The Book of Souls (The Inspector McLean Mysteries) (38 page)

'I expect my officers to behave in a manner befitting their status, gentlemen. If you can't stand the sight of each other, that's tough. You're professionals, so start acting like it. Or there'll be a report going in to the DCC.'

It wasn't an explicit dismissal, but Duguid took it for one, turning swiftly and stalking out of the office without another word. McLean pitied the poor bastard of a constable to be the first to get in his way.

'One moment, Tony.' McIntyre stopped him from leaving a safe distance behind the DCI.

'Ma'am?' he said.

'I meant what I said. He's your superior officer. If you keep pushing at him, I can't stop the complaints from going higher up.'

'If he'd just leave me perhaps one or two detectives to work with, I wouldn't have to keep going against him.'

'I know, but just try to cut him some slack, eh? His... well, let's just say that hard drugs have ruined the life of someone close to him.'

So that was what this was all about. 'I didn't know.'

'Not many people do, and he'd rather keep it that way.'

McLean nodded, wondering what other secrets Duguid had locked away. Maybe if the DCI wasn't so abrasive with everyone he'd get a bit more sympathy. But then again, probably not.

'Matt said he was pleased with how your sessions are coming along,' McIntyre said after a while.

'That's nice to know, ma'am. I wouldn't want to think I was going nuts.'

'Oh don't be so bloody melodramatic about it. I can see as plainly as the next man that you're under a lot of stress. Quite frankly I can't afford to lose another detective right now, we're short enough as it is. So suck up your pride and take the help being offered.'

McLean bowed his head by way of assent. He didn't dare say anything; he owed the chief superintendent too much gratitude for that.

'There's one more thing. I know you're meant to be having the day off, but Sergeant Hwei's been getting a lot of flak in the press liaison office about Trisha Lubkin. We were trying to keep a lid on that, but her husband's been shooting his mouth off to anyone who'll listen.'

McLean recalled the enormous man with his quiet voice and bruised nose. It suddenly occurred to him that Trisha might have butted him and not her attacker. He'd never thought to ask exactly how she'd hit her husband. The thought put him in almost as much gloom as the chief superintendent's words. He knew what was coming next.

'We're going to have another press conference. Tomorrow morning, eleven AM. You need to be there, and I want to see briefing notes first thing.'

*

He tried Emma's mobile as he trudged back from the chief superintendent's office to the CID room. It rang straight through to answering machine, so he left a message.

'Hi, Emma. It's me, Tony. Look, I'm really sorry about this morning. Maybe I can make it up to you? I should be out of here by...' He looked at his watch, appalled to see that it was almost one. 'Six o'clock? Give us a call if you fancy a Thai.'

He left the same message on her home phone, but somehow he felt she wasn't going to call back. Not today at least.

DS Ritchie was at her desk, two-finger typing away on a laptop computer. She looked up when he walked in.

'Oh, afternoon sir. Sorry I called you like that. I didn't mean for you to get into trouble with the chief superintendent.'

'It's all right, sergeant. I'm not in trouble. Well, not much anyway. Is MacBride about?'

Almost as he said the words, the detective constable backed through the door with a tray in his hands. Coffee and biscuits enough to go around everyone if Grumpy Bob didn't turn up soon and DC Simmons didn't want anything.

