Watters took a final pull of his pipe and tapped out the glowing ash on the garden wall. Somewhere close, a cockerel greeted the dawn, the sound faintly nostalgic, like a folk memory from a rural past. Sighing, Watters ascended the stone steps to Firthview Lodge and rapped on the front door with the weighted end of his cane. Behind him, Constables Scuddamore and Duff stood still, saying nothing.
“You two know what to do,” Watters said. “Don"t speak unless anybody speaks to you.”
“Yes, Sergeant,” Scuddamore agreed. “Sturrock"s lucky he"s getting all three of us with crime rising in Dundee. He must be a friend of Mackay"s.”
“Just keep your lip buttoned,” Watters said.
The servant who answered the door looked Watters up and down before speaking. “Yes, sir?”
sir“I am Detective Sergeant Ge
