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

wait for permission. She pulled out a chair and dropped herself into it with a weary ‘oof’ noise. Halfway through the first of his bacon baps, McLean couldn’t say anything until he had finished chewing and swallowed.

‘You’re in early, Jayne.’

‘As, I see, are you. Breakfast not good enough at home these days?’

McLean shrugged. ‘There wasn’t time. I’ve already been out running errands for her ladyship.’

McIntyre raised an eyebrow, then picked up McLean’s mug and took a sip of his coffee. ‘You be careful now. Gail’s a good person to have fighting your corner, but I’ve seen what she can do when the shoe’s on the other foot. If you’ll excuse me mixing my metaphors.’

‘She asked me to go and check out an unexplained death.’ McLean told McIntyre of his early morning wake-up call and subsequent trip to Fountainbridge. ‘I have to assume that she and this Galloway bloke have history. How else did she know about it before pretty much anyone else? And why does everything have to be done on the hurry up? The guy had a heart attack, or a bad reaction to his painkillers. There’s no suggestion of foul play.’

‘And instead of going up to the third floor to tell her all that in person, you’re down here eating bacon baps.’ McIntyre helped herself to more of McLean’s coffee. He could see her eyeing up the second bap too, and he edged the plate away from her in an overtly possessive manner.

‘I’ll go and report to her soon as I’ve had my breakfast.’ He tried to keep the exasperation out of his voice. ‘I don’t quite share your admiration for her, though. Something about her puts me on edge. Her chumminess, maybe.’ Or the hand on his knee in the car driving back from Gartcosh, the casual, almost joking referral to him as her ‘plus one’.

‘She’s finding her feet, Tony. Not been in the job long and she’s already got half of the Police Authority eating out of her hand. Plus she got us half a dozen new DCs we’ve needed for ages. She’s unorthodox, I’ll grant you that much. But so are you, and I seem to remember you get results.’

‘And suspended, and demoted.’

‘You never wanted to be a DCI.’

‘It’s the principle of the thing, though.’ He paused long enough to take another bite of bacon bap, wash it down with coffee. ‘Sorry. I’m just a bit cranky before breakfast.’

‘No wonder Emma’s running away to Africa.’

‘Run away. She’s been gone a few weeks now. Communication’s been a bit sporadic, but all seems to be well so far.’

McIntyre eyed the coffee, then looked across at the canteen serving counter, no doubt trying to decide whether she should get her own mug or continue stealing McLean’s. ‘How goes your murder investigation, anyway? Last I heard it was a bit bogged down.’

‘A bit is being kind. The whole thing’s going nowhere. We’ve drawn a blank on forensics, CCTV in the area’s non-existent, the victim was a recluse with very little social interaction, so we can’t even find a motive. Unless we can come up with something to suggest the Bairnfather Trust wanted her out of the cottage so it could redevelop the land, we’ve basically got nothing.’

‘Is that even likely?’ McIntyre asked.

‘Not really, no. It doesn’t track right. If someone wanted the site, they could just have torched the house without killing the old girl. Or they could have simply moved her out. Not as if she’d be able to put up much of a fight. She’d have been looked after well for the rest of her days. Probably a suite in the hotel, or a care home in the city. Money doesn’t seem to be a problem for Lord Bairnfather, so it’s not that.’ McLean took a swig of coffee, marshalling the few facts he’d managed to unearth into some kind of order. ‘If I had to guess, I’d say it was a hate crime. It has all the hallmarks. They beat her black and blue before setting her on fire, after all. I just can’t work out why someone would hate a ninety-year-old woman living all alone and hardly ever interacting with society. Why her, and why then?’

‘Well, not to put a dampener on things, but you’ll need to come up with something fairly soon. I’m getting a fair bit of pressure to wind the whole thing up. Stick it in a cold case file and move on.’

McLean took the last bite of bacon bap, nodded his understanding as he chewed and swallowed. ‘Thought that might be the case. Not that I like it much. Poor old girl deserves better.’

McIntyre pushed back her chair and stood up. ‘Aye, I know, Tony. But we do what we can and we have to be realistic about when to stop.’

‘And if Lord Bairnfather isn’t happy about it? He’s well connected, you know, might kick up a stink if he thinks his sainted aunt’s being swept under the rug. If you’ll excuse me mixing my metaphors.’

McIntyre smiled at the joke. ‘Touché, Tony. But you can leave the smoothing of ruffled feathers to Gail. It’s what she’s best at. Which reminds me. Aren’t you meant to be reporting in to her about now?’

The way to the chief superintendent’s office took him past the major incident room, so McLean felt he could be forgiven for letting himself in and checking on the lack of progress before delivering his report on Galloway. A quick scan of the room revealed that DC Stringer and DS Harrison were head to head like thieves in the far corner. Possibly hearing the door close, or some sixth sense kicking in, they both stopped whatever it was they had been doing and turned to face him.

‘Morning, sir,’ Harrison said, a moment before Stringer could get his greeting in. ‘Heard you were at an unexplained death in Fountainbridge. Anything unusual?’

‘I take it your interest means there’s no progress on the Cecily Slater case?’

Harrison had the decency to look sheepish.