‘Did you try phoning him over the weekend?’

‘Texted him a couple of times.’

‘No answer?’

She shook her head. ‘I expected him home on Sunday, but then…’ She gazed at her broken arm. ‘Maybe he was feeling more ashamed than usual.’

‘And by last night?’ Fox coaxed.

Another deep breath. ‘By last night… maybe I was getting worried.’

‘Or anaesthetised.’ Fox gestured towards the empty glass. She shrugged as best she could. ‘When I dropped in yesterday,’ he went on, ‘why didn’t you say anything?’

‘I didn’t want you to know.’

‘I tried calling you last night… there was no answer.’

‘You said it yourself – anaesthetised.’

‘And again this morning?’

She stared at him. ‘Have they sent you here to interrogate me?’

‘I’m just asking the questions they’ll ask.’

‘You never liked him,’ she commented.

‘I can’t deny it.’

‘Maybe you’re even glad he’s dead.’ Her voice was turning accusatory. Fox lifted her chin with one finger, so she was facing him.

‘That’s not true,’ he lied. ‘But he was never the man you deserved.’

‘He was what I got, Malcolm. And that was plenty enough for me.’

5

He met Annie Inglis for coffee at the Fettes canteen. Apart from the staff, the place was deserted. Inglis insisted on fetching the drinks while he sat at a table near the window.

‘I’m not an invalid,’ he told her with a smile, as she pushed the mug towards him.

‘Sugar?’ She tipped half a dozen sachets on to the table. He shook his head and watched her draw her chair in. She’d chosen hot chocolate for herself. She fidgeted a little, dabbed a finger against the surface of the liquid and sucked on it. Then she made eye contact.

‘So,’ she said.

‘So,’ he agreed.

‘Any idea what happened?’

‘Building site by the canal. Someone did a job on him.’

‘How’s your sister doing?’

‘Her name’s Jude, short for Judith. I’m not sure how she’s doing.’

‘You went to see her?’

‘She was tucked up in bed with a bottle of vodka.’

‘Can’t begrudge her that.’

‘Jude has a history with alcohol.’ He stared down at his coffee. It was meant to be a cappuccino, but the foam was non-existent. Inglis gave a twitch of the mouth and allowed the silence to linger.

‘So,’ she asked at last, ‘you got to meet DS Breck?’

‘Wondered how long it would take you,’ he muttered.

She ignored this. ‘How did he strike you?’

‘I’d say he’s good at his job. The conversation never really got round to his predilection for kiddie-fiddling.’

She bristled, but only for a moment. ‘Malcolm,’ she said quietly, ‘I’m only asking.’

‘Sorry.’

‘And the reason I’m asking is because Gilchrist and me have been talking…’

‘Is he your boss, by the way?’

‘Gilchrist?’ She widened her eyes a little. ‘He’s my DC.’

‘He’s older than you.’

‘So your immediate thought was that he had to outrank me?’

Fox was saved from answering by the sound of her phone. She lifted it from the table and checked the screen.

‘I’ve got to take this,’ she said. ‘It’s my son.’ She held the phone to her ear. ‘Hey, Duncan.’ She listened for the best part of a minute, eyes fixed on the world outside the window. ‘Okay, but I want you home by seven. Understood? Bye then.’ She placed the phone back on the table, her fingers resting against it.

‘I didn’t think you were married,’ Fox said.

‘I’m not.’ She thought for a moment. ‘But what made you…?’

He swallowed before answering. There was stuff about her he wasn’t supposed to know. ‘No wedding ring,’ he eventually said. Then, a little too quickly: ‘How old is Duncan?’

‘Fifteen.’

‘You must’ve been young.’

‘My last year at school. Mum and Dad were furious, but they looked after him.’

Fox nodded slowly. There’d been no mention of a son in Inglis’s personnel file. An oversight? He took a sip of his drink.

‘He’s headed to a friend’s,’ Annie Inglis explained.

‘Can’t be easy – single mum, teenage boy…’

‘It’s fine,’ she stated, her tone telling him things could be left at that.

Fox held the mug to his mouth and blew across it. ‘You were telling me,’ he said, ‘that you’d been talking with Gilchrist…’

‘That’s right. We’re thinking that this could work out for us.’

‘Me and Breck, you mean?’

She nodded. ‘You’re not involved in the inquiry, so it’s not really a conflict of interest.’

‘What you’re saying is, while Breck investigates the murder, I busy myself keeping an eye on him?’

‘The two of you have already met… and you’ve got the perfect excuse for keeping in touch with him.’

‘And it’s not a conflict of interest?’

‘We’re only asking you for background, Malcolm, gen we can pass on to London. Nothing you do is going to come to court.’

‘How can we be sure?’

She thought for a moment and shrugged. ‘Gilchrist’s checking with your boss and the Deputy Chief.’

‘Shouldn’t that be your job?’

She shrugged and made eye contact. ‘I wanted to see you instead. ’

‘I’m touched.’

‘Are you up to the task, Malcolm? That’s what I need to know.’

Fox thought back to the piece of waste ground. We’ll be doing all we can…

‘I’m up to it,’ Malcolm Fox said.

Back upstairs, the Complaints office was empty. He sat at his desk for a good five minutes, gnawing on a cheap ballpoint pen, thinking of Vince Faulkner and Jude and Jamie Breck. The door, already ajar, was pushed all the way open by Bob McEwan. He was wearing a trenchcoat and carrying a briefcase.

‘You all right, Foxy?’ he asked, standing in front of the desk, feet planted almost a yard apart.

‘I’m fine.’

‘Heard about your brother-in-law… compassionate leave if you want it.’

‘He wasn’t a relation,’ Fox corrected his boss. ‘Just a guy my sister fell in with.’

‘All the same…’

‘I’ll look in on her when I can.’ The words, as they emerged from his mouth, made him think of his father. Mitch needed to be told.

‘And about the Chop Shop,’ McEwan began. ‘Reckon you can still help them out?’

‘You don’t think there’s a problem?’

‘Traynor doesn’t see one.’ Adam Traynor – Deputy Chief Constable. ‘I’ve just been speaking with him.’

‘Then that’s that,’ Fox said, placing the pen back on the desk.

At work’s end, he headed over to Lauder Lodge. One of the staff told him he’d find his father in Mrs Sanderson’s room. Fox stood in front of her door and couldn’t hear anything. He knocked and waited until the woman’s voice invited him in. Mitch was seated facing Mrs Sanderson. The two chairs were positioned either side of the room’s fireplace. This fireplace was for show only. A vase of dried flowers sat in the unused grate. He’d been in Mrs Sanderson’s room once before, when his father had introduced him to his ‘new, dear friend’. The old boy was doing the same thing again.

‘This is my son, Audrey.’

Mrs Sanderson gave a tinkling laugh. ‘I know, Mitch. I’ve met Malcolm before.’

Mitch Fox’s brow furrowed as he tried to remember. Fox leaned down over Mrs Sanderson and placed a kiss against her cheek. She smelled faintly of talcum powder and her face was like parchment; her hands and arms, too. She’d probably always been thin, but now the skin on her face matched the exact contours of the skull beneath. Yet for all that, she was a handsome woman.

‘You’re feeling better?’ Fox asked.

‘Much better, dear.’ She gave his hand a pat before releasing it.

‘Twice in a few days,’ Fox’s father was saying. ‘Am I supposed to feel flattered? And when’s that sister of yours going to put in an appearance?’

There was nowhere for Fox to sit except the bed, so he stayed standing. It seemed to him that he towered over the two seated figures. Mrs Sanderson was arranging the tartan travel rug that lay spread across her lower body.