CHAPTER THREE
The police headquarters at Bell Street was busy as always, with uniformed men arriving for their shifts or marching out for their regular beats. Two men struggled with a well-known p********e, and one constable nursed a bruised face after attending a domestic dispute between husband and wife. Sergeant Murdoch looked up when Watters came in. “Afternoon, George,” he said. “About time you appeared. Mr Mackay has been asking for you this past two hours.”
“I’ve been busy. What does Mr Mackay want?”
“There’s been a robbery at Sinclair’s the Jewellers in the Nethergate,” Murdoch said. “Mr Mackay wants to talk to you about it.”
“I’ll see him right away,” Watters said.
Mr Mackay had his office on the top floor of the building, with a view to the prison next door. He looked up whe
