The Complaints by Ian Rankin Page A

Kaye. Then he turned his attention to Giles.

    ‘Not quite yet,’ he said, giving equal weight to each individual word. He rose to his feet, indicating that Kaye should do the same. ‘You want us, you know where to find us.’

    ‘Now’s as good a time as any.’

    But Fox was shaking his head as he buttoned his coat. ‘You know where to find us,’ he repeated. ‘Just be sure to make an appointment - we’re always busy in the Complaints.’

    ‘You’re maggots, the pair of you.’

    Even standing, Fox wasn’t much taller than the seated Giles. But he leaned down a little towards the man. ‘We’re not maggots,’ he stated. ‘You said so yourself - we’re the ones in the ring, the ones who floored your pal Heaton. And last time I looked, he was still on the canvas.’

    Then he straightened up, turned and walked out. It was a few seconds before Tony Kaye joined him. Kaye was knotting his tartan scarf as he emerged from the pub.

    ‘What the hell do we do?’ he asked.

    ‘We don’t need to do anything - it’ll happen the way it happens. ’

    ‘We should at least tell McEwan.’

    Fox nodded his agreement. ‘Giles will want us interviewed at Torphichen. We stick to my story. I might get a reprimand, but I doubt it’ll amount to much.’

    Kaye considered this, then shook his head slowly. ‘Giles won’t let it go at that. Far as he’s concerned, this is payback time.’

    ‘All he’ll get is small change, Tony.’

    Kaye thought for a further moment. ‘That bastard in Hull!’

    ‘We ought to have realised - everyone leaves traces, even on a computer.’

    Kaye breathed out noisily through his nose. ‘So what now?’

    Fox shrugged. ‘Do you need a lift? I don’t see your Nissan . . .’

    ‘I parked it legally for a change. It’s a couple of streets away.’

    ‘You didn’t want Torphichen nabbing you for that, too?’

    Kaye shook his head. ‘How come you’re always so calm, Foxy?’

    ‘No point being anything else - like I say, what happens happens. ’

    Kaye was staring at the door of Minter’s. ‘We should leg it before he comes out.’

    ‘He’s got that pint to drink, and maybe another one after it. By the way - what did you think of Jamie Breck?’

    Kaye needed only a second to deliver his verdict. ‘Good guy, seems like.’

    Malcolm Fox nodded his agreement. Seems like ...

Wednesday 11 February 2009

6

    Wednesday morning, Fox was brushing his teeth when the home phone started ringing. The upstairs handset needed recharging, and he knew the caller would have hung up before he could reach the living room, so he stayed where he was. He’d woken early, Tony Kaye’s words in his head - good guy, seems like . Kaye had meant that Breck was the sort to help out a colleague. Didn’t mean he couldn’t be other things, too . . . Just as Fox was wiping his mouth, his mobile let out its little chirrup. It was on the dresser in the bedroom, and he walked through, tossing the towel on to the just-made bed.

    ‘Fox,’ he said, pressing the phone to his ear.

    ‘Mr Fox, it’s Alison Pettifer.’

    Fox’s stomach tightened. ‘Is Jude all right?’

    ‘They’ve taken her.’

    ‘Who?’ But already knowing the answer.

    ‘Some policemen. C Division, they said.’

    Meaning Torphichen. Fox looked at his watch - half seven. ‘It’s just routine,’ he started to explain.

    ‘That’s what they said - “routine questions”. All the same, I thought you’d want to know.’

    ‘That’s kind of you.’

    ‘Should I stay here, do you think?’ Fox wasn’t sure what she meant: was she suggesting she head to Torphichen herself? ‘To keep an eye on them, I mean.’

    Fox lifted the phone from his ear and read the display. She was calling from Jude’s home phone. ‘They’re still there?’ he asked.

    ‘Some of them, yes.’

    ‘With a search warrant?’

    ‘They did get Jude to sign something,’ the neighbour confirmed.

    ‘Where are you now, Mrs