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

to be seen anywhere. On the other side of the room, the original fireplace had been boarded up, one of those electric fires made to look like a fake wood-burner in front of it.

‘Do you always go to the city centre? The Malt Shovel?’ Janie stood up and walked over to the mantelpiece as she asked the question. There were two photographs in cheap wooden frames sitting on the dusty surface. One showed a younger Allan, his arms around two young boys who must surely have been his sons. The other showed a slightly older Allan being presented with something by an old man with a heavy gold chain of office draped around his neck.

‘Aye, usually. I work in the Old Town, an’ it’s no’ as if we’ve much to go home to, either of us.’

‘Your boys?’ Janie asked, indicating the photograph.

‘Wi’ their mother in Australia. I tried to stop her taking them, but the courts—’ Allan’s words cut off abruptly as DC Stringer re-entered the room bearing two mugs of coffee.

‘That must be very hard. Not being able to see them often.’ Stringer handed Allan his coffee with a sympathetic smile.

‘Hardly even get to speak to them these days. I can video call, but that’s not much good if their mother’s filling their heads wi’ all kinds of shite about me so’s they don’t want to talk to me any more.’

Janie could hear the anger in Allan’s voice, but it was a tired, old anger, beaten down by harsh reality. What could he do, after all, if his children were on the other side of the world? If their mother had turned them against him? But then again, why had she left him, and why had the courts let her take the children so far away? She shook the questions away. Not relevant, but then this entire visit was not relevant. And skating on thin ice.

‘Are you likely to want to take this up with the council, Mr Allan?’ she asked, waving her hand at his leg to explain the sudden change of subject. He stiffened, as if suddenly realising what was happening to him.

‘That why you’re here? To gather evidence? Make out me an’ Brian were so pished we’ve only ourselves to blame?’

‘Far from it. The incident was logged, so we have to follow it up. Paperwork, you know? It’s the bane of our lives.’

From the narrowing of Allan’s eyes, Janie knew that she’d blown it. Of course there had been no incident logged; there’d been no incident to log. She put her untouched coffee down on the side table and stood up swiftly. At least Allan wasn’t able to do the same.

‘We’ll not trouble you any more, Mr Allan. I can see you’re in a lot of pain. We’ll see ourselves out, aye?’

‘Can we get on to the court records, find out what grounds there were for Mr Allan’s divorce? I’d like to know who represented him. I’ve a suspicion I already do, though.’

Janie drove slowly along Morningside Road, mentally kicking herself for not taking the bypass and coming back into town at Burdiehouse. Traffic backed up Bruntsfield Place all the way from Tollcross, the aftermath of the previous evening’s car crash combined with yet more roadworks. In the passenger seat beside her, Stringer pulled out his PDA and started tapping at the screen. Not that he’d be able to access the information she wanted on it, but he could get someone else back at the station to make a start.

‘What was all that about, though?’ he asked after he’d finished and they’d moved another couple of hundred metres closer to their destination. It would have been far quicker to walk.

‘To be honest, I was making most of it up as I went along. Much like he was, too.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘You don’t think he really ruptured a bollock and blew out his knee falling down the steps at Fleshmarket Close, do you?’

Stringer paused a moment, head tilted slightly in thought. ‘I’ve seen folk do worse when they’ve had a skinful.’

‘OK then. Why were the two of them walking down the close anyway? If they’d been drinking at the Malt Shovel and were looking for a cab, they’d have walked down Coburn Street to the taxi rank outside Waverley Station. No, the whole falling-down-the-stairs thing’s nothing but a cock and bull story to cover up what really happened to them.’

‘And you know what that was?’

‘I have an inkling.’ The traffic started to move again, the lights for once working in their favour. ‘Need to speak to his friend, Brian Galloway. Only, I reckon poor Christopher there will have been on the phone to him soon as we left. Getting their stories straight and all that.’

‘You seem to be forgetting he’s the one with the injuries, Janie. Bad enough losing his kids like that, but now he’s going to be off work for a month. Probably won’t ever be able to walk properly again.’

‘He got those injuries when him and his pal tried to assault a teenage girl, Jay. More fool them for not knowing she was trained in self-defence and harbouring a great deal of anger towards all men.’

Stringer opened his mouth to say something to that, but clearly couldn’t think of anything. He stared at her, gaping, for a good twenty seconds.

‘Careful you don’t swallow a fly,’ Janie said, and he closed it with a hollow clunk. Moments later her phone rang, DI Ritchie’s name appearing on the dashboard screen. She tapped the button to accept the call on hands free but didn’t even have time to say hello before the detective inspector started shouting.

‘Where are you, Janie? And what the hell are you up to?’

‘Ma’am? I’m on my way back to the station now.’

‘Don’t you “ma’am” me. I’ve just fielded a call from a weasel lawyer by the name of Tommy Fielding, asking why you’re harassing one of his clients.’

The pieces, so close to fitting together, all began to click in Janie’s mind. ‘I