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

halfway there, gawking at the decor like a tourist in the Sistine Chapel.

‘Come and sit down.’ Janie grabbed at her forearm and got her hand, then pulled her to her seat. ‘OK. What’s everyone drinking?’

Orders taken, she went to the bar, looking around to see if Tommy Fielding was about. It was a long shot, but she knew he lived across the road in one of the anonymous modern apartment blocks that had sprung up around Fountainbridge, and she knew from her conversations with some of the guests at his fathers’ rights seminar that he held regular meetings here at the Scotston with smaller groups. If they were meeting tonight, then there was a chance she might see him. And then what? Ask him about Cecily Slater’s will? Coming to the hotel had seemed a good idea half an hour earlier, but Janie was beginning to wonder what had come over her.

‘What can I get you, love?’

The arrival of a smartly dressed bartender interrupted her thoughts. Janie reeled off the order. Pint of Stella for Manda, red wine for her and Izzy. They should all probably get something to eat too, but when the drinks arrived and she learned how much they were costing, she hastily revised her plans to ask for a bar menu.

‘Make them last, OK? Need a second mortgage to drink in this place.’ She put her spoils down on the table, complete with a couple of bags of crisps that should have been family sized packets given their price.

‘Why’d you drag us all the way here then? There’s plenty better pubs on the way.’ Manda expertly prised open the first crisp packet and folded it out so they could share.

‘Wanted to see if someone was here,’ Janie said, then turned her head swiftly away as Tommy Fielding came in through the door from reception. ‘And it seems like he is.’

Manda stared shamelessly. ‘Reckon he’s a bit old for you, Janie. Dresses well, mind.’

Janie risked a look, and saw Fielding talking to the barman who had served her, ordering a round for the three men with him. She recognised one of them from the last time she’d been here. The young lad with a thing for seventies horror movies. The other two had their backs to her, but she could tell they were older and richer. More like Fielding himself.

They took their drinks to a table on the far side of the bar. Fielding sat with his back to Janie, the young lad next to him and the other two men facing her. She didn’t recognise either of them, but her attention was mostly taken up by the young man anyway. His body language was fascinating. He held himself awkwardly, clearly uncomfortable in the company, but also desperate to be there. He almost clung to Fielding, hanging on the older man’s every word. Standing, the young man was the taller of the two, but seated he bent his back, almost crouching down so that he could look up at the lawyer. A strange dynamic indeed.

‘So what’s the story with them?’ Manda asked.

‘The one with his back to us is Tommy Fielding,’ Izzy answered before Janie could say anything. ‘I think the two older guys are Anthony Swale and Jeremy Scobie. They’re both lawyers and scumbags like Fielding. The young lad? No idea.’

‘How on earth . . . ?’

‘Know your enemy is the first rule of war, isn’t it? We weren’t just standing outside shouting slogans and waving signs, you know. If you’d asked, we could have given you intel on these MRA idiots that’d keep you busy for months.’

‘Might just take you up on that.’ Janie sipped at her wine, trying to keep herself inconspicuous while watching Fielding and his little group of sycophants.

‘My round,’ Manda said, her beer finished long before either Janie or Izzy had got far with their wine. She forced Janie to swap seats and headed to the bar. While she was gone, Janie watched as Fielding pulled out his phone and stared at the screen. He seemed to stiffen, then relax, before putting the phone away and saying something to his friends. They swiftly downed their drinks, got up and left, the young man hanging back until Fielding dismissed him with a wave. Then the lawyer pulled out his phone again, tapped away at the screen to send a message, and put the handset down on the table in front of him.

‘Jesus wept. How can anyone afford to drink in this place? I could’ve got myself drunk for a week on the price of that one beer. Daylight fucking robbery.’

‘It’s night-time, Manda,’ Izzy said.

‘That just makes it worse.’

‘Well, cheers anyway.’ Izzy raised her glass and clinked it against Manda’s. Janie barely noticed, her attention focused on Fielding. He was drumming his fingers on the table as if waiting for someone. Then he stopped, looked up at the door through to reception. A figure had just entered, and of all the people it might have been coming to meet the lawyer for an evening drink, this was the last one Janie would have guessed.

‘Isn’t that—?’ Manda started to say, her hand beginning to point. Janie grabbed her and pulled her close in a pretend lovers’ clinch, desperate that neither of them be seen as the chief superintendent walked up to a now-standing Tommy Fielding and embraced him like an old friend.

50

Gary can’t understand what’s going on.

He’d been to one of Fielding’s meetings, same as he’s done every week since he first met the lawyer. This time it had been a smaller group, but it changed week on week, he was finding that. The two other men there looked like they’d known Fielding a long time, old friends. Both of them were lawyers and both were older than him but they’d not talked down to him. Far from it. They’d shared their experiences at the hands of the biased courts and the even more biased media, and with each new revelation Gary’s anger had burned brighter. When it