The Rest is Death by Oswald James

Author:Oswald, James [Oswald, James]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fiction, Mystery & Detective, Suspense, Thriller
ISBN: 9781472298911
Publisher: Hachette UK
Published: 2025-03-26T13:00:00+00:00

28

McLean wasn’t sure he’d ever forget the looks of surprise on the faces of both Christine Vaughan and the duty solicitor as the former was released and the two of them left the police station together. He’d wanted to talk to Vaughan some more, but felt that pushing her too hard might end up with a claim of harassment. He could follow things up with her later if necessary, when she’d had a chance to calm down and reflect upon her good fortune. It wasn’t as if Paul Sanderson was going to get any more dead, after all. And until the results of the post mortem came through they didn’t even know whether his death was suspicious or just unlucky.

Aye, right. Even he couldn’t convince himself of that. There were too many coincidences at play, and McLean didn’t believe in coincidences. Throw in the meddling politicians first asking him to investigate and then backing off when he actually started to find something and the whole thing had headache written all over it. Well, he’d told McIntyre that he couldn’t not investigate Sanderson’s death, and if that made the powers that be uncomfortable, he could learn to live with that.

Pondering his next move, McLean set off for his office, then had a change of heart. He could hardly give Harrison grief for pursuing things on her own if he always did the same himself. Instead, he changed course for the CID room in the hope there might be a detective at a loose end he could coerce into helping.

As it happened, there was one desk occupied when he entered the room. DC Fairley shot to his feet like a naughty schoolboy the moment he saw McLean, snapped out a slightly panicked ‘Sir!’

‘At ease, Detective Constable.’ McLean tried to make it easier on the young lad. ‘It’s Connor, isn’t it?’

‘Aye, I mean yes, sir.’

‘You spare an hour or so?’ He glanced at his watch, all too aware how the afternoon was getting away.

‘I’ve a few interviews to transcribe, but they can wait, sir. What did you need?’

‘Some printouts of photographs from evidence and a pool car. You reckon you can get me those?’

The detective constable nodded so vigorously McLean worried he might break his neck. He grabbed a notebook from his desk and plucked a pen from the breast pocket of his jacket. ‘Which items were you after, sir? I’ll get right on it.’

McLean gave Fairley the details and sent him off on his errands with an arrangement to meet in the station car park in fifteen minutes. The young man’s enthusiasm was endearing, really, although no doubt it would wear a tired senior detective down after a while. Had he ever been that eager to please? It was hard to remember so far back, but he probably had been. Ah well, a couple of years in the job would soon blunt DC Fairley’s keenness.

The afternoon was all but gone by the time they arrived at Drake Biotech. McLean had taken one

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