Blood in the Water (Alice Rice 1) by Galbraith Gillian

Author:Galbraith, Gillian [Galbraith, Gillian]
Language: eng
Format: mobi
ISBN: 9780857900135
Publisher: Birlinn
Published: 2011-04-30T16:00:00+00:00

10

Tuesday 13th December

Every year Edinburgh is taken by surprise when it snows, as if the stuff has no business falling so far south and on the capital at that. Its annual presence fails to dislodge the city fathers’ belief that their metropolis is a snow-free zone, requiring no special precautions, no special measures, a site untouched by winter and its cold heart.

When Alice awoke, the city had undergone its yearly transformation and Broughton Place was carpeted in white, a surface undisturbed by anyone or anything, a virgin field awaiting despoliation by its residents on their way to work. Looking out of her bedroom window she watched as little eddies of snow rose from the church roof at the east end, only to fall, spilling like icing sugar onto the sparkling surface below. She dressed quickly in a thick woollen jersey, jeans, boots and an old skiing jacket. The collar and lead were slipped over Quill’s neck and they set out for their pre-dawn walk. Inverleith Park was deserted, and the dog, freed from its lead, spun round and round in circles, chasing his tail and puffs of snow, barking loudly and revelling in his own speed and energy.

By eight am the peace of the snow-bound city had been shattered, its smooth covering replaced by chaos and its silence by an angry, impotent roar. Broughton Street, a small incline leading upwards from London Street to one of the main arteries of the capital, had been closed to all comers. An articulated lorry had jack-knifed across it by the Catholic Apostolic Church, smashing a bus-shelter and turning the road into a dead end. The traffic on George Street was moving at a snail’s pace, led by a bus crawling from stop to stop with a retinue of desperate drivers in its wake, each praying that the one in front would not brake too suddenly on the untreated, treacherous rink. Even The Mound was impassable, its underground heating system failing on its first call into service of the year. The roundabout at the top of Leith Walk was at a complete standstill: thick, white, exhaust fumes filled the air from the queues of trapped vehicles, each one revving ineffectually at the slightest sign of any advance. And Princes Street itself was blocked; a black cab, wheels spinning uselessly, showered the nearby pedestrians with a fine spray of slush. In short, the city had been disabled by the snow, found wanting, unable to cope, as if confronted by the unexpected demands of monsoon rains or hurricane winds.

Alastair was at his desk, his long fingers clamped around a mug of steaming tea, clasping it to his chest as if it was a hot water bottle. Inspector Manson was also in the office, leaning against the coffee machine and sipping from a polystyrene cup, a chocolate biscuit in his free hand. As Alice approached he sneezed noisily, rocking himself with the impact and spilling the contents of his cup onto her.

‘Sorry,’ he said. ‘You were in the wrong place at the wrong time, dear.

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