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

eyes, yellowing at the edges. The bridge of his nose bore a cut from where it had been broken, the scab almost black. Along with the strapped-up fingers, it was obvious he’d been in a fight, but something about the face seemed oddly familiar.

‘We know who he is?’ he asked.

‘Name’s Brian Galloway, sir.’ DC Mitchell pulled out a notebook but didn’t open it. ‘His mother found him like that when she popped round an hour ago.’

An hour was good going for the pathologist to be out already. This Brian Galloway must have been important, or well connected. That might explain Elmwood’s interest. The name didn’t ring any bells, though.

‘Is she still here? The mother?’

‘Aye, sir. In the kitchen. Caitlin’s with her. PC Wells, that is.’

‘Thanks. I’ll go and have a word with her in a moment. Why don’t you have a look round the place. See if anything looks unusual.’

The detective constable nodded her understanding and edged out of the room. McLean turned his attention to the pathologist, crouching down to be on the same level as him. ‘What’s the story then?’

‘He’s dead.’

‘That much I can see. Any idea what killed him?’

MacPhail shifted slightly, reaching a gloved hand in to gently manipulate the man’s damaged hand. ‘I only just got here, Tony. Give me a chance, eh? It wasn’t these injuries, for sure. They’re recent, but not life-threatening. Might possibly be a reaction to whatever painkillers they gave him. I’ll need to get him back to the mortuary to be sure.’

‘Do you think it might be . . . ?’ McLean was going to ask if it was suspicious, wondering why it was that he’d been called out to this scene if the death was most likely accidental. The look on the pathologist’s face persuaded him not to. ‘I’ll go and talk to the mother,’ he said instead, then levered himself back upright with only a minimum of groaning.

‘You do that, Tony. I’ll let you know what I find out as soon as I find it out, OK?’

34

If he’d thought the living room small, it was palatial compared to the tiny kitchen at the back of the house. That same inexperienced designer responsible for the whole street must have worked hard to fit everything in, but at least the single window allowed for a bit of natural daylight. Most of the space that wasn’t designer kitchen units was taken up by a table and four chairs, what an estate agent would optimistically call a dining area, no doubt. Two women sat at the table in silence as he entered, one young, one old. Only the young one moved, springing to her feet as she saw him.

‘Detective Inspector, sir.’

McLean hadn’t been sure whether he knew Police Constable Wells by sight, although he was sure he’d heard her name before. He was relieved to see that he did recognise her. She’d been part of the team that had searched the woods south of the city that summer, turning up one key piece of evidence that had helped crack open that case. He’d been put on suspension for months for solving it, of course, but that wasn’t her fault.

The old woman moved more slowly. She’d been staring at her coffee mug – still full, McLean saw – but now she turned her head to fix her gaze on him. It was hard to see any similarity between her and the dead man, but then he’d been sporting black eyes and a broken nose.

‘Mrs Galloway? I’m Detective Inspector McLean.’ He considered holding out his hand to shake, even though the woman only stared at him, mouth very slightly open. Her hands twisted in her lap as if she had arthritis in her fingers and was stretching them against the cold, but it was warm in the kitchen.

‘I’m very sorry for your loss,’ he said, after a moment’s awkward silence. ‘Do you feel up to answering a few questions?’

It took a while, and obvious effort, but slowly Mrs Galloway pulled herself back together. She took in a deep breath, held it for a few seconds, then let it out in a long, heartfelt sigh.

‘I suppose so. Gets it over and done with.’

McLean pulled out the chair recently vacated by Constable Wells, and with a brief nod in her direction, settled himself into it. He was tempted to help himself to her coffee, but reckoned that might be a step too far.

‘This is your son Brian’s house, is it not? He lives here alone?’

Mrs Galloway breathed out heavily through her nose in a minimalist humourless laugh. ‘As if there’s room for anyone else.’ She sat up a little straighter. ‘Aye, this is his place. Not quite as luxurious as he was used to, but times change, eh?’

McLean had the nasty feeling he wasn’t getting something that should have been obvious. ‘Did he only move in here recently, then?’ he asked.

Something of a smile crept across the old woman’s face. She took hold of her mug, but didn’t lift it to drink. ‘You’ve no idea who he is, have you, Inspector?’ As much a statement as a question, although she didn’t wait long enough for him to answer. ‘Brian Galloway? Frontman for the Idle Lunatics?’

It still didn’t mean anything to him, but the context helped McLean guess. ‘I’m not familiar with their music,’ he admitted.

‘Aye, well. Guess you’re maybe a bit old for them, though you don’t look it.’ Mrs Galloway shook her head, as if remembering something. ‘I guess that’ll put a spanner in the works of their reunion tour, mind. Poor old Brian. He was looking forward to getting back on the road.’

‘You were here very early this morning, Mrs Galloway,’ he said, in an attempt to get the interview back on track. ‘Was that normal?’

‘Heavens, no. I kept away from this place since the day he moved in. Lizzie was right to kick him out. He got exactly what he deserved.’ She paused a moment, her words catching up with her. ‘Except perhaps this.’

‘I’m sorry, Mrs Galloway. Who’s