Abernethy sat on the hard bed in his cell, staring at the floor.
“Good morning, Abernethy,” Watters greeted him. “How was your night?”
“I’ve spent better,” Abernethy said.
“Aye, a police cell is pretty stark. You’d be expecting to live a life of luxury with all your thefts lately.” Watters joined Abernethy on the bed, wrinkling his nose at the stench from the urine-bucket in the corner. “Come on, we’ll speak in the interview room.”
Abernethy walked like a broken man, round-shouldered and shambling. Watters pushed aside his sympathy, remembering the feelings of the man’s victims.
They sat opposite each other in the interview room, with sunlight filtering through the high window and the muffled sounds of the police office intruding from outside.
Watters called in Duff. “This is Constab
