“Sergeant!” Scuddamore marched to Watters’ desk, where Duff already sat. “I’ve visited every cobbler and bootmaker in Dundee and sent copies of the print you found to Forfar, Perth and Arbroath.”
“What was the result?”
“Nothing, Sergeant,” Scuddamore said. “Every bootmaker said the same. It’s not one of theirs, but it might be some local village cobbler or a man working at home.”
“That’s disappointing,” Watters said. He was not sure what he expected but hoped for something more positive. “Did they say it could be a woman’s boot?”
“I asked them, Sergeant, and they said it was either a woman or a small man.”
“Thank you, Scuddamore. We’re no better off, then.”
“No, Sergeant.”
“Has Shaw returned from watching Wallace’s house?”
“No, Sergeant,” Scuddamore said. “He’s working fifteen-hour
