Authors: Ian Rankin
The Complaints (38 page)
You’re creating monuments
, Brogan had replied.
You’re making a mark that’s going to outlast you.
, Brogan had replied.
You’re making a mark that’s going to outlast you.
And that’s important to you?
Everybody wants to change the world, don’t they? And yet most of us, all we leave behind is an obituary and maybe a few kids.
You want people to remember you?
I’d rather they noticed me while I’m here! I’m in the business of making an impression.
Fox wondered to himself: an impression on who? Joanna Broughton? Or her successful dad, maybe? Didn’t men always want to prove themselves to their in-laws? Fox recalled that he’d been nervous when he’d met Elaine’s parents, even though he’d known them when he was a school-kid. He’d been to birthday parties at their house. But flash forward two decades and he was greeting them as their daughter’s boyfriend.
‘Elaine tells us you’re in the police,’ the mother had said. ‘I’d no idea you were that way inclined ...’ The tone of voice said it all: our lovely, talented daughter could have done so much better. So much better ...
Fox could well imagine Brogan’s first encounter with Pa Broughton. Both sons were dead, meaning there was a lot for Joanna to prove. She’d left it late to get married. Fox reckoned her doting and protective father would have chased off many a previous suitor. But Charlie Brogan knew what he wanted - he wanted Joanna. She was glamorous and her family had money. More than that, her father had about him the whiff of power. When you got hitched to the daughter, you kept her father’s name in your pocket like a number for the emergency services. Anybody tried to turn you over, the name would be dropped into the conversation.
Not that Fox could imagine Jack Broughton liking that.
So when CBBJ started hitting the skids, there was no insurance policy. Maybe Brogan had approached the old boy on the quiet -
definitely
wouldn’t want Joanna knowing about it - but if he had, he’d given Jack the perfect opportunity to tell his son-in-law just how useless he’d always reckoned him.
You say you lost all your money in the downturn? Well, Charlie, I didn’t know you were that way inclined.
definitely
wouldn’t want Joanna knowing about it - but if he had, he’d given Jack the perfect opportunity to tell his son-in-law just how useless he’d always reckoned him.
You say you lost all your money in the downturn? Well, Charlie, I didn’t know you were that way inclined.
And by the way, my lovely talented daughter could have done so much better.
‘Poor sod,’ Fox said to himself.
Half an hour later, he was done with the three of them. He found a link to Quidnunc but couldn’t enter the game without the relevant software. Instead, he stared at the website’s home page with its colourful graphics. Some sort of monster was being dispatched by half a dozen muscle-men.
‘The Warrior Is In You’ ran the strapline. Fox thought of Jamie Breck. He hadn’t been much of a warrior in Billy Giles’s office. Breck: losing himself in this fiction while a real life with Annabel was kept on pause. Fox wondered what sort of role he himself had played throughout his life. Had he used alcohol the same way Breck used the online game - sinking into a virtual world as an escape from the real thing? He wondered, too, whether he really
did
trust Jamie Breck. He thought he did, but then again, Breck had said it himself:
does it just mean I’m your very last hope?
Failing to come up with an answer, he set the computer to ‘sleep’ mode and headed for bed. He lay on his side, the only way he could rest without pain. The curtains were illuminated by the sodium glare of a street lamp. The peas were defrosting in their bag. Birdsong was playing on the radio...
did
trust Jamie Breck. He thought he did, but then again, Breck had said it himself:
does it just mean I’m your very last hope?
Failing to come up with an answer, he set the computer to ‘sleep’ mode and headed for bed. He lay on his side, the only way he could rest without pain. The curtains were illuminated by the sodium glare of a street lamp. The peas were defrosting in their bag. Birdsong was playing on the radio...
Wednesday 18 February 2009
21
At seven next morning, his mobile phone - his old one, rather than the pay-and-go - chirruped to let him know he had a message. It was from DI Caroline Stoddart. She wanted him at Fettes at nine for another interview. Fox texted back: unwell, sorry - can we postpone?
