to get much of a view if we stay in the car,’ Breck complained. ‘There’s nowhere nearby to park.’ So they left the Nissan on a side street and walked around the perimeter of the site. The temporary fencing had been removed from that part of Salamander Point boasting finished abodes. Grass had been laid, and a few trees and shrubs planted. The address handed to Wauchope belonged to one of the few actual houses. It was semi-detached and stood in a row of six. There was light coming from its upstairs window. Fox had plumped for it because there was less chance of neighbours getting in the way. Many of the flats were occupied, but four of the six houses stood empty. Fox and Breck kept their distance, peering from behind a brick wall that sheltered the neighbours’ dustbins from general view. There was no sign of life from any of the properties.
BOOK: The Complaints
4.35Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
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