Forty-Nine
Guthrie was fuming.
His attitude was as dark as the weather. The rain was coming down steadily now, and the street lights were reflected in the wet road as Buchanan pulled the Jaguar into the car park at Gravesend.
The conversation in the car, from the moment they had left Ogilvy Outerwear to that point, was all about how Guthrie had failed to secure any solid evidence, allowed Ogilvy, Mitchell and the rest to lead him down dead ends, and why Buchanan’s doubts about putting him in charge of the investigation were correct in the first instance.
“I know Ogilvy is mixed up in this,” Guthrie snorted.
“He’s mixed up in it because it was his employee who was murdered. That’s where his involvement ends.” Buchanan parked the Jag in the first available spot closest to the front door
