The Book of Souls (The Inspector McLean Mysteries) (14 page)

McLean put down his mug, pushing it away from him and towards the DCI. He got up, scraping his chair legs on the floor as he placed it carefully back under the table. Duguid looked at him, as if expecting him to reply, so McLean leant down, settling his hands knuckle to the Formica on either side of the mug and bending close, whispering so that only Duguid could hear him.

'You really are an idiot, sir,' he said. Then walked away.

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21

Grumpy Bob wasn't the only one in the pool car as McLean clambered into the passenger seat; DC MacBride was sitting behind the wheel and the old sergeant had taken up residence in the back.

'Nice suit, sir,' MacBride said as he piloted the car into the afternoon traffic flow.

'Don't you start, constable. It was my grandfather's. And very fashionable in its time.'

'And today, sir. Mate of mine's just had something similar made up. Cost him a fortune.'

'Well, if he can get into this one, he can have it as a spare. It's bloody uncomfortable.' McLean shifted in his seat, trying not to think about the seam that was wearing away at his privates. No wonder his granddad had only managed to father the one child.

It took a long time to reach the area where his flat had been, and as they approached it, McLean could see why. The whole street had been cordoned off, blocking a major route out of the city. Not far away, traffic was backed up by the one-way system still in place after the Woodbury building had burned down. One more fire and the whole south city would grind to a halt.

'They're going to have to get this sorted soon.' DC MacBride showed his warrant card to a uniform standing at the blue and white tape, then inched slowly forward into the street. Two fire engines were still in attendance, though their hoses were stored away. The fire investigation team's truck was there too, across the street where McLean had laid Mr Sheen down on the pavement the night before. A half a dozen cars sat more abandoned than parked. Closer in, the battered old white transit van of the SOC team stood with its rear doors wide open. Beside it, a large flatbed truck was slowly being denuded of its load of scaffolding.

They parked as far away from the action as possible, and as McLean got out of the car, he looked up at what had, for the past fifteen years, been his home. The façade of the building was still intact, but none of the windows remained. Black streaks of soot ran from each opening like upside-down tears. From a distance, he could see that the roof had partly collapsed in, the stark shapes of the chimney stacks silhouetted against the darkening evening sky.

'Fuck me. I mean... Sorry sir.' DC MacBride looked down at his shoes.

'No, I think you're right, Stuart. Fuck me just about sums it up.' McLean stared up at what had been his living room window as an aeroplane flew over in the distance, sinking down on its way to Ingliston. For a surreal moment, he could see it through the window and the missing ceiling beyond. Then it passed out of view.

'What're we here for then, sir?' Grumpy Bob had come out without a coat, and paced around, rubbing his hands together and occasionally stamping his feet. Of the three of them, he hadn't looked up at the building, and seemed to be avoiding doing so.

'I'm not really sure, Bob,' McLean said. 'I just wanted to see what had survived. Looks like not much.'

He walked over to the SOC van, looking for a familiar face. It appeared in a rush of squealing that sounded almost like a pig being strangled. Before he could tell what was happening, he had been enveloped in a huge, crushing hug that made his lungs burn, his throat scream.

'Please, Emma. I can't breathe.' McLean extricated himself from the SOC officer's embrace and she stepped back, suddenly self-conscious.

'When I heard... The address... I thought...'

McLean took her hands in his. 'It's OK, Emma. I wasn't in there when it started.'

'But they said you were in the hospital.'

'I got a bit of smoke in my lungs trying to get someone out.' He coughed as if to emphasise the point. 'Look, don't worry about it. I'll be fine. Tell me what's going on. Have you found anything yet?'

'We can't get inside. They're still trying to stabilise the building.'

McLean walked past the SOC van and picked his way through the detritus lying about the street until he reached the pavement. A crew had begun assembling scaffolding up the entire front of the building, working with much greater delicacy than he had ever seen it done before. Looking up, it felt like the whole sandstone wall was swaying outwards, but it was just the clouds passing by high above. The front door was strangely still intact, propped open with a bit of broken pavement the way the previous students had always left it, and beyond, lit by powerful arc lights, all he could see was a narrow tunnel.

Something brushed past his legs. McLean almost jumped, then looked down to see a black cat nuzzling his trousers with the side of its soot-smeared face. He bent down and offered his hand, then scratched the animal behind its ears. Turning back to the tenement, he could see through the bay window at the front where old Mrs McCutcheon had used to sit of an evening, watching the world go by. Looking around for someone to ask, he spotted a fireman coming out of the front door tunnel.

'The old lady who lived downstairs,' he said, getting the fireman's attention. 'Did she get out all right?'

'Couldn't tell you, pal. Nobody in there now, mind. Have a word wi' Jim. He'll know.'

McLean thanked the man then headed off for the fire investigation truck, trailed by the cat. Jim Burrows looked up from his desk as he knocked on the door.

'Inspector. Good to see you up and about. You didn't look in such good shape last night.'

'A bit too much smoke. I don't know how you guys cope with it.'

'We wear breathing apparatus. And we don't generally go running into a burning building without working out a plan first. You know you're lucky to be alive.'

