The Book of Souls (Inspector McLean #2)(45)

‘How d’you reckon that?’

‘She’d shaved her legs, made herself up and was wearing some fairly risqué underwear. That doesn’t sound like a girl popping down the shops for a microwave burger and a bottle of Coke. And wherever she went must have been close by, too. She’d only left Debbie on Monday and her mobile’s not been used since Tuesday evening. The phone in the house was disconnected, so she didn’t arrange to meet a friend, and she didn’t call a taxi.’

‘And that’s why we’re in the pub?’

‘Exactly. It’s the only place within easy walking distance. And Wednesday night was cold and wet, if I remember right.’

‘Shame. I thought you were being nice to me because it’s my first day on the job.’

McLean ignored the jibe, finished his orange and took the glass back to the bar.

‘Can I get you another, sir?’ The barman asked.

‘Actually, I was wondering if you might be able to help me.’ McLean took out his warrant card and the photograph of Kate McKenzie. ‘We’re trying to track down this young woman’s movements last week. Was she maybe in here on Wednesday night?’

‘I don’t know, let me see.’ The barman picked up the photograph and looked at it closely. ‘It gets pretty hectic in here on a Wednesday, what with the Women’s rugby club coming in and all.’

‘She’d have been dressed up for the night. You know what young women are like these days.’

‘Hang on a mo. I’ll ask Sian.’ The barman stuck his head through an open doorway at the back of the bar and yelled. After a few moments a dark-haired woman came through.

‘What is it, Mike?’

The barman showed her the picture. ‘She in here Wednesday last?’

Sian studied the picture for a while. ‘Yeah, I think so. She had a yellow top on. Spent the night talking to those rugby lasses.’

‘Any idea what time she left?’ McLean asked.

‘Late, that’s for sure. Maybe after midnight.’

‘Was she alone? With someone?’

‘I couldn’t rightly say. Wednesdays are always busy with the rugby crowd. So many faces, it’s difficult to know who’s who.’

McLean thanked them both, taking back the photograph. DS Ritchie had finished her spritzer and brought the glass back to the bar. He told her what he had found as they were walking out.

‘What about CCTV footage?’ She asked. ‘Any chance we might pick her up on that?’

‘There’s no cameras in here, I checked.’

Ritchie smiled a triumphant little grin. ‘Aye, but they’ve one in the car park looks out onto the road. And we’re right next door to Howdenhall nick.’





31





An anxious Grumpy Bob was waiting for them when McLean and DS Ritchie returned to the station some while later, laden with long-play video tapes.

‘Where’ve you been, sir? We’ve been trying to get in touch for hours.’

‘What’s the matter, Bob?’

‘It’s the press. They’ve been hassling us all bloody afternoon. Dan in the liaison office is spitting chunks. Says he had to go on the half-six news bulletin without any briefing.’

McLean dug out his phone, remembering that he’d switched it off before going to see Debbie Wright. He’d completely forgotten to switch it back on again.

‘Bugger. What did Dan do, the usual waiting-to-talk-to-next-of-kin bit?’

‘Not even that much. We didn’t know whether you’d confirmed her identity or not.’

‘Shite, so all he could do was say we’d found a body. Oh great. I guess I’d better go see him, try and calm him down.’

‘It’s not him you need to worry about, sir. It’s the chief superintendent.’

McLean stopped walking. ‘How did she get involved?’

‘She was mobbed, sir. You should have seen it here earlier. There were camera crews blocking the street outside the front door.’

‘Christ, why?’

Grumpy Bob looked very uncomfortable. ‘They’re playing the Anderson angle, sir.’

‘Anderson’s dead, Bob.’

‘Aye, I know. But bloody Jo Dalgliesh’s got hold of detailed info about both murders. She’s been harping on about Anderson being fitted up and us not knowing our arses from a hole in the ground. You can bet it’s going to be all over the papers tomorrow.’

McLean looked down at the handful of video tapes. He’d been planning on handing them over to DC MacBride to sit through, but right now the thought of hiding himself in a dark viewing room was extremely tempting. Better still if he could go in there and not come out until spring. He looked at his watch; it was almost eight. Thirteen hours since he’d started that morning. Grumpy Bob had been up just as long, if not longer. Well, it wouldn’t be the first time they’d pulled long shifts.

‘OK then, Bob, let’s go and see the super. Might as well get the bollocking over and done with.’

Mrs McCutcheon’s cat stared at him from the kitchen table when he let himself in the back door many hours later. McLean shooed it off, but all it did was twist itself around his legs, waiting to be fed. He dug a scoop of dried food out of the bag in the larder, ladled it into the bowl on the floor and then went to check the litter box. There was a cat flap in the back door, but he’d kept it shut for the few weeks since he’d adopted the beast; someone somewhere had told him once that you needed to keep cats locked up in their new homes for a while, otherwise they’d just wander back to the old one. For the life of him he couldn’t remember how long it was you were supposed to confine them, but looking at the diary pinned up by the phone in the kitchen, he saw to his dismay both that it was three weeks since his flat had burned down, and that it was only three days to Christmas.