Natural Causes by James Oswald Page A

pride on his weathered face.
    ‘How long have you owned it?’
    ‘About eighteen months, I’d say. Janette could give you the full details. It’s taken long enough to get planning through. Time was you could do pretty much what you wanted, if you knew the right people to talk to. But now it’s all committees and reviews and appeals. It’s getting so a man can hardly make a living, if you know what I mean.’
    ‘I’m sure I do, Mr McAllister.’
    ‘Tommy, please, inspector.’
    ‘Who did you buy the house from?’
    ‘Oh, some new bank that’s just set up in the city. Mid-Eastern Finance, I think they’re called. I don’t really know why they wanted to sell it. Probably decided it wastime to get out of property and back into shares. Don’t think they’d owned it long themselves.’ McAllister leaned forward again, jabbing the intercom button. ‘Janette, can you dig out the paperwork on Farquhar House.’ He didn’t wait for a response.
    ‘It’s a bit of a change of direction for you, isn’t it, Mr McAllister,’ McLean said. ‘Renovating an old house, I mean. You made your money putting up all those boxes in Bonnyrigg and Lasswade didn’t you?’
    ‘That’s right, aye. Good times they were. But it’s getting that hard to find cheap development land round the city these days, ken? People moan about us ruining the countryside, then they complain about house prices going through the roof. You can’t have it both ways, can you, inspector. Either we build more houses, or there’s no’ enough for everyone and the price goes up.’
    ‘Then why not knock down that old house and put an apartment block in its place?’
    McAllister looked like he was about to answer, but a tap at the door stopped him. It opened and a surly faced man stood uncertainly in the doorway.
    ‘Come in, Donnie, have a seat. Don’t be shy.’ McAllister didn’t get up. Donnie Murdo looked at McLean, then at the constable, a trapped expression on his face. He was a man who had come up against the law many times before in his life. He held himself defensively, shoulders hunched, arms hanging loose at his sides, legs slightly flexed as if ready to run at the slightest prompting. His hands were huge and across his knuckles faded tattoos read LOVE and HATE .
    ‘Here’s the file you wanted, Tommy.’ The secretary whohad shown them in earlier bustled past and laid a thick folder down on the desk. She looked at McLean with silent disapproval, then stalked out of the office, closing the door behind her.
    ‘You were working at the old house in Sighthill the night before last, Donnie?’ McLean watched as the foreman’s eyes darted across to his boss. McAllister was sitting upright now, his arms resting on his desk. The nod was almost imperceptible.
    ‘Aye. Ah wiz there right enough.’
    ‘And what exactly were you doing there?’
    ‘Well, we wiz clearing oot the basement, see. Goin’ tae put a gym doon there.’
    ‘We? I thought you said you were alone when you discovered the hidden room.’
    ‘Aye, well, ah wiz. True enough. The lads were helpin’ oot earlier, like. But ah sent them hame. Ah wiz jest cleanin’ up like. Finishin’ the job so’s they could get started on the plasterin’ in the morning.’
    ‘It must have been quite a shock, seeing the body like that.’
    ‘Ah didnae see much, ken. Jest a hand is all. That’s when ah called Mr McAllister here.’ Donnie inspected his hands, picking at his fingernails, eyes down so as not to have to make contact with anyone in the room.
    ‘Well, thank you, Donnie. You’ve been very helpful.’ McLean stood, offering his hand to the foreman, who looked momentarily startled, then took it.
    ‘Is there anything else I can do for you, inspector?’ McAllister asked.
    ‘If I could get a copy of the title deeds, it would beuseful. I need to try and track down who owned that house when the poor girl was murdered.’
    ‘It’s all in there. Take it, please.’ McAllister motioned