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

‘Kirsty’s got the major incident room under control for now. Your team are chasing down leads as best they can. There’s nothing you can do to help them. And there’s a detective inspector from the NCA who’s very interested in talking to you about last night.’ She stood up as she spoke, straightened her uniform and grabbed a heavy black leather case from beside the desk. Hefting it up, she swung it in his direction. ‘Here, you can carry this for me. Ten minutes. Downstairs. Now if you’ll excuse me, I need a piss.’

McLean understood why the chief superintendent might need a driver. She was a busy woman and her job involved endless meetings, pre-meeting discussions and long-winded telephone conversations. At any moment she might be called by the first minister or any of a dozen cabinet ministers, committee First Minister MSPs, Police Authority members, the Procurator Fiscal’s office – the list was endless. She couldn’t be expected to drive herself and waste valuable conversation time. What he couldn’t understand was why she needed two constables to accompany her, although as he settled into the back seat and she squeezed in alongside him rather closer than was strictly necessary, he began to have an inkling of an idea.

At least it wasn’t a limo, with a motorised partition to cut off the passengers from the chauffeur. Anything said or done on their trip across the central belt to Gartcosh was going to be witnessed by two uniformed officers. That didn’t really make him feel any better about it, and he still couldn’t understand quite why he was being dragged along. It couldn’t be that obvious, could it?

He spent the first twenty minutes or so of the journey texting various members of the investigation team, pulling together what few advances had happened over the course of the morning. Which was to say none at all. DS Harrison wasn’t answering her phone, which was unlike her but not enough to be a worry, and DC Blane had called in to say his wife was being induced that day. Small things, easily managed, but he would much rather have been in the incident room reviewing their lack of progress and discussing different avenues of approach than driving ever further west and away from the city.

‘So then, Tony. How would you feel about having a more active role in the liaison team between Specialist Crime and the chief constable’s office?’

Might as well ask him how he felt about having his leg cut off without anaesthetic, but McLean was all too aware that he was trapped here in this moving metal box, with the deputy chief constable sitting uncomfortably close, her expensive scent making the air difficult to breathe. And she was his boss. His boss’s boss, if he was being correct about things. She could make his life hell if she wanted to, although the more he thought about it, she was doing a good job of that already.

‘Are you sure that would be a good use of my skill set?’ he asked. ‘There’s plenty other more senior officers in Specialist Crime who’d be much better at the job.’

‘Really?’ The chief superintendent didn’t try to hide the disbelief in her voice. ‘Can you name any?’

‘Well, there’s Jayne McIntyre for a start. She really should be doing that job, shouldn’t she? And I know for a fact Jo Dexter would be happy to move out of Vice if there were an opportunity. That’s not a job you want to get stuck doing for long, and she’s been in it years now. Kirsty Ritchie’s got a much better head for the bureaucracy than me, too.’ McLean silently cursed himself for potentially throwing any one of his colleagues under the bus, but in truth any of them would be better for the job than him, and if there was a promotion in the mix then maybe they’d even forgive him.

‘Hmm. I’m not sure any of them really fit my criteria.’

McLean was about to ask her what her criteria were, even though he suspected he already knew. He was saved by her phone ringing, a different tone to the one he’d heard before. Whoever it was, they were clearly important enough to have to answer.

‘Dammit. What now?’ she muttered under her breath, then hitched a smile on to her face that McLean could tell wasn’t intended for him. ‘I have to take this.’

She tapped the screen, lifted the phone to her ear. ‘Minister. How nice to hear from you,’ spoken with all the sincerity of a politician.

He leaned back into his seat, stared out the window and watched the motorway verge speed past as he tuned out a very one-sided conversation. Whichever minister it was clearly had a lot to say, and for that McLean was extremely grateful.

29

Janie tiptoed through the living room in her socks, trying not to make a sound as she gathered all her things for the day. On the couch, buried deep under a mound of spare duvet and blankets, Izzy DeVilliers snored like someone who’d drunk rather too much of Manda’s special Russian vodka the night before. Poor girl was going to have a head like an Orange Day parade when she woke up, but she only had herself to blame. Well, herself and Manda, maybe. Janie was glad she’d stopped after the first shot glass.

It occurred to her as she stooped to lace up her boots that she wasn’t entirely sure Izzy was old enough to drink. She’d have to check the record sheet from her arrest at the hotel. Except that she’d persuaded the duty sergeant to lose the paperwork when she’d first heard Con’s little sister was in the cells. That might come back to bite her if she wasn’t careful.

At least Manda had the day off too, another reason why the two of them had got stuck into the vodka. Janie left them to their slumbers, let herself