The Book of Souls (The Inspector McLean Mysteries) by James Oswald Page A

streets. But she was talking to the press. It was only a matter of time before it all came out. I don't know about you, sir, but I think that's motive enough for a man like MacDougal.'
    Duguid slumped back down into his seat, his expression changing from anger to something more like excitement. He glanced sideways at the report, then back at McLean.
    'You shouldn't have gone in there without someone from SOCA. Or at least Strathclyde CID. MacDougal's a career criminal; he knows how to play the system. There's already been a formal complaint lodged about your behaviour.'
    'If Professional Standards want to talk to me, I'm always available, sir. I've done nothing wrong here.'
    'Aye, I've heard that about you. Go on, get out McLean. We'll pick this up at tomorrow's briefing. If we've got a suspect, that's something to keep the press off our backs at least.'
    'Sir, I really don't...'
    'Tomorrow, McLean.' Duguid waved him quiet. 'Right now I've got to make some calls to Glasgow.'
     
    *
     
    Christmas shoppers thronged the lamplit pavements of Princes Street and the upper end of Leith Walk like some vast, unpredictable beast. At least McLean assumed they were Christmas shoppers, even if there was still a month to go until the day itself. Getting on for nine and the shops really ought to have been closed by now, but the St James's Centre was bursting at the seams. So much for the age of austerity.
    He hunched his shoulders against the throng and tried to fight his way up towards North Bridge. It had been a long, crap day and he really needed a drink.
    Deep in thought, it took a moment for McLean to register that he'd seen something through the glass doors of John Lewis. He couldn't quite say what, but whatever it was, it stopped him in mid stride, forcing muttered curses from the other pedestrians as they had to adapt to a sudden rock in their stream. He took a step back, peering through the glass at the shoppers inside, the staff in their uniforms, the mind-boggling variety of Christmas decorations and assorted seasonal tat.
    And then he saw him; three-quarters turned away. Wearing jeans and leather bomber jacket combination that was atypical for the man. But otherwise unmistakable.
    'Anderson!'
    McLean pushed his way through the crowd, not caring who he knocked aside. The shop doors were slow, motorised rotating panes of glass that stopped whenever one of the mindless crowd bumped too close. And in his rush to get inside, they were all mindless now. He wasted long seconds shuffling impatiently, trying to peer over heads and into the shop, desperate not to lose his quarry. Finally the wheel opened, spilling people out into the warmth. McLean pushed past them, ignoring the scowls and half-muttered comments, hurrying to the stand where he had seen Anderson.
    'Can I help you with anything sir? Only we're closing in ten minutes.' McLean looked around to see a young shop assistant giving him an uncertain smile.
    'Actually I'm looking for someone. An old man, about so high.' He raised his hand somewhere between the top of the assistant's head and his chin. 'Wearing jeans and a brown leather jacket. Grey hair, but not much of it.'
    'I'm sorry sir. I really couldn't say. We're very busy, and it's been like that all evening.'
    'What about CCTV?' McLean scanned the upper reaches of the atrium and saw several, all pointed at the revolving doors.
    'I'm not sure it would be appropriate...'
    'I'm a police officer.' McLean dug out his warrant card and noticed an immediate change in the young woman. Her eyes flicked nervously away from him and towards the tills.
    'I'll just get the departmental manager,' she said, and fled.
     
    *
     
    'There. Stop there. Can you zoom in?'
    McLean sat in the darkened viewing room somewhere in the depths of the department store and peered at the slightly fuzzy images on a bank of flickering screens. It was a far more sophisticated set-up than the makeshift viewing room back at the station, but not a patch on the