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

herself against the cold. ‘If the chief super says jump, I ask how high, OK? And besides, I get the feeling this isn’t a simple case of public nuisance. You’ve heard of Tommy Fielding, right?’

Lofty stopped walking, which at least gave Janie a chance to catch her breath.

‘The Dad’s Army guy?’

‘That’s him. Although I’m not sure that’s what he’s really about.’

‘How do you mean? He gets dads visiting rights when they’re divorced or separated. Someone’s got to fight their corner, haven’t they?’

Janie took a deep breath. How to approach this delicately? Decided she couldn’t be bothered. ‘He’s on the wrong side, aye? Defends the monsters who beat their girlfriends black and blue, gets serial rapists back out on the street when we’ve done everything we can to lock them up.’

‘Everyone’s entitled to their day in court, remember? Someone’s got to defend the bad ones.’

‘Aye, but they’re no’ supposed to enjoy it. And they’re no’ supposed to win.’

Blane shrugged, set off walking again so that Janie had to hurry to catch up. ‘So why are we going to talk to him and no’ some uniformed sergeant then?’ he asked.

‘Because he’s on first-name terms with the chief constable is why. He’s one of his golfing buddies or something. And his complaint’s been passed down to our new chief super, who’s keen as you like to make a good impression. End result, you and me get to tramp over to Fountainbridge for the morning, look serious while he rants at us, then do sod all about it. With a bit of luck, then we can get back to finding out who murdered that old wifey out in the hills.’

Lofty paused a moment, apparently considering this information. Then he shrugged again, said ‘OK,’ and set off once more in the direction of Tollcross.

They heard the noise of the crowd long before reaching the Scotston Hotel and conference centre. A group of people clustered around the side entrance, some bearing placards with such insightful comments as ‘Piss Off Tommy’ and ‘Leave The Kids Out Of It’. Most of them were simply shouting and waving fists. And getting in the way, at least until the looming presence of DC Blane made itself felt.

Janie tucked herself in behind him, and he pushed through the demonstration as if it wasn’t there. She glanced from side to side, doing her best to note faces as she went, just in case. All of them were women, as far as she could tell. They spanned all ages, from teenagers with buzzcut hairdos and multiple piercings to a couple who looked like they might be someone’s great-nan and her best friend out for a day’s shopping in the big toon. One face caught her attention as they reached the corner of the square. Glanced out of the corner of her eye, she thought she recognised the bright red hair, the quickest glimpse of a familiar profile. But when she turned, the figure had gone. There wasn’t time to stop, let alone work her way back through the crowd for a better look. And besides, there was no way the person she thought it was would be there. She’d be down in London, surely.

‘Come on, Janie. Let’s get this over with.’ Lofty tapped her lightly on the arm. ‘Or should I call you Sarge?’

‘Only if you want all the shitty assignments.’ Harrison turned from the noisy crowd, still puzzled by the face she had seen, sparking a memory that couldn’t be right. She shook the thoughts away. It wasn’t important, unless things got out of hand and people started being arrested.

A nervous-looking day manager approached them as they entered the smart foyer of the hotel, hands clasped together as if in prayer.

‘Are you the police?’ he asked, only just managing to stop himself from pronouncing it ‘polis’. For all his smart suit and neat appearance, he had to work hard to keep the Muirhouse out of his accent.

‘Detective Con— Sergeant Harrison. This is my colleague Detective Constable Blane.’ Janie let Blane show his warrant card. ‘I understand Mr Fielding has a complaint.’

‘Indeed.’ The manager glanced in the direction of the front door, although he looked less annoyed at the noisy protest than might be expected. Now that they were inside, it wasn’t really all that noisy anyway, the front door doing an effective job of blocking much of the sound from outside. ‘Please, follow me.’

He led them along a corridor and into a large conference room. By the look of things it had been set up for a presentation, with rows of seats all facing a small dais and lectern. A projector screen behind the lectern showed a slide, presumably part of the presentation. It disappeared almost before Janie could take anything in, but not before she’d seen the ‘Dad’s Army’ logo and what looked like a pie chart claiming the vast majority of rape allegations were made up.

‘The police are here, sir.’ The manager approached no closer than twenty feet from the dais, announcing their presence a little more loudly than necessary. He gave Janie a strained smile as he turned away and hurried out the door. Clearly not a fan, although whether of her or the man at the lectern Janie couldn’t be sure.

‘About bloody time.’

Janie had never met Tommy Fielding before, but she had seen photographs and knew him by reputation. In real life he was shorter than she’d imagined, but then that was so often the way with self-important men. He wore a tailored suit that must have cost a fortune, and yet somehow he managed to look scruffy in it. Perhaps it was his scrappy, receding hair, or maybe the slight jowliness about his face. Whatever it was, it gave him the air of a man going to seed. He stepped off the dais and walked up the narrow aisle between the rows of seats to meet them, his gaze flicking only briefly on her, then focusing on DC Blane.

‘Detective Sergeant Harrison,’ Janie said, before Fielding could