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

knowing how he was going to pay the lawyer, if he didn’t have a job.

‘Not good. Not good at all.’ Fielding shakes his head a couple of times, then the barman arrives. ‘I’ll have a double scotch. On ice. You wanting another, Gary?’

Gary looks at his pint, still three quarters full, and only the third to go with his burger and chips for lunch. ‘Ta, but no. Should probably lay off a bit. ’S no good for your health, aye?’

‘Everything in moderation, my friend.’ Fielding nods to the barman to indicate he’s only needing the one drink. ‘Including moderation.’

‘What brings you to this end of town then?’ Gary asks once the lawyer’s got his whisky. Gary’s never been one for spirits. Too fiery, and he tends to get a bit violent after one too many drams. Christ, he’d had a couple with Baz the night he’d slapped Bella, but she was asking for that, the cow. Yapping on and on about how she was the only one doing any work around there when she didn’t even have a job. The cheek of it.

‘Actually, I was looking for you.’

That gets his full attention. ‘For me? Why?’

‘Because you’ve been fucked over, Gary. First your child taken from you, then your house. Now you’re out of a job. I heard it was that Sheila Manley woman did the firing. Not the first time she’s been brought in by senior management to “make strategic adjustments to the payroll”.’ Fielding makes little rabbit ears with his fingers as he speaks, which only confuses Gary more.

‘Eh?’

‘She’s a professional firer, Gary. That’s her job. Telling people like you that they’re no longer needed, and ten years of service to the company means fuck all. Christ, I bet she didn’t even offer you a decent severance.’

‘I got a month’s pay. That’s no’ bad.’

Fielding shakes his head slowly. ‘Gary, that’s awful. You should have had at least a month’s pay for every year you worked there. And a couple of months’ extra as a goodwill gesture. Tell me you didn’t sign the forms, aye?’

Gary’s confused. He’d signed forms. Thought he was getting a good deal. Fuck, had they stiffed him even worse than he’d thought? He’d fucking kill that bitch if he ever saw her again. He’d—

A hand on his arm. The lightest of touches. He looks down, then follows the hand, up the arm to Fielding’s face. It’s like the lawyer can read his thoughts.

‘Anger’s good, Gary. But only if it’s properly focused. I can help you do that. Help you get what’s rightly yours.’

Gary’s rage disappears almost as swiftly as it had come, and now it’s replaced by booze-tinged self-loathing. ‘I can’t afford a lawyer. Couldn’t before, when it was my wee girl I was fightin’ for. But now? It’s hopeless. If I cannae get another job, what am I goin’ to do?’

Fielding takes his hand away. He clasps his whisky glass and rolls it slowly from side to side, leaving a wet smear of condensation on the bar top.

‘Do you know what pro bono means?’

Of course Gary doesn’t. ‘Isn’t he the singer in that old Irish band?’

That gets a smile from the lawyer. ‘No, it means I work for free. Literally pro bono publicum means “for the public good”, but we won’t quibble.’

‘Nah, now you’re taking the piss.’ Gary laughs, swigs from his beer. ‘Lawyers never work for free.’

‘You’re right. We don’t. But we don’t always charge money, either. There’s things you can help me with, Gary. Things I think you’d want to do anyway. And if you help me, then I can help you get your old life back. At least, those bits of it you actually want back.’

Gary’s still two and a half pints down, but his head’s beginning to clear now it’s got something to work on other than moping. He doesn’t know what to make of Fielding, but he’s not going to turn down an offer of help. He raises his glass towards the lawyer. ‘Aye, sure.’

Fielding raises his own glass, leans forward and clinks it against the pint. ‘To a better future, where we’re not constantly being ordered around by women. A world without witches.’

It’s an odd thing to say, but it makes sense too. Gary grins, feeling better than he has in days. ‘A world wi’out witches. Aye. I’ll drink tae that.’

22

‘What’s this I hear about you bringing a cat in for questioning, Tony?’

McLean looked up from his desk to see the unexpected figure of the new chief superintendent standing in his open doorway. Half a day spent wading through paperwork, staff allocations and case reviews written in prose so dry it might catch fire in the sunlight, any distraction was welcome. Acting on instinct, he stood up and was halfway across the room before her words sunk in.

‘I . . . Who on earth told you that?’

‘Ah, so you don’t deny it then.’

‘Well, there was a cat. I’ll give you that much, ma’am. I don’t think it’s going to be answering many questions though, and I didn’t bring it in. Just picked it up and took it to the vet for a check-up. Hoped it might be chipped so we could find out who owned it, but no such luck. It’s too tame to be feral, so my best guess is it belonged to the dead woman, Cecily Slater.’

McLean realised that he was babbling, wondered why. The look on the chief superintendent’s face was one of barely suppressed laughter, the faintest of lines wrinkling from the corners of her eyes in a genuine smile. It made a welcome change from the fake camaraderie of the previous station chief.

‘Please, Tony. Call me Gail. “Ma’am” makes me feel as old as my grandma.’

McLean shrugged, indicated with his outstretched hand that they have a seat at the conference table across the room. ‘Was there something you wanted?’ he asked. ‘I can just about manage coffee.’

That got him another smile, albeit brief. ‘I’m fine, thanks. Try not to drink the stuff after lunchtime.’

McLean pulled out two chairs,