What Will Burn James Oswald (booksvooks txt) 📖

‘I know them,’ Madame Rose said. ‘But I doubt many others do. The Downham Trust, of course. Their refuges are all over the place. And such an indictment of society that they are needed so much. But Burntwoods? I don’t think there’s many know it now.’

‘Actually, it’s come up in one of our recent investigations. So anything you can tell me about the place would be very helpful indeed. I was hoping maybe to pay it a visit soon.’

‘Good luck with that. You’d never even find the front gates.’ Izzy smirked as she spoke, making the words sound overly sarcastic. She tipped her head at Harrison. ‘She might, though. And they’ll probably let me back in if I ask nicely.’

McLean looked at Madame Rose for an explanation, aware that he wasn’t going to get any sense out of Izzy. The medium shrugged. ‘I’m afraid Lady Isobel is quite correct. No man can enter the grounds of Burntwoods House uninvited.’

It sounded like the mystic mumbo jumbo McLean had become used to from Rose, and he knew better than to press the point. ‘I would like to speak to this Mirriam Downham if I can.’

‘Of course. I will reach out to her.’ Madame Rose made it sound like some arcane ritual. ‘And if she’s in Edinburgh anyway, then I’m sure she will come to you.’

41

‘Not sleeping again, Tony?’

McLean looked up from his desk to see Detective Superintendent McIntyre standing in the open doorway. A couple of days on from his meeting with Izzy DeVilliers and he was still waiting for an update. He’d come in early, dawn still little but a threat, in order to get some quiet time to plough through the ever-growing paperwork and let his thoughts come together. So far he’d succeeded at the first, but the second eluded him. Too many different cases all banging up against one another, and still a frustrating lack of progress in tracking down the killers of Cecily Slater.

‘There’s a post-mortem I need to attend later this morning to keep our illustrious leader happy. Thought I’d get ahead with the paperwork before heading down to the mortuary.’

McIntyre cocked her head to one side. ‘What have you done to upset Gail? More to the point, what’s she done to upset you? “Illustrious leader” indeed.’

‘I’m maybe being a bit unfair. Guess I don’t much like being the centre of attention.’ McLean pointed to the small conference table and the coffee maker in the corner. ‘You want a coffee?’

‘Aye. Thanks.’ McIntyre followed him across the room, pulled out a chair and sat down. McLean set a mug in front of her and took a seat himself.

‘Sorry. Someone ate all the biscuits.’

‘Someone?’ McIntyre raised an eyebrow. She was going quite grey now, McLean couldn’t help but notice. Not trying to hide her age.

‘OK. There never were any biscuits. I take it this isn’t a social call, or you’d have brought some with you.’

‘No, it’s not, sadly. There’s never time for simply chatting, catching up on what everyone’s doing, bringing insights to other people’s cases. We’re all too busy running just to stand still these days.’

‘I like to tell myself it was always like this, but we only remember the few times it wasn’t.’ McLean paused to take a sip from his mug. This early in the day the coffee was fresh, although still not as good as the stuff Grumpy Bob brewed down in the basement. ‘When do they want the investigation wrapped up by?’

‘Am I that transparent?’ McIntyre gave him a half-smile, too weary for a whole one. ‘End of the week. If there’s nothing new by then, it gets written up and sent for review. We need to reallocate staff, especially all these fresh-faced new DCs. They need to get a bit more experience in the field. Don’t want them disillusioned before they’ve even started.’

‘True enough. I’m just glad to see some new faces at all. Think they’ll work out OK. Even if the ratio’s getting a bit skewed now.’

‘Ratio . . . ?’ McIntyre frowned for a moment, then understood. ‘Ah, yes. Is it a problem?’

‘Why would it be? Male or female makes no difference to me. It’s how they do the job that matters. Just need to keep an eye on things. Be aware of the potential, as it were.’

‘Indeed.’ McIntyre savoured her coffee for a moment, clearly steeling herself to some unpleasant task. Given she’d already delivered the news about the murder investigation being put on ice, McLean had a suspicion he knew what it would be.

‘They’re going to give the vacant DCI post to Kirsty,’ she said eventually.

‘Congratulations to her. She deserves it. Does she want this office, too? It’s way too big for me.’ And horribly close to the chief superintendent down the corridor.

‘You’re not angry about it, then?’

McLean looked at the detective superintendent in genuine bafflement. ‘Why would I be? You know I never wanted to be DCI, Jayne. I was bumped into it when we had that nonsense with Forrester and his son. Detective Inspector is fine for me. It’s not like I need the pay rise.’

That got a wry smile from McIntyre, albeit short-lived. ‘That’s good, because none of us are getting one. Kirsty’s promotion hasn’t been announced yet, so keep it to yourself for now. Gail’s having a reception at her house in Stockbridge. She’ll tell everyone there. All the senior officers are . . . I was going to say invited, but that’s not going to work with you, is it?’

McLean shrugged, but said nothing.

‘Call it a three-line whip, then. Everyone ranked Inspector or above will be there, plain clothes and uniform. I know it’s a bit unorthodox, but apparently it’s how she used to do things in the Met. Helen will send you the details, but I need you to promise me you’ll be there. Can you manage that?’

At least he wouldn’t be left alone with the woman. ‘I suppose so, if it’s to support Kirsty.’

‘Try not to look so miserable about it, eh?’

McLean