McLean tried to suppress the urge to cough, but couldn't quite manage. 'What else could I do? Sit around moping about the unfairness of life?'
'Well, you could have gone shopping, I suppose.' McIntyre smiled.
'Don't worry, I'll be requesting some time off. But I needed to know what happened.'
'Give us a chance. They only secured the building a couple of hours ago. Charles is champing at the bit to get in there, but the firemen won't let him.'
'Ah, so he got my message then. How's he feeling about that?'
'You can ask him yourself. He wants to interview you about the flat where the fire started.'
'What's to say? I've never met the owner, it's just rented out to a continuous stream of students. This last lot were better than most. I guess I didn't pay them all that much attention.'
'You're a detective, Tony. You're trained to pay attention. How long ago did they move in?'
'I don't know. Middle of the summer? After the festival.'
'So they've been running some kind of drugs operation right under our noses for at least four months. Christ, the press are going to have a field day.'
McLean's heart sank. Of course the press would get their grubby little hands on this story. And it wouldn't take long for them to work out that at the same tenement block in which a drug factory had been set up there also lived a detective inspector.
'It doesn't look very good, does it Ma'am.'
'No, it doesn't. And DC Robertson's accident doesn't help either.' McIntyre rubbed at her eyes. 'Professional Standards want to talk to you,' she said after a while.
'I'd expected as much,' McLean said, though his heart fell even so.
'It's informal at this stage, Tony. No one's made an official complaint.' McIntyre put on her serious face. The one she used when frightening the new constables. 'I'll do what I can to keep it that way. I'm on your side on this. But I can't make any promises. For now, though, I want you to keep as low a profile as possible. Go and talk to Duguid, then I don't want to see you back in the station until the hearing.'
'But I'm in the middle of a murder investigation, I can't...'
'Until the hearing, Tony. Or I'll have you suspended. DS Laird can take on your caseload whilst you're away. It'll do him some good to actually work for his wage. Go do some shopping. Go home.' McIntyre paused, some of the colour leaching out of her face. 'Shit, that was insensitive. Sorry.'
'It's all right, Ma'am. I know what you meant.'
'Where are you staying, by the way? Not Grumpy Bob's I hope.'
'No. I'm at my Gran's old place. Up Braid Hills way.'
'Well, make sure we've got a phone number where we can reach you.'
McLean nodded, turned to go, then stopped. 'Any news about DC Robertson?' He asked.
'He'll walk again.' McIntyre rubbed at her eyes. 'But they reckon he's going to be off sick for at least a year.'
'Bloody hell. We're short enough staffed as it is. Any chance of pinching a few more from uniform?'
'I'm working on it, Tony, but believe it or not, not everyone wants to be a detective these days.' McIntyre scratched at her face absentmindedly. 'Still, Aberdeen have come to our rescue; they're sending one of theirs down on secondment, with a possibility of transfer.'
'Oh aye. Anyone I know?'
McIntyre pulled a sheet of paper from her out tray and peered at it for a moment.
'DS Ritchie,' she said. 'She'll be here in a fortnight. You can show her around. If you're still with us.'
*
McLean didn't much fancy getting into a shouting match with Duguid, certainly not with his throat still as sore as it was. So instead he set off in search of Grumpy Bob. The detective sergeant found him first.
'Didn't expect to see you today, sir. How the hell are you?'
'I'm fine, Bob, thanks.' McLean coughed and his lungs spasmed in pain. 'Well, near enough. Can't say the same for my neighbour though.'
'Aye, I heard about that. Poor bastard. Still, the doctors reckon he just died in his sleep. I guess that's better than being burned to death.'
'Have you been to the site?'
'I was there this morning, soon as I got in. It's a mess all right. Tried your mobile, but it's going straight to message.'
McLean slapped the pockets of his grandfather's suit, trying to remember which one he'd put his phone in. He found it, pulled it out and peered at the screen. Something inside appeared to have melted, and now he thought about it, he couldn't actually remember using the thing since he'd called the emergency services the night before.
