All or Nothing: A Scottish Detective Mystery (A DCI Harry McNeil Crime Thriller Book 14) by John Carson

Author:John Carson [Carson, John]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2022-07-13T16:00:00+00:00

NINETEEN

Oxgangs Avenue was an arterial street that joined Greenbank with the main road that ran through Oxgangs on the way to the Pentlands.

‘It’s about here somewhere,’ Harry said. ‘Can you see the numbers on the outside of the blocks of flats?’

‘I think your eyesight is better than mine, mucker,’ said Dunbar. ‘I’d need a pair of binoculars and a torch to make out any of those bastard numbers if I was a taxi driver. That would go down well at night, eh? There’s a fucking peeping Tom with a torch and binoculars creeping about in the dark. Explain that one away when they’re putting you in handcuffs. “I was looking for a stair number, honest.”’

‘Aye, that one might get your name on a list somewhere, right enough.’ Harry stopped the car at a bus stop. ‘Is that it there?’ He pointed to the stairway entrance and the number painted on the left of the door.

‘I think it might be, but since I don’t have telescopic eyesight, it could also very well be Holyrood Palace.’

‘Look at the window, second up on the right-hand side. There’s a woman standing looking out and she isn’t hiding behind the curtains.’

‘Naked?’ Dunbar asked, squinting.

‘I think she might be wearing a skin-coloured sweater.’

‘Thank fuck for that. Although I have to be honest, I’ve walked into worse situations.’

‘You and me both.’

Harry had called ahead to make sure the woman who had made the report would be home and she had assured him she would. He assumed this was her since there was a green wheelie bin sitting outside the stairway with the number painted on it.

They got out into the cold. The sky was the colour of Go on, say it again. One more fucking time.

‘What’s this area like?’ Dunbar said.

‘Well, there’s not many Rolls-Royces get parked around here. Working class.’

‘Like you and me then?’

‘Exactly. With a sprinkling of ne’er-do-wells.’ Harry locked the car and looked up. Both were relieved to see the woman was indeed not putting on a DIY burlesque show and was wearing a sweater. She stared at them like her granny might have stared at the rent collector, but Harry thought many, if not all, of the flats here had been bought.

Many moons ago, the stairway might have smelled of pish and fish suppers, sometimes at the same time. Harry had known many a drunk to have acquired a skill that meant he could relieve himself while keeping the open fish supper perfectly balanced. He’d not tried it himself, and it was spoken of only in certain circles.

They walked up to the first level and the woman who had been looking out the window was standing there with the door open. On closer inspection, it was clear the cardigan had a flower pattern. Red, like the woman’s eyes.

‘Mrs Boyle?’ Harry asked.

The woman nodded.

‘I’m DCI McNeil. We spoke on the phone. This is a colleague of mine from Glasgow, DCI Dunbar. Can we come in?’

‘Yes, of course.’ She stepped aside and let them in, closing the front door behind them.

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