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

alone an hour after the two of them entered the building, so very much within the murder window? Our very own chief superintendent.’

Cadwallader looked at McLean, then at the body, then back at McLean again. ‘I see. Well. I’d better get those swabs tested on the hurry-up then.’

It took far longer to drive back from West Pilton to Gorgie than going the other way. Janie stared at the unmoving traffic on Queensferry Road and wondered whether she would have been better off heading out to the bypass and back in again. Or maybe walking.

‘Isn’t evening rush hour traffic meant to be away from the city?’ she asked, as they finally managed to negotiate the roundabout on to Belford Road, only to be faced with yet more angry red brake lights.

‘Probably the trams,’ Stringer said, helpfully. He had his phone out and was pecking away at the screen with one finger. Finding out something useful, Janie hoped, although more likely playing some game.

‘Seems Mr Tomlinson has something of a reputation,’ he said after a moment and another hundred metres.

‘Oh yes?’

‘Nothing official. Putting his girlfriend in A and E’s the closest he’s ever come to a criminal charge. But he’s had a few warnings down the years. Aggressive behaviour, drunk and disorderly at the footie, that sort of thing.’

‘How did he get away with it this time, then?’

Stringer peered at his screen again. ‘Miss MacDonald’s lawyer persuaded him to sign over the flat to her, and agree not to seek visitation rights for his daughter. Still has to pay maintenance, though. Jesus. I almost feel sorry for the bloke. He got shafted without any lube, for sure.’

Janie looked across at the detective constable, but he was so fixated on the tiny letters on his phone screen that he missed her scowl.

‘Sorry for him? He’s a violent thug who broke her jaw.’

‘Almost broke her jaw, but aye. He’s a piece of shit. And I only said I almost felt sorry for him. He really got screwed over by her lawyer.’

‘Who was it? Her lawyer, that is.’ Janie eased through a gap in the traffic and cut across the road to a side street that might be a quicker route, but then again might not.

‘Hang on. I need to scroll down a bit.’ There was a short pause while Stringer tried to find the information. ‘Oh. That can’t be right, can it?’

‘What can’t be right?’

‘Says here that she was represented by DCF Law. Isn’t that Fielding’s firm?’

‘Aye, it is. But Tomlinson was with Fielding last night. No way they’d be having a drink together if Fielding didn’t want him there. And why would Fielding’s firm represent the girlfriend? He’s usually fighting the father’s side, isn’t he?’

‘Search me.’ Stringer swiped at the screen, then clicked off his phone and put it away. ‘Guess we can ask him when we get there.’

‘You think someone told him?’ Janie zipped through a set of traffic lights as it changed to yellow, hoping she wouldn’t have to explain herself to Traffic.

‘Who, Fielding?’

‘No, Tomlinson. I mean, yes, both of them. But if Tomlinson found out it was Fielding who got him kicked out of his nice wee flat in West Pilton, lost him access to his daughter. Well, he’d be pissed off, wouldn’t he?’

‘Enough to follow him back to his place, wait for Elmwood to leave, then what? He’s not on the CCTV footage. No way he went into Fielding’s flat and throttled him, then set it up to look like a sex game gone wrong. He’s a building site labourer. Left school at sixteen. Handy with his fists, brain not so much. He’s hardly likely to come up with a scenario like that.’

Janie had to admit that Stringer was right. They didn’t even know if Fielding had been murdered or simply strangled himself while trying to rub one out after a visit from his ex. She indicated, pulled sharply across the road again, this time earning herself a middle finger and blast of horn from a driver coming the other way, and pulled into the street where Tomlinson lived. The only place to park was a double yellow line, so she would probably have to explain herself to Traffic anyway.

‘OK. Let’s see if second time’s a charm.’

The front door to the tenement was locked, an elderly intercom system showing a series of names, none of which were Tomlinson. Janie picked one at random, pressed and waited. There was nothing to indicate that the system worked, no light, no audible buzz and certainly no answer. She moved on to the next button, then a third. As she was about to press the fourth, the door clicked and then swung open to reveal a fearsome-looking elderly woman, waving a bamboo walking stick like a weapon.

‘Bloody kids. Get— oh.’ She put the stick down, leaning on it with one arthritic hand.

‘Good evening, ma’am.’ Harrison gave the woman what she hoped was a friendly smile as she presented her warrant card. ‘Detective Sergeant Harrison. I was looking for Mr Gareth Tomlinson?’

The woman sniffed so noisily Harrison feared she might hawk and spit next, but instead she swallowed heavily before answering.

‘Top floor left.’ She stood to one side to let them in. ‘He’s no’ there, mind.’

‘He’s not?’ Janie asked.

‘No. Went oot a while back. No idea where. Left his door open, though, if you want a look.’

Janie turned to look at Stringer, who shrugged.

‘Should probably ask if you’ve got a warrant, like. But he’s two weeks behind on his rent, so help yourself.’ And with that, the woman walked away, disappearing back into her ground-floor flat.

‘Charming,’ Stringer said as the two of them climbed the stairs.

‘But helpful. Sort of.’ Janie had the small collection of envelopes in her hand, just in case, but when they reached the top landing, it was clear the landlady had been telling the truth. One of the two doors stood slightly ajar, the lights still on inside.

‘Mr Tomlinson?’ She knocked on the door anyway, then pushed it all