'Looks like I'm due an upgrade, Bob. Just one more thing to add to the shopping list. Listen, do you know where Dagwood is right now?'
'Up in the main incident room, I think. He's got everyone working on tracking down the tenants, but they're having a hard enough time finding out who the landlord is.'
'So he's not on site. What about SOC? They been allowed in yet?'
'I'm not sure. We could always go and find out.'
'Just what I was thinking. Grab us a pool car. I'll meet you out front in ten minutes. Need a cup of tea first; my throat's killing me.'
'Ha! That's a tenner the lad owes me.' Grumpy Bob grinned as they both set off along the corridor. 'He didn't reckon you'd show up today at all.'
*
The canteen didn't serve the best tea in the world, but right then, McLean didn't much care. He just needed something to soothe the burning sensation in his throat. Perhaps he'd been wrong to ignore the doctor's pleading and sign himself out.
'There you are, McLean. Don't you ever answer your bloody phone?'
McLean swung around lazily in his seat, and didn't bother to stand. Detective Chief Inspector Charles Duguid wasn't worth the effort on a good day, and this wasn't remotely that.
'I'm afraid my phone's buggered, sir. Something melted in last night's fire and I haven't had a chance to get a replacement yet.'
'Yes, well,' Duguid pulled out a chair and dropped himself into it. 'About that. It's a serious business you know. There we are searching the whole of the city like we haven't got a clue, and all the time they're right on your bloody doorstep.'
'Thank you sir, I'm fine. Apart from a bit of a sore throat and the fact that all my worldly goods and possessions have just gone up in smoke.'
Duguid looked momentarily embarrassed before his natural anger swelled to the fore, reddening the pale, freckled skin under his wiry, greying-red hair.
'You're obviously fit to work, or you wouldn't be here. What I'd like to know is what you're doing sitting here drinking tea when Chief Superintendent McIntyre quite clearly told you I wanted to see you.'
'I'm sorry, sir. She didn't tell me it was urgent. She did tell me I should take some time off, but I thought I'd have a cup of tea and grab a few things before heading out.'
'You know what they're saying, McLean?' Duguid's anger was never a good thing to provoke, but right then McLean really didn't care.
'No sir, please enlighten me.'
'They're saying you knew damn well what was going on next door. You were protecting them.'
McLean put down his mug, pushing it away from him and towards the DCI. He got up, scraping his chair legs on the floor as he placed it carefully back under the table. Duguid looked at him, as if expecting him to reply, so McLean leant down, settling his hands knuckle to the Formica on either side of the mug and bending close, whispering so that only Duguid could hear him.
'You really are an idiot, sir,' he said. Then walked away.
~~~~
21
Grumpy Bob wasn't the only one in the pool car as McLean clambered into the passenger seat; DC MacBride was sitting behind the wheel and the old sergeant had taken up residence in the back.
'Nice suit, sir,' MacBride said as he piloted the car into the afternoon traffic flow.
'Don't you start, constable. It was my grandfather's. And very fashionable in its time.'
'And today, sir. Mate of mine's just had something
similar made up. Cost him a fortune.'
'Well, if he can get into this one, he can have it as a spare. It's bloody uncomfortable.' McLean shifted in his seat, trying not to think about the seam that was wearing away at his privates. No wonder his granddad had only managed to father the one child.
It took a long time to reach the area where his flat had been, and as they approached it, McLean could see why. The whole street had been cordoned off, blocking a major route out of the city. Not far away, traffic was backed up by the one-way system still in place after the Woodbury building had burned down. One more fire and the whole south city would grind to a halt.
'They're going to have to get this sorted soon.' DC MacBride showed his warrant card to a uniform standing at the blue and white tape, then inched slowly forward into the street. Two fire engines were still in attendance, though their hoses were stored away. The fire investigation team's truck was there too, across the street where McLean had laid Mr Sheen down on the pavement the night before. A half a dozen cars sat more abandoned than parked. Closer in, the battered old white transit van of the SOC team stood with its rear doors wide open. Beside it, a large flatbed truck was slowly being denuded of its load of scaffolding.
