The Complaints (56 page)

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Authors: Ian Rankin

BOOK: The Complaints
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‘We can’t have missed them,’ Breck whispered. ‘Maybe the van wouldn’t start, or they got cold feet ...’
‘Ssh,’ Fox advised. ‘Listen.’
The low rumble of an engine. A scruffy white van slowly turning the corner into the cul-de-sac. Each homeowner had a parking bay, but these were grouped together at the rear of the row of houses. The roadway was to be kept clear at all times, and boasted an unbroken run of double yellow lines. Not that this bothered the van. Its headlights had been turned off, and it pulled to a stop in the middle of the tarmac. When the engine died, Fox realised he was holding his breath. The burning bulb in the upstairs bedroom had been Tony Kaye’s idea. A good one, too. The van doors creaked open and two men got out. Fox recognised both of them. They padded over to the front door of the house, Wauchope’s face illuminated by the screen of his phone. Fox realised he was checking the time. When he nodded, Vass tried the door handle. Having opened it a fraction, proof that it hadn’t been locked, they pulled it closed again and went to check through the downstairs window. Then Bull Wauchope took a couple of steps back and angled his head towards the lit window upstairs. He seemed to whisper something to Vass, who nodded his agreement. Vass retreated to the van, looking to left and right, and returned carrying a length of clothes line and a roll of tape.
It was Wauchope who pushed the door open, but he let Vass lead the way. When both men were inside, Fox nodded towards Breck. They left their hiding place and started crossing the road. They were halfway to the door when they heard the shouts. Suddenly the doors of the houses on either side flew open, officers pouring out and following Wauchope and Vass inside. There were figures in the upstairs window - more officers. They were dressed in black and protected by visors and stab vests. They carried pepper spray and truncheons. There were yelled commands and the sounds of a struggle. Fox and Breck had no means of identifying themselves to their colleagues, so stayed outside on the path, moving aside when the team started pouring back out again. Wauchope and Vass had been handcuffed and were led downstairs, an officer behind them toting an evidence bag containing the clothes line and tape. Breck stayed to watch, but Fox had walked over to the van. He used the sleeve of his jacket when he turned the handle, opening its back doors and staring at the shadowy interior. Neighbours were finally coming out, alerted to the commotion. Officers were reassuring them that there was nothing to be worried about. Fox kept staring. He could make out Terry Vass’s voice, cursing the arresting officers. Police cars were arriving on the scene, lights flashing, bringing out more spectators. Fox flipped his mobile phone open, using the light from its screen as a torch. A sheet of plywood separated the rear compartment from the front seats. Wedged in against the furthest corner was a big, ugly-looking steel hammer. It looked stained, matted with something very like human hair. The phone’s screen went dark again, but Fox only turned his head away from the scene when he felt Jamie Breck’s hand land lightly on his shoulder.
‘You okay, Malcolm?’ Breck was asking.
‘I’m not sure,’ Fox admitted. He saw that Bob McEwan was standing in the doorway of the house, hands in pockets. McEwan spotted Fox and Breck, but made no gesture of recognition. Instead, he turned and wandered back indoors.
Tuesday 24 February 2009
31
Four in the morning and Fox was back home.
Wauchope and Vass would spend the night in separate cells, though Wauchope’s lawyer - the one working hard to spring Bruce Senior from jail - was already on his way from Dundee. Charlie Brogan would be interviewed again in the morning. At some point, Fox knew he had to explain it all to Jude. But that could wait. He also needed to call Linda Dearborn - she was owed an exclusive, and Fox knew he could offer her a choice of several. He had assumed he’d be feeling lighter, but there was still the sense of a weight pressing down on him. He placed a couple more books on one of the shelves, then sat back down with a mug of tea. When he heard a car come to a stop outside, he turned his head towards the window. The living-room lights were off, the curtains still open. The car idled, then its headlights were switched off, followed by its engine. A door opened and closed. Fox held the mug in both hands, his elbows resting on his knees. The caller didn’t use the bell; they knocked instead, knowing he’d be waiting.
It was another few seconds before he rose to his feet, leaving the mug on the coffee table. When he opened the door, Bob McEwan was standing there.