Did ‘unwell’ cover it, though? He’d had colds and flu and ear-ache and migraines, but never anything like this. Had he just gone three rounds with a grizzly bear? It took him over a minute to cross from his bed to the bathroom. Face nicely swollen and chin scabbed over but stinging when touched. And from what he could see of his back, bruising either side of his spine in the perfectly legible shape of two human paws. After twenty minutes in the shower, he found another text waiting for him in the bedroom. It was from Stoddart.
Tomorrow then, it said.
Fox decided he would stay at home the rest of the day. He had milk and bread, enough food to see him through. By nine he was lying along the sofa nursing his second mug of coffee and with the BBC’s news channel on the television. When his doorbell sounded, he considered not answering. Maybe it was Stoddart, checking his story. But curiosity got the better of him and he crossed to the window. Jamie Breck had taken a couple of steps back from the door and was staring straight at him. He lifted a grocery bag and gave a smile. Fox went to let him in.
‘I got croissants from the supermarket,’ Breck was saying. But then he got his first close-up of Fox’s damaged face. ‘Christ! What happened to you?’
Fox led the way back into the house. He was still in his pyjamas with his dressing gown wrapped around him. ‘Somebody jumped me,’ he explained.
‘Last night? Between Hunters Tryst and here?’ Breck sounded incredulous.
‘The Cowgate,’ Fox corrected him. He’d switched the kettle on and found a clean mug for his visitor. ‘Coffee or tea?’ he asked.
‘Because Vince took a taxi there?’ Breck was nodding to himself. ‘After Hunters Tryst you headed down for a recce? So who was it gave you the doing?’
‘They came at me from behind; I didn’t see anything. But when I woke up, Jack Broughton was standing over me.’
‘Say that again.’
‘You heard the first time. Tea or coffee?’
‘Tea’s fine. What was Jack Broughton doing there?’
‘He didn’t say.’
‘Was he the one who...?’
‘I don’t think so.’ The two men stood in silence for a minute or so as the kettle came to the boil. When the tea was made, they headed through to the living room. Fox brought a plate for each of them, and they shared the croissants. Breck sat on the very edge of his chair, leaning well forward.
‘I just thought we’d have a quiet breakfast.’
‘We still can.’
‘You doing a spot of spring-cleaning?’ Breck gestured towards the piles of books.
‘Anything takes your fancy, it’s yours.’ Fox lifted his plate from the table, trying not to hiss in pain as he stretched. ‘Something I wanted to ask you...’ He bit into the croissant.
‘Fire away.’
‘Why don’t you want Annabel to know?’
Breck chewed thoughtfully, then swallowed. ‘You mean about SEIL Ents and my credit card? I’m still weighing up the pros and cons.’
‘If she finds out the hard way, she’s not going to be too happy,’ Fox said. ‘And we really need her on our team...’
‘So you’re not just thinking of my best interests?’
‘Perish the thought.’
Breck picked crumbs from the knees of his trousers. ‘She keeps asking, though, why I’ve not gone to the Federation to ask them for a lawyer.’
‘It’s a fair question - why haven’t you?’
Breck decided not to answer. Instead, he had a question of his own. ‘What in God’s name did you hope to find in the Cowgate?’
‘Torphichen had been along, handing out flyers.’
‘So at least you know they’re doing their job. Where were you when you got thumped?’
‘There’s an alley with a sauna down it ...’ Fox noticed the change in Jamie Breck’s face. ‘You know it?’ he guessed.
‘There’s a sign, just says “Sauna”? Narrow little lane?’
‘Spit it out.’
But Breck needed some tea first. He placed his plate on top of some of the books on the coffee table, half the croissant still untouched. ‘I went there once with Glen Heaton,’ he admitted.
‘What?’
‘Not inside,’ Breck quickly corrected himself. ‘We’d been out to Jock’s Lodge ... talking to a witness. On the way back, Heaton said to take the route through the Cowgate. Then he sent a text, and told me to pull up when we reached that lane. He got out of the car and a woman came out of the building. She was wearing a raincoat, but I got the feeling there wasn’t a whole lot underneath. The two of them did some talking. At the end, she pecked him on the cheek. I think he might even have given her some money.’ Breck’s face was creased in concentration. ‘She was tiny - had to stand on tiptoe to reach his face. Younger than him; maybe late twenties. Anyway, she headed back indoors and he got into the car.’ He gave a shrug.