They parked as far away from the action as possible, and as McLean got out of the car, he looked up at what had, for the past fifteen years, been his home. The façade of the building was still intact, but none of the windows remained. Black streaks of soot ran from each opening like upside-down tears. From a distance, he could see that the roof had partly collapsed in, the stark shapes of the chimney stacks silhouetted against the darkening evening sky.
'Fuck me. I mean... Sorry sir.' DC MacBride looked down at his shoes.
'No, I think you're right, Stuart. Fuck me just about sums it up.' McLean stared up at what had been his living room window as an aeroplane flew over in the distance, sinking down on its way to Ingliston. For a surreal moment, he could see it through the window and the missing ceiling beyond. Then it passed out of view.
'What're we here for then, sir?' Grumpy Bob had come out without a coat, and paced around, rubbing his hands together and occasionally stamping his feet. Of the three of them, he hadn't looked up at the building, and seemed to be avoiding doing so.
'I'm not really sure, Bob,' McLean said. 'I just wanted to see what had survived. Looks like not much.'
He walked over to the SOC van, looking for a familiar face. It appeared in a rush of squealing that sounded almost like a pig being strangled. Before he could tell what was happening, he had been enveloped in a huge, crushing hug that made his lungs burn, his throat scream.
'Please, Emma. I can't breathe.' McLean extricated himself from the SOC officer's embrace and she stepped back, suddenly self-conscious.
'When I heard... The address... I thought...'
McLean took her hands in his. 'It's OK, Emma. I wasn't in there when it started.'
'But they said you were in the hospital.'
'I got a bit of smoke in my lungs trying to get someone out.' He coughed as if to emphasise the point. 'Look, don't worry about it. I'll be fine. Tell me what's going on. Have you found anything yet?'
'We can't get inside. They're still trying to stabilise the building.'
McLean walked past the SOC van and picked his way through the detritus lying about the street until he reached the pavement. A crew had begun assembling scaffolding up the entire front of the building, working with much greater delicacy than he had ever seen it done before. Looking up, it felt like the whole sandstone wall was swaying outwards, but it was just the clouds passing by high above. The front door was strangely still intact, propped open with a bit of broken pavement the way the previous students had always left it, and beyond, lit by powerful arc lights, all he could see was a narrow tunnel.
Something brushed past his legs. McLean almost jumped, then looked down to see a black cat nuzzling his trousers with the side of its soot-smeared face. He bent down and offered his hand, then scratched the animal behind its ears. Turning back to the tenement, he could see through the bay window at the front where old Mrs McCutcheon had used to sit of an evening, watching the world go by. Looking around for someone to ask, he spotted a fireman coming out of the front door tunnel.
'The old lady who lived downstairs,' he said, getting the fireman's attention. 'Did she get out all right?'
'Couldn't tell you, pal. Nobody in there now, mind. Have a word wi' Jim. He'll know.'
McLean thanked the man then headed off for the fire investigation truck, trailed by the cat. Jim Burrows looked up from his desk as he knocked on the door.
'Inspector. Good to see you up and about. You didn't look in such good shape last night.'
'A bit too much smoke. I don't know how you guys cope with it.'
'We wear breathing apparatus. And we don't generally go running into a burning building without working out a plan first. You know you're lucky to be alive.'
'I know.' McLean suppressed a shudder. 'And I should've known better. I've had basic training in fires.'
'What were you doing in there anyway? Just walking past and decided to play hero?'
'Nobody told you?' McLean was surprised. But then there was probably no reason why anybody would have done. 'I live there. Top flat on the end. Well, I used to live there, I suppose.'
Burrows looked at him with an unreadable expression. 'Ach, I'm sorry. So the old man...'
'Mr Sheen. He'd been there more than fifteen years. I never did know what his first name was.'
'We found other bodies. Four in the right hand side, second floor. All badly burned. Two in each of the first floor flats. And there was one in the main door. Small, that one was, buried under a lot of stuff, so probably the ground floor, maybe the first.'
'First floor flats were both professional couples. Renting, I think. The small one...' McLean slumped down onto a nearby chair, drained of all energy. The cat which had followed him into the mobile office now leapt into his lap and pushed its head against his hand until he started stroking it.
'You know who it was.' Burrows' voice was soft, concerned.
'Mrs McCutcheon. Christ, she was old. Probably born in that flat. She was a nosey old bat, but she didn't deserve that. None of them did.'
They sat together in silence for a while. He was still stroking the cat when Grumpy Bob and DC MacBride found him.
'Wondered where you got to, sir.' Grumpy Bob climbed up into the tiny space, then noticed the cat. 'Who's your new friend? Oh.'
'Everyone who lived in that tenement died last night, Bob. Ten people dead. Except me.'
'No' everyone, sir. Yon cat's still got at least one of its lives left.'
McLean held the purring beast up, staring into its eyes and wondering what he was going to do with it. He should probably call the SSPCA Animal Warden, have it taken away. But that seemed somehow disrespectful.
'What's the status of the building, Mr Burrows?' He asked, finally.
'We've got all the bodies out. Pretty sure of that. Scaffold work'll take a few hours yet, but they'll go through the night. We can't open the street until it's done and I've had traffic control screaming at me all afternoon to get it sorted.'
'What about the SOC team. When can they get in there?'
'For what? They'll no' find anything much.'
'They have to try.'
'Well it'll no' be 'til tomorrow, that's for sure.'
'OK.' McLean put the cat back down on the floor and stood up. It twined itself around his legs again, purring all the while. 'And thanks, for trying.'
'Don't mention it. It's my job.'
*
The air outside smelled of damp and charred wood. McLean hadn't noticed it before; he'd been too caught up in the strangeness of the whole scene. Now, as if he were slowly awakening from a dream, he started to see more of the details. The cars that had been parked in the street in front of the tenement were all being removed by a series of trucks. Shiny and clean down one side, their paint was
blistered and cracked by the heat of the fire on the other. One had caught fire itself, its tyres melted like chocolate left on a sunny windowsill. They'd be taken back to the SOC lab for tests before being released to their owners. With luck, one or more of them might have belonged to the drug dealers; it might even be that elusive clue that opened up the whole case.
But it wasn't his case. It was Duguid's. He'd already pissed off the DCI once today, best not to make it a brace.
'MacBride, I'm afraid you've drawn the short straw here, since you've only just joined the hallowed ranks of CID.' McLean told the detective constable all that he had learned from Burrows, then suggested he might like to find a subtle way of passing the information on. 'Just don't tell him I was here. You know what he's like. Oh, and you'll have to walk back to the station.' He held his hand out for the pool car keys.
MacBride looked like he was going to complain, but he stopped himself. No doubt reasoning that in the time it took to get there, Duguid might well have gone home. Or even decided to visit the scene himself.
'What're you going to do, sir?' He handed over the keys and McLean passed them on to Grumpy Bob.
'Me? I'm meant to be on compassionate leave today, and for the rest of the week at least. So Bob here's going to take me home. Then he's going to start reviewing all of the cases I'm currently working on. Come on Bob.'
He started walking back to the car, not surprised to find that the cat had decided to follow him. Grumpy Bob took a bit longer to catch up.
'What do you mean, review the cases?'
'What I said, Bob. I'm on leave. And then Professional Standards are going to give me a grilling. Someone's got to pick up the work. The chief superintendent said you were man enough to step into my shoes.'
They reached the car and McLean climbed into the front passenger seat. Before he could close the door, the cat had leapt up onto his lap. It turned around once, then curled up into a black, furry ball as Grumpy Bob opened his door and got in.
The Book of Souls (The Inspector McLean Mysteries) Page 9