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

you’re telling me?’ McLean tried not to let his disappointment show. It wasn’t a clear link between the two of them, even if Elmwood had known of the lawyer for many years.

‘Ach, you know me, Tony. I don’t like to leave a story alone until I’ve shaken all the dirt out of it. I had a word wi’ some of my old London contacts. No’ that there’s many still alive, mind. Kind of journalism they do’s hard work on the liver an’ makes enemies of powerful people.’

‘But you found something.’

‘Aye. Struck gold, you might say. He’s no’ much to look at now, but your Tommy Fielding was quite the charmer in his London days. Had a reputation for loving and leaving, as it were. Usually once he’d got what he was looking for. Maybe a quick shag, or maybe internal police investigation documents pertinent to a prosecution he was defending. Left on an unsecured laptop in a young sergeant’s flat by the DCI she had been shagging in the hope of a promotion.’

It was McLean’s turn to pause before replying, the implications taking time to trickle down through his brain.

‘You’re saying our chief superintendent had an affair with Tommy Fielding in London? At the same time she was sleeping with her boss?’

‘Top marks to the detective chief inspector.’ Dalgliesh coughed, and McLean heard the distinct sound of her thumping her chest to clear it. ‘Ah, no. It’s just detective inspector now, isn’t it? Sorry. Going the opposite way to Ms Elmwood, I’d say.’

‘Do you think she knew? That he’d stolen information from her laptop?’

‘Can’t see how she couldn’t know, but she kept it quiet. An’ she was far enough down the pecking order that the shit didn’t reach her. I’m guessing the DCI wanted it kept hush-hush too, given how his wife was expecting their second kid at the time.’

It took McLean a while to digest all the information Dalgliesh was giving him. He did his best to keep a lid on his growing excitement. If ever there was a way to persuade Elmwood to leave him be, this was it. Except that he knew he would have to tread very carefully around the subject. She was chief superintendent, after all, and in a position to make his life very difficult should she choose.

‘You going to press with this story any time soon?’ he asked after a few more silent moments.

‘No’ just yet. Don’t think anyone else even has a sniff of it, and I’m waiting on a few more bits and pieces to come through. Wouldn’t mind a chat wi’ the cheatin’ DCI, but it’s unlikely he’d talk to an old hack like me.’

McLean knew a plant when he saw one. This time he was happy enough to grasp it. ‘You know who he is, though.’

‘Aye. And where. It’s no’ all that far from here, as it happens.’

‘What if I was to give him a call? Maybe let you know what he had to say afterwards.’

‘Aww. You’d do that for me?’ Dalgliesh faked soppy gratitude. ‘You’ve changed, Tony. An’ no’ for the worse.’

‘Well it’s just possible I might owe you this time, so if I can help your story without breaking any rules I will.’

‘I’ll ping you the details in a text. Gotta go now. That’s my toy boy back from the lavvy.’ And without another word the line went dead.

McLean hoped that Dalgliesh had been lying about the toy boy, and the fact that the text with contact details for ex-Detective Chief Inspector Simon Martin arrived before he had even parked and plugged the Renault in to charge suggested she was pulling his leg. Then again, Dalgliesh was a law unto herself, and he really didn’t want to know anything about her private life. Ever.

Mrs McCutcheon’s cat was lying in the middle of the kitchen table as he entered the room. She eyed him with a ‘what time of night do you call this to be coming home?’ look on her face, which he ignored. Cecily Slater’s cat, if that was who the creature had truly belonged to, lay beside the Aga, purring contentedly to itself. Herself, McLean remembered. The vet had given her the once-over, declared her in need of worming and microchipping but otherwise fit and healthy. Probably between five and ten years old, but with no indication of ever having had kittens, so also probably spayed when very young. Looking at her, he had the distinct impression he had somehow acquired a second cat when he’d never even intended having the first one. Well, it wasn’t as if they ate a lot, and there was plenty of room for everyone.

He had reheated his kebab in the microwave and poured himself a pint of beer, poised ready to eat even though he knew it was late and would lead to indigestion and a sleepless night, when his phone rang. Glancing at the screen, McLean didn’t recognise the number. It was an international call, and he was about to cancel it on the grounds that whilst his car had recently been in an accident, he himself had not, when it struck him that it might be Emma using someone else’s phone. He thumbed the screen to accept the call, lifting the handset to his ear.

‘Hello?’

‘Hi, Tony. Hope I’m not calling too late. I always get the maths wrong in my head when I try to work out time differences.’

Not Emma, but Hattie. Professor Turner. For a moment, McLean’s blood turned to ice. What possible reason could she have for calling that wasn’t bad news?

‘It’s no bother, Hattie. I was just about to eat, but that can wait. Something up? Is Em OK?’

‘Oh God. I’m so sorry, Tony. What must you think? Emma’s fine. Don’t worry. No. I was just calling to say we’re going to be home rather earlier than anticipated.’

‘Something come up?’

‘Doesn’t it always? Emma’s trying to sort it, but I think she’s fighting a losing battle. It’s the paperwork. Always is. They swear blind