The Hangman's Song (Inspector Mclean 3) Read Online Free PDF

the hallway. ‘Why don’t you have a look around. I’ve done my best to keep the place clean and tidy.’
    ‘You said I rented this place.’ Emma had followed him into the tiny kitchen and now stood close as he filled the kettle. ‘Who’s been paying the rent whilst I was … you know?’
    ‘Don’t worry. It was all taken care of.’
    ‘I must owe you a lot of money.’
    The assumption that he’d paid for it all was correct, but it surprised him she’d made it nonetheless. Technically she was on sick pay and there were damages due for being injured in the line of duty. Either the Scenes Examination Branch or the police should have been picking up the tab, but in the end he’d just taken it on himself. It was much easier than waiting for the internal bureaucracy to run its course, and it wasn’t as if he couldn’t afford it.
    ‘It’s not a problem. You’ve got to get better first.’ The kettle popped off, steam billowing out into the frigid air. The whole apartment was cold, now he thought about it. Tucked down in a narrow street, away from the sun. Perhaps he should have had the heating on.
    ‘I knew there was something I should have got. Milk.’ McLean opened the fridge in the hope that magic pixies might have put some there, but they were on holiday this week. ‘You mind your tea black?’
    ‘Not much of a tea drinker, really.’ Emma stepped back into the hall, pulled open the bathroom door and peered in. ‘So this is where I live, then?’
    ‘Yup.’
    ‘What about you?’ She closed the door, turned to face him with a stare that was almost the old Emma. Almost, but not quite. ‘You live here too?’
    McLean felt a reddening about his ears and wasn’t quite sure why. ‘No. I live over the other side of town.’
    ‘But you and me. We were …’
    ‘Yes. Not for long, but … Yes.’
    ‘That’s so weird.’ She opened the bedroom door, paused a moment and then darted in, grabbed the stuffed animal toy off the bed, hugged it to herself. ‘Potamus! I remember him. Mum bought him for me when I was eight. Christ, that feels like it was just a couple of years ago.’
    She kept the stuffed hippo with her as they moved into the living room. The largest room in the apartment, it was filled with mementos, books, photographs. As far as McLean was aware, even the furniture had moved down from Aberdeen with her, so if anything was going to jog her memory, this should. Emma stood in the middle of the room, looking slowly around. Then she noticed the low bookshelf by the window, its top lined with photos in frames. She picked one up, showing herself and a bunch of young women McLean didn’t recognize, peered at it, shook her head and set it back down again. The same routine went for all the others until finally she got to the one of her mother.
    Grey-haired and frail, the old lady slumped in a high-backed armchair that looked too big for her. She wasn’t smiling, wasn’t even looking at the camera properly. Something in her eyes had died long before the photograph was taken. McLean only recognized her because he’d travelledup to Aberdeen to introduce himself, try somehow to explain to Mrs Baird what had happened to her daughter and assure her that he’d do everything in his power to speed her recovery. What he had found had been a husk, a 65-year-old body with no mind. Emma had told him her mother was in a care home; what she’d failed to mention was the severity of her dementia.
    ‘This looks like my gran, only different.’ Emma placed the photograph back down on the bookshelf, one finger caressing the glass as she slowly turned away. ‘It’s my mum, isn’t it?’
    ‘She’s had Alzheimer’s for seven years. She’s getting the best care possible.’
    ‘Why don’t I remember any of this? The last thing I remember about Mum is talking to her about going to college. I was seventeen. I don’t even know how old I am now.’
    ‘Do you really want me to tell you?’
    Emma walked across to the