“You"re wanted, Sergeant,” Duff nearly whispered the words as Watters sat at his desk in the duty room. “Himself wants you.”
Watters placed his pen neatly in its holder, looked at the pile of pending investigations, and sighed. “I"d better go, then.” Rising from his chair, he made his way upstairs to Superintendent Mackay"s office.
It was always trouble when Mackay called for him. However successful Watters had been in tracing stolen property, or in finding the drunken brute who beat up his wife, Superintendent Mackay never seemed pleased. So, it was with some trepidation that Watters tapped at the panelled wooden door.
Mackay was at his desk, with a splendid view of the prison next door and a cutlass hanging on the wall, a reminder that however exalted his position, the head constable