‘Everything all right?’ McEwan asked.
Fox nodded slowly and ushered his boss inside. He’d spent a good part of Sunday convincing McEwan to go along with Jamie Breck’s plan. Back in the living room, Fox switched on the ceiling light.
‘Tony Kaye tells me you managed to record the whole lot.’
‘The whole lot,’ Fox echoed. Then, after a pause: ‘Well ... not quite. Do you want a drink?’
‘A whisky, maybe.’
‘No alcohol in the house.’
‘Not even for special occasions, Malcolm?’
Fox shook his head. McEwan had spotted the mug. ‘Tea, then,’ he decided.
The two men went through to the kitchen. Fox filled the kettle and switched it on.
‘Did they give you any trouble?’ he asked.
McEwan put his hands in his trouser pockets. ‘Vass took a couple of swings, but you’d warned the lads he would.’ He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and blew his nose. ‘This cold of mine’s getting worse ...’
Fox just nodded and reached into the cupboard for a mug. It had a drawing of Edinburgh Castle on the side. He hesitated, then placed the mug on the worktop.
‘I can’t do this,’ he muttered, pushing past McEwan.
‘Do what?’ McEwan asked.
Fox was standing by the window when McEwan arrived in the living room a few moments later.
‘What’s wrong?’ McEwan asked.
Fox kept his back to McEwan and started to speak. ‘Remember what you said to me, Bob? All those years back when I joined the Complaints? You said “No favours.” What you meant was, we had to treat everyone the same - friend or stranger, if they were bent, we took them down.’
‘I remember,’ McEwan said quietly. Fox heard him take a seat.
‘Adam Traynor wanted a favour from you - he wanted a cop put under surveillance. You said it would be best if the Chop Shop did the asking - that was the proper channel, after all.’
‘Is that right, Malcolm?’
‘I can’t see any other way it could have happened.’ Fox took a deep breath. ‘This would have been the Thursday or Friday. I was busy dotting the i’s and crossing the t’s on Glen Heaton ... handing the whole thing over to the Procurator Fiscal. But there was something you told me that Friday - you said there might be a case for us in Aberdeen.’ Finally Fox turned towards McEwan. ‘And that gave you an idea. Maybe you already knew a bit about Jamie Breck ... what kind of officer he was. You reckoned me and him would get on. I’d be intrigued by him, begin to see in him lots of things I’m not ... You did a deal with Grampian - they’d start tailing
me
and you’d do what you could to make sure the inquiry into them was as soft as it could be.’
Fox walked towards his chair and sat down opposite McEwan. McEwan was staring at the piles of books on the floor next to him. He would even pick one up from time to time and pretend to study it before putting it back.
‘You had that whole weekend to think it over,’ Fox went on, ‘to make sure it felt right. I’d be set the task of watching Jamie Breck. The more I found out about him, the more I’d start to trust
him
rather than the evidence. And from what you’d come to know about me, you were sure I’d put my foot in it somehow. That was all you needed ... for me to make a mistake. Same sort of fall Breck himself was being set up for, and for exactly the same reasons.’ Fox paused. ‘Which, if true, puts you in the selfsame class as Bull Wauchope and Charlie Brogan ...’ He let the accusation linger, while McEwan riffled the pages of another book.
‘If true,’ McEwan eventually echoed.
‘The only real coincidence was, Breck ended up on the Faulkner inquiry - gold dust, as far as you were concerned. It gave me a whole new set of ways of falling flat on my face ...’
Fox paused again, giving McEwan another opportunity to speak, an opportunity McEwan found it easy to refuse.
‘When I was going through Traynor’s file, I took a look at yours too, Bob. It reminded me of something you’d said right back at the start of the Heaton inquiry - that you had to take a back seat. And you were quite right - you’d worked in the same office as him, after all. Only for a short time, but these things can come back to haunt us once defence teams get hold of them. But your file told a different story. Glen Heaton was your partner way back in the day - he was just starting out and you were the one teaching him the ropes. You wanted my reputation tarnished so his lawyer could use it against us in court. You wanted the Complaints to
fail
. Your own team, Bob ...’
