Free Torch by Lin Anderson Page A

reminded
you of that?’
    ‘And the fact
that the chairman of the company is a pillar of Edinburgh
society.’
    ‘You’re not
going to let that stop you.’
    Bill gave her a
look that suggested pigs might fly.
    ‘Janice and I
are working on it.’
    ‘Could you get
me details on firms manufacturing fireworks?’ she asked.
    ‘What for?’
    ‘Thallium is
used in green emitting fireworks. And Edinburgh, as we both know,
is big on fireworks.’
    ‘Before you
go... ‘ Bill’s face betrayed his concern. ‘I think you should know
a body’s been found in the hills near Arrochar.’
    Rhona took a
seat, her legs suddenly weak. The horror of her last case, a
paedophile ring that murdered young vulnerable men, had ended with
the disappearance of the main suspect, a man whose pen name was
Simon.
    ‘Initial
examination suggests it could be him. Dr Sissons is doing a post
mortem,’ he paused. ‘I can get someone else to do the forensic work
if you want?’
    ‘I’d rather do
it myself.’
    ‘We haven’t
tracked down all the members of the ring. If he survived your
attack and the fire at the cottage, he had contacts that would help
him.’
    ‘I know.’
    ‘Let’s hope
it’s him then.’
    She nodded.
‘I’m going to drive through to Edinburgh.’
    ‘Thought you
might,’ he smiled. ‘Best of luck.’
    City of
Edinburgh Council had tidied up the housing scheme twice in the
past ten years. It had been a waste of time. New paint and pointy
roofs couldn’t cover the rot inside. The face was improved but the
soul had already departed. The wide streets could have housed an
articulated lorry either side. Residents of the more salubrious
parts of Edinburgh would have given their eye teeth for the
hundreds of parking spaces that lined the grid of houses. An
attempt had been made to install a heart when it was first built,
with a block that held a cinema, a church, a couple of shops and a
bookies. The cinema had turned into a bingo hall, the shops shut
except the post office and one determined butcher, who had
obviously been made of strong stuff, repainting his
graffiti-covered walls regularly. Rhona could make out the
sedimentary layers of expletives under the thin white paint.
    If MacFarlane
was surprised to see her he didn’t show it. When he emerged from
the burned out building, Rhona fully expected MacRae to follow him.
She had steeled herself for it. But MacFarlane was alone.
    ‘I take it the
body’s gone?’ she asked.
    ‘An hour
ago.’
    ‘I’ll call in
at Pathology then.’
    ‘Suit yourself.
You know the Doc though. Not too keen on the West poking its nose
in our affairs.’
    ‘We’ve had
similar cases. It might help. Is MacRae involved with this one?’
The words were out before she could stop them.
    MacFarlane’s
face was impassive. ‘Sev’s taking some leave.’
    So Gillian got
what she wanted.
    ‘Want to take a
look inside?’
    At least
MacFarlane took her seriously, Rhona thought, then felt bad. MacRae
had taken her seriously. They’d just sparked off each other like a
tinder box and dry paper. Together they could have started a fire
in a damp room.
    There wasn’t
much left of this room. In a corner lay half a dozen cans and what
looked like the remains of bedding. There was an old-fashioned
stuffed armchair and the blackened bits of a kitchen table. Rhona
stepped round the charred remains.
    ‘Where did you
find the body?’
    ‘Over
there.’
    MacFarlane
pointed at the far wall. The SOCOs had drawn the body outline
halfway up the wall, as if the victim had been propped against it.
The wall was heavily smoke marked and soaking wet from the deluge
of water but here and there lurid purple wallpaper was still
visible.
    ‘Did you find
the remains of any pictures?’ Rhona said.
    ‘Pictures?’
    ‘That might
have fallen off the wall,’ she tried again.
    MacFarlane
shook his head uncomprehendingly.
    ‘I just
wondered what these were for.’
    The nails were
six inchers. Big enough to support