The Book of Souls (The Inspector McLean Mysteries) (13 page)

'Andy? There you are. Get onto the station. Get Dagwood down here.'

'It's two in the morning, sir. I don't think he'll be there.'

'Well wake him up. No, on second thoughts that's not such a good idea. But tell him anyway.'

'Tell him what, sir? Don't you think you ought to go with the paramedics?'

'I'm fine, Andy.' McLean held up the lump of charred something, flaking a corner off with his thumb. All around him was chaos, his whole life had just gone up in flames, and yet he was struck by how ridiculous everything was.

'It's hash, Andy. The stuff we've been trying to track down for months now. Little bastards were growing it right under my nose.'

And then he couldn't help it. The laughter bubbled out of him like vomit. He choked and gasped for air, his lungs protesting at the smoke they had inhaled, but he just couldn't stop. Even when the paramedic slipped an oxygen mask over his head.

~~~~

19

'You know what you are, Tony McLean? A selfish bastard, that's what.'

He sits at the kitchen table, coffee mug held between his hands, trying hard to find a way to protest. But even as he mouths the familiar response, he can't help admitting, deep down, that she's right.

'Look, Kirsty. It's not as if I had any choice in the matter...'

'Don't you give me that. Don't you even start on that.' She's standing in the doorway, hands on hips, long black hair loose today, trailing down her back. The skirt he gave her for her birthday looks good, goes well with the green of her eyes. Even in her anger, he can't help but notice them and smile, just a little.

'Are you even listening to me? God, it's like talking to a child. We've been planning this weekend for months.'

That wipes the smile off his face. 'I know, K. I was looking forward to it too. And it's been in the leave sheets since July. But you know what Duff's like.'

She throws herself into one of the kitchen chairs. He's never seen someone do that before, but there's no other way of describing it.

'I know what you're like. Spineless. You don't stand up to these bullies soon, they're not going to have any respect for you, you know.'

'Duff's a detective inspector, K. You know how hard I've worked to get into CID, and it's only a temporary posting whilst Keen's off with his broken leg. If I don't make a good impression now, when am I going to get another chance?'

'So that's it then?' The chair topples backwards to the floor as she leaps up, just as violently as she had sat. 'Drop everything at his master's whistle? Roll over and have your tummy tickled.'

'Kirsty, I...'

'Forget it. Just... Forget it.' She grabs her coat from the rack in the hallway, slams the door so hard on the way out that it bounces back open again. He hurries after her, out onto the landing where their elderly neighbour stares at him with an embarrassed, surprised look.

'Kirsty! Where are you going?'

But all the answer he gets is her long black hair, billowing out behind her as she hurtles down the stairs.

~~~~

20

'Come in. I'll just be a moment.' Chief Superintendent McIntyre didn't look up from her desk as she furiously annotated some important report. McLean had made it from the open door, upon whose frame he had knocked, to a point right in front of the vast, busy desk before she finished with a flourish of signature. 'What can I do for you... Tony? What the hell are you doing here? And what is that suit you're wearing.'

'I'm fine, thank you Ma'am. How are you?' McLean smiled. It wasn't often he managed to catch the superintendent off guard.

'Sorry.' McIntyre nodded her head at him. 'It's just, well, that's a very striking pinstripe.'

McLean pulled at a gaudy sleeve. 'I believe it was fashionable in the Nineteen-Twenties. It's my grandfather's. The only thing I could find that came even close to fitting. If you don't count some of my Gran's old dresses, that is.'

'A wise choice, I think. Have you been... You know... Back?'

'Not yet, no. I assume they put the fire out. Looked like they had it under control when I went off last night.'

'Yes, Big Andy told me all about that. You really shouldn't be here, you know. I'm surprised the doctors let you out of hospital. They reckoned you'd breathed in a lot of smoke.'

McLean tried to suppress the urge to cough, but couldn't quite manage. 'What else could I do? Sit around moping about the unfairness of life?'

'Well, you could have gone shopping, I suppose.' McIntyre smiled.

'Don't worry, I'll be requesting some time off. But I needed to know what happened.'

'Give us a chance. They only secured the building a couple of hours ago. Charles is champing at the bit to get in there, but the firemen won't let him.'

'Ah, so he got my message then. How's he feeling about that?'

'You can ask him yourself. He wants to interview you about the flat where the fire started.'

'What's to say? I've never met the owner, it's just rented out to a continuous stream of students. This last lot were better than most. I guess I didn't pay them all that much attention.'

'You're a detective, Tony. You're trained to pay attention. How long ago did they move in?'

'I don't know. Middle of the summer? After the festival.'

'So they've been running some kind of drugs operation right under our noses for at least four months. Christ, the press are going to have a field day.'

McLean's heart sank. Of course the press would get their grubby little hands on this story. And it wouldn't take long for them to work out that at the same tenement block in which a drug factory had been set up there also lived a detective inspector.

'It doesn't look very good, does it Ma'am.'

'No, it doesn't. And DC Robertson's accident doesn't help either.' McIntyre rubbed at her eyes. 'Professional Standards want to talk to you,' she said after a while.

