None but the Dead Read Online Free PDF Page A

unmistakable.
    McNab retreated to the close where PC Dobson stood resolute, her nostrils pinched shut.
    ‘Get some fresh air,’ McNab told her.
    She couldn’t disguise her relief at the order. ‘Yes, sir.’
    McNab pulled out his mobile.

5
    ‘Flypapers and an electronic swatter would be good.’
    ‘A buzzer?’
    ‘Definitely,’ McNab said sarcastically.
    ‘Great.’ Chrissy sounded as though she relished the thought of a swarm of flies.
    McNab was aware that Chrissy McInsh, Rhona’s right-hand woman, had a strong stomach. He’d seen her order up a smoked sausage supper midway through examining a burnt-out body in a
skip, but he was determined to be clear just how bad it was.
    ‘There was a heater on full blast,’ he added.
    ‘Don’t turn it off,’ she ordered.
    ‘Are you trying to tell me how to do my job?’
    ‘Wouldn’t dream of it,’ Chrissy said sweetly, and rang off.
    The two uniforms were standing either side of the main door like sentries, the bloke studiously avoiding McNab’s eye.
    ‘Your place is upstairs, officer,’ McNab told him.
    PC Williams wasn’t happy about that, but didn’t argue.
    When he’d disappeared, McNab addressed his partner. ‘The first one I saw like that, I was sick too, but I made sure I got outside first.’ McNab fished out a fiver. ‘Find
the nearest coffee shop and bring me back a double espresso.’
    Since he’d cut back on the booze, caffeine had become his drug of choice, and he found himself craving it almost as much as the whisky. Still, it didn’t come with the same hangover.
McNab went back upstairs to find PC Williams on duty beside his own vomit, his expression determined. McNab wondered if he planned ever taking another breath.
    ‘Which neighbour called the station?’
    PC Williams nodded in the direction of the one other door on that landing.
    ‘Name?’
    ‘Mrs Connelly.’
    McNab’s rap was swiftly answered. He displayed his ID to the elderly woman who stood before him.
    ‘What’s that smell?’ she demanded.
    ‘Unfortunately my officer has a weak stomach.’
    She thought about that for a moment. ‘So Jock’s dead then?’
    ‘He is. May I come in?’
    She stood back and let him pass, then immediately shut the door.
    ‘How long?’ she said.
    ‘A while.’ McNab didn’t go into detail.
    She shook her head. ‘I was away a week at my son’s place. I checked on Jock the day after I got back, but he didn’t answer. Sometimes he just liked being on his own. Come
through, detective,’ she offered.
    If next door smelt of decomposition, this flat assaulted his senses with lavender. Whether it was polish or air freshener, McNab had no idea.
    Mrs Connelly took him into a kitchen, and offered him a cup of tea. McNab said yes, despite hankering after his coffee. From his experience, people talked more with a cup of tea in their
hands.
    As she busied herself with kettle and teapot – none of this teabag in a cup nonsense – McNab took in the surroundings.
    The phrase, ‘A place for everything and everything in its place’, sprang to mind, much like the flat he’d called home as a child. For some reason, that made him relax, and he
sat back in the chair. Even smiled as he was handed his cup and saucer.
    ‘How did he die?’ she finally asked, after allowing McNab time to savour the brew.
    ‘We don’t know yet.’
    ‘He was about ninety, I think. He told me once that he’d been a Bevin Boy during the war. Worked in the mines. The miners called him Jock. That wasn’t his real first name.
Drever was his surname though. He came from up north somewhere by his voice.’
    ‘From the Highlands?’
    ‘He never said where exactly, but he did talk about collecting seaweed when he was a boy.’
    ‘Lewis? Harris?’ McNab tried.
    Mrs Connelly didn’t look as though she knew where he meant, but continued to ponder, so McNab changed the subject.
    ‘Did he have any family?’
    She shook her head. ‘I don’t think so. At least he never