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

home so he could shower and change before coming out, but even so he felt dowdy and unclean in Elmwood’s presence.

‘Ma— Gail,’ he corrected himself. ‘I thought this was a meeting of the Safe Streets Committee.’

Elmwood smiled, white teeth flashing behind lipstick just the tasteful side of gaudy. ‘Meeting is such a utilitarian word. Yes, we’re meeting people. But there isn’t an agenda. I don’t need you to take minutes. Someone’ll give a short presentation, I’m sure, and then it’s all about getting to know who’s who. Mostly I think everyone wants to meet me, since I suspect they all know each other already. Shall we?’

She indicated the room, and for a horrified moment McLean thought she wanted him to take her arm. Instead he strode to the door and opened it for her.

‘Come on, Tony. Let’s get something to drink. You do drink, don’t you? Christ, I need one. These functions are always a lot easier with a little alcohol to lubricate proceedings.’

McLean looked around the vast ballroom, echoing to the sound of a few dozen voices. Chairs had been lined up in front of a small podium with a lectern on it and a projector screen behind. A couple of liveried hotel staff stood at a table lined with champagne flutes. Outside, the last light of the day had fled, leaving only an orange glow diffracted by the rain on the tall windows.

‘Do you have anything soft?’ he asked, as a waiter appeared, holding a tray laden with champagne. ‘I’m driving,’ he added by way of pathetic excuse.

‘Rookie error, Tony.’ Elmwood leaned past him to take a glass, tipping half of the champagne down her throat in a most unladylike way. ‘Grab one and hold it for me. Might as well make yourself useful, eh?’

He did as he was told, as the chief superintendent drained her first glass and took up another.

‘Christ, I needed that,’ she said, as she led him over towards the podium and a small group of people. ‘A whole day stuck in a stuffy office over at the Crime Campus, listening to boring old farts going on about five-year projections and budget management. I can see why you never wanted to give up being a detective.’

McLean opened his mouth to say something, but closed it again as the chief superintendent began to speak over him.

‘And what bloody idiot came up with the name “Crime Campus”, eh? Makes it sound like some kind of training ground for crooks. Mind you, seeing some of your colleagues that’s maybe not far off the mark.’

He was spared the need to make any comment on this by the arrival of the chairman of the Safe Streets Committee, a man called Alan Forbes. McLean only knew these two facts because the man introduced himself. As he scanned the growing crowd, he saw very few faces he recognised, and none he could put an actual name to. If his presence here was meant to be a means of introducing the chief superintendent to the great and good of Edinburgh, then they’d picked the wrong man.

‘Well, well, well. If it isn’t Tony McLean. Of all the people I expected to bump into here, you were most certainly not on my list.’

Ice water dripped down his back as he heard the voice. He didn’t need to turn to know who was speaking. There was only one person whose simple existence put his teeth on edge.

‘Mrs Saifre.’ He spoke the words before facing her. ‘What brings you to town? I wouldn’t have thought safe streets were a high priority for you.’

McLean had to remind himself that the woman standing in front of him was in her sixties at least. She looked not a day over thirty-five, face immaculately made up, raven-black hair worn long so that it waved past her shoulders. Her black cocktail dress suited her perfectly, but the whole effect was ruined by the hint of irritation in her eyes.

‘Jane Louise, please, Tony. Mr Saifre died a very long time ago. Tragic, really. And it’s the Dee Foundation that is concerned with safe streets. Most of my work these days is in the charity sector. Had you not noticed?’

McLean had noticed. The Dee Foundation seemed to be everywhere these days, putting resources into things that government should but didn’t. If he hadn’t had run-ins with her in the past, he might even have fallen for Mrs Saifre’s saintly behaviour, but he had and he wouldn’t.

‘Ah, Tony. There you are.’ Another female voice behind him reminded McLean that he wasn’t at the function alone. Mrs Saifre’s perfectly drawn eyebrow arched as she looked past him to greet the chief superintendent. Then she focused back on him with the kind of smile a bleeding diver might see on the face of a great white shark.

‘Mrs Saifre, this is Gail Elmwood, our new chief superintendent. Gail, this is Mrs Saifre. She’s . . .’ McLean ran out of steam. He could hardly say ‘the devil incarnate’, even if that was what he thought of the woman.

‘Pleased to meet you, Mrs Saifre.’ Elmwood held out a hand to be shook.

‘Tony’s such a tease. I don’t really go by Mrs Saifre these days. It’s Jane Louise.’

Watching the chief superintendent’s face, McLean could see the cogs turning as she put the pieces together. How many glasses of Dee Foundation champagne had she downed?

‘Jane Louise Dee?’ The chief superintendent rounded on McLean, her drink spilling on his jacket with the motion. She slapped him lightly on the arm with her free hand in a manner far too familiar for his liking. ‘Tony, why didn’t you tell me?’ She turned her attention back to Mrs Saifre again, this time managing to keep the much-diminished liquid in her glass. ‘I was so hoping to meet you tonight. Can’t say what a pleasure it is. The Dee Foundation’s work with young offenders is held up as a shining example down in the Met.’

‘Is it now?’ Mrs Saifre had a different smile for the chief superintendent,