What Will Burn by James Oswald (latest novels to read .TXT) 📗

it was perfectly possible Fielding knew two Reginalds, and did work for both of them. It was a coincidence though, and McLean didn’t like coincidences.

He speed-read the report of Stringer’s interview with the solicitor. She seemed to have been helpful, had provided everything the detective constable had asked for, but there were tantalising gaps in the information. He needed to know more about the Bairnfather Trust for one thing. Were there any other trustees? And who would be appointed to take Slater’s place? How much money was at stake here? Downham had suggested Cecily Slater was keen to put her affairs in order. And yet her will remained unchanged in over thirty years.

‘Oh, Tony. It’s you. Thought I saw a light on.’

Startled, McLean looked up from his workstation to see the chief superintendent standing in the doorway. So much for hiding from her. She stepped inside, letting the door swing shut as she walked towards him, an unnecessary sway to her hips. Not quite sure why, he closed down the browser window with Fielding’s name on it before she could see the screen.

‘I was just checking something,’ he said, as if the explanation were necessary. Elmwood put a hand on his chair, fingers lightly brushing the fabric of his jacket as she leaned in close to have a look.

‘I thought all the case notes had been filed for review.’

‘They have. Just wanted to settle my mind on something that came up in a conversation. I went to the funeral this afternoon, got chatting. You know how it is.’

‘Is that why you weren’t in your office all day?’ The chief superintendent stood up, turned and perched herself on the edge of the desk, one leg raised so that her uniform skirt rode up her thigh. It was such an artless movement, McLean almost laughed. A woman half her age might have been able to pull it off, maybe.

‘Yes.’

‘And it wasn’t something a sergeant or a constable could do? Only, I notice DS Harrison was missing all afternoon too.’

McLean looked up at the chief superintendent’s face, not even trying to avoid her gaze. ‘I’ve no idea what DS Harrison’s been up to today. I thought she was working with Kirsty on something. It’s not like I own her or anything.’

Elmwood raised a perfectly trimmed eyebrow. ‘You know there’s station gossip? About you and the young DS?’

‘It’s been brought to my attention. As have all manner of rumours, malicious and otherwise. I try to rise above it all.’

‘And yet you persist in working closely with her.’

‘I’ll work with any detective worth their salt. Harrison’s one of the best to come up through the ranks in a while. It’d be stupid not to use her just because of station gossip, and anyway, if I stopped now they’d all just say we’d fallen out or something. Besides, I worked with Grumpy Bob for years and nobody ever suggested we were a couple.’

Elmwood laughed so hard she slipped off the desk and had to put a hand out to steady herself. It rested on McLean’s shoulder for too long before she finally took it away.

‘I’m glad I didn’t let them sack you, Tony. You’re by far the most interesting thing in this dreadful place.’ She shrugged, straightened her skirt. ‘Anyway, I’m off home. Unless you fancy a drink?’

Drink. The question reminded McLean of the text from Simon Martin. ‘Sorry. I almost forgot. Prior engagement. If I don’t hurry I’ll be late.’

McLean had almost choked when Simon Martin, ex-Metropolitan Police Detective Chief Inspector, had told him the name of his ‘local’. Martin had retired to Edinburgh because his wife’s family had come from the city and she had inherited a sizeable house in Newington. Martin had always been a keen golfer, so the chance of living within walking distance of a half-decent course had been more than enough reason for him to accept her suggestion they leave England and return to her home city. All this and more McLean learned in the first half-hour of their meeting at the club house of Prestonfield golf course, which also happened to be the favourite watering hole of ex-Detective Superintendent Charles Duguid.

‘Not sure I’ve ever met him,’ Martin said when McLean brought up the subject. ‘Does he play here regularly?’

‘Play? Not so much. I think he’s more of a social member.’ Although McLean couldn’t think of many people less social than Duguid. Fortunately the man himself was not in the members’ bar that evening. At least not yet. He couldn’t help glancing up at the entrance every time the door swung open.

‘I’ll have to try and make his acquaintance.’ Martin leaned back in his chair, pint of beer in one hand. He was a short fellow, but wiry. Like a featherweight boxer, or a junkie, McLean couldn’t make up his mind which. He seemed affable enough, but they hadn’t quite managed to home in on the reason for the meeting yet, and that might prove more tricky.

‘So Gail made it all the way to chief super, eh?’ Martin broke first. ‘I guess it was always on the cards. If she didn’t get herself either fired or killed, she was always going to climb to the top.’

‘You don’t mind talking about her?’ McLean sipped from an extraordinarily expensive glass of fizzy water.

‘It’s been, what? Twenty years since I last spoke to her? More, I think.’ Martin shook his head. ‘It was a mistake, difficult time in my marriage and she exploited that. Luckily my wife is very understanding. And I got out of the job, too, which pleased her no end.’

‘So the rumours about an affair were true, then?’

‘Ah, you’re good, McLean. I’d forgotten what it was like to be interviewed by a well-trained detective. Getting old and slow.’ Martin took a long draw from his pint, wiped foam from his lips with the back of his hand. ‘Yes, we had an affair. Well, more of a fling, who am I kidding? She was twenty-five and I was the wrong