Twenty-Seven
Guthrie led Alisdair out of the warehouse, having tossed their protective coveralls in a bin beside the door. Guthrie had scowled at the uniform again for good measure. Alisdair just shrugged his shoulders as he walked past.
"Bloody waste of time," Guthrie complained. He was leaning on the roof of the Jaguar, looking at his muddy shoes.
"What do you say to us going for that coffee?" Alisdair asked, hoping to get Guthrie off topic and into a more positive frame of mind. "We can ride in luxury for a while longer." He unlocked the doors and waited for a response. Guthrie screwed up his face in an even larger look of disgust, which Alisdair thought was physically impossible.
"We should get back to the station and see if the guys have found anything from the vendor list."
Alis
