Authors: Ian Rankin

The Complaints (34 page)

BOOK: The Complaints

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Fox kept nodding. ‘Leith wanted to see Brogan’s appointments diary. She asked me if I’d take it.’

Breck was chuckling. ‘It’s always the quiet ones you have to watch out for. I can’t believe you got away with it.’

‘I didn’t. On the way out, I bumped into Gordon Lovatt. She told him who I was, and he got on to Leith, who got on to DI Stoddart and her merry men.’

Breck gave a low whistle, then was thoughtful for a moment. ‘Was the diary worth the effort?’ he eventually asked.

‘Not really. Work was drying up for Charlie Brogan. He spent more time planning what TV shows to watch than scheduling meetings.’ Fox paused to collect his thoughts. ‘Think it through, though. Vince Faulkner works on one of Brogan’s projects. He’s last seen in a casino owned by Brogan’s other half. He winds up dead and his body’s dumped at yet another site owned by Brogan’s company. Then, just to put some icing on top, Brogan goes for a swim in the Forth and doesn’t bother coming up for air.’

Breck was rubbing the stubble on the underside of his chin. ‘You should take this to Billy Giles.’

‘Oh, sure,’ Fox replied. ‘Because I’m dead sure DCI Giles would take me seriously.’ Breck had opened his mouth, but Fox stilled him with a gesture of the hand. ‘And
you
can hardly go to him with it, because you’re his little Judas. So where exactly does that leave us?’ When Breck didn’t answer, Fox glanced at his watch again. ‘I need to put more money in the meter,’ he said.

‘Let’s finish up here and I’ll come with you.’ Breck had already started shutting down the laptop. Fox noticed that he’d left most of his coffee untouched.

‘Where are we going?’ he asked.

‘Back to Salamander Point.’

They used the same Portakabin as before. Breck had asked the site manager what would happen now that the developer was dead.

‘We keep working until we’re ordered to stop - or the wages dry up,’ the man had replied.

But Malcolm Fox had noticed some changes. The sales office was locked shut, no sign of life inside. And once they’d climbed the ladder to the upper level of temporary offices, he could see that over to one side of the site an impromptu game of football was in progress, piles of bricks substituting for goalposts. When Ronnie Hendry arrived, he was sweating and breathing hard.

‘We’re waiting for a delivery of ready-mix,’ he explained, removing his hard hat and wiping a sleeve across his face.

Breck gestured for him to sit at the table. The three men were then positioned as before, Fox maintaining his silence.

‘Just a couple of follow-up questions,’ Breck was telling Hendry. ‘How have things been since Charlie Brogan jumped ship?’

Hendry stared at him, wondering how to react to the pun, but Breck remained stony-faced.

‘The men are worried about pay day.’

‘Your gaffer just said much the same thing.’

‘He’s got more at stake, money he makes for standing around all day with his dick in his hand and not a clue in his head.’

‘You sound aggrieved.’

Hendry wriggled in his chair. ‘Not really.’ But he folded his arms across his chest - a defensive gesture, in Fox’s eyes. ‘You any closer to finding out who killed Vince?’

‘We think the “why” might help answer that. But meantime, I wanted to ask about Mr Brogan.’

‘What’s he got to do with it?’

‘Well, now that he’s gone the same way as Vince Faulkner...’ Breck’s voice drifted off.

‘But there’s no connection,’ Hendry stated, eyes shifting from one detective to the other. ‘Is there?’

‘We can’t know that for sure. I’m assuming Mr Brogan visited Salamander Point?’

‘He was pretty hands-on,’ Hendry agreed.

‘How often did you see him?’

‘Maybe once a week, twice a week sometimes. Gaffer would be able to say for sure.’

‘But it’s
you
I’m asking. Did he just sit in here with a mug of tea and the plans spread out in front of him?’

Hendry shook his head. ‘He liked to give the whole site a good look-see.’