'I know.' McLean suppressed a shudder. 'And I should've known better. I've had basic training in fires.'

'What were you doing in there anyway? Just walking past and decided to play hero?'

'Nobody told you?' McLean was surprised. But then there was probably no reason why anybody would have done. 'I live there. Top flat on the end. Well, I used to live there, I suppose.'

Burrows looked at him with an unreadable expression. 'Ach, I'm sorry. So the old man...'

'Mr Sheen. He'd been there more than fifteen years. I never did know what his first name was.'

'We found other bodies. Four in the right hand side, second floor. All badly burned. Two in each of the first floor flats. And there was one in the main door. Small, that one was, buried under a lot of stuff, so probably the ground floor, maybe the first.'

'First floor flats were both professional couples. Renting, I think. The small one...' McLean slumped down onto a nearby chair, drained of all energy. The cat which had followed him into the mobile office now leapt into his lap and pushed its head against his hand until he started stroking it.

'You know who it was.' Burrows' voice was soft, concerned.

'Mrs McCutcheon. Christ, she was old. Probably born in that flat. She was a nosey old bat, but she didn't deserve that. None of them did.'

They sat together in silence for a while. He was still stroking the cat when Grumpy Bob and DC MacBride found him.

'Wondered where you got to, sir.' Grumpy Bob climbed up into the tiny space, then noticed the cat. 'Who's your new friend? Oh.'

'Everyone who lived in that tenement died last night, Bob. Ten people dead. Except me.'

'No' everyone, sir. Yon cat's still got at least one of its lives left.'

McLean held the purring beast up, staring into its eyes and wondering what he was going to do with it. He should probably call the SSPCA Animal Warden, have it taken away. But that seemed somehow disrespectful.

'What's the status of the building, Mr Burrows?' He asked, finally.

'We've got all the bodies out. Pretty sure of that. Scaffold work'll take a few hours yet, but they'll go through the night. We can't open the street until it's done and I've had traffic control screaming at me all afternoon to get it sorted.'

'What about the SOC team. When can they get in there?'

'For what? They'll no' find anything much.'

'They have to try.'

'Well it'll no' be 'til tomorrow, that's for sure.'

'OK.' McLean put the cat back down on the floor and stood up. It twined itself around his legs again, purring all the while. 'And thanks, for trying.'

'Don't mention it. It's my job.'

*

The air outside smelled of damp and charred wood. McLean hadn't noticed it before; he'd been too caught up in the strangeness of the whole scene. Now, as if he were slowly awakening from a dream, he started to see more of the details. The cars that had been parked in the street in front of the tenement were all being removed by a series of trucks. Shiny and clean down one side, their paint was blistered and cracked by the heat of the fire on the other. One had caught fire itself, its tyres melted like chocolate left on a sunny windowsill. They'd be taken back to the SOC lab for tests before being released to their owners. With luck, one or more of them might have belonged to the drug dealers; it might even be that elusive clue that opened up the whole case.

But it wasn't his case. It was Duguid's. He'd already pissed off the DCI once today, best not to make it a brace.

'MacBride, I'm afraid you've drawn the short straw here, since you've only just joined the hallowed ranks of CID.' McLean told the detective constable all that he had learned from Burrows, then suggested he might like to find a subtle way of passing the information on. 'Just don't tell him I was here. You know what he's like. Oh, and you'll have to walk back to the station.' He held his hand out for the pool car keys.

MacBride looked like he was going to complain, but he stopped himself. No doubt reasoning that in the time it took to get there, Duguid might well have gone home. Or even decided to visit the scene himself.

'What're you going to do, sir?' He handed over the keys and McLean passed them on to Grumpy Bob.

'Me? I'm meant to be on compassionate leave today, and for the rest of the week at least. So Bob here's going to take me home. Then he's going to start reviewing all of the cases I'm currently working on. Come on Bob.'

He started walking back to the car, not surprised to find that the cat had decided to follow him. Grumpy Bob took a bit longer to catch up.

'What do you mean, review the cases?'

'What I said, Bob. I'm on leave. And then Professional Standards are going to give me a grilling. Someone's got to pick up the work. The chief superintendent said you were man enough to step into my shoes.'

They reached the car and McLean climbed into the front passenger seat. Before he could close the door, the cat had leapt up onto his lap. It turned around once, then curled up into a black, furry ball as Grumpy Bob opened his door and got in.

'You know anything about cats, Bob?' McLean asked.

'Don't even ask, sir.'

'Then it looks like this one's coming home with me.'

*

They were just about to leave when McLean heard the patter of running feet. Before he could turn to look, the rear door had been wrenched open and someone jumped in.

'Hope you don't mind.' Emma Baird was a little breathless, but no longer wore her SOC overalls.

'Umm, what are you doing, Emma?' McLean asked.

'What are you doing?'

'I'm going home. Well, to my Gran's place, but I guess it's home now. Then I'm going to head into town and buy myself some fresh clothes.'

'Exactly.' Emma grinned. 'And if that suit's anything to go by, you're going to need all the help you can get.'

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