What Will Burn by James Oswald (ebook reader web .txt) 📕

The personal assistant walked with the same brusque efficiency she showed in all her movements, and by the time they had caught up with her, she was knocking at an unmarked door. If a command to enter came, McLean didn’t hear it, but the woman pushed on through all the same, ushering them into a large room dominated by a vast dining table. Silver domes covered plates of food, enough to feed a small army if they weren’t merely for decoration.

‘What is it, Ashley? Can’t you see I’m eating?’

The voice came from the far end of the table, but the view of Lord Bairnfather was obscured by an arrangement of quite spectacularly vulgar flowers and several enormous silver candlesticks. As he followed the personal assistant down one side of the table, McLean finally saw the man himself, sitting in a large chair at the end. He had a napkin tucked into his collar, the starched white cotton already pocked with stains from his breakfast.

‘I’m sorry to disturb you, Your Lordship. It’s the police. About Lady Cecily.’

Bairnfather scowled at the woman, but his face darkening when he saw McLean. He dabbed at his lips with the napkin and then beckoned him forward.

‘Detective Inspector. What an unexpected surprise.’ He stared past McLean at DC Stringer. ‘Not got the tall chappie with you today?’

‘Detective Constable Blane is taking some time off for paternity leave, Your Lordship. This is his colleague, DC Stringer. I’m sorry to disturb your breakfast. Most important meal of the day, I know. But some things have come to light that need swift attention, and I thought it best to come straight over rather than waste time going through channels.’

Bairnfather grunted something unintelligible through a mouthful of food, then spoke before he had swallowed. ‘Heard that about you, McLean. Gail said you could be a bit terrier-like when you smell a rat. Have a seat. I’m sure Ashley will get you a coffee. Then you can ask me whatever it is you need to know.’

‘Actually, this won’t take a moment. It concerns the Bairnfather Trust. I understand you and your aunt were both trustees and beneficiaries.’

Bairnfather had lifted a fork of what looked like very fine kedgeree to his mouth, ready to eat, but he placed it back down on the plate carefully, then dabbed at his lips with his soiled napkin again. All the while he fixed McLean with a far more calculating look than before.

‘What’s this about, McLean?’

‘Just clearing a few things up, that’s all. I was wondering who would succeed your aunt as trustee now. Tommy Fielding perhaps?’

Bairnfather’s face went as white as the non-stained parts of his napkin. ‘I really don’t know what you mean, Detective Inspector.’

‘You do know Tommy Fielding, though. Has an annoying habit of calling you Reggie on the phone? Senior partner at DCF Law? They looked after your aunt’s legal affairs, didn’t they? Do you know when she switched from using Carstairs Weddell? Old established law firm like that must have been sad to see a client like her go.’

The colour seeped back into Bairnfather’s cheeks in odd splotches. He ripped his napkin away and flung it on the table like a petulant child. ‘I’m not sure I like your tone, Inspector. Coming into my house and throwing accusations around like that.’

‘I’m sorry. I wasn’t aware that I’d made any accusations.’ McLean turned to DC Stringer, standing at the far end of the table. ‘Did I make any accusations, Constable?’

It was unfair, dragging the young lad in like that. He was clearly uncomfortable in this setting.

‘Get out, McLean. I’ve had quite enough of your baseless insinuation. Bad enough that Sissy’s dead and you’ve utterly failed to find out who’s responsible.’ Bairnfather’s petulant child imitation had taken on a desperate edge now. He struggled to push the heavy wooden chair back, and when he stood with his hands pressed knuckle down to the wooden tabletop he wasn’t a great deal taller than when he’d been seated. McLean knew he wasn’t going to get anything more from him, though. It didn’t matter; what he had learned was more than enough.

‘We’ll not waste any more of your time, Lord Bairnfather. Thank you for your help.’ He turned to where the nervous personal assistant, Ashley, stood stock-still but for her fidgeting hands. ‘We’ll see ourselves out.’

‘Be sure that you do,’ Bairnfather yelled. ‘And you can be sure I’ll be speaking to the chief constable about this. I’ll have your job, you know.’

McLean paused at the door, but only for a moment. And when he muttered, ‘You’re welcome to it’, it was quiet enough that only he could hear.

The drive back to the station took a little longer than getting out had done, mostly because they hadn’t spent long enough at Bairnfather Hall Hotel for the rush hour traffic to subside. There were routes into the city where it never really did any more. McLean tried to call DS Harrison while DC Stringer drove, but her phone went straight to voicemail. He pinged her a text instead, then settled back in his seat as they inched slowly along the Gorgie Road.

‘What was that all about, sir?’ DC Stringer asked after they’d been silent in the car for a good twenty minutes.

‘Lord Bairnfather?’ McLean realised that it was the first time the detective constable had met the aristocrat, and given Stringer’s background it had probably seemed rather strange. ‘First time I spoke to him, he came across rather differently. He’s extremely rich, very well connected, and he gave the impression he was distraught at his aunt’s death. Nothing we turned up in the initial investigation suggested he was in any way involved. He had very little to gain and a lot to lose from her murder. Least, that’s what we thought. Turns out it’s not quite as straightforward as that.’

‘How so?’ Stringer asked, then swore as a car swung out of a turning into the flow of traffic in front of him without warning. McLean braced himself