Eye of the Raven by Ken McClure Page A

. . bureaucratic pygmies.’
    Steven saw the steely resolve in her eyes but he said, ‘I need to ask him some things about the forensic evidence in the Julie Summers murder nine years ago.’
    Mary Lee closed her eyes and remained silent for a long moment. When she opened them Steven saw the anger there. ‘The Julie Summers murder is the last thing on earth he needs to be reminded of,’ she hissed. ‘These bastards destroyed my husband’s distinguished career over that ridiculous Mulvey woman and her idiot son. They completely ignored the fact that Ronnie positively identified the murderer and secured a conviction for them.’
    Well, well, thought Steven. It wasn’t the first time he’d seen middle-class charm disappear like snow off a dyke to be replaced by fascist rant but he still found it fascinating. He didn’t see any point in reminding the woman that it had been drink that had destroyed her husband’s ‘distinguished career’ and that it apparently had been on the skids for some time before the Summers case so he simply said, ‘My questions have nothing to do with the Mulveys, Mrs Lee.’
    ‘ Then what?’ Mary Lee demanded.
    ‘ I’m trying to find some missing lab reports connected with the case. I thought your husband might still have them in among his personal papers. If by any chance you yourself could lay your hands on them for me there would be no need for me to disturb your husband at all.’
    ‘ Ronnie didn’t keep anything of his old life,’ said Mary Lee. ‘He put it all behind him when we left Edinburgh . . . Actually, I remember now, we had a bonfire. Any old papers probably went on top of that.’ The sweet smile returned.
    ‘ I see,’ said Steven. ‘In that case I really will have to speak to him.’
    Mary Lee’s smile vanished again. ‘And I’ve already told you; he’s ill.’
    ‘ Mrs Lee, I do have the authority to insist,’ said Steven. ‘I’m sure neither of us wants the involvement of the local police in this but that’s exactly what will happen if you continue to obstruct me.’
    ‘ You people make me sick,’ said Mary Lee, turning on her heel and going back inside the house. As she’d left the door open, Steven assumed that should follow and did.
    ‘ Wait here,’ said Mary Lee without turning when they’d reached the living room. Steven stood there while she disappeared for a few moments. When she returned she said, ‘Through here. You’ve got five minutes. Any longer and I’m going to call the press about harassment of a desperately sick man.’
    Steven found Lee in bed. A slight figure with white hair and round shoulders, he was wearing pyjamas, buttoned up to the neck and was propped up on pillows, watching a small television, which sat on a table at the foot of the bed. It was currently showing a cooking programme involving teams of competing celebrities playing to the camera. Their animated laughter and show business smiles contrasted sharply with Lee’s pinched, angry expression. The yellowness of his complexion spoke volumes to Steven about liver damage but a vague smell of whisky in the air said that it was still a factor in Lee’s life.
    ‘ What the hell do you want?’ snapped Lee; although the effort involved in being aggressive made him cough. ‘You’ve upset my wife.’
    ‘ I need to ask you some things about the Julie Summers case.
    ‘ Julie Summers, Julie Summers,’ intoned Lee. ‘Always Julie bloody Summers. We nailed the bastard who did it. What more do you want? More crap about the blessed Mulveys? That was just so much shit from a gutter press who’d nothing better to do with their time than to destroy a few good careers. Rodents!’
    ‘ I’m not concerned with the Mulveys,’ said Steven. ‘It’s the forensic evidence in the Summers case I need to talk to you about. I already know that the samples taken at the scene of the crime were lost.’
    ‘ These things happen,’ said Lee. ‘It was an accident, just one of these