What Will Burn James Oswald (booksvooks txt) 📖

what was really going on, although their conversation in the car on the way over suggested it might be something to do with Harrison, and quite possibly her promotion despite her being younger than him. Add it to the list of things to deal with when there was time.

‘Detective Inspector McLean? A pleasure to meet you.’

Wrapped up in his musings about DC Blane, McLean was startled by the words. He looked up to see a balding man in an ill-fitting suit approaching from the open doorway. He wasn’t exactly fat, but had an air about him of having gone to seed. His florid face spoke of a long and happy association with alcohol, but his smile was genuine as he held out a hand to be shook.

‘Lord Bairnfather,’ McLean felt a grip both firm and surprisingly soft, like being squeezed by a bag full of warm jelly.

‘This is my colleague Detective Constable Blane,’ he said, and Bairnfather looked up, then up again.

‘My, you’re a big one.’ He let out a nervous chuckle, a weirdly feminine sound coming from his jowly, masculine face. ‘I see they’ve brought you coffee. Good. Shall we have a seat and get on with this, then?’

25

McLean had been going to say that it would be better if they conducted the interview in private, but as he looked around the room he realised that they were the only people there. Even the bar staff had left, silent and efficient, with no sign of any order having been given. With a little shrug, he indicated that it would be acceptable, then waited for Bairnfather to take a seat before sitting down himself. DC Blane sat a little further from the table, and took out his notebook. He hadn’t said a word, not even responding to Bairnfather’s observation about his height. Not a fan of the aristocracy, then.

‘First off, Lord Bairnfather, I’d like to offer my condolences. It must have been a terrible shock to find out that your aunt had passed away.’

Bairnfather’s face slumped. There was no other way to describe the way his genial smile fell into a grimace, taking his cheeks and chins with it. His whole body seemed to sink in on itself as if he’d been overinflated and someone had pricked him with a pin.

‘Poor dear Sissy,’ he said with a sigh. ‘Who’d have thought.’

‘When was the last time you saw her?’ McLean asked.

‘Saw her? A month or two back, I suppose? I don’t come up here as much as I used to. So much going on in London. All around the world, in fact. I was in Tokyo when I got the news.’

‘Did you visit her at the cottage, or did she come here?’ Through the corner of his eye, McLean could see Blane taking notes, his expression one of deep irritation. Or maybe that was what he looked like when he was concentrating.

‘The cottage? Heavens, no. Haven’t been there since I was a boy. It’s . . .’ Bairnfather paused a moment, his jowls wobbling ever so slightly as he shook the thought away. ‘No. Sissy would come up to the hotel whenever I was in town, and we’d have a meal together. Other than that I didn’t have much to do with her.’

‘You’re both beneficiaries of the Bairnfather Trust, I understand.’

‘The trust?’ Bairnfather looked momentarily confused by the question. ‘Yes, I suppose so. I don’t really gain much from it. I mean, there’s an income, of course, and I’ve a suite of rooms here at the house. But as I said, I spend most of my time in London these days, and my business interests bring in far more.’

‘It would have been the bulk of Lady Cecily’s income though, wouldn’t it? And the cottage was her home?’

‘Oh, she wouldn’t have liked being called Lady Cecily. No, no, no.’ Bairnfather shook his head with studied emphasis. ‘As I understand it, she lived very frugally. Didn’t have a car, or even a mobile if you can believe that. She always loved the old gamekeeper’s cottage though. I’ve not been to see it yet. Is it badly damaged? I understand it was set on fire.’

‘What will you do with it now?’ McLean left Bairnfather’s question deliberately unanswered.

‘Do with it? Why, rebuild it, of course. If we can. It was special to her, and that needs to be preserved.’

‘Why was it special to her, do you know? Surely growing up in a house like this would have been far more of an adventure.’ McLean raised both hands towards the ornate plasterwork on the ceiling a good twenty feet above them.

‘Oh, Sissy hated this house. At least, I always assumed it was the house she hated. But it might have been Grandpa, of course. Her father.’

‘Why did she hate her father?’

‘Is this really relevant to her death, Inspector? I mean, Grandpa died when I was twelve. Hate to admit it, but that was a bit more than fifty years ago. That’s old history, unlikely to be of any relevance, wouldn’t you say?’

McLean hesitated before answering, aware that he’d allowed his curiosity to get away from him. ‘I’m sorry, Lord Bairnfather. I have to confess that we’ve not managed to find much in the way of forensic evidence to help identify who might have killed your aunt. That’s why I’m trying to ascertain a motive, and for that I need to get to know her. You’re right though, her childhood’s unlikely to be relevant. Can you think of anyone who might have wanted her dead? Any enemies she might have had?’

That brought the ghost of a smile back to Bairnfather’s face, but it lasted only a moment before the weary slump dragged his features down again. ‘She was ninety years old, Inspector. I’ve no doubt she’d pissed off a fair few folk in her life. Sissy could be difficult at times. But if anyone wanted her dead, they’d have been as well waiting a year or two. She didn’t have long left. Told me as much the last time we