‘Did he tell you her name?’
‘No. I asked him what it was all about and he just winked and hinted that she was a contact of some kind.’
‘An informer?’
Breck gave another shrug. ‘There were things I knew it was best not to ask. Glen had a way of letting you know...’
‘How long ago was this?’
‘Last autumn.’
Fox thought for a moment. ‘She was tiny, you say?’
‘Under five foot.’
‘Curly blonde hair?’ Breck stared at him, and Fox decided to explain. ‘We had Heaton under surveillance for months - checked his e-mails, taped his phone calls, followed him. There was a woman he was seeing behind his wife’s back. Worked as a lap-dancer on Lothian Road. Little slip of a thing called...’ But Fox couldn’t summon up her name.
‘Looks like she’s holding down two jobs,’ Breck commented. Then, fixing Fox with a stare: ‘You don’t think...?’
It was Fox’s turn to shrug. ‘Whoever it was, they just wanted to dole out a bit of punishment - not a huge amount; just enough.’
‘Glen Heaton would have motive,’ Breck agreed. Fox was already punching Tony Kaye’s number into his phone.
‘Wondered when I’d be hearing from you,’ were Kaye’s answering words. ‘Give me a sec, will you?’
Fox listened as Kaye got up from behind his desk and moved into the corridor. ‘Can I assume Gilchrist’s hard at work?’
‘McEwan’s got him busy on a few bits and pieces,’ Kaye acknowledged. ‘I’m assuming this is purely a social call?’
‘I need you to look something up for me, Tony - might mean a trip to the Fiscal’s office, if they’re the ones with the paperwork.’
‘Or I could just call them...’
‘Fewer people in the know, the better I’ll like it,’ Fox countered.
‘Fair enough - so what do you need?’
‘Info on Glen Heaton’s squeeze.’
‘The lap-dancer?’
‘Do you recall her name?’
‘We never bothered interviewing her. She was going to be leverage, remember? If we needed Heaton to ’fess up.’
‘Just get me what you can, Tony.’
‘Mind telling me why?’
‘Later.’ Fox ended the call and made to tap the phone against his chin, before remembering that it would sting.
‘What was Jack Broughton doing there?’ Breck was asking himself.
‘Customer maybe - his wife’s dead and the old bastard’s probably still got some juice.’ Fox paused. ‘Or could he be the proprietor?’
‘A pimp, you mean?’
Fox shook his head. ‘Might own the building, though ... maybe he’s the landlord or leaseholder.’ He looked at Breck. ‘Could Annabel do some digging?’
‘Under what pretext?’
‘The inquiry team’s not finished with the Cowgate - she could be looking for background...’
Breck puffed his cheeks and expelled some air. ‘I suppose so,’ he said. ‘You want me to call her?’ He had his own phone in his hand.
‘Why not?’ Malcolm Fox said.
Breck started to make the call. ‘I’m just wondering...’
‘What?’
‘Now that I think about it, why did Heaton do that? Why take me with him when he went to see his bit on the side?’
‘He was showing off,’ Fox decided. ‘Pure and simple.’
Breck considered this, then nodded. His call had been picked up. ‘Hey, Annabel,’ he said, his face breaking into a smile. ‘You’ll never guess what I’m after...’
By mid-afternoon, Fox knew several things.
Courtesy of Tony Kaye, he now knew that the lap-dancer’s name was Sonya Michie and that she lived in a block of flats in Sighthill. She was a single mum with two kids at the local primary school. There was no mention in her file of any employment in a sauna, and she had no arrests to her name.
The information from Annabel Cartwright was more intriguing still. The building in which the sauna was housed was owned by a Dundee-based company called Wauchope Leisure Holdings Limited. Wauchope Leisure owned all sorts of interesting properties in the city, mostly saunas and strip clubs. The list happened to include the lap-dancing bar where Sonya Michie worked. Cartwright had sourced the register of directors, including a certain J. Broughton. Just to be on the safe side, Jamie Breck had asked her to verify the first name. A further hour later had come confirmation: John Edward Alan Broughton.
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