'Just the man,' McLean said, helping himself to a mug. 'And just what we need too. Get everyone together. We've got a press conference to prepare for.'

~~~~

55

An annoying, tinny beep invaded a dream he didn't realise he was having until it started to slip away. McLean rolled over, reaching for the bedside lamp, and only then realised that it was light outside. The clock said eight.

Not like him to sleep through the alarm. Then he saw that it was switched off. He'd done that the morning before, after it had interrupted him and Emma. The bed was much less welcoming without her. Groaning, he snatched up the phone, still beeping and buzzing beside the clock.

'McLean.' It would be the station, wondering where he was. There was the small matter of a press conference to attend to. At least the case files were all up to date; that was why he hadn't got to bed until three in the morning, after all.

'Hey Tony, Happy New Year.'

'Phil? You back already? I mean, yeah. Happy New Year.' McLean climbed out of bed and went to stare out the window as he talked, shivering slightly at the cold.

'Just got in last night. I was wondering what you were up to. Fancy a pint and a blether? Usual time, usual place.'

McLean was about to say yes when an awkward thought hit him. 'I don't live in Newington any more, Phil. The Arms is a bit of a pain to get to from here.'

'Christ, yes. That was a bit thick of me, I'd forgotten all about it. Where then?'

McLean yawned, scratched at his belly. It was difficult to think straight before coffee.

'I don't know, Phil. What about the Drookit Dug? It's not far from your place, and it's on the way home for me.'

'OK, usual time.' In the background, McLean could hear shouted words, but not make out what they said. A woman's voice, most likely Rachel. Then Phil added:

'And I've to ask about everything you and Emma have been up to.'

McLean looked away from the window, back to his empty bed, remembering Emma's sudden anger the day before. 'I've got to dash, Phil. Press conference. I'll see you this evening.'

*

'Where the hell have you been? We've got a press conference in less than an hour.' Chief Superintendent McIntyre looked like she was about to explode.

'I left the report on your desk last night, ma'am.' At about two in the morning, to be precise, another reason for oversleeping that he didn't think would help his cause.

'I don't give a damn about the report, Tony. I need you to brief me. And the deputy chief constable as well. We don't have time to mess around with reports.' McIntyre glanced at her watch. 'The whole think kicks off in less than an hour.'

'Is the DCC here?' McLean asked, hoping for a reprieve, knowing already that it was hopeless.

'He's in my office.'

'OK, well I'll meet you in the conference room in fifteen minutes. I just need to fetch my papers.' And get a coffee, McLean didn't add. McIntyre nodded her agreement, though she looked unhappy to be letting him out of her sight. He scurried off before she could change her mind, first heading for the CID room, where a tired-looking DC MacBride was staring unfocused at his computer screen.

'Morning, constable. Grumpy Bob about?'

MacBride took too long to respond, his eyes darting nervously around the room before finally settling on McLean.

'Canteen, I think. He was looking for you earlier.'

'Find him for me, can you. And track down DS Ritchie, too. I want everyone at this press conference.'

'She went off to get coffee,' MacBride said, reaching for the phone. 'Should be back any minute.'

McLean left the detective constable to track down the rest of the team and set off for his office. He wasn't even halfway there when he met Emma coming down the corridor. She was carrying a large cardboard box and looked hassled. Her expression when she saw him was difficult to judge. He decided to go for the conciliatory approach.

'Look, Emma, I'm really sorry...'

'Tony, I didn't...' She spoke at exactly the same moment. They both stopped, looked at each other.

'You go first,' McLean said.

'I didn't mean to storm off like that yesterday. I'm sorry. It was petty of me.'

McLean wanted to agree, but a tiny voice of self-preservation told him that would be the wrong thing to do. 'No, you were right,' he said. 'I shouldn't just drop everything and run back to work whenever they call. It wasn't just my day off, after all.'

Emma shifted the box, leaning it against the wall to take some of the weight off her arms.

'Here, let me take that,' McLean said.

'No, you're all right. It's evidence from the McMurdo case. I've got to take it down to the store. Anyone else so much as  touches it and there'll be paperwork.' She smiled and everything was all right.

'OK. Well.' McLean paused, unsure what to say. 'Did you get my message? Messages, I should say.'

'Yeah. Didn't really feel like going out last night.'

'How about tonight then? I was going to go to the pub with Phil later. But I can cancel.'

'No, pub sounds fine. And it's always fun drinking with Phil. Get him a bit pished and he's a goldmine of secret information. I'll see you there.' Emma hefted the box again and set off in the direction of the stairs.

'OK. Give my regards to Needy,' McLean said, but she was already gone.

*

'I've managed to run down a couple more of the fire sites, sir. They both have links to the Guild of Strangers.'

McLean sat on an uncomfortable chair at the white cloth-topped table set up for the press conference. Rows of empty seats stretched away to the far end of the room and the double doors where soon the jackals would enter. The briefing could have gone better; even now DS Ritchie was closeted in an anteroom with the superintendent and the DCC discussing aspects of the case. Sergeant Hwei from the press liaison office was scribbling furiously into a notepad, sitting at the far end of the table. Of Grumpy Bob there was no sign, but that was probably for the best.

'What was that?'

'The fires, sir. You wanted historical checks on the sites?'

McLean's brain caught up. He'd been so immersed in the murder investigation he'd completely forgotten the fires. As bad as Duguid, concentrating on one case to the detriment of all his others. The thought brought a wry smile to his lips.

'And what did you find?'

'Well, it's tenuous. Just the odd mention here and there. I've been trying to get in touch with a history professor at the University. He's meant to be the expert on all the guild stuff. But he's been away in the US over Christmas. Should be back today.'

'OK. Go see him. Let's try and get something to put in the report when the investigation dies.'

MacBride nodded, but didn't leave. He looked like he wanted to ask something. McLean sat silently waiting for the DS to build up the courage.

'Umm, sir?' MacBride said eventually. 'Where are you going with this link? I mean, it's not as if there's a Guild of Strangers anymore. And even if there were, why would they set fire to their old sites? Jealousy? And how are they doing it? I mean, we've got no forensic evidence for arson, no sign of accidents...' He tailed off, run out of steam.

'I'm more interested in any sites linked to them that haven't burned yet. If we can find a pattern that allows us to predict the next fire, then we can set up surveillance. Catch whoever's doing this in the act.' Well, it was the best course of action they had, simply because it was the only one.

'You want I should get on that right away?' There was undeniable hope in the detective sergeant's eyes as he asked the question. At the same time the double doors at the far end of the hall swung open, the first of the journalists bustling in to try and get the best seats.

'Aye, might as well. No point you hanging round here.'

McLean slumped back in his seat as MacBride scuttled out; shut his eyes for a moment and tried to prepare himself for the onslaught. This was one part of the job that was definitely easier when you were lower down the greasy pole.