emphasized the number. ‘Anything special?’
‘We found a body in the River North Esk in Roslin Glen last week. Still no ID, unless something’s come up while I’ve been stuck in here with you.’
‘I see you’re eager to get your teeth stuck into that one. That’s good, Tony, but don’t think throwing yourself into solving cases is the solution to your problems. That didn’t work out so well before.’
‘The other case, since you’re so obviously desperate to know, is Andrew Weatherly and his family. You’ve seen the news, I’m sure.’
For once, Hilton said nothing. It was almost amusing to see the thoughts flitting across his face, the questions stumbling into each other in their rush to his mouth. McLean waited until he thought the psychiatrist was going to speak, then pushed himself up out of his chair. A shock of pain lanced through his leg, and he covered up the grimace by shaking out the sleeves of his jacket.
‘That must be very … difficult.’ Hilton made no attempt to stop McLean as he headed for the door.
‘Very.So if you don’t mind, I think I’ll get back to it.’
‘Yes. Yes. Of course. We’ll reschedule for tomorrow. Same time.’ The psychiatrist stared at him, the thought processes writ large across his face. He’d never make a good criminal: too easy to read. ‘You know you can always come to me for help, Tony. Any time. Any thing.’
Humour him, why not? After all, Hilton’s signature on a sheet of paper in Duguid’s office was the only reason he was back on active cases anyway. McLean nodded his head in understanding. ‘I’ll bear that in mind.’
Time was he’d hated the Western General Hospital. It was where his grandmother had spent the last eighteen months of her life, slowly shrivelling away like a balloon left over after the party’s finished and everyone’s gone home. He’d visited every day, then once or twice a week, guilty when he forgot, guilty when he came and only spent a few minutes staring at her. Then she had died and he’d hoped to put the place behind him. But Emma had kept him coming back in the dark days when she’d been unconscious. And then he’d been here himself.
As a patient he’d been dreadful, he knew. The nurses were nice to him, of course. Some thought he’d been close to the edge, and maybe he had been. Their sympathy wasn’t really what he’d needed, though. Others just did their job, cheerful around him or simply there, and that had been better. But he’d longed to get out of the place, had discharged himself far earlier than the doctors wanted, earlier even than was wise.
That much he realized now, with the ache in his leg a constant companion. And that was why he’d come tolook upon his visits to the hospital with eager anticipation. If nothing else, this was where the really good painkillers came from.
‘You’ve been doing the exercises I set you.’ The physiotherapist looked McLean in the eye as she spoke, voicing the words as a statement, not a question.
‘When I can.’ Well, it wasn’t exactly a lie. He had the badly photocopied sheet pinned to the fridge door with a magnet, and sometimes he did some of the stretches while he was waiting for the Aga to reheat his takeaway.
‘I can only help you so much, Inspector. The rest you have to do for yourself.’ As if to emphasize her point, the physiotherapist manipulated his leg, bending it so that a sharp twist of pain shot through his hip. It was short-lived though, blessed relief coming as she lowered his leg back down on to the bed.
She was called Esmerelda, some cruel trick on the part of her parents. She couldn’t have been more than twenty, but she seemed to know her stuff. McLean had started his physiotherapy with a burly man called Steve, but Steve had gone off to work with the Scottish rugby team, leaving him to the tender ministrations of Esmerelda. At first he’d thought she might have been a bit less brutal, but their first session together had put
‘We found a body in the River North Esk in Roslin Glen last week. Still no ID, unless something’s come up while I’ve been stuck in here with you.’
‘I see you’re eager to get your teeth stuck into that one. That’s good, Tony, but don’t think throwing yourself into solving cases is the solution to your problems. That didn’t work out so well before.’
‘The other case, since you’re so obviously desperate to know, is Andrew Weatherly and his family. You’ve seen the news, I’m sure.’
For once, Hilton said nothing. It was almost amusing to see the thoughts flitting across his face, the questions stumbling into each other in their rush to his mouth. McLean waited until he thought the psychiatrist was going to speak, then pushed himself up out of his chair. A shock of pain lanced through his leg, and he covered up the grimace by shaking out the sleeves of his jacket.
‘That must be very … difficult.’ Hilton made no attempt to stop McLean as he headed for the door.
‘Very.So if you don’t mind, I think I’ll get back to it.’
‘Yes. Yes. Of course. We’ll reschedule for tomorrow. Same time.’ The psychiatrist stared at him, the thought processes writ large across his face. He’d never make a good criminal: too easy to read. ‘You know you can always come to me for help, Tony. Any time. Any thing.’
Humour him, why not? After all, Hilton’s signature on a sheet of paper in Duguid’s office was the only reason he was back on active cases anyway. McLean nodded his head in understanding. ‘I’ll bear that in mind.’
Time was he’d hated the Western General Hospital. It was where his grandmother had spent the last eighteen months of her life, slowly shrivelling away like a balloon left over after the party’s finished and everyone’s gone home. He’d visited every day, then once or twice a week, guilty when he forgot, guilty when he came and only spent a few minutes staring at her. Then she had died and he’d hoped to put the place behind him. But Emma had kept him coming back in the dark days when she’d been unconscious. And then he’d been here himself.
As a patient he’d been dreadful, he knew. The nurses were nice to him, of course. Some thought he’d been close to the edge, and maybe he had been. Their sympathy wasn’t really what he’d needed, though. Others just did their job, cheerful around him or simply there, and that had been better. But he’d longed to get out of the place, had discharged himself far earlier than the doctors wanted, earlier even than was wise.
That much he realized now, with the ache in his leg a constant companion. And that was why he’d come tolook upon his visits to the hospital with eager anticipation. If nothing else, this was where the really good painkillers came from.
‘You’ve been doing the exercises I set you.’ The physiotherapist looked McLean in the eye as she spoke, voicing the words as a statement, not a question.
‘When I can.’ Well, it wasn’t exactly a lie. He had the badly photocopied sheet pinned to the fridge door with a magnet, and sometimes he did some of the stretches while he was waiting for the Aga to reheat his takeaway.
‘I can only help you so much, Inspector. The rest you have to do for yourself.’ As if to emphasize her point, the physiotherapist manipulated his leg, bending it so that a sharp twist of pain shot through his hip. It was short-lived though, blessed relief coming as she lowered his leg back down on to the bed.
She was called Esmerelda, some cruel trick on the part of her parents. She couldn’t have been more than twenty, but she seemed to know her stuff. McLean had started his physiotherapy with a burly man called Steve, but Steve had gone off to work with the Scottish rugby team, leaving him to the tender ministrations of Esmerelda. At first he’d thought she might have been a bit less brutal, but their first session together had put
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