What Will Burn James Oswald (booksvooks txt) 📖

severe hypoxia. And yet I couldn’t find any obstruction in his throat and there’s no sign on his neck of strangulation. He didn’t choke on anything, but something stopped him from breathing. Almost as if he drowned, only without any water.’

‘Find anything interesting, Constable?’ McLean asked, once the mortal remains of Brian Galloway had been manhandled out of the narrow hallway and into the ambulance blocking the street outside. DC Mitchell paused before answering, as Mrs Galloway was escorted from the kitchen by PC Wells and another uniformed constable who must have been the family liaison officer.

‘Not a lot, sir. Don’t think he’d been living here long by the look of things. Seems kind of, I don’t know, impersonal? There’s no pictures on the walls, no bookshelves or books. Two bedrooms upstairs, but one of them’s so full of boxes you can hardly get in.’

‘His mother said he was recently divorced.’ McLean thought back to the conversation. ‘Well, eighteen months ago. You’d think he’d have settled in a bit more. Put a bit of a stamp on the place.’

‘Unless he’s only just moved in. He’s unpacked some clothes, mind you. Pretty wild costumes.’

‘Sort of thing a rock star might wear on stage?’ McLean asked.

‘Yeah, I guess.’ Mitchell narrowed her eyes in thought. ‘Was he? A rock star?’

‘Apparently so. Lead singer of some band called the Idle Lunatics.’

From narrow slits to wide in surprise in an instant. ‘Mad Bastard? That was Mad Bastard? No way.’

So apparently it was only McLean who had never heard of them. ‘The same.’

‘Christ, but he’s loaded, isn’t he? Their last album went double platinum. Heard they were rehearsing for a reunion tour.’ Mitchell’s face, excited for a moment, now fell. ‘Shit. Don’t suppose that’ll happen now. Can’t have the Idle Lunatics without Mad Bastard.’

‘I’ll take your word for it. What’s the story about him falling down the steps at Fleshmarket Close?’

Mitchell looked a little uncomfortable at being asked. ‘Something Janie was looking into. Apparently two drunk blokes fell down the steps, got themselves banged up pretty badly. Heard one ruptured a bollock and blew out his knee. DI Ritchie told her to leave it alone, concentrate on the Slater case. It was only when I saw the injuries there it clicked this must be the other one. Christ, Mad Bastard. Just like him to get so drunk.’

McLean suspected there was more to it than that, but he could take it up with Harrison when he got into the station. ‘You find any drugs upstairs?’ he asked, then added ‘prescription or illegal’.

‘Nothing illegal, which is a bit disappointing now I know who he is.’ Mitchell pulled a clear plastic evidence bag from her pocket, inside which was a half-flattened cardboard box with a couple of layers of blister-packed pills still in it. ‘Found these though. Prescription mark’s from the Royal Infirmary. Pretty strong painkillers.’

McLean glanced out the open front door, where the ambulance was still parked. ‘OK. See if the pathologist’s still here and give them to him. Otherwise, make sure they go with the body.’

Mitchell nodded, then hurried off, passing PC Wells on the steps outside. McLean climbed the stairs to give the constable room on her way back to the kitchen, and was half tempted to go and have a look around the first floor anyway. No, it was a waste of time, and what was the point in asking Mitchell to do it if he then went and did it again himself? Wasn’t that what everyone was telling him not to do?

PC Wells was washing up the mugs when McLean stepped into the tiny kitchen once more.

‘Thanks for staying with her,’ he said, as she dried them up and put them in a cupboard. What would become of them now?

‘Poor woman. That must have been some shock coming in and finding her son dead like that.’

‘You get anything else from her? Apart from what we spoke about?’

‘Not much, sir. She was putting on a brave face, but, well, I’ve seen folk do that before and she was definitely shocked by the whole thing. Doesn’t help that she seems to have rowed with him recently, either. I think she took her daughter-in-law’s side in the divorce.’

Something niggled at the back of his mind when Wells mentioned the divorce. A conversation with someone else, perhaps. Another broken marriage? McLean shook his head slightly. It would come to him if it was important.

‘OK then. I think we’re done here for now. You’ve got keys?’

Wells shoved a hand in her pocket and brought out a keyring. ‘I was even given a lesson in how to set the alarm.’

‘Lock it all up then. We’ll have to wait and see what the pathologist has to say.’

35

The station car park bustled with activity as McLean claimed the parking spot in front of the car charging point again. He considered plugging Emma’s Renault in, but the screen on the dashboard told him it was still almost fully charged, so he didn’t bother. If anyone else needed electricity, they could always ask him to move. It reminded him that he needed to get something to replace the Alfa. Another one, perhaps? Or would he gracefully admit his age and visit the Jaguar dealership where Professor Turner had bought hers? Something to worry about when he wasn’t chasing down murderers and suspicious deaths. It wasn’t as if Emma was going to need her Renault any time soon, after all.

His stomach rumbled as he put his foot on the first step inside the station, reminding him that breakfast hadn’t happened yet. Turning away from the climb to the third floor, McLean made a beeline for the canteen. Armed with a large mug of coffee and a couple of bacon baps, heavy on the brown sauce, he retreated to a table in the corner and the hope of a few minutes of peace to gather his thoughts. Fate had other ideas.

‘That doesn’t look particularly healthy, Tony. Mind if I join you?’

Detective Superintendent Jayne McIntyre didn’t