McEwan looked up for the first time. ‘And to your way of thinking, this is the only way it plays out?’ he asked.
‘Remember when you told me Breck and Heaton weren’t the best of friends? You said you’d spoken to someone at Torphichen ... but it was your old pal Heaton you actually spoke to, wasn’t it? We don’t
get
to help our old pals,’ Fox continued, leaning forward with the top half of his body. ‘We’re the Complaints.’
McEwan cleared his throat. ‘Glen Heaton gets the job done, Malcolm.’
‘So I keep hearing, but that’s the excuse we’re always given!’ Fox waited for McEwan to say something more, but he just tossed the book he was holding on to the coffee table and leaned back a little on the sofa.
‘I thought it was Wauchope helping Heaton,’ Fox admitted with a rueful smile.
‘Bull Wauchope and Terry Vass are bad men, Malcolm.’
‘Meaning you’re not?’ Fox stared at his boss. After a few moments of silence, he gave a sigh. ‘In the morning,’ he said, ‘you’re going to take everything on Wauchope and Brogan and Vince Faulkner to the Chief...’
‘Everything?’ McEwan echoed.
‘You’re going to have to tell him about Traynor and you’re going to make sure Jamie Breck gets reinstated without the hint of a slur or a stain on his character.
McEwan nodded slowly. ‘And what about us?’
‘Last thing you do before leaving the Chief’s office is hand him your resignation - that gives you a few hours to come up with any excuse you like. I want DI Stoddart put back in her box and I want to be told I’m returned to duty. But not with you running the show.’
‘And if I refuse?’
‘Then it’s
my
turn to talk to the Chief.’
‘It’d be my word against yours.’
‘You really want to take that chance? Be my guest ...’ Fox got to his feet. ‘I suppose I’ll find out in a few hours’ time.’
McEwan stared at him and started reaching into his pocket, pulling out a phone. ‘I’m thrilled at your high regard for me,’ he said quietly, pushing buttons. When his call was answered, he spoke only four words.
‘You better come in.’
Fox heard another car door open and close. McEwan had exited the living room long enough to let in the new arrival. There was a quick, muttered conversation in the hall. Fox had risen to his feet. Surely McEwan hadn’t brought Glen Heaton with him ... But if he had, Fox was ready. The door opened, and McEwan led a distinguished-looking man into the room.
‘Malcolm,’ he said by way of introduction, ‘you’ve maybe not met the Chief Constable ...’
The Chief’s name was Jim Byars and he held out a hand for Fox to shake. He was in his late fifties, with thick silver hair combed straight back from the forehead.
‘Sir,’ Fox said by way of greeting.
‘Bob here tells me you’ve grabbed the wrong end of the stick,’ Byars said. His eyes were deep-set but probing. ‘Maybe we should all sit down, eh?’
The Chief Constable waited until they were settled, then turned towards Fox. ‘You looked at Adam Traynor’s file, didn’t you?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Notice anything?’
Fox nodded slowly. ‘Some of your own comments were in there ... Reading between the lines, it looked to me as if you never really rated Traynor as a possible successor.’
Byars turned his attention to McEwan. ‘He’s a sharp one, Bob.’
‘Yes, sir,’ McEwan agreed. ‘On occasion.’
Byars was facing Fox again. ‘As it happens, you’re quite right - there had always been whispers about Adam Traynor.’
‘Dating back to his days in Dundee?’ Fox guessed.
‘Suspicions that he’d kept the wrong company in the past. Bruce Wauchope for one ...’
‘It was probably Wauchope who introduced Traynor to Glen Heaton,’ Bob McEwan interrupted, fixing Fox with a look. ‘You’re right to say that me and Heaton go back a long way ... but I’d never sell out one of my men, Malcolm.’
Fox swallowed. Blood had begun to colour his cheeks.
‘Bob here,’ the Chief Constable went on, ‘knew something was up - no way Traynor should have sanctioned a surveillance operation on you without Bob being kept in the loop. Bob already knew I had some concerns about my deputy, concerns
he
was now sharing. DI Stoddart has had a word with
her
DCC up in Grampian, and he’s admitted it was Traynor who ordered your surveillance.’

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