‘So you’d have met him, then?’

‘Spoke to him a few times. He always had a couple of questions. Seemed like a good guy - not all developers are.’

‘How do you mean?’

Hendry shifted in the chair again. ‘Some jobs I’ve worked on, they turn up wearing pinstripe suits and shiny brogues - one or two from CBBJ were that way inclined. But Mr Brogan ... with him it was work boots and jeans. And he always shook your hand without brushing the dirt off after.’ Hendry was nodding slowly at the memory. ‘Like I say, a good guy.’

‘Did Vince Faulkner think the same?’

‘Never said any different, not to me.’

‘He met Brogan, too?’

Hendry nodded again. ‘Mr Brogan knew most of the guys by name. And he remembered who you were. There was always some detail or other he’d toss into the conversation.’

‘Gleaned from the personnel files?’ Fox interrupted. Hendry turned his head towards him.

‘Maybe,’ he said.

‘How often did the two of them meet?’ Breck asked, drawing Hendry’s attention back to him.

It took the man a few seconds to answer. ‘Don’t know,’ he eventually stated.

‘You see what we’re getting at?’ Breck persisted.

‘Not really.’

‘If the two of them knew one another... well, you add Vince Faulkner’s death to anything else happening in Mr Brogan’s life...’

‘And he goes and tops himself?’ Hendry seemed to consider this. He offered a shrug, his arms still folded.

‘Last time we spoke,’ Breck continued, ‘you said you sometimes went out for the evening - a meal and some drinks at the Oliver casino.’

‘Right.’

‘You knew it was owned by Mr Brogan’s wife?’

‘Sure.’

‘Ever see him there?’

‘Probably.’

‘You can’t be sure?’

Hendry had unfolded his arms and was pressing his palms against his thighs, preparing to stand up.

‘I’ve got to get back to work,’ he said.

‘What’s the rush?’

‘There’s nothing I can tell you about Charlie Brogan or why he decided to end it all.’ He was on his feet now, and readying to put his yellow hard hat back on. Breck got up from the table too.

‘Maybe we’re not finished,’ he said.

‘You’re clutching at straws,’ Hendry stated. ‘You’ve hit a wall with Vince, so you’re focusing on Brogan instead. But there’s no connection between the two.’

‘You’re sure of that?’

‘Definitely.’

‘What makes you such an expert, Mr Hendry?’

Hendry glared at him. He seemed to try half a dozen answers for size, dismissing each of them in turn. With a cold smile, he opened the door and exited the Portakabin. Fox closed the door and rested his weight against it, eyes on Breck.

‘Well?’ Breck asked him.

‘About three quarters of the way through...’

Breck was nodding. ‘He’d been cagey enough before that.’

‘But he started holding back. I wonder why.’

‘Might be different if we were talking to him at Torphichen. Maybe having cautioned him first... But we can’t do that, can we?’

Fox shrugged his agreement. They moved out of the room and on to the wooden walkway. Hendry was clambering over foundations and lengths of pipe and ducting, heading back to the football game. The sun had come out, and a few of the men were now topless.

‘Makes you proud,’ Fox commented. ‘Temperature’s halfway to double figures, but at the slightest glimmer of sunshine...’

‘The Scotsman in his prime,’ Breck agreed, as he started back down the ladder.

They were leaving the site when a car pulled up, two men climbing out. Breck cursed under his breath.

‘Dickson and Hall,’ he muttered.

‘I know the faces,’ Fox confirmed. They were Torphichen CID; Bad Billy Giles’s men. Both were smiling, without a trace of humour between them.

‘Well, well,’ Dickson said. He was the older and heavier of the two. His partner was, as Fox’s father would have put it, ‘twa ply o’ reek’, but with a shaven head and Ray-Bans.

‘What brings you here?’ Breck asked, hinting to Fox at their strategy here - namely, brazen it out.