'I'd expected as much,' McLean said, though his heart fell even so.

'It's informal at this stage, Tony. No one's made an official complaint.' McIntyre put on her serious face. The one she used when frightening the new constables. 'I'll do what I can to keep it that way. I'm on your side on this. But I can't make any promises. For now, though, I want you to keep as low a profile as possible. Go and talk to Duguid, then I don't want to see you back in the station until the hearing.'

'But I'm in the middle of a murder investigation, I can't...'

'Until the hearing, Tony. Or I'll have you suspended. DS Laird can take on your caseload whilst you're away. It'll do him some good to actually work for his wage. Go do some shopping. Go home.' McIntyre paused, some of the colour leaching out of her face. 'Shit, that was insensitive. Sorry.'

'It's all right, Ma'am. I know what you meant.'

'Where are you staying, by the way? Not Grumpy Bob's I hope.'

'No. I'm at my Gran's old place. Up Braid Hills way.'

'Well, make sure we've got a phone number where we can reach you.'

McLean nodded, turned to go, then stopped. 'Any news about DC Robertson?' He asked.

'He'll walk again.' McIntyre rubbed at her eyes. 'But they reckon he's going to be off sick for at least a year.'

'Bloody hell. We're short enough staffed as it is. Any chance of pinching a few more from uniform?'

'I'm working on it, Tony, but believe it or not, not everyone wants to be a detective these days.' McIntyre scratched at her face absentmindedly. 'Still, Aberdeen have come to our rescue; they're sending one of theirs down on secondment, with a possibility of transfer.'

'Oh aye. Anyone I know?'

McIntyre pulled a sheet of paper from her out tray and peered at it for a moment.

'DS Ritchie,' she said. 'She'll be here in a fortnight. You can show her around. If you're still with us.'

*

McLean didn't much fancy getting into a shouting match with Duguid, certainly not with his throat still as sore as it was. So instead he set off in search of Grumpy Bob. The detective sergeant found him first.

'Didn't expect to see you today, sir. How the hell are you?'

'I'm fine, Bob, thanks.' McLean coughed and his lungs spasmed in pain. 'Well, near enough. Can't say the same for my neighbour though.'

'Aye, I heard about that. Poor bastard. Still, the doctors reckon he just died in his sleep. I guess that's better than being burned to death.'

'Have you been to the site?'

'I was there this morning, soon as I got in. It's a mess all right. Tried your mobile, but it's going straight to message.'

McLean slapped the pockets of his grandfather's suit, trying to remember which one he'd put his phone in. He found it, pulled it out and peered at the screen. Something inside appeared to have melted, and now he thought about it, he couldn't actually remember using the thing since he'd called the emergency services the night before.

'Looks like I'm due an upgrade, Bob. Just one more thing to add to the shopping list. Listen, do you know where Dagwood is right now?'

'Up in the main incident room, I think. He's got everyone working on tracking down the tenants, but they're having a hard enough time finding out who the landlord is.'

'So he's not on site. What about SOC? They been allowed in yet?'

'I'm not sure. We could always go and find out.'

'Just what I was thinking. Grab us a pool car. I'll meet you out front in ten minutes. Need a cup of tea first; my throat's killing me.'

'Ha! That's a tenner the lad owes me.' Grumpy Bob grinned as they both set off along the corridor. 'He didn't reckon you'd show up today at all.'

*

The canteen didn't serve the best tea in the world, but right then, McLean didn't much care. He just needed something to soothe the burning sensation in his throat. Perhaps he'd been wrong to ignore the doctor's pleading and sign himself out.

'There you are, McLean. Don't you ever answer your bloody phone?'

McLean swung around lazily in his seat, and didn't bother to stand. Detective Chief Inspector Charles Duguid wasn't worth the effort on a good day, and this wasn't remotely that.

'I'm afraid my phone's buggered, sir. Something melted in last night's fire and I haven't had a chance to get a replacement yet.'

'Yes, well,' Duguid pulled out a chair and dropped himself into it. 'About that. It's a serious business you know. There we are searching the whole of the city like we haven't got a clue, and all the time they're right on your bloody doorstep.'

'Thank you sir, I'm fine. Apart from a bit of a sore throat and the fact that all my worldly goods and possessions have just gone up in smoke.'

Duguid looked momentarily embarrassed before his natural anger swelled to the fore, reddening the pale, freckled skin under his wiry, greying-red hair.

'You're obviously fit to work, or you wouldn't be here. What I'd like to know is what you're doing sitting here drinking tea when Chief Superintendent McIntyre quite clearly told you I wanted to see you.'

'I'm sorry, sir. She didn't tell me it was urgent. She did tell me I should take some time off, but I thought I'd have a cup of tea and grab a few things before heading out.'

'You know what they're saying, McLean?' Duguid's anger was never a good thing to provoke, but right then McLean really didn't care.

'No sir, please enlighten me.'

'They're saying you knew damn well what was going on next door. You were protecting them.'