The Book of Souls (Inspector McLean #2)(77)

‘There’s very slight bruising to her forehead.’ Cadwallader pointed to an indistinct area just above the point between the eye sockets on the x-ray. McLean couldn’t make out anything. ‘And here we can see tiny microfractures in the bone around her orbits and sinus cavities.’

‘So she banged her head on something?’

‘Not exactly, no.’ Cadwallader went back to the body laid out on the slab, pointed a latex-gloved hand at the points as he spoke. ‘There are ligature marks on her wrists and ankles. She was tied up for quite a while. If she’d fallen or been pushed over, even whilst tied up, there’d be bruising somewhere else. A hip maybe, a shoulder. I’d be surprised if her nose wasn’t broken. But there’s nothing.’

‘So what are you suggesting?’

‘You’ll be familiar with the term “Glasgow Kiss”.’ Cadwallader smiled.

‘She headbutted her assailant?’

‘Not long before she died. And quite hard, too. If her own damage is anything to go by, her killer’s going to be sporting a right shiner. I’d be surprised if he didn’t have to see a doctor about it.’

The pathologist turned back to his subject, a warmth coming into his voice as he addressed her. ‘It’s a shame it didn’t save you, but well done, my dear.’

‘You busy, constable?’

McLean stuck his head around the door into the CID room, noticing as he did that the photograph of Trisha Lubkin had been moved on the whiteboard. Now she stood together with her fellow victims, united by their violent and untimely deaths.

‘That depends on who’s looking for me, sir.’ DC MacBride looked up from his computer and stifled a yawn.

‘Don’t joke about it. You might prefer to be working the drugs case right now.’

‘Why, sir? What do you want done?’

‘I want you to get in touch with all the hospitals and GP surgeries in the district. If you can find any, get some uniform to help. Find out who’s been in for a broken nose in the last four days.’

‘Um, will they tell us that, sir? I mean, patient confidentiality and all that?’

‘Probably not, no. But if you can persuade them to let you know if anyone’s come to them, it might help us narrow down our location. Try the GPs first, and let them know it’s a murder enquiry.’

‘OK, sir.’ MacBride reached for the computer mouse. ‘I take it this needs doing now.’

‘Or sooner. Why, what else were you working on?’

‘Those fire sites. You were right, you know. Well, the ones I’ve managed to trace back so far. They’re all linked to an outfit called the Guild of Strangers. I’ve not had much of a chance to work out who they were, but I’m guessing they were one of the merchants’ guilds. You know, back in the sixteenth century.’

‘Strangers were normally what merchants and craftsmen who weren’t members of guilds were called,’ McLean said. ‘I’ve never heard of them forming their own guild.’

‘Me neither. I was going to ask my uncle. He knows everything there is to know about Edinburgh history.’

‘How many sites have you traced back?’

‘Four so far. It’s not easy getting hold of the title deeds, and even those don’t always go back that far.’

Four out of twelve, few enough to just be a coincidence. And even if it wasn’t a coincidence, McLean wasn’t sure what he could do with the information. It wasn’t as if the Guild of Strangers was still active, and even if it was, why would it be torching its old sites? And how?

‘That’s good work, constable. And take it up with your uncle when you see him next. But now we need to get onto those doctors. Our killer’s had his nose broken since last Thursday, and I want to know where he had it fixed.’





51





The phone buzzing on his desk interrupted McLean’s frustrated attempts to tame some of the paperwork in his office. Without the little slip of card that identified which internal line it was, he had no way of knowing who was calling. No doubt there was another nutter at the front desk and he’d drawn the short straw again.

‘McLean.’ He tried to keep the irritation from his voice, just in case.

‘If you’ve got a moment, Tony, could you pop up to my office?’ Chief Superintendent McIntyre didn’t react to his grumpiness, but he could tell by her tone that it wasn’t so much an invitation as an order.

‘I’ll be right up, ma’am.’ No point in asking what it was about. He left the paperwork to go on breeding and hurried to the top floor.

McIntyre’s door was always open, but she wasn’t alone when he knocked on the door frame. Matt Hilton grinned up at him from one of the armchairs.

‘I figured you’d forgotten your appointment, Tony,’ McIntyre said. ‘Matt says you’re doing well, but I don’t think he’s ready to give you the green light just yet. And this new case ... well.’

‘I ... I’m fine. Really.’ It sounded like denial even to him, but McLean felt he had to say something.

‘Then I won’t have much to do, will I?’ Hilton smirked. There was no other way to describe the frog-like grin on his face.

‘Do? What do you mean?’