Read Online Dead Men's Bones (Inspector Mclean 4) by James Oswald - Free Book Online
Authors: James Oswald
Ads: Link
in.’
‘Too busy fighting technology. Did someone pinch your tablet?’
A second’s worry flitted across MacBride’s face. He spun around, taking a length of cable with him that probably shouldn’t have gone. McLean saw the tablet lying on the desk behind him at the same time as the constable, who grabbed it like a jealous lover.
‘Don’t even joke about it, sir. You’ve no idea how many people have tried to nick it. You’d think policemen would be less … I don’t know …’
‘Thieving?’ McLean offered.
‘Yes,’ MacBride agreed. ‘I’ve never known so many light fingers as there are in this place. Can’t put something down for five minutes.’
‘Shouldn’t IT be doing that?’ McLean pointed at thecable still in the constable’s hands. There wasn’t a lot of space for anything in the room, but somehow he had managed to get four desks and four computers wedged into one corner.
‘Depends on whether you want it done today or next month. Figured it’d be quicker if I did it myself. Just as soon as I can get everything hooked up to the network we can start sorting out those actions.’ He nodded at the whiteboard. It wasn’t much, but those questions would only multiply.
‘You reckon you’ll be done by shift end?’
‘Should be.’ MacBride looked at his watch, then back at McLean. ‘No overtime on this one, I take it.’
‘Not yet. No. If we’re lucky we might get some more help, though.’
MacBride said nothing, but his raised eyebrow showed he was developing the necessary levels of cynicism to survive as a detective. McLean looked back at the whiteboard, reading off the actions quickly. There was one thing missing.
‘Penicuik walked the river edge, didn’t they?’ He searched around for a marker pen before writing ‘point of entry?’ on the board.
‘Mile each way, at least that’s what they said.’ MacBride flicked a wall switch and the computers clunked into life. ‘I was going to get you that map. Sorry, sir, slipped my mind.’
‘Don’t worry. I’ve got some old Landrangers at home. I’ll dig them out. You’ll want to wear something warm tomorrow though.’
‘I will?’
‘Yup. Good boots, too. You and me are going for a walk along the riverbank.’
10
Coldgrey light filtered through the bare tree limbs, reflecting off the thin powdering of snow on the black earth and picking out fringes of frost around the piles of dead leaves. The wind had died down, or turned to a sufficiently different direction to be less noticeable deep in the glen. McLean stamped his feet against the chill, feeling the unfamiliar weight of his walking boots. They were new, like the ski gloves he had bought the evening before. The hat was one of his grandfather’s, though, an old tweed deerstalker his grandmother had found in a cupboard somewhere and presented to him when he first made detective. The Meerschaum pipe to go with it had long since disappeared.
‘What exactly are we looking for, sir?’
DC MacBride appeared to have kitted himself out from the stores back at the station. His yellow fluorescent jacket was hardly subtle, and it had been built for a constable twice his size. He had what looked like a balaclava nicked from the Armed Response Unit rolled up into a makeshift woolly hat. It was undoubtedly cosy, but nothing could stop the end of his nose from turning red.
‘I’m hoping we’ll know it when we see it.’ McLean slapped his hands together as he turned on the spot, surveying the scene around him. Many years ago, back in his student days, he had bicycled out this way from time totime. The old railway followed the line of the river for a bit, dropping eventually into Penicuik, but first he wanted to walk the other bank.
‘This was all munitions factories, back in the war.’ He swept an arm over the expanse of car park, empty save for the ticking hulk of his car. His breath misted in the frigid morning air, hanging like the ghost of an idea. MacBride said
‘Too busy fighting technology. Did someone pinch your tablet?’
A second’s worry flitted across MacBride’s face. He spun around, taking a length of cable with him that probably shouldn’t have gone. McLean saw the tablet lying on the desk behind him at the same time as the constable, who grabbed it like a jealous lover.
‘Don’t even joke about it, sir. You’ve no idea how many people have tried to nick it. You’d think policemen would be less … I don’t know …’
‘Thieving?’ McLean offered.
‘Yes,’ MacBride agreed. ‘I’ve never known so many light fingers as there are in this place. Can’t put something down for five minutes.’
‘Shouldn’t IT be doing that?’ McLean pointed at thecable still in the constable’s hands. There wasn’t a lot of space for anything in the room, but somehow he had managed to get four desks and four computers wedged into one corner.
‘Depends on whether you want it done today or next month. Figured it’d be quicker if I did it myself. Just as soon as I can get everything hooked up to the network we can start sorting out those actions.’ He nodded at the whiteboard. It wasn’t much, but those questions would only multiply.
‘You reckon you’ll be done by shift end?’
‘Should be.’ MacBride looked at his watch, then back at McLean. ‘No overtime on this one, I take it.’
‘Not yet. No. If we’re lucky we might get some more help, though.’
MacBride said nothing, but his raised eyebrow showed he was developing the necessary levels of cynicism to survive as a detective. McLean looked back at the whiteboard, reading off the actions quickly. There was one thing missing.
‘Penicuik walked the river edge, didn’t they?’ He searched around for a marker pen before writing ‘point of entry?’ on the board.
‘Mile each way, at least that’s what they said.’ MacBride flicked a wall switch and the computers clunked into life. ‘I was going to get you that map. Sorry, sir, slipped my mind.’
‘Don’t worry. I’ve got some old Landrangers at home. I’ll dig them out. You’ll want to wear something warm tomorrow though.’
‘I will?’
‘Yup. Good boots, too. You and me are going for a walk along the riverbank.’
10
Coldgrey light filtered through the bare tree limbs, reflecting off the thin powdering of snow on the black earth and picking out fringes of frost around the piles of dead leaves. The wind had died down, or turned to a sufficiently different direction to be less noticeable deep in the glen. McLean stamped his feet against the chill, feeling the unfamiliar weight of his walking boots. They were new, like the ski gloves he had bought the evening before. The hat was one of his grandfather’s, though, an old tweed deerstalker his grandmother had found in a cupboard somewhere and presented to him when he first made detective. The Meerschaum pipe to go with it had long since disappeared.
‘What exactly are we looking for, sir?’
DC MacBride appeared to have kitted himself out from the stores back at the station. His yellow fluorescent jacket was hardly subtle, and it had been built for a constable twice his size. He had what looked like a balaclava nicked from the Armed Response Unit rolled up into a makeshift woolly hat. It was undoubtedly cosy, but nothing could stop the end of his nose from turning red.
‘I’m hoping we’ll know it when we see it.’ McLean slapped his hands together as he turned on the spot, surveying the scene around him. Many years ago, back in his student days, he had bicycled out this way from time totime. The old railway followed the line of the river for a bit, dropping eventually into Penicuik, but first he wanted to walk the other bank.
‘This was all munitions factories, back in the war.’ He swept an arm over the expanse of car park, empty save for the ticking hulk of his car. His breath misted in the frigid morning air, hanging like the ghost of an idea. MacBride said
Similar Books
