Book of Souls by James Oswald Read Free Book Online Page B

an architectural melange of glass and steel, surrounded on three sides by ornamental ponds and exotic shrubs. Edinburgh’s economic miracle might have stumbled a bit of late, but it had obviously paid handsomely for some.
    An attractive young receptionist took their names, then went off to fetch them coffee whilst they waited in a spacious atrium. After what seemed like only seconds, the far door banged open and a vast man bounced out. He wore red braces over his blue-striped shirt, but the thing that was most noticeable about him was the way his body tapered from the enormous girth of his stomach up to the flat top of his head in an almost straight line. He put McLean in mind of a toy from his childhood: Weebles wobble but they don’t fall down.
    ‘Inspector McLean? Hi, I’m William Randolph.’ He held out a surprisingly small hand to be shaken. ‘Come through to my office, won’t you?’
    He led them through an open-plan area where draughtsmen worked at large flat-screen monitors, no doubt drawing the future shape of the city. At the back, a glass wall partitioned off a smaller area dominated by a large desk. Randolph offered them seats on one side before making his way around to the executive chair on the other and dropping himself into it. Leather squealed and springs protested, and for a moment McLean thought the fat man was going to crash to the floor in a tangle of broken office furniture.
    ‘I take it you’ve come to see me about last night’s fire.’ Randolph didn’t wait to be asked questions. ‘Terrible business. I’m just glad no one was hurt. And those poor people turfed out of their homes so late at night. I’ve put myPA onto sorting out some kind of recompense for them. Christmas presents for the kiddies, something a bit warmer for the grown-ups. You know the kind of thing.’
    ‘That’s very decent of you, Mr Randolph.’
    ‘Decent, nothing. It’s self-preservation, inspector. There were enough complaints about that development without all this to compound things.’
    ‘Complaints? Do you think anyone was angry enough to set fire to the place?’
    Randolph did a passing impression of looking aghast, as if the thought had never occurred to him before. ‘I don’t know. I guess so. But why? Burning the place down’s not going to help. I’ve seen the damage and frankly the best we can do is demolish the place. Start from scratch.’
    ‘And is that what you wanted all along, Mr Randolph?’
    ‘Ah. I see where you’re coming from.’ Randolph hauled himself out of his chair and McLean wondered whether he imagined the sigh of relief coming from the crushed leather. He motioned for McLean and Peterson to follow as he left the office they’d just entered and walked across the open-plan office to the far end. Here a series of detailed models was laid out on separate tables, each showing a Randolph Developments project.
    ‘These are our current works,’ Randolph said. ‘There’s a half dozen in Edinburgh city, these two in Peebles and Biggar, and three sites awaiting planning in Glasgow. Notto mention the ironworks out there. I’ve got great plans for that. But this ...’ He reached out and carefully removed the roof from the model of the building McLean had watched burn the night before. Inside were detailed layouts of a couple of large apartments filling the roof space. Beneath that were two further storeys of living space and on the ground floor a swimming pool and gym, all lovingly recreated in miniature. There were even Matchbox Porsches, BMWs and Mercedes parked in the tree-lined yard at the back, but no Alfa Romeos, McLean noticed.
    ‘This was our flagship project, inspector. The site alone cost me two million. I was planning on having the rear penthouse for my own city home. Do you think I’d really want to burn it all down and shove some cheap boxes on the site?’
    ‘I really don’t know, Mr Randolph. That’s why I’m here. It could all be a dreadful accident, but we’ve