Natural Causes: Episode 35

“Feeling like an idiot for not knowing anything about the crime scene, or for that matter the crime, Mclean nodded his thanks

Mclean glanced at his watch as he picked up the phone.

Just past eleven; where had the evening gone?

“Mclean.” He tried not to let the irritation in his voice show.

There was only one thing anyone could possibly be ringing him about at this hour.

“You’re not drunk are you?” Duguid’s nasal tones were made worse by the tinny phone.

Mclean considered his intake, maybe half a bottle of wine spread over three hours or more. And he’d eaten, too, which was unusual for him.

“No, sir.”

“Good. I’ve sent a car round to pick you up. Should be there any moment.”

As if by perverse magic, the doorbell buzzed. “What’s this about, sir? What’s so important it can’t wait until the morning?”

He knew the question was stupid even as he said it. Maybe he had drunk a little too much.

“There’s been another murder, Mclean. Is that important enough for you?”

Constable Kydd said nothing as they drove across the city, which made Mclean suspect she was not meant to be on duty either.

He thought about asking her for more information than Duguid had offered, but he could feel the waves of resentment boiling off her, and didn’t want to offer himself as a target.

Destination

As it was, their destination was only a few minutes from his flat.

Patrol cars flashed blue lights on the cobbles of the Royal Mile just across from St Giles’ Cathedral as uniforms fended off curious Friday-night revellers, keen to get an eyeful of whatever was happening.

The constable parked in the middle of the cordoned-off road and Mclean walked across to the SOC van.

It was backed up as close as possible to a narrow alleyway between two shop fronts.

Dim lighting showed a line of wheelie bins tucked away behind a cast-iron security fence and gate.

Beyond them, a set of shallow stone steps led up to a tenement door.

“Where’s Chief Inspector Duguid?” Mclean showed his warrant card to one of the constables rolling out blue and white tape.

“No idea, sir. I’ve not seen him here. SOC and the doctor are upstairs.” The man looked up and pointed to the top of the five-storey building.

Marvellous, Mclean thought. Just like Dagwood to send him out after hours rather than shifting himself.

He stomped past the SOC van and down the alleyway, was just about to step up into the building when a loud voice rang out over the night noise.

“Oi! Where the b **** y hell do you think you’re going?”

Mclean froze, looking round to see a white-boilersuit-clad figure stepping down out of the dark recesses of the SOC van.

When she stepped into one of the weak pools of light, he recognised Miss-not-ms Emma Baird. She nearly dropped the bag she was carrying.

“Oh my god. I’m really sorry, sir. I didn’t realise it was you.”

“It’s OK, Emma. I take it you’ve not finished examining the scene then?”

Stupid of him. He should have checked before marching in.

“At least put a boilersuit and gloves on, sir. The boys won’t be happy if they have to take samples from everyone’s clothes for elimination.”

Impossible

She went back to the van and fetched out a white bundle. Mclean struggled into the suit, pulling white paper covers over his shoes and latex gloves over his hands before following the young woman up a narrow winding staircase.

A full-length glass canopy in the roof would have lit the wide landing at the top of the stairs by day.

This late at night two wall lights provided illumination, one mounted beside each of the apartment doors.

Both of these were open, and smears of blood on the white-painted walls made it impossible to guess which was the correct one.

Mclean opted to continue following the SOC officer, but she stopped at the door she was entering and pointed to the other one.

“Witness fingerprints for elimination, sir. Your body’s in there.”

Feeling like an idiot for not knowing anything about the crime scene, or for that matter the crime, Mclean nodded his thanks, turned and crossed the landing.

He could hear low voices inside the apartment and peered through the door. Sergeant Andy Houseman stood in the hallway. He wasn’t wearing overalls.

“Andy, what have you got for me?” Mclean winced as the big sergeant almost jumped out of his skin. “Jesus! You nearly gave me a heart attack.”

The big man looked around, saw who it was and relaxed.

“Thank Christ, a detective at last. I’ve only been on the radio for the last two hours.”

“Well I only got the call about 20 minutes ago, Andy. So don’t go blaming me. It’s meant to be my weekend off.”

“Sorry, sir. It’s just... Well, I’ve been stuck in here all that time, and it’s not a nice place to be.”

Mclean looked around the hallway of the apartment. It was expensively decorated, with antique furniture cluttering up the living space.

The walls were covered with an eclectic mix of paintings, leaning towards the modern in style.

One nearby caught his eye and he peered more closely.

“It’s a Picasso, sir. Least I think it is. I’m no expert.” “OK, Andy. Assume that I know exactly nothing about this crime. Fill me in.”

Violent

“Me and Constable Peters were patrolling the High Street when we got the call, sir. That would have been about 21.00 hours. Break-in and violent assault.

“We proceeded to this address and found the gate and front door open. We followed the trail, found old Mr Garner up on the top landing in his dressing gown.”

“Mr Garner?”

“The neighbour, sir. He and Mr Stewart were good friends. Well, if you ask me I think it maybe went a bit further than that, but that’s none of my business, sir.”

“Mr Stewart?” Mclean felt like a complete idiot and cursed Duguid for his predicament.

“The victim, sir. A Mr Buchan Stewart. He’s in there.”

The sergeant pointed to the only open door in the hallway, but made no sign of going anywhere near.

“OK, Andy. I’ll take it from here. But don’t go too far. I still need a full briefing.”

Mclean watched the sergeant leave the apartment, then stepped into the room.

The smell hit him first. It had been there, lingering, all the while. But outside it was muted.

Here it was a full iron tang, the scent of recently spilled blood.

More on Monday

Natural Causes by Fife farmer-turned-author James Oswald is the first in the Inspector Mclean series. It is published by Penguin, rrp, £7.99. Bury Them Deep, the latest in the series, is published by Headline in February, rrp £14.99.