“Sergeant Watters!” Mr Mackay shouted as Watters stepped into the Police Office the following morning.
“Yes, sir?”
“Go to the Camperdown Works in Lochee,” Mackay stood on the stairs, looking more dishevelled than usual. “There’s been a robbery and a murder.”
Watters frowned and faced Mackay. “A murder, sir? Who’s the victim?”
“Mr Cox’s night watchman,” Mackay said. “And somebody’s stolen Cox’s Russian carriage.”
“That coach was only a temptation,” Watters said. “What’s the deceased’s name?”
“I don’t know,” Mackay admitted. “Mr Cox will tell you. Find Mr Cox’s carriage, Watters.”
Watters frowned at the order of priorities. “Surely the murder is more important, sir.”
“It’s Mr Cox’s coach, Watters, and he values it highly. Go and see him.”
Watters nodded. “I’m on my way, sir. I’ll ta
