The Complaints (32 page)

Authors: Ian Rankin

BOOK: The Complaints

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Fox took another sip. The water had a slightly sweet aftertaste, reminding him of the way tap water had tasted in his childhood, on a hot day after running around outside.

‘You’ve been under investigation,’ he stated, avoiding eye contact. ‘Up to and including surveillance.’

Breck thought for a few seconds, then nodded slowly. ‘That van?’ he said. ‘Yes, I sort of knew about that. And about you, too, of course.’ The two men fixed eyes. ‘You seemed to know a bit too much about me, Malcolm. Remember when I told you my brother was gay? You said you didn’t know, but that meant you knew I had a brother in the first place. Then when you came round here, you couldn’t really explain how you knew my street.’ He paused. ‘I was hoping you might eventually get round to saying something. ’

‘And here I am . . .’

‘I thought maybe you were trying to tie me to Glen Heaton.’

‘We weren’t.’

‘What then?’ Breck sounded genuinely curious.

‘Your name appeared on a list, Jamie. Subscribers to a website . . .’

‘What sort of website?’

Fox angled his head so he was staring at the ceiling. ‘I shouldn’t be doing this,’ he muttered.

‘Bit late for that,’ Breck told him. Then: ‘What sort of website . . . ?’

‘Not the sort you’d want Annabel knowing about.’

‘Porn?’ Breck’s voice had risen a little. ‘S and M? Snuff . . . ?’

‘Underage.’

Breck was silent for a moment, until a laugh of incredulity exploded from his mouth.

‘You paid by credit card,’ Fox went on. ‘So CEOP had us run a check.’

‘When did all this start?’

‘Beginning of last week. I started backing off once we’d met face to face . . .’

Breck had slid from the arm of the chair into the seat itself. ‘My credit card?’ he asked. Then he sprang up and left the room, returning a minute later with a folder. He held it over the coffee table and tipped out its contents, crouching down to sift through everything. There were bank statements, receipts, mortgage letters and credit card statements. Fox couldn’t help noting that Breck’s savings account was well into five figures. Breck himself was plucking out the credit card statements.

‘Australian dollars, most likely,’ Fox explained.

‘There’s nothing here . ..’ Breck was running a finger down the columns. He used his card a lot - supermarkets, petrol stations, restaurants, clothing companies. Plus his internet and TV packages.

‘Wait a second,’ he said. The tip of his finger was running along one entry. ‘US dollars, not Australian. Ten dollars translates as eight pounds.’

Fox looked at the description. ‘SEIL Ents,’ he read.

‘I never paid any attention . . .’ Breck was almost talking to himself. ‘Sometimes I buy downloads from the States . . . Is this it, do you think?’

‘Have you bought anything else in dollars recently? This goes back five weeks.’

‘I swear to God, Malcolm . . .’ Breck was wide-eyed. He broke off from staring at the sheet of paper and got back to his feet. ‘Come on, there’s something I want to show you.’ He left the room, Fox following him. They entered what would have been the home’s second bedroom. This was Breck’s office. The computer was switched on, the screen-saver active. Breck nudged the mouse. His chosen wallpaper was a head-and-shoulders photo of Annabel.

‘Sit down,’ he was commanding Fox, indicating the swivel chair. ‘Take a look for yourself. I doubt I’ve browsed online porn more than half a dozen times in my life - and never anything . . . I mean, just the normal stuff.’

‘Look, Jamie . . .’

Breck spun around to face him. ‘I don’t know anything about this!’ he shouted.

‘I believe you,’ Fox said quietly.

Breck stared at him. ‘Right, because you had that van parked outside . . .’ He ran a hand through his hair. ‘You were tapped into my system somehow . . . No, not
you
, not you personally . . . you were with me at the Oliver that night. Some of your guys, right? And someone from CEOP, too.’

‘His name’s Gilchrist. He’s got his feet under my desk at the Complaints.’

Breck’s eyes narrowed as he digested this. ‘We’ve got to talk to him, find out how this could have happened.’

