Breck said.
Fox called the office from his car and told Tony Kaye they’d have to hold fire on Jamie Breck. Kaye, naturally, asked why.
‘He’s in charge of Faulkner.’
Kaye was making a whistling sound as Fox ended the call. When his phone rang, he answered without thinking.
‘Look, Tony, I’ll talk to you later.’
There was silence for a moment, then a female voice: ‘It’s Annie Inglis. Is this a bad time?’
‘Not a great time, Annie, if I’m being honest.’
‘Anything I can do to help?’
‘No, but thanks for the offer.’
‘I got your message ...’
The horn in the car behind Fox started blaring as he headed down a street meant only for taxis and buses.
‘There’s been a complication. My sister’s partner’s turned up dead.’
‘I’m sorry ...’
‘Don’t be - he was an evil little sod. But I’ve just met the investigating officer. He’s a DS called Jamie Breck.’
‘Oh.’
‘So the job you wanted me to do should probably go to someone else. In fact, a couple of my colleagues are already briefed.’
‘Right.’ She paused. ‘So where are you now?’
‘On my way to my sister’s place.’
‘How is she?’
‘That’s what I’m going to find out.’
‘Let me know, will you?’
Fox glanced in his rearview mirror. A patrol car was behind him, blue roof-lights flashing. ‘Got to go,’ he said, ending the call.
It took him a whole five minutes to discuss his situation with the officers. He’d tried showing them his warrant card without letting them see he was Complaints and Conduct, but they seemed to know anyway. Was he aware he’d made an illegal manoeuvre? And did he recall the law about driving while holding a conversation on a mobile phone? He managed to sound apologetic; managed not to explain where he was headed and why - didn’t see any reason the sods needed to know. In the end, they wrote him out a penalty ticket.
‘Nobody’s above the law,’ the elder of the two cautioned him. Fox thanked the man and got back into his car. They did what they always did - tailed him a few hundred more yards before signalling right and heading elsewhere. It was what happened when you were the Complaints - no favours from your colleagues. In fact, just the opposite. Which got Fox thinking about Jamie Breck again . . .
He found a parking space along the street from Jude’s house. Alison Pettifer opened the door. She’d closed the curtains in the living room and kitchen - out of respect, Fox surmised.
‘Where’s Jude?’ he asked.
‘Upstairs. I made her some tea with plenty of sugar.’
Fox nodded, looking around the living room. It seemed to him that Pettifer had started the process of tidying up. He thanked her and signalled that he was going to go see his sister. She pressed a hand to his arm. Didn’t say anything, but her eyes told a story. Go easy on her. He patted the hand and went out into the hall. The stairs were steep and narrow - difficult to fall down them without becoming wedged halfway. Three doors led off the cramped landing - bathroom and two bedrooms. One bedroom had been turned into Vince Faulkner’s lair. Boxes of junk, an old hi-fi and racks of rock CDs, plus a desk with a cheap computer. The door was ajar, so Fox peered in. The slatted blinds had been drawn closed. A couple of men’s magazines lay on the floor - Nuts and Zoo . Their covers showed near-identical blondes with their arms covering their breasts. Fox tapped on the next door along, and turned the handle. Jude was lying on the bed with the duvet cocooned around her. She wasn’t asleep, though. The tea sat untouched on the bedside table, beside an empty tumbler. The room smelled faintly of vodka.
‘How you doing, sis?’ He sat down on the bed. All he could see were her head and her bare feet. He smoothed her hair back from her forehead. She sniffled and started to sit up. Beneath the duvet she was fully dressed.
‘Somebody killed him,’ she
Fox called the office from his car and told Tony Kaye they’d have to hold fire on Jamie Breck. Kaye, naturally, asked why.
‘He’s in charge of Faulkner.’
Kaye was making a whistling sound as Fox ended the call. When his phone rang, he answered without thinking.
‘Look, Tony, I’ll talk to you later.’
There was silence for a moment, then a female voice: ‘It’s Annie Inglis. Is this a bad time?’
‘Not a great time, Annie, if I’m being honest.’
‘Anything I can do to help?’
‘No, but thanks for the offer.’
‘I got your message ...’
The horn in the car behind Fox started blaring as he headed down a street meant only for taxis and buses.
‘There’s been a complication. My sister’s partner’s turned up dead.’
‘I’m sorry ...’
‘Don’t be - he was an evil little sod. But I’ve just met the investigating officer. He’s a DS called Jamie Breck.’
‘Oh.’
‘So the job you wanted me to do should probably go to someone else. In fact, a couple of my colleagues are already briefed.’
‘Right.’ She paused. ‘So where are you now?’
‘On my way to my sister’s place.’
‘How is she?’
‘That’s what I’m going to find out.’
‘Let me know, will you?’
Fox glanced in his rearview mirror. A patrol car was behind him, blue roof-lights flashing. ‘Got to go,’ he said, ending the call.
It took him a whole five minutes to discuss his situation with the officers. He’d tried showing them his warrant card without letting them see he was Complaints and Conduct, but they seemed to know anyway. Was he aware he’d made an illegal manoeuvre? And did he recall the law about driving while holding a conversation on a mobile phone? He managed to sound apologetic; managed not to explain where he was headed and why - didn’t see any reason the sods needed to know. In the end, they wrote him out a penalty ticket.
‘Nobody’s above the law,’ the elder of the two cautioned him. Fox thanked the man and got back into his car. They did what they always did - tailed him a few hundred more yards before signalling right and heading elsewhere. It was what happened when you were the Complaints - no favours from your colleagues. In fact, just the opposite. Which got Fox thinking about Jamie Breck again . . .
He found a parking space along the street from Jude’s house. Alison Pettifer opened the door. She’d closed the curtains in the living room and kitchen - out of respect, Fox surmised.
‘Where’s Jude?’ he asked.
‘Upstairs. I made her some tea with plenty of sugar.’
Fox nodded, looking around the living room. It seemed to him that Pettifer had started the process of tidying up. He thanked her and signalled that he was going to go see his sister. She pressed a hand to his arm. Didn’t say anything, but her eyes told a story. Go easy on her. He patted the hand and went out into the hall. The stairs were steep and narrow - difficult to fall down them without becoming wedged halfway. Three doors led off the cramped landing - bathroom and two bedrooms. One bedroom had been turned into Vince Faulkner’s lair. Boxes of junk, an old hi-fi and racks of rock CDs, plus a desk with a cheap computer. The door was ajar, so Fox peered in. The slatted blinds had been drawn closed. A couple of men’s magazines lay on the floor - Nuts and Zoo . Their covers showed near-identical blondes with their arms covering their breasts. Fox tapped on the next door along, and turned the handle. Jude was lying on the bed with the duvet cocooned around her. She wasn’t asleep, though. The tea sat untouched on the bedside table, beside an empty tumbler. The room smelled faintly of vodka.
‘How you doing, sis?’ He sat down on the bed. All he could see were her head and her bare feet. He smoothed her hair back from her forehead. She sniffled and started to sit up. Beneath the duvet she was fully dressed.
‘Somebody killed him,’ she
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