The Book of Souls (Inspector McLean #2)(32)

‘Just wait outside the office, Tony. This shouldn’t take long.’

The words rang in McLean’s ears as he sat in his moulded plastic chair. He felt like a naughty schoolboy sent to see the headmistress, but if that was the case, he didn’t know what Sergeant Dunstone beside him had done. The union rep couldn’t stop fidgeting, constantly playing with his hands, looking up at the clock, opening his mouth as if to say something, then closing it again with a loud pop. Behind Superintendent McIntyre’s door, closed for once, the unmistakable sounds of argument could be heard, voices rising and falling like waves. The words were unintelligible; the emotions behind them all too clear.

Sergeant Dunstone snapped to his feet so suddenly it took McLean a moment to realise that the office door had opened. Before he could even begin to stand up, Chief Inspector Callard marched out of the room and was gone. By the thunderous look on his face, things hadn’t gone entirely his way.

‘It’s all right, John.’ McIntyre addressed Sergeant Dunstone before he could ask. ‘There’s not going to be any disciplinary procedure.’

McLean watched the relief spread across the sergeant’s face. No disciplinary procedure meant no tiresome paperwork. No shuffling the work rotas. No breaking in a brand-new, wet-behind-the-ears detective inspector. For himself he was surprised to find a level of disappointment mixed in with his relief, but it was short-lived. Perhaps he could get back to work now. Perhaps he could get back to finding who had killed Audrey Carpenter.

‘I need a quick word.’ McIntyre gestured towards her now-open office door and retreated inside. He looked at Dunstone, giving him a nod of thanks and saying, ‘I’ll see you in the canteen’, then followed the superintendent into her den.

‘It’d be a good idea if you didn’t do anything to piss off Professional Standards in the next, I don’t know, lifetime?’ McIntyre sat herself at her desk, not motioning for McLean to take the other seat. He stood instead, hoping this meant whatever she had to say would be short.

‘I don’t know how you talked them around, ma’am, but—’

‘I went out on a limb for you, Tony. That’s how. Chief Inspector Callard wanted you demoted back to sergeant and taken out of CID. Quite frankly I’m short enough staffed as it is, without losing a seasoned detective to traffic.’

McLean fought back the urge to say anything about Callard’s rather extreme sanction, but something of what he felt must have shown on his face.

‘Rab Callard’s been a friend of Charles Duguid since they were both at Tulliallan, Tony. That would probably explain some of the more daft allegations he made against you.’

‘You can’t believe I actually knew about the drugs operation. I—’

‘Of course not. But you did call Duguid an idiot to his face. And you all-but accused a very powerful Glasgow gangster of murdering his own daughter.’ McIntyre smiled a weary smile. ‘Callard has the ear of important people, including the Deputy Chief Constable. Best you keep under his radar as much as possible. OK?’

‘I understand, ma’am.’ McLean started to leave.

‘There’s one more thing, Tony.’

He stopped, turned back again. It was never going to be that easy. ‘Yes?’

‘I had to give them something, you know that. Otherwise Callard would have insisted on a full enquiry. You’d have been on gardening leave at least until Charles’s investigation was over, and we both know how long that’s likely to be. You’re going to have to take another week off. Technically you’re on suspension pending internal enquiries, but we’re calling it medical leave just to keep the media at bay.’

It could have been worse. Grumpy Bob had already been making regular visits to the house to keep him up to speed on the investigations. No reason why that shouldn’t continue.

‘And I had to agree to you undergoing psychiatric counselling.’

‘You what?’ McLean rocked on the balls of his feet as if he’d been punched. ‘Why?’

‘Stress, Tony. Why else?’

‘But I’m—’

‘This is always a hard time of year for you. Doubly so with Anderson’s death in the news. Don’t think I haven’t noticed your work patterns. Add to that the loss of your home and everything that means to you, it’s hardly surprising if you start making small mistakes.’

‘But I—’

McIntyre held up her hand. ‘I know, I know. But like I said, I had to throw PS a bone. There’s no harm in going to a few counselling sessions. Might even do you some good.’

Mrs McCutcheon’s cat sat on the counter beside the old Aga, licking at its paws and occasionally treating him to an imperious stare. McLean slouched in a wooden chair in front of the vast kitchen table, a mug of tea in one hand and a thick report in the other, staring off into the distance as he tried to take in the details of his late grandmother’s estate. Police work was one thing; he relished ferreting out the tiniest details, piecing the puzzle together, forcing the chaos of everyday life into some kind of order. But this was a different beast altogether. Even months after her death it showed no sign of coming together. Accounts, share certificates, IHT and trust funds. Somewhere in among all the dancing figures there was a bottom line, he was sure. He just needed to summon up the energy to find it.