Read The Complaints for Free Online Page B

back to Mrs Stephens’ office. Closed the door after him and sat down. The chair was still warm, which he minded only a little. Inside the slim file were the details of Breck’s police career, along with earlier academic attainments. He was twenty-seven and had joined the force six years previously, spending the first two in training and in uniform, before transferring to CID. His assessments were favourable, bordering on glowing. There was no mention of any of the cases he’d worked on, but also no indication of trouble or disciplinary concerns. ‘A model officer’ was one remark, repeated a little later on. One thing Fox did learn was that Breck lived in the same part of town as him. His address was on the new estate close by the Morrisons supermarket. Fox had driven around the estate when it had first been built, wondering if he needed a bigger house.

    ‘Small world,’ he muttered to himself now.

    The computer data added little. There had been the occasional sick day, but nothing stress-related. There had never been a need for counselling or referral. Breck’s bosses at Torphichen Place - his base these past three years - couldn’t get enough of him. Reading between the lines, Fox could see that Breck was being fast-tracked. He was already young for a detective sergeant, and DI looked achievable before the age of thirty. Fox himself had been thirty-eight. Breck had been educated privately at George Watson’s College. He’d played rugby for the second fifteen. A BSc from the University of Edinburgh. Parents still alive, both of them GPs. An older brother, Colin, who had emigrated to the USA, where he worked as an engineer. Fox pulled out his handkerchief, found a dry bit, and emptied his nose into it. The noise was enough to have Mrs Stephens peering in at him through the narrow window next to the door. Her face had stiffened further with distaste. He’d be leaving his germs all over her office, defiling her private fiefdom. Though he didn’t really need to, he blew his nose again, almost as noisily.

    Then he closed the online file. Mrs Stephens knew what he would do next - shut down her whole system. Yet another precaution - he wanted his search to be erased as far as possible. But before he did that, he typed in another name - Anthea Inglis. Definitely against procedure, but he did it anyway. It only took a couple of minutes for him to learn that she wasn’t married and had never been married.

    That she’d grown up on a farm in Fife.

    That she’d attended the local college before moving to Edinburgh.

    That she’d had a variety of jobs before joining the force.

    That her full name was Florence Anthea Inglis.

    If one of her names had come from The Generation Game , he wondered if the other might have originated with The Magic Roundabout . Fox had to stifle a smile as he began closing everything down. He emerged from the office, leaving the door ajar, and replaced the file in its cabinet, making sure it couldn’t be differentiated from any of the others. When he was satisfied, he closed and locked the drawer and made to hand the key to Mrs Stephens. She was resting her weight against the edge of a colleague’s desk, arms still folded, so he placed the key down next to her instead.

    ‘Till next time,’ he said, turning away. One of the women glanced up at him as he passed, and he managed a wink of his own.

    When he got back to the Complaints office, Naysmith told him there was a message waiting.

    ‘And would I find it on my desk or under it?’ Fox asked. But there it was, lying next to his telephone. Just a name and number. He looked at it, then up at Naysmith. ‘Alison Pettifer?’

    Naysmith just shrugged, so Fox lifted the receiver and punched the number in. When it was answered, he identified himself as Inspector Fox.

    ‘Oh, right,’ the woman on the other end said. She sounded hesitant.

    ‘You called me,’ Fox persisted.

    ‘You’re Jude’s brother?’

    Fox was silent for a