Fox nodded slowly. ‘I had a word with him earlier on, but he wasn’t exactly cooperating.’

‘I need to talk to someone about this,’ Breck was saying. Then, eyes boring into Fox: ‘All the time we’ve been . . . and I let you . . . and you thought I was a
paedophile
?’

Fox couldn’t think of anything to say to this. Breck had taken a couple of steps towards the window and was peering around the edge of the blind.

‘It was just the one night,’ Fox explained. ‘We were planning another, but it got pulled - CEOP’s decision.’

Breck turned to look at him. ‘Why?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘They realised it was a mistake?’

Fox offered a shrug. Breck ran his hand through his hair again. ‘This is a fucking nightmare,’ he said. ‘You’ve met Annabel - I’ve got a
girlfriend
.’

‘Sometimes they do.’

‘Paedophiles, you mean?’ Fox could see that Breck’s mind was racing. ‘You had a
van
watching me! It’s like the Gestapo or something. ’

‘One thing the equipment in the van picked up . . .’

Breck looked at him. ‘What?’

‘You did some online digging into
me
.’

Breck thought for a moment, then nodded slowly. ‘That’s true,’ he said. Then he fell silent, staring at the computer screen. ‘What’s the site called?’ he eventually asked. ‘We’ve got to contact them, find out how it happened.’

‘That’s the last thing you want to do,’ Fox cautioned.

‘They got my credit card number - how is that possible?’

‘It’s possible,’ Fox argued. ‘You’ve said it yourself - you buy stuff online. Do you pay a subscription to Quidnunc? Because if you do, your card details are out there . . .’

‘This is a nightmare,’ Breck repeated, staring blindly at the walls around him. ‘I need a drink . . .’ He fled the room, leaving Fox standing there. Fox waited a moment, then scrutinised the icons on the computer screen. He saw nothing out of the ordinary. Quidnunc had been minimised, and he put it back on to full screen. Breck’s avatar seemed to be a muscular blond warrior toting a complicated-looking handgun. He was standing in a valley surrounded by mountains, beyond which explosions were going off, fighter jets or spaceships occasionally flying over. His hair fluttered in the breeze, but otherwise he would stand there until Breck came back to the game. Fox hit the ‘minimise’ icon again and left the room.

Jamie Breck was in his kitchen. It was spotless, but Fox had the feeling the place got used. There was a fruit bowl filled with oranges and plums, and a breadboard with half a wholemeal loaf sitting on it. Breck had brought ice cubes from the freezer and was pouring whisky over them.

‘There are occasions,’ he said, voice trembling slightly, ‘when only local remedies will do.’ He waved the bottle in Fox’s direction, but Fox shook his head. It was Highland Park: he’d tried it plenty of times in the past. Soft peat and sea spray . . . Breck downed half the drink without pausing. He squeezed shut his eyes and opened his mouth in a loud exhalation. Fox’s nostrils flared. Yes, that was the tang he remembered . . .

‘This isn’t happening,’ Breck said. ‘I’m being fast-tracked, everybody knows it. Another year and I’ll be a DI.’

‘That’s what your file seemed to say.’

Breck nodded. ‘And that’s how you knew all about me - you’d seen it in my personnel file.’ His eyes fixed on Fox. ‘So why own up now, Malcolm?’

Fox poured himself another glass of tap water. ‘You said it yourself, Jamie - I need somebody I can trust.’

‘And you think that’s me?’ Breck waited until Fox had nodded. ‘Well, thanks for that at least - or does it just mean I’m your very last hope?’

‘Thing is, Jamie, there’s a lot going on that I’m not even close to understanding. I think maybe you can help.’

‘What you’re saying is, me being a suspected paedophile is the least of your worries? And my girlfriend could come in useful along the way?’

Fox managed a smile. ‘Something like that, yes.’

Breck gave a snort as he smiled into his drink. ‘Well, at least we know where we stand. Is there any point in me contacting my credit card company? They must be able to trace the transaction back.’