Dickson managed a chuckle as he slid his hands into his trouser pockets. ‘That’s more than a bit rich, Jamie. But since you ask...’

Hall took his cue. ‘Billy Giles has got us retracing your steps. He’s worried you might have left gaps in the paperwork or maybe tweaked your reports.’ He angled his head slightly to take in Malcolm Fox. ‘With a bit of help from Inspector Fox here...’

‘You’re wasting your time,’ Breck stated.

‘And yet here you are, Jamie - the pair of you,’ Dickson said, leaning forward a little from the waist and reminding Fox of one of those toddlers’ toys that you could rock to and fro without them ever falling over.

‘And you’ll be reporting all of this back, of course,’ Breck was saying.

‘You think we shouldn’t?’ Hall asked, feigning amazement. ‘Last I heard, you two were suspended from duty.’

‘So?’

‘So it begs the question what could you possibly be doing
here
?’

‘I’m in the market for a flat,’ Fox interrupted. ‘And if you ever watch those property shows on TV, you’ll know it’s advisable to bring a friend to the viewing - they can spot things you might miss.’

‘Billy Giles told us you were a smart-arse.’

Dickson leaned a little further forward without shifting his stance. ‘Remember me, Fox? You had a few questions for me about Glen Heaton...’

‘And you thought you were doing him a favour, not answering any of them.’

A grin spread across Dickson’s face. ‘That’s right,’ he said.

‘Thing is, though,’ Fox confided, ‘as soon as we sussed he had friends like you, we knew he had to be dirty.’ He turned towards Breck. ‘We’re done here.’ But as he made to move past Dickson, the man stuck a hand out into his chest. Fox grabbed the hand and yanked it sharply downwards, the rest of the body following. He watched as Dickson dropped to the ground. The mud was crusted on the surface, but wet just beneath. Hall was helping his colleague to his feet, Dickson swearing and spluttering and wiping his face clean.

‘We’re done,’ Fox repeated. Without bothering to look at Breck, knowing he’d be following, he made his way to the waiting car.

They drove in silence for the first half-mile or so. Fox was behind the steering wheel, Breck in the passenger seat. Eventually, Breck found the right form of words for what he wanted to say.

‘What was that all about?’

‘What?’

‘Back there - you and Dickson.’

‘Just wanted to check his centre of gravity, Jamie. Didn’t think he’d go down so easily.’ Fox made eye contact, then gave a wink.

Breck smiled, but he was shaking his head. ‘It’s not the way to play Dickson and Hall. That’s two enemies for life, right there.’

‘It was worth it,’ Fox stated.

‘Suddenly you’re Action Man...’

‘Some of us don’t have avatars to fall back on.’

Breck turned his attention to the world outside the car. ‘Where are we going?’

‘My sister’s.’

‘Does she live in an underground bunker?’

‘She lives in Saughtonhall.’

‘Might not be protection enough. Billy Giles is going to want to talk to us.’

‘Talk
at
us, you mean.’

‘Okay, but he’s going to haul us in if we don’t go to him first.’

‘You’re the guy who likes to take risks and show initiative...’

‘And that’s what you were doing back there?’

‘Was I being passive?’

‘Not really.’ Breck managed a short-lived laugh. ‘So why are we going to see your sister?’

‘You’ll see.’

But when they got there, Jude wasn’t at home. Fox rang the bell next door and Alison Pettifer answered. She had an apron tied around her and was wiping her hands on a towel.

‘Sorry,’ Fox said. ‘Is Jude with you?’

‘She went to the shops.’ Pettifer looked up and down the road. ‘Here she comes now...’

Jude had seen them but couldn’t wave, with one arm still in plaster and the other holding a full shopping bag. Fox thanked Pettifer and went to meet his sister, taking the bag from her.

‘What have you got in here?’ he asked. ‘Coal?’

‘Just some food.’ She smiled at him. ‘Reckoned it was time I learned to fetch for myself.’

BOOK: The Complaints

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