The Complaints (33 page)

Authors: Ian Rankin

BOOK: The Complaints

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‘Do I get to ask why?’

‘Not yet.’

She looked at him. Her work face differed from the one she wore at home - there was a little more make-up. It hardened her features.

‘They’re going to know it was me,’ she stated. She didn’t mean the cops in Australia; she meant Fettes.

‘I’ll say it wasn’t.’

‘That’s all right, then - after all, there’s no reason for them not to take you at your word, is there?’

‘No reason at all,’ he said with a smile.

Annie Inglis opened her door and started to get out. She was still holding his business card. ‘What’s the matter with your old phone?’ she asked. Then: ‘No ... on second thoughts, I really don’t want to know.’ She closed the door after her and crossed the road again, unlocking her own car.

It took Fox five minutes to drive to the café on Morningside Road, but another five to find a parking space. He put enough coins in the meter for an hour, and walked the short distance to his destination. Jamie Breck was already there, plugging his laptop into one of the power sockets next to the corner table he’d secured.

‘Just got here,’ he told Fox as the two men shook hands.

‘How are you feeling?’

‘I didn’t get much sleep, thanks to your confession.’

Fox’s mouth twitched at the word. He shrugged off his coat and asked what Breck wanted to drink.

‘Americano with a spot of milk.’

Fox did the ordering, adding a cappuccino for himself. ‘Anything to eat?’ he asked Breck.

‘Maybe a croissant.’

‘Make that two,’ Fox told the assistant. By the time he got back to the table, Breck had angled the laptop so that the low sun wouldn’t hit the screen. Fox drew a chair round to Breck’s side of the table. This had been Fox’s idea, and looking around at the other customers he felt vindicated. Even if someone was outside in a surveillance van - and he’d taken a good look, spotting no obvious candidates - there were half a dozen people in the café logged on to the internet, courtesy of the free wi-fi. Most looked like students, the others business people. Naysmith had told him once how hard it was to untangle one user from another in such a cluster.

‘So what is it we’re looking for?’ Breck asked. He looked and sounded businesslike, the shock of the previous night assimilated and squeezed into a compartment in his mind.

‘Something you said a while back,’ Fox began, leaning forward in his chair. ‘You’ve come across the PR company before.’

Breck nodded. ‘Lovatt, Meikle, Meldrum have a lobbying arm.’ He got online and searched the firm’s name, coming up with the home page of their website. A further couple of clicks later, he was showing Fox a photographic portrait. The man was bald and bullet-headed and smiling. ‘Paul Meldrum - LMM’s political Mr Fixit. I was telling you about the local councillor - Paul here bent my ear about it. He said he was representing the council.’

‘Who was the councillor?’

‘Ernie Wishaw.’

‘I’ve never heard of him.’

‘He runs a lorry business out by the Gyle.’

‘What’s he supposed to have done?’

‘One of his drivers was delivering a few packages too many...’

‘Dope?’

Breck nodded. ‘Drug Enforcement got him, and he’s due to serve five years. But they wondered how far up the ladder things went. Wishaw had a meeting at the Oliver with the driver’s brother-in-law. DEA reckoned maybe it was hush money to be given to the wife. If she was kept sweet, the driver wouldn’t go blabbing.’

‘How come you got involved?’

‘DEA wanted local knowledge. Their boss was tight with Billy Giles, so they got us.’

Fox frowned. ‘Was Glen Heaton part of the team?’

Breck nodded. ‘Up until then, I hadn’t really doubted him.’ ‘Something changed your mind?’

Breck offered a shrug. ‘I think they were on to us from the start - don’t ask me why; it was just a feeling I got.’

‘So you weren’t surprised when there was nothing from the Oliver’s CCTV?’

‘No,’ Breck agreed.

Fox took a sip of coffee. ‘How long ago did you say this was?’

‘Best part of six months.’

‘It never came up.’ Breck looked as if he didn’t quite understand. Fox enlightened him: ‘We’d been looking into Glen Heaton for nearly a year, and this is the first I’ve heard of it.’

Breck shrugged again. ‘He didn’t do anything wrong.’

‘You could have voiced your suspicions.’

‘Seemed to me you were doing fine on your own. And like I say, I’d nothing to back them up.’ Breck reached for his own drink, then changed his mind and bit into a croissant instead, brushing crumbs from his trousers. Fox stared at the photo of Paul Meldrum.

‘The drug-smuggling had nothing to do with the council,’ Fox stated. ‘How come LMM got involved?’

‘Good question.’

‘Did you ask it at the time?’

‘Ernie Wishaw had bought out a rival firm a few years earlier. It all got a bit ugly, and he used LMM to win round the media.’

Both men looked up as a new customer entered the café. But she was pushing a baby buggy, so they dismissed her. When they made eye contact, they shared a smile. Better safe than sorry...

‘So they might have been working for him personally, rather than the council?’ Fox asked.

Jamie Breck could only shrug once more. ‘Anyway, the whole thing ended up going nowhere. DEA dropped it and thanked us for our help.’

Fox concentrated on his breakfast, until he thought of something else to say.

‘You’re not the only one who was under surveillance, Jamie. The Deputy Chief Constable let slip that I’d been watched all last week, but Vince’s body wasn’t found until Tuesday morning - it takes a bit of time to decide that a cop might be breaking the rules and you should put a watch on him.’

‘How long did it take till you decided I merited the van?’

‘Not long,’ Fox conceded. ‘But that’s beside the point. I was being watched
before
I started misbehaving.’

‘Then there’s something you’re obviously hiding from everybody. ’

‘I’m honest as the day is long, DS Breck.’

‘This is winter, Inspector Fox - the days are pretty short.’

