Nineteen
“Thank you, Miss Donaldson, for taking the time to chat with us.”
Guthrie and Alisdair were sitting beside each other on a couch in the front room of a Victorian era cottage in the tiny village of Arbirlot, just west of Arbroath. Teri Donaldson sat on the edge of an overstuffed faux-leather armchair positioned in the corner of the room, affording a view through the front window.
“No problem. I’m happy to do anything I can to help.”
Guthrie smiled and looked down at his notebook. The page had his notes from one of the interviews they had conducted earlier at the factory, but the act of looking at it was a ruse. It was part of his plan to ease the young woman into the interview. To make her think this was just a chat, rather than part of a murder inquiry. He made a show of putti
