What Will Burn James Oswald (booksvooks txt) 📖

Turner to Africa. For the past few weeks it had been sat by the old coachhouse, plugged into its own special charging point. He only hoped Emma wouldn’t be upset with him when she got back, but it was either that or a lot of taxis.

He took the long way to the station, pretending that it was so that he could view the crash site on the way. After the deep-throated V6 growl and twitchy throttle of the Alfa, the electric Renault was noticeably quiet. It was surprisingly comfortable too, and being small was much easier to navigate through the snarled up roads around Tollcross.

The Alfa had been removed from the shop front it had demolished, no doubt taken away to the forensics labs out by the airport. Would Manda Parsons be the one to examine the wreckage? Even if she wasn’t assigned the job, she’d probably barge her way into it anyway. Poor Manda, she’d been begging him for a ride in the car since he’d got it. That wasn’t going to happen now.

A horn blaring behind him dragged McLean’s attention back to the here and now. He glanced briefly in his mirror, contemplating trying to memorise the number plate of the offending car, then moved off as swiftly as he could. The route took him over the Meadows, and he couldn’t help but glance up at the trees as he passed the entrance to Jawbone Walk. No dead bodies in them this time, but the leaves were beginning to pile up on the grass beneath them now. Winter wasn’t far off.

A chain had been hung across the normally open gap, and a uniformed constable greeted him at the entrance to the station car park. He held up an unnecessary hand, indicating for McLean to stop, while simultaneously mouthing something into the collar microphone of his Airwave set. Probably reading off the number plate before letting him in, although that smacked somewhat of horses and stable doors. He found the button to wind down the window, then held up his warrant card for the young lad to see.

‘Sorry, sir. Didn’t recognise the car,’ the constable said, then promptly turned a curious shade of red. ‘I . . . Umm . . . That is, of course . . .’

‘No need to apologise. Can I come in, though?’

‘Yes, sir. Of course, sir.’ The constable scurried away to unclip the chain, and McLean drove silently in. He considered taking the same space where his Alfa had been the day before, then remembered what car he was driving. Since acquiring an electric pool car, the station had installed a single electric vehicle charging point. Usually it had a petrol squad car parked in front of it, but today of all days it was free. He parked, then spent a frustrating ten minutes trying to work out how to plug the car in before realising it was almost fully charged anyway. Still, it wasted a little more time before his inevitable dressing-down from the chief superintendent.

Tempted though he was to go straight to his office and hide, McLean had already seen the angry text summoning him before the headmistress. Elmwood might have looked like she was enjoying herself when he’d left the Safe Streets Committee event the previous evening, but he was well aware that he was meant to be her second. His excuse for bailing was sound, but that didn’t necessarily mean she would accept it.

The chief superintendent’s office door was closed, Helen sitting at her desk outside, typing up some notes. She looked up and smiled as he approached. ‘Go on in, Tony. She’s expecting you.’

‘Is it bad?’ McLean asked.

‘I have no idea. She’s not an easy one to read, that one.’

‘Wish me luck then.’ He knocked lightly, then opened the door and stepped inside.

The chief superintendent sat at her impressively large desk, head down as she studied some report that was clearly of great interest. McLean closed the door behind him and walked across the room towards her. He’d only made it a couple of feet before she spoke.

‘A bit casual, waltzing into work this late, isn’t it? Almost lunchtime.’ The chief superintendent looked up at him, her face inscrutable. A totally different character to the one he’d met in the North British Hotel the night before. McLean knew better than to look at the clock on the wall, even as he also knew it wasn’t yet eight o’clock in the morning.

‘I swung past the crash scene on my way in. Hadn’t appreciated just how bad the traffic would be.’

‘Your car. I heard. That would be why you slunk off and left me with that Saifre woman last night, I take it?’

McLean nodded. ‘Did you get on OK?’ He meant at the event as a whole, but the chief superintendent took it to mean something else entirely.

‘She’s very pushy, that one. Said a lot of nice things about you, though. If I didn’t know better I’d think she was a little jealous you were my plus one and not hers.’

McLean hadn’t been aware that he was anyone’s plus one, and the casual way the chief superintendent used the term put him on edge.

‘I’d be careful around her if I were you. She has a way of making you indebted to her, then calling in those debts at the least convenient time.’

The chief superintendent cocked her head to one side as if unsure what to make of this. Then she shrugged away the thought with a little ‘hmph’ noise, reached for her phone and picked it up. On the other side of the door, McLean could hear the secretary answer.

‘Helen, tell the driver we’ll be leaving in ten minutes. And can you let Gartcosh know our ETA. Ta.’ She hung up and looked straight at McLean. ‘You can tell me everything about Jane Louise Dee she didn’t tell me herself on the way to the Crime Campus. Meet me downstairs at the back door in ten.’

‘I . . .’ McLean started to speak, then realised he had nothing to say that wouldn’t have been