Fox ignored this. ‘In the interview room at Torphichen, when Traynor was spelling it all out and Billy Giles was trying hard not to do a little dance around the table, there was a look my boss gave me ...’

‘McEwan?’

Fox nodded. ‘I don’t think he knew. I mean, he
knew
, but he hadn’t been in the loop for long. He was asking himself what was going on.’

‘Maybe he can find out for you.’

‘Maybe.’

‘You don’t trust him?’

‘Hard to know. But here’s the thing - the tail on me coincides with the new assignment I’d been given.’

‘By “assignment” you mean me?’

‘Yes.’ The caffeine was getting to Fox; he could feel it pounding through him. When his mobile started ringing, he didn’t recognise the tone. It was the first time someone had called him on his new phone.

‘Hello?’ he answered.

‘I’ve got something for you,’ Annie Inglis said. She was speaking so softly, he could hardly hear her. He held the phone more firmly to his ear, and pressed a finger into his other ear.

‘Is there anybody else there?’ he asked.

‘No.’

‘Then why are you whispering?’

‘Do you want this or not?’ she asked, sounding irritated. Then, without waiting for his answer, she reeled off a phone number.

‘Hang on,’ he said, scrabbling for a pen and brushing flakes of croissant from the paper napkin on his plate. While she repeated the number, Fox jotted it down.

‘Her name’s Dawlish. Cecilia Dawlish.’ Inglis ended the call before Fox could utter any form of thanks.

‘What’s the code for Australia?’ he asked Breck. It took Breck thirty seconds and a few keystrokes to come up with the answer.

‘Zero-zero-six-one,’ he said. ‘They’re eight to ten hours ahead of us.’

Fox looked at his watch. ‘Meaning it’s evening there - and hellish expensive.’ He held up his new phone. ‘This is pay-as-you-go,’ he explained.

‘My treat,’ Breck responded, handing over his own Motorola.

‘They might be able to trace the number back to you,’ Fox warned him, but Breck just shrugged.

‘I’m not the one making the call, though, am I?’ he countered.

It turned out that the number Inglis had given Fox was for a mobile. Dawlish was in her car when she answered.

‘It’s Detective Constable Gilchrist here,’ Fox explained, concentrating his attention on the world outside the café window.

‘Yeah?’

‘CEOP Edinburgh. You had us looking into a local officer called Breck?’

‘Yeah.’

‘Is this a bad time to talk?’

‘I’m headed home, DC Gilchrist. What is it you need?’

‘I’ve been put in charge of the paperwork.’

‘Just bear in mind what we told you at the start - the more who know about this, the tougher it is to keep it quiet.’

‘Understood.’ Fox paused. ‘So you’ve not arrested him yet?’

‘We’ll let you know when that happens.’

‘Right,’ Fox said, turning his attention to the listening Breck. ‘So what is it you want us to do with Breck?’

‘Just get us anything you can. Now tell me about these bloody forms you’re filling in.’

‘Just wondered if it was okay to put you down as our main contact. ’

‘Sure.’

‘And this phone number?’

‘Seems to be the one you’ve got.’

‘I suppose so, yes.’ Fox thought of something. ‘We managed to gain entry to Breck’s home.’

‘Yeah?’

‘His computer was clean, but we took a look at his latest credit card bill - SEIL Ents.’

‘That’s the one.’

‘What do the letters stand for?’

‘The bastard’s initials - Simeon Edward Ian Latham. Sim to his mates.’

‘The payment was in US dollars...’

‘He’s got an account in the Caribbean. Latham’s been running this thing for years without us knowing - he’s learned all the old tricks and invented a few of his own.’ Dawlish paused. ‘This is a secure line, right, Gilchrist?’

‘Absolutely,’ Fox assured her. ‘And thanks for your help.’

‘Paperwork’s killing this job,’ Dawlish commented, ending the call.

Fox stared at Jamie Breck. ‘Far as the Aussies are concerned, you’re still in the frame.’

‘Thanks for not setting the record straight.’

‘Thing is, Jamie, we did one night’s surveillance on you, and the second night was pulled. Thinking seemed to be that the Aussies didn’t need you any more, or had crossed your name off their list. When I spoke to Gilchrist last night, he as good as said the same thing - Sim Latham was headed for trial.’

‘And he’s not?’

‘Inquiry’s ongoing, according to Dawlish.’

‘So why did Gilchrist tell you different?’

‘Maybe we should ask him.’

‘I can go solo on this,’ Breck said, ‘if you’d rather keep out of it.’

But Fox shook his head before attacking the final chunk of croissant.

‘Are we done here?’ Breck asked, tapping the edge of his laptop’s screen. Fox glanced at his watch: fifteen minutes left on the meter.

‘There’s one final thing,’ he said. ‘And that computer of yours could come in handy.’ He wiped the pastry crumbs from his mouth. ‘Something I asked you when we were at the pool hall.’

‘Yes?’

‘I asked if Charlie Brogan could have been one of the developers. ’

‘We can take a look,’ Breck said, busying himself at the keyboard. Within a couple of minutes, he had found enough information to confirm that CBBJ was indeed part of the consortium.

‘CB stands for Charles Brogan,’ Fox commented, ‘but what about BJ?’

‘Broughton, Joanna?’ Breck guessed.

‘That makes sense, I suppose.’ Fox was peering at the screen. ‘I got a look at his diary, you know...’

‘What?’ Breck was staring at him.

‘Brogan’s diary. Joanna Broughton asked me to drop it into Leith Police Station.’ Fox paused. ‘It’s a long story.’

Breck folded his arms. ‘I’ve got time, partner.’

‘I recognised her when she was standing outside the station. Offered her a lift home.’

‘To the penthouse?’

Fox nodded. ‘Triplex, actually.’

‘You were inside? She knew you were a cop?’