Tools of the Trade

Chapter 4

Four

Guthrie was escorted up to a large room that had been set-up as the hub for the murder investigation. There were several uniformed officers coming and going, bringing in all the necessary pads of paper, boxes of pens, and the like. Several computer stations had been installed along one wall but, most importantly for Guthrie, two coffee pots were sitting on a table next to the door, and another fresh pot was already halfway through brewing.

“The boss’ll be along in just a minute, sir,” said a PC who looked all the world to Guthrie like he just left high school. Guthrie nodded and smiled, then helped himself to a coffee.

The station at Arbroath was relatively new. Not the old Victorian-era building located north of the town centre, this building had an open, light feel to it. Plenty of large windows allowed the sunshine into the incident room and white paint reflected light off the modern furniture’s stainless steel and glass. Guthrie took in the scene. Occasionally one of the PCs would catch his eye and would flash a polite smile. The odd “sir” would accompany the smile, but generally every officer seemed to be concentrating on his or her task at hand.

“Bloody efficient lot,” he quietly mumbled to no-one but himself.

“Thank you.”

Guthrie spun around so fast coffee spilled out of his mug and hit his shoe with a little splat. “Bugger!”

“Sorry, Tom, shouldn’t have crept up on you like that.” The uniformed inspector offered his hand towards Guthrie. “Long time, no see. I’m the ‘boss’ you were looking for. Sorry to keep you waiting.”

“Hello, Ian. Didn’t realise you were in-charge here.” Inspector Buchanan responded with a smile that almost managed to hide his obvious dislike of the former colleague heading an investigation on his patch. It wasn't lost on Guthrie. "I was just admiring the efficiency of the operation here. You must run a tight ship.” Guthrie indicated the comings and goings of the room with a sweeping gesture, spilling some more coffee on the floor. “Bugger!”

“That’s all right, sir, I’ll get it.” A PC jumped out from behind Inspector Buchanan and almost ran over to the table with the coffee and grabbed a handful of napkins. He bounded back over to the spill like a black Labrador retriever after a downed grouse. Guthrie stood and watched as the spill was wiped up with more enthusiasm than he could have imagined as the PC stood up, looking all the world like the black lab in Guthrie’s mind wanting a scratch behind the ear for doing such a great job. Buchanan introduced him.

“Thanks, Alisdair. Tom, this is Alisdair McEwan. I’ve assigned him as our liaison If there is anything you need from us, Alisdair will be more than happy to oblige. I figured he can work with you as your junior officer. He’s completely up to speed on the details of the case — such as they are at this point — and will be at your disposal twenty-four-seven.”

The black Lab shook Guthrie’s hand a little too enthusiastically for his liking. “Good to meet you, son. I’m sure we’ll get on like a house on fire.” Lots of flames and screaming, he thought to himself.

“Actually can’t wait to see how you work the case. My goal is at some point to be assigned to SCD you see, so I’m ready to jump right in.”

Guthrie took a long sip of coffee and looked the twenty-something Alisdair McEwan up and down. His build was tall, athletic and his uniform shirt was pressed to within an inch of its life, razor sharp creases running down the length of both sleeves. His trousers had been given the same treatment. The black, standard-issue police boots were so highly polished that Guthrie could pick out the individual fluorescent strips in the ceiling reflected in the mirