Forty-Seven
“I got the report on the fire. Thank you,” Buchanan said. He picked up a binder from his in-tray. Guthrie just nodded his head and kept his mouth shut. Let him believe he did something to get the paperwork to him. “I’ll have one of the incident room personnel finish entering the details into the system,” Buchanan continued, pointing at the computer screen on his desk, “but I saw that Alisdair logged in and submitted the summary forms.”
“Yes, he said he would take care of it.”
“How is he working out?”
“He’s sharp. I think he’s suited to this kind of work. I know he wants it.”
Buchanan sat back and steepled his fingers. “I agree that he’s sharp. I’m not sure he’s quite ready for that sort of thing yet, Tom. He’s still quite inexperienced.”
Guthrie inwardly recoiled at Bucha