Fox offered a shrug. ‘Worth a try,’ he said.

‘Meantime I can run a check on SEIL Ents.’

‘A word of caution - the guy behind the site is a cop in Australia. They’re on to him but they definitely don’t want him to know that. If he finds out and shuts everything down . . .’

‘There’ll be some who might think I’d warned him off?’ Breck nodded slowly. ‘How near are they to nailing him?’

‘I don’t really know.’

‘Can you find out?’

Fox nodded.

‘And I’ll make sure Annabel keeps in touch with Billy Giles and all his doings - does that sound fair?’

Fox gave another nod and watched Breck hold up a finger.

‘But I don’t want Annabel to know about this.’

‘She won’t hear it from me,’ Fox promised.

‘Does Stoddart know?’ Breck asked.

‘Yes.’

‘But I don’t want to let her know that
I
know?’

‘That’s up to you, Jamie.’

‘They’d realise it was you who told me. And that would look even worse for us.’

‘True.’

Breck had turned round, so that the small of his back rested against the edge of the black marble work surface. The glass was still in his hand, half an inch of liquid left in it.

‘Look at the pair of us,’ he said with another tired smile. And then, raising his glass in a toast: ‘But thanks for taking me into your trust, Malcolm - better late than never.’ He tipped the glass to his mouth, finishing the whisky and tossing the ice into the sink. ‘So,’ he said, smacking his lips, ‘do you have a particular plan of action in mind?’

‘I’m the one who thinks stuff just happens to us, remember? It’s
you
that thinks we control our destinies.’

‘Seems to me you’re in the process of changing.’

‘Speaking of changing . . .’ Fox lifted a card from his pocket and handed it over. ‘I’ve bought myself a new mobile phone.’

‘You think I should do the same?’ Breck studied the card. Fox’s old mobile number had been scored out and the new one written in biro. He looked up at Fox. ‘The Complaints can tap my phone?’

‘Not easily. But they
can
grab the records of any calls in or out.’

‘You said “they” rather than “we” ...’ Fox didn’t say anything to this, and Breck was thoughtful for a further few seconds. ‘Why am I being set up, Malcolm?’ he asked quietly. ‘Who’d do something like that? An Australian porn site?’ He shook his head slowly. ‘It doesn’t make any sense.’

‘It will,’ Fox stated, straightening his shoulders. ‘We just need to work at it.’

Tuesday 17 February 2009

Tuesday morning, Fox was waiting for Annie Inglis outside her tenement. Duncan appeared first, slouching his way to school under the weight of his backpack. Ten minutes later, it was Inglis’s turn. Fox, seated across the road in his car, sounded his horn and waved her across. Traffic was busy - people on their way to work or dropping their kids off at the school gates. A warden had paused his scooter beside Fox’s car, but had scuttled off again when he saw that the indicators were flashing and there was someone behind the steering wheel. Annie Inglis stood her ground for a moment, and when she did cross the road she didn’t get into the car. Instead, she leaned down so her face was at the passenger-side window. Fox slid the window down.

‘What are you doing here?’ she asked. He handed her a business card, on the back of which was written the number of his new mobile phone.

‘That’s in case you need to reach me,’ he explained. ‘But keep it to yourself.’ Then: ‘I need a favour, Annie.’

‘Look, Malcolm...’

‘It would be easier to talk if you got in. I can even give you a lift.’

‘I don’t need a lift.’ When he made no answer to this, she sighed and opened the door. He’d removed the sweet-wrappers from the passenger seat. There was a street map on the floor, which she handed to him. He tossed it into the back.

‘Is it to do with Jamie Breck?’ she asked.

‘Gilchrist’s being obstructive.’

‘You’re suspended, Malcolm! It’s not his job to help you out.’

‘All the same...’

She gave another heavy sigh. ‘What is it you want?’

‘A contact at the Australian end - someone from the team there. Name, phone number, e-mail . . . anything at all, really.’