What Will Burn James Oswald (booksvooks txt) 📖

that mad an idea when he thought about it. Except that he’d just spent the best part of three months on suspension. Taking leave so soon after that wouldn’t go down well with those overworked sergeants and constables who still gave him filthy looks when he passed them in the station corridors.

‘I’ll think about it. If I ever escape from this place alive.’

McIntyre rolled her eyes like the hammiest of actors. ‘If you’re that bored, just go. I’ll tell Gail you were called away on urgent business. See, she’s busy talking to that dreadful MSP right now. What’s his name? Sits on the Justice Committee. She’ll be distracted for ages.’

McLean was sorely tempted. He’d still have to run the gamut of the room to get from where he was to the door and back out into the hall. Perhaps if he made a show of talking to one or two people on the way it would look like he was mingling, or at least trying to. He looked around, searching for a suitable target, and spotted just the man.

‘Thanks, Jayne. I owe you. I just need to have a quick word with someone first.’

‘Surprised to see you here, sir.’

McLean pitched his voice loud enough to carry through the hubbub. Lord Bairnfather turned to see who had spoken, his mouth full of half-chewed vol-au-vent. The old man munched upon it industriously for a few moments before swallowing heavily, eyes narrowed as he stared at McLean all the while.

‘Mac – something. Detective chappie. You’re the one looking into Sissy’s death, aren’t you?’

‘Detective Inspector McLean, sir. Yes. I’m SIO on that investigation.’

Bairnfather made an odd growling gurgle that might have been disapproval but might equally have been indigestion. ‘And how is it coming along?’ he asked, once the noise had subsided.

‘If I’m being honest, sir. It’s not. We have no leads, no clear idea as to why anybody would want to do such a senseless thing. If your aunt had any enemies, we’ve not been able to find them. And the fire left nothing useful for the forensics team to work with.’

That strange noise again, and this time McLean realised it was Bairnfather clearing his throat. ‘You’re closing the case, then?’ His words dripped with disapproval, verging almost on contempt, but there was none of the anger McLean might have expected.

‘Far from it, sir. Murder cases are never closed. We’re reviewing what we have at the moment, and I’ve still got officers working on Lady Cecily’s recent history. I just wanted to be candid. Unless something new comes to light soon, it may be a while before her killer is brought to justice.’

Bairnfather harumphed, but made no other complaint. McLean tried to read the man. It wasn’t easy to see beyond the ruddy complexion and wobbling jowls, the standard features of a country laird. He was even wearing a tweed three-piece suit. Stick him on a grouse moor on the Glorious Twelfth and he’d fit right in.

‘I couldn’t help noticing that Gail – the chief superintendent – thanked you for this house. I wasn’t aware you owned it.’

‘I don’t,’ Bairnfather grunted. ‘Well, not exactly. It’s one of the company assets.’

‘It used to belong to a fellow called Alan Lewis. Did you know him?’

‘Know him? Of course I bloody knew him, McLean.’ Something about speaking the name brought Bairnfather up short. ‘McLean. Of course. You were the one who found him, weren’t you? Uncovered that money laundering racket he had going. I owe you a debt of gratitude then.’

‘Oh? How so?’

‘Lewis’s company dissolved after he topped himself. Coward’s way out, if you ask me. Picked up quite a few choice assets in the fire sale, mind you. This house was one of them. Probably paid only half what it was worth on the open market.’

‘Does she know?’ McLean indicated the deputy chief constable, deep in conversation with someone McLean had a suspicion might have been in a cave in the Moorfoot Hills back in the summer.

‘Know what?’

‘That Alan Lewis died in her bath?’

Bairnfather stared at him for a few seconds, his face a picture of puzzlement. Then he let out a great bark of a laugh that momentarily silenced the room. ‘Good God, no. Why would I tell anyone that? Hard enough renting out a place this size as it is.’

‘You could always sell it. Realise that hundred percent profit.’

Bairnfather shook his head slowly. ‘That’s not how my family does things, McLean. We’re in it for the long run, not fly-by-night merchants like Lewis.’

‘And the hotel business is very different from hedge fund management, I’d imagine.’ McLean watched a frown of confusion work its way across Bairnfather’s florid features. ‘That is your main business, is it not? Hotels?’

‘One of ’em, I suppose.’

‘Only, I was in the Scotston earlier today. I remember it being a terrible place back in the nineties. You’ve done great things with it. Not surprised Tommy Fielding likes it so much. It’s a great conference venue now.’

The frown changed from puzzled to wary. ‘What are you up to, McLean? How do you know Fielding?’

‘Know him?’ McLean feigned innocence. ‘I don’t know him, sir. Had to go and see him about a small matter. The disruption to his most recent symposium. You must have seen the protests outside.’

Something like fear widened the old man’s eyes for a moment. Then he seemed to collect himself. ‘Heard something about it. You moved them on, I take it?’

‘Eventually, yes. Sorry we couldn’t do more sooner, but we have to work within the law.’

‘Of course.’ Lord Bairnfather shook his head ever so slightly, as if he disagreed. Then he looked past McLean to the far side of the room. ‘If you’ll excuse me, McLean. There’s someone I’d like to speak to.’

McLean stood aside to let him pass, said nothing as Bairnfather elbowed his way in the direction of the chief constable. Well, it was bound to happen sooner or later. He glanced around the room, seeing the chief superintendent deep in conversation with Mrs Saifre.