The Complaints

  ‘I had to be discredited?’ Breck asked. Wauchope nodded and leaned back against the bench. It creaked under the strain.

  ‘You already knew Ernie Wishaw, didn’t you?’ Fox asked Wauchope. ‘Glen Heaton had done you a favour, made sure Wishaw didn’t get dragged into the case against his driver. That meant Wishaw owed you, but at the same time you owed Heaton, and Heaton wanted a favour - if he went to trial, stuff would start spilling out. That couldn’t happen. Your job was to set me up for Vince Faulkner’s murder.’

  ‘I really don’t know what you’re talking about.’ Wauchope gave a slow shake of the head. ‘Like I said before, I only know about him.’ He stabbed a finger in Jamie Breck’s direction, and it was Breck who responded.

  ‘You had to have someone inside the force. Someone who knew what was happening in Australia. Someone with access to my credit card ...’

  ‘Think I’m going to tell you?’

  ‘If you want Brogan, you’re going to have to,’ Fox interrupted. ‘Only problem is, it’s not going to go down well with your dad, is it?’

  Wauchope glared at him. ‘You already know,’ he said.

  ‘I’m the Complaints, Bull. Other cops are an open book to me. I just had to go back through the files far enough.’ Fox paused. ‘Long before he became Deputy Chief Constable, Adam Traynor worked right here on Tayside. He had a couple of run-ins with your dad, but nothing ever came to trial. Funny that ... the way those cases kept falling apart ... Did you ask your dad to put you in touch?’

  Wauchope kept glaring. The silence lengthened. When he eventually moved his head, the signal was ambiguous.

  ‘Is that a yes?’ Fox asked.

  ‘It’s a yes,’ the gangster said.

  ‘Traynor arranged all the details?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘For old times’ sake?’

  ‘He owed Dad a few favours - plenty of cops owe my dad favours, Fox.’

  ‘Probably explains why it took Tayside so long to lock him up.’ Fox watched the scowl spread across the son’s face. ‘So Brogan needs DS Breck kicked into touch and you arrange the details. But then what happens? He sets Vince Faulkner on you?’

  ‘Faulkner was amateur hour. Terry saw him as a living, breathing insult.’

  ‘You didn’t give an order?’

  Wauchope shook his head. ‘First I knew of it was when Terry phoned me.’

  Fox turned in his chair so he was half facing the man at the bar. ‘The argument got out of hand? You whacked him a bit too hard? See, Brogan has a different take - he says Faulkner was tortured and his screams fed down the phone to send him a message.’ When Vass said nothing, Fox turned back to Wauchope. ‘Did Brogan lie to me?’

  ‘What do you say, Terry?’ the gangster called to his lieutenant. Then, to Fox: ‘Like I said, Terry felt insulted. Maybe the phone call was to let Brogan know.’ Wauchope gazed at the screen again. ‘He’s still sitting there. Can you get your pal to punch him or something? ’

  ‘Where was Vince Faulkner killed? That sauna of yours in the Cowgate?’

  Wauchope turned his attention back to Vass. ‘Terry?’

  ‘Back of the van,’ Vass muttered.

  ‘I didn’t catch that,’ Fox complained.

  ‘Terry took one of the vans down to Edinburgh,’ Wauchope explained. ‘You didn’t really mean for him to die, did you, Terry? You just thought you were putting him in hospital.’

  Fox didn’t bother checking Vass’s reaction. ‘Where do I come in?’ he asked instead.

  ‘You don’t,’ Wauchope said with a shrug. ‘Not as far as I’m concerned. ’

  ‘I was under surveillance ... then I got put on to DS Breck’s case. No coincidence.’

  ‘Nothing to do with me.’

  ‘I need more than that,’ Fox said.

  ‘There isn’t any more than that!’ Wauchope slapped his palm against the surface of the table.

  ‘Then you need to ask another favour from Traynor - because if you really don’t know, maybe he does.’

  Wauchope wagged a finger. ‘No more favours till I’ve got my hands on Charlie Brogan.’

  The two men stared at one another.

  ‘I hand him over,’ Fox guessed, ‘and you rip him to pieces in front of an invited audience?’

  ‘That’s the deal we had.’

  Fox turned towards Breck. ‘You were right,’ he said. ‘We folded when we should have raised.’

  ‘We can still raise,’ Breck commented.

  ‘Not if you want to leave here without the help of paramedics,’ Wauchope growled. ‘Fun’s over - all I want from you now is the address.’

  Fox drew a beer mat towards himself and took out a pen. ‘It’s quarter to twelve now,’ he said. ‘It’s going to take you an hour and a bit to get to Edinburgh. At half past one, my pal walks out of the house. Once he’s gone, you can go in whenever you like.’ He had written down an address. He pushed the mat in Wauchope’s direction.

  ‘And if this is all a ruse?’ the gangster asked.

  ‘Come and get us,’ Fox answered with a shrug. Wauchope slid a fingernail under the mat and lifted it to peer at the address.

  ‘Is this a joke?’ he asked.

  ‘No joke,’ Fox assured him, tucking the pen back into his pocket. ‘There are dozens of finished properties still on the books at Salamander Point. Some of them are even furnished - an enticement to buy, I suppose.’

