Constable Kenneth MacPherson of the Dundee Police pulled his tall hat lower on his head and carefully stepped across a puddle. He extracted the cheap metal watch from his pocket, saw the hour hand indicated two, and knew he had five hours of his shift remaining.
“Oh, for seven o’clock in the morning, a mug of sweet tea, and a warming fire,” he said and walked on. The centre of Dundee was quiet at this hour, with the last of the late-night revellers having wended their way home. MacPherson lifted his head, shook off the rain that dripped from the brim of his hat, and surveyed the street ahead.
One of the main western thoroughfares out of Dundee, the Overgate was a unique mixture of the old and new, with shops on the ground floor and tenement buildings rising to the weeping sky above. Some
