Autographs In The Rain Part 52

'b.o.l.l.o.c.ks. Who was it?'

'Can't tell you.'

McGurk grabbed his shoulder and turned him to face him. 'Was it Glenn Lander?'

'Who's he?' Anders bleated.

'You know him. You met him the day after his farm was robbed. I think you arranged to see him at Raeburn Place, to tell him that the robbery had gone fine.' Anders looked at him in astonishment, and the sergeant knew that he had hit the mark.

The prisoner turned, desperately, to his solicitor. 'I want to go back to my cell, sir,' he pleaded.

'Raymond,' said Lesser, solemnly, 'at this stage, it may be in your interests to co-operate.'

'I want to go back to my cell!'

The lawyer shook his head. 'Very well.' He looked across at Pringle.

'This interview is over, gentlemen.'

'I might as well tell you, Geoff,' the superintendent said, as he switched off the tape, 'that the boy really did a bad job of burning that stuff. He says he didn't kill the girl, but he did manage to leave part of the baton untouched

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by the fire, and we've got his palm-print off it.

'He'll be in court for remand tomorrow morning, as per the usual routine.

You've got till then to persuade him to change his mind.'The alarm buzzed once; its red signal light flashed once, but Neil Mcllhenney was not asleep. His right hand flashed out and hit the 'cancel' b.u.t.ton inside a second. In the same movement he swung out of bed, s.n.a.t.c.hed up his jeans, sweater and shoes from the floor, slipping silently into the trousers, not bothering about underwear or socks as he slipped out into the hall.

There he unlocked his desk with a key on his chain, took out a Glock automatic pistol, and slipped it into a pocket of his heavy outdoor jacket as he pulled it on over his sweater. He left the house within a minute of the alarm's warning, having made barely a sound.

He ran down Colinton Road as quickly as he could safely manage in moccasins on the slippery pavement, and turned into Craiglockhart Avenue, skidding to a halt as a red glow behind the houses close by told him the reason for the emergency signal. As he broke into a run once more, he heard a car; cras.h.i.+ng gears, screeching tyres then the roar of an engine as it sped away into the night.

Twenty yards down the Avenue he slipped and fell, thanking his lucky stars that the Glock was on safe as he landed on it. He ignored the sharp pain, pushed himself to his feet, and ran on, until he reached the cul-de-sac where Louise's rented home stood.

He had made it in less than three minutes, yet the house was an inferno.

The front door was consumed, and through it he could see that the wildfire had spread almost instantly along the acrylic hall carpet and up the varnished wooden staircase which led to the two attic bedrooms.

Whatever had happened, it had been so sudden, so cataclysmic, that none of the neighbours had yet been awakened . . . nor, as far as he could see or hear, had anyone in the house. He took out his mobile and keyed in the direct number of the Torphichen Place office where the back-up alarm was situated.

It was answered quickly. 'This is Mcllhenney,' he snapped. 'There's a fire at the house; major outbreak. All available appliances, at once,

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AUTOGRAPHS IN THE RAIN.ambulances, the whole f.u.c.king shooting match.'

As he ended the call, he saw, to his horror, a figure appear in one of the bedroom windows. It was Glenys AlG.o.don; she was naked, silhouetted by the flames behind her, as she struggled with the handle of the double-glazed window unit. He held his breath as he watched her, knowing that there was nothing he could do, no one else he could call who would help.

At last, the window swung open on its central hinge; as it did so, he heard her screams for the first time and saw the blaze behind her, fuelled by the inrush of air, reaching out as if to feed on her.

'Get out!' he bellowed. 'On to the roof, then jump!' He vaulted the steel driveway gate, into the garden and ran for the bungalow. 'Now, Glenys, I'll catch you.'

She did as he said, and slithered, still screaming, out of the half-opened window, then rolled, over tongues of flame which were already licking through the tiles, down and off the roof.

He reached her, but only in time to break her fall; her weight sent him sprawling beside her on the lawn. She rolled around still screaming, with her hair on fire. He beat it out with his bare hands, then dragged her as far away from the house as he could, noticing as he did so that her back and b.u.t.tocks had been turned into one large blister by the heat.

He held her, firmly, face down, talking to her, soothing her, until her screams turned to whimpers, and stopped, finally, as she slipped into a daze. He took off his heavy jacket, slipping the gun into the waistband of his jeans and his mobile into a pocket, and covered her, gently.

As he did so he heard an indignant, scared voice behind him. 'What are you doing?' it demanded.

Mcllhenney turned, to see a middle-aged man in dressing-gown and pyjamas, peering down at him, over the garden wall. 'I'm having a f.u.c.king barbecue,' he roared. 'What did you think?'

The man recoiled. 'Are you a neighbour?' the policeman snapped.

Nod. 'Yes. Next door.'

'Well, get back in there, bring me a blanket or something like it, then make a strong cup of tea.'

'For the young lady?'

'No. For you. The young lady will be going off in an ambulance in a minute. When she does, I'm going to want to talk to you.'

As he spoke, the first fire appliance swung round the corner into the cul de-sac, siren silent but blue lights flas.h.i.+ng. 'Go on,' the detective shouted,more kindly, to the neighbour. 'Get me that blanket, now.'

The firemen did not see him at first as he crouched by Glenys; instead they cleared the locked driveway gate as he had done, hoses connected to the nearest hydrants, playing water on the roof and shooting it at the front door. Behind them, another appliance arrived, then, as the neighbour appeared with a travelling rug, an ambulance.

Mcllhenney wrapped Glenys carefully in the blanket, then stood and waved to the paramedics. As they ran across, a white-helmeted figure jumped from the second fire engine, spotting the policeman as he did.

% 'Neil?' DO Matt Grogan called out. 'What the h.e.l.l are you doing here?'

'I live round the corner. I'll speak to you later; I'll want to know how and where this started.' As the veteran firefighter strode towards the blaze, the detective helped the ambulance crew as they lifted the casualty and placed her, still face downwards, on a stretcher. She was still dazed, but as they lifted her over the low wall, she looked at him sideways, and he could see that she was numb with horror. 'Clarence, Louise . . .' she whispered, and then her eyes glazed over once more.

'Oh Jesus,' Mcllhenney murmured, feeling himself s.h.i.+vering, but not from the cold of the night.

He took his handphone from his pocket and dialled a familiar number; as always, the man on the other end was wide awake, although the call was answered on only the second ring.

'Yes Neil,' Skinner said, quietly and evenly. His bedside phone had a readout which identified incoming numbers, and sometimes, callers. 'What is it?' He knew that at 1 a.m. the call would not be trivial.

Tm at Louise's place, boss. There's a fire; it's still burning, but the place is gutted. My alarm went off, and I got here double quick, but it was well alight by then. Matt Grogan's here; hopefully he'll give us an idea of how it happened.'

'And . . .' Skinner did not have to say more.

'Glenys got out, Boss. A bit scorched, but she'll be okay. I'm afraid for Clarence Sparrow, her boyfriend; I thought he was catching the last shuttle home to London, but

'Louise, man, Louise. Did she get out?'

Mcllhenney took a deep breath. 'Lou was never in the house, Boss. She was with me.'

'With you?' Skinner's exec. heard the astonishment in his voice. 'Did you have her up for dinner again?' he asked. It was the first time in