  Wauchope was staring past Fox towards Terry Vass. ‘First place we should have looked,’ he rasped.

  ‘You’re cleverer than Breck and me, then,’ Fox stated. ‘It was number three or four on our list.’ He paused. ‘Are we done here?’

  Wauchope fixed him with another long, cold stare. Breck was unplugging the laptop and shutting it down.

  ‘We’re done,’ the gangster eventually said. And then: ‘Terry, go fetch the van ...’

  30

  Fox and Breck drove back to Edinburgh at speed and with Breck on his phone for most of the way. Their destination was Police HQ at Fettes. Tony Kaye’s Nissan was parked outside the main entrance. Fox pulled up next to him and got out, Breck following suit. Kaye came to meet them, while Charles Brogan stayed in the Nissan’s passenger seat.

  ‘He all right?’ Fox asked.

  ‘Scared shitless,’ Kaye answered with a smile.

  ‘He heard the whole thing?’

  ‘Clear as a bell.’

  ‘So he’s convinced it’s us or nothing?’

  ‘He’s convinced. Doesn’t mean he’s happy about it.’

  ‘He did well, though,’ Jamie Breck said. ‘If Wauchope had screamed at me like that, I’d have started running for the hills.’

  ‘I kept the volume low,’ Kaye explained. ‘And there was a bit of prep beforehand ...’

  Breck had bent a little at the knees so he could give Brogan a thumbs-up sign, while Brogan resolutely ignored him.

  ‘Have you tried playing it back?’ Fox was asking Kaye.

  ‘It’s fine - sound and vision, and copied on to an external hard drive, date- and time-stamped.’

  ‘What would we have done if he’d spotted the camera?’ Breck asked Fox.

  ‘Told him the truth,’ Fox replied. ‘It’s built into the laptop, meaning there’s nothing to be done about it.’

  ‘He’d have wanted it covered up.’

  ‘We’d still have the audio.’ Fox looked to Kaye for confirmation. Kaye nodded back at him and Fox patted his friend’s arm. Truth to tell, he’d harboured doubts about Tony Kaye, had even wondered for a time if Kaye might have been got at. He felt a little bad about that ... but not too bad.

  Fox’s phone rang and he answered it. It was Bob McEwan, letting them know the squad was in position at Salamander Point.

  ‘The van’s got to go to Forensics,’ Fox reminded him. ‘Could well be the same one they used with Vince Faulkner.’

  ‘Relax, Malcolm,’ McEwan said, ending the call.

  ‘He says we should relax,’ Fox informed Breck and K
aye.

  ‘Want to go watch the fun?’ Breck asked. Fox checked his watch.

  ‘If they catch so much as a glimpse of us,’ he warned, ‘they’ll know something’s up.’

  ‘What about our resident scaredy-cat?’ Kaye gestured towards Brogan.

  ‘We keep him at HQ for the interview - I’d hate for him to have an “accident”.’

  ‘You’re saying Leith’s not safe?’

  ‘Is anywhere?’ Fox asked, sounding deadly serious.

  It was another five minutes before the surveillance vehicle arrived, driven by Joe Naysmith and with Gilchrist as his passenger. Fox hauled open the driver’s-side door.

  ‘Well?’ he asked.

  Naysmith jumped down from the van and Breck tossed him the three-pin adaptor. This, rather than the laptop’s mains cable, was what he’d plugged into the wall socket at the pub. The device only looked like an adaptor, but was actually a bug with its own transmitter and a range of seventy-five metres. Terry Vass had looked up and down the street, but the van had been parked around the corner.

  ‘Picked up every word,’ Naysmith said, beaming a smile.

  ‘And duly recorded.’ Gilchrist was holding a freshly burned CD in his hand.

  Breck started counting off on his fingers. ‘Brogan’s evidence ... plus the laptop ... plus the surveillance ...’

  ‘Any evidence Forensics can lift from the van,’ Fox added. ‘And the fact they’re about to be caught red-handed ...’

  ‘Just about wraps it up,’ Breck concluded. ‘Doesn’t it?’

  ‘Just about,’ Fox seemed to agree. The two men stared at one another.

  ‘All right then,’ Fox relented. ‘Let’s go.’

  It took them only a few minutes to reach Salamander Point, helped by the fact that the roads were deserted. They had borrowed Kaye’s car to make them less recognisable to Wauchope and Vass. Fox was in the driving seat, slowing only marginally for red lights and then going through them if there was no other traffic.

  ‘We’re not going to get much of a view if we stay in the car,’ Breck complained. ‘There’s nowhere nearby to park.’ So they left the Nissan on a side street and walked around the perimeter of the site. The temporary fencing had been removed from that part of Salamander Point boasting finished abodes. Grass had been laid, and a few trees and shrubs planted. The address handed to Wauchope belonged to one of the few actual houses. It was semi-detached and stood in a row of six. There was light coming from its upstairs window. Fox had plumped for it because there was less chance of neighbours getting in the way. Many of the flats were occupied, but four of the six houses stood empty. Fox and Breck kept their distance, peering from behind a brick wall that sheltered the neighbours’ dustbins from general view. There was no sign of life from any of the properties.

  ‘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 an
y 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.