The Book of Souls (Inspector McLean #2)(54)

‘And the keys?’

‘From these guys.’ Ritchie nodded at the doorway.

‘Well, I guess we’d better go and talk to them.’

The receptionist’s smile looked tired; perhaps she’d been a little overenthusiastic at the office party. She showed them through into the elegantly furnished office where a dark-suited man waited for them, surely far too young to be the senior partner of one of the city’s oldest law firms.

‘Detective Inspector McLean? Jonathan Weddell.’ He held out a hand to be shaken. ‘And you must be Detective Sergeant Ritchie. I’d wish you the blessings of the season, but given the reason you’re here, that might seem a little inappropriate. Exactly how may I help you?’

‘We’re trying to track down anyone who might have had access to Donald Anderson’s shop and house in the last few months. I understand you’ve been holding the keys?’

‘Yes, of course, detective sergeant. We were charged with looking after Mr Anderson’s estate whilst he was in prison, and with dealing with his will when he died.’

‘Can you tell me what will happen to his estate?’

‘Everything is to be sold. As you know, the auctioneer’s have already been into the shop. Everything is to be sold and the proceeds given to the Children’s Hospital. A bit of a double-edged gift, but I dare say they’ll take it.’

Nothing for the ten bereaved families, though. Not even a death-bed apology.

‘Well, it’s something I suppose. He didn’t get to take it with him.’

‘None of us do, detective inspector, as I’m sure you’re aware.’

‘Yes, well. About Anderson’s shop. I need to see everyone who had access to it, or the keys.’

Weddell picked up a slim folder from his desk. ‘I suspected as much, so I’ve had a list prepared. Would you like to interview them here?

Darkness had fallen across the city by the time they left the offices of Carstairs Weddell. They’d only managed to interview about twenty people; half of the practice seemed to have taken a fortnight off for the festive season and many of the admin staff had gone home after lunch. Still, it was a start.

‘I don’t suppose we’ve much chance of getting round to the rest for a few days,’ DS Ritchie said as they walked back along Princes Street towards the last hurrah of the shopping crowds. Her breath misted in the orange glow of the street lights, and she pulled her coat tight around her.

‘What, you don’t fancy working the Christmas shift?’

‘Oh, I don’t mind that. But you’re not going to get very co-operative answers if you turn up on people’s doorsteps when they’re carving the turkey.’

‘Or listening to the Queen’s speech. So you’re not much of a Christmas person, then?’

‘No. Can’t see what all the fuss is about, really. Sure, when I was a kid I loved it. Well, when Mum and Dad were still together. After he f*cked off things got a bit less cheery.’

‘How so?’

‘Well, Mum didn’t have much spare cash for one thing. Then good old “Uncle” Derek turned up.’ Ritchie made the inverted commas with her black-leather-gloved fingers.

‘Abusive?’

‘Nah, not really. Just wanted Mum, not the kids.’

‘Kids plural? So there’s more of you?’

‘Aye, I’ve a wee brother, Jamie.’

McLean stored the information away, realising how little he knew about the latest addition to his team. ‘So where’s he then? Not visiting his big sister?’

‘He’s a ski-bum. No, that’s unfair. He’s an instructor. He follows the snow. Right now he’s in Canada. Whistler, I think.’

‘And your mum?’

‘Tucked up at home with Uncle Derek and a bottle of whisky.’

‘Dad?’

Ritchie stopped mid-stride. ‘Am I being interrogated here, sir?’

McLean felt a bit foolish for being so insensitive. Truth was he was out of practise with the whole idle chit-chat thing.

‘Sorry. Force of habit.’

‘I guess that’s how you get to be an inspector.’ Ritchie smiled and they continued walking back towards the station.

McLean couldn’t help but notice she hadn’t answered the question.

‘So, what’s the next step then?’ she asked. ‘More interviews with lawyers? At least they don’t need to have a lawyer present.’

‘I’m not sure that seeing them at work’s going to help, anyway. We’re looking for someone who’s obsessed with Anderson enough to take his victim down into that basement and kill her there. That kind of person might seem quite sane and normal in everyday life. I’d need to see where they lived to get a better idea of them.’

‘So you reckon it could be someone from the law firm?’

‘They’re the ones who had the keys. And anyway, where else can we start?’

‘It’s not going to be easy, interviewing that many people at home.’

‘I know, which is why I’m going to need all the detectives I can get my hands on, and then hit the list hard. With luck we can do everyone in a day. But it needs to be soon. I don’t really want them all talking to each other.’