The Book of Souls (The Inspector McLean Mysteries)

by Oswald, James

  It was a study of desperate calm. The room DCI Duguid had commandeered for co-ordinating the drugs investigation might have been the largest available in the station, but it felt tiny. Desks had been crammed into every available inch of space; computer screens lined the window wall - God alone knew where they'd come from; and what seemed like more than the station's entire roster of uniform and plain clothes officers busied themselves with moving bits of paper around. Standing in the doorway, unwilling to commit himself further, McLean spotted DC MacBride in discussion with DI Langley from the Drugs Squad over on the far side of the room beside the whiteboards. He hoped that they might notice him before anyone else did, but luck belonged to someone else that day.

  'Well well well. Look what the cat dragged in.' DCI Duguid sauntered up the corridor from the direction of the lavatories. 'Come to help, have you? Only it's a bit late. We're narrowing in on your friend Ayre.'

  McLean said nothing, trying to gauge the chief inspector's mood.

  'Yes, thanks to our little series of raids, he's running out of places to hide. We'll have him by the end of the week.'

  If his previous employers don't make him disappear first. Might as well have written the poor sod's death sentence.

  'Then you won't mind if I take my team members back, sir. Since it's going so well. Only they're supposed to be working on the Trisha Lubkin case. It's quite important.'

  'So important you had to go pestering hospitals about broken noses? So important you couldn't even be bothered coming in to work today?'

  Count to ten, McLean thought. Don't rise to it. Deep breaths. Ah, bugger it.

  'It might surprise you to learn, sir, that today is the first day I've taken off since before Christmas. But of course, you weren't here, so you couldn't have known. How was the skiing trip, by the way? Mrs Duguid OK?'

  Duguid's face reddened at the criticism. 'If you've nothing to add to this investigation, McLean, I suggest you keep out of my way.'

  'Gladly, sir. As soon as I've retrieved my team. I'd really appreciate it if you didn't keep poaching them to run your errands for you. I'd rather they didn't have their careers put in jeopardy that way.'

  'What the hell do you mean by that, McLean?'

  'You know damn well what I mean, sir.' McLean gestured towards the room, noticing as he did that the place had fallen even more silent than before, all eyes turned his way. 'We've got a fucking serial killer out there and you're acting like it was just a mugging or two on a Saturday night. We're short-staffed as it is, without you bullying everyone in the station into running your stupid actions for you. We're only supposed to be giving Drugs logistical support anyway, not riding roughshod over months of painstaking surveillance work with your bloody raids. And you don't seem to be able to get it into that thick skull of yours that what you're doing is more likely to get our only potential witness killed than find him.'

  Duguid had gone from red to white, a sure sign that he was about to blow. McLean couldn't find it in himself to care anymore.

  'Gentlemen. My office. Now.'

  Both men looked around at the same moment, shaken by how close Chief Superintendent McIntyre had managed to get to them without either noticing. McLean tried a nervous smile, Duguid started to bluster.

  'Not a word, Charles. My office.' And she turned away, striding back down the corridor.

  'After you, sir.' McLean stood to one side to let the chief inspector pass. Duguid glowered at him, then stalked off like an angry bear.

  *

  'Why is it that all I ever hear about these days is you two arguing with each other?'

  The chief superintendent stood on the far side of her desk, using it as a barrier between herself and the two detectives. McLean noticed that she hadn't sat down, never a good sign. At least he knew a rhetorical question when he heard one. Duguid, it seemed, had benefited from a different education.

  'Ma'am, I'm trying to conduct a serious investigation here, and every time I'm getting somewhere, this excuse for a detective inspector comes and takes half my team away.'

  Duguid's tone was almost petulant. McLean allowed himself a silent breath of relief that the DCI was digging his own grave.

  'As I understand it from last month's overtime sheets, Charles, you've actually managed to use every single officer below the rank of chief inspector, plain clothes and uniform, in this station on your investigation.' McIntyre prodded an angry finger at a sheaf of papers on her desk as she spoke. 'You've even managed to rope in half of the admin staff, which is why everything else is gone to hell in a handbasket.'

  'Ma'am, I must...'

  'All for one investigation, Charles,' McIntyre cut off his protest. 'Just one. Every other DCI in Lothian and Borders is running at least six. Even the DIs are doing more.'

  'I have eight other cases at the moment, ma'am. This one just needs more attention.'

  'You're not even supposed to be running the bloody thing, Charles. It's meant to be a Drugs Squad operation with us giving support. Tony was doing a perfectly good job of that before you ordered him off the case.'

  'This poison is destroying lives. We have to get rid of it.'

  McLean had been studying his shoes up to this point, but something about the DCI's words caught his attention, the way he said them with such utter conviction. There was something here he didn't know, and that put him off guard. McIntyre did though. She finally sat down, and when she spoke again, it was with a much more reasonable tone.

  'Look, Charles. No-one's questioning your dedication here. But you've got to take the lead from DI Langley, not browbeat him with your seniority. He's the one who knows how to handle this kind of investigation. This isn't going to be solved by throwing lots of man hours at it.'

  McIntyre shuffled the papers on her desk for a moment, let the silence build before she turned her attention on McLean.

  'As for you, Tony. I'd hoped you might have had a bit more respect for authority, and a bit more sense. What do you think it does for morale if two senior detectives start taking chunks out of each other in front of the whole station?'

  McLean wanted to say that it helped to clear the air; that if no-one else stood up to Duguid then the man would drive everyone to an early grave with his impossible demands and sudden mood changes. But he said nothing, knowing it wasn't a question he could answer without getting into more trouble.

  '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.