Read Online Dead Men's Bones (Inspector Mclean 4) by James Oswald - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: James Oswald
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gunpowder factory on the other side of the river. The undergrowth to either side was thick, covered with snow and mostly so full of thorns it would have been impossible to get through no matter how terrified or desperate you were, but there were some stands of broom that might give way to someone determined enough.
‘When did this snow start to settle?’ McLean pushedat a likely spot and was rewarded with a heavy dump of cold powder in the gap between his coat and glove. Flapping his hand to get rid of it only forced more snow up his sleeve.
‘Friday, I think. It’s not been properly cold enough to hang around until this week.’
‘And best estimate is our man went into the river on Saturday.’ McLean pushed deeper into the undergrowth. Somewhere down below, he could hear the water cascading over the weir. They had to be fairly close to the spot he’d seen from the other bank.
‘I think that was pretty much blizzard all day. I was processing actions on the Danby case for DI Spence for the whole afternoon and I don’t think it let up.’
McLean brushed more snow from the top of the broom, then pushed the branches aside, placing a boot carefully where he thought he’d be able to get a good footing. The edge was nearby somewhere and he really didn’t fancy taking a tumble over that cliff.
‘So what we’re looking at is a naked man, covered from head to toe in fresh tattoos, running through a blizzard and so terrified of whatever’s chasing him that he doesn’t notice, well, anything.’
‘And you think he went over the cliff—’
With hindsight, he should have noticed that the broom’s thin, whippy fronds had given way to the bulbous leaves of the rhododendron bushes. Maybe he had, but it just hadn’t clicked in his head as to what that actually meant. All McLean knew was that one moment he was standing on firm ground, and the next the bushes had leapt up to consume him. He flailed about, grabbing at the brancheswith gloves slick with snow. Their padding had been great for keeping out the cold, but now they made it almost impossible to get a decent grip. He twisted around, feeling nothing under his feet now, certain that he’d just stepped into air and a one-hundred-and-fifty-foot drop. He was just beginning to curse himself for such gross stupidity when something clamped hard around one wrist and he jarred to a stop.
‘Jesus, fuck!’
McLean whipped his free hand round, used his teeth to pull the glove off. It fell away from him in a lazy arc, bouncing off thin branches before disappearing into the grey. The cold was instant, but at least now he could reach for something a bit more substantial. He looked back, seeing what it was that had saved his life. A gloved hand clamped around his wrist and the pale, worried face of DC MacBride peered through the snow-covered foliage.
‘Can’t hold on much longer, sir. Can you reach that branch?’
McLean saw what MacBride was nodding at, hooked his free arm around the thick stem and took some of the weight. His feet still hung over nothing, and he suppressed the urge to look down. Concentrated on getting back up the ways.
‘Just to your left. There’s a rock jutting out. Should be able to get a foot on it.’
McLean inched his left foot over, feeling the boot connect with something solid. He slowly transferred his weight on to it, conscious that the rock might give at any moment. Christ, but he could be stupid sometimes.
‘That’sit. A little more.’
He felt his back press against the clifftop, brought his right foot over to join the left one. The scramble from there back over the edge, up a short steep slope and then down to the safety of the footpath was inelegant, but McLean really didn’t care. It wasn’t until he’d collapsed on to his backside on the snowy ground that he realized he was breathing hard, his heart racing. Stupid, stupid, stupid.
‘Please don’t do that again, sir.’ MacBride rested his hands on his knees. He too was
‘When did this snow start to settle?’ McLean pushedat a likely spot and was rewarded with a heavy dump of cold powder in the gap between his coat and glove. Flapping his hand to get rid of it only forced more snow up his sleeve.
‘Friday, I think. It’s not been properly cold enough to hang around until this week.’
‘And best estimate is our man went into the river on Saturday.’ McLean pushed deeper into the undergrowth. Somewhere down below, he could hear the water cascading over the weir. They had to be fairly close to the spot he’d seen from the other bank.
‘I think that was pretty much blizzard all day. I was processing actions on the Danby case for DI Spence for the whole afternoon and I don’t think it let up.’
McLean brushed more snow from the top of the broom, then pushed the branches aside, placing a boot carefully where he thought he’d be able to get a good footing. The edge was nearby somewhere and he really didn’t fancy taking a tumble over that cliff.
‘So what we’re looking at is a naked man, covered from head to toe in fresh tattoos, running through a blizzard and so terrified of whatever’s chasing him that he doesn’t notice, well, anything.’
‘And you think he went over the cliff—’
With hindsight, he should have noticed that the broom’s thin, whippy fronds had given way to the bulbous leaves of the rhododendron bushes. Maybe he had, but it just hadn’t clicked in his head as to what that actually meant. All McLean knew was that one moment he was standing on firm ground, and the next the bushes had leapt up to consume him. He flailed about, grabbing at the brancheswith gloves slick with snow. Their padding had been great for keeping out the cold, but now they made it almost impossible to get a decent grip. He twisted around, feeling nothing under his feet now, certain that he’d just stepped into air and a one-hundred-and-fifty-foot drop. He was just beginning to curse himself for such gross stupidity when something clamped hard around one wrist and he jarred to a stop.
‘Jesus, fuck!’
McLean whipped his free hand round, used his teeth to pull the glove off. It fell away from him in a lazy arc, bouncing off thin branches before disappearing into the grey. The cold was instant, but at least now he could reach for something a bit more substantial. He looked back, seeing what it was that had saved his life. A gloved hand clamped around his wrist and the pale, worried face of DC MacBride peered through the snow-covered foliage.
‘Can’t hold on much longer, sir. Can you reach that branch?’
McLean saw what MacBride was nodding at, hooked his free arm around the thick stem and took some of the weight. His feet still hung over nothing, and he suppressed the urge to look down. Concentrated on getting back up the ways.
‘Just to your left. There’s a rock jutting out. Should be able to get a foot on it.’
McLean inched his left foot over, feeling the boot connect with something solid. He slowly transferred his weight on to it, conscious that the rock might give at any moment. Christ, but he could be stupid sometimes.
‘That’sit. A little more.’
He felt his back press against the clifftop, brought his right foot over to join the left one. The scramble from there back over the edge, up a short steep slope and then down to the safety of the footpath was inelegant, but McLean really didn’t care. It wasn’t until he’d collapsed on to his backside on the snowy ground that he realized he was breathing hard, his heart racing. Stupid, stupid, stupid.
‘Please don’t do that again, sir.’ MacBride rested his hands on his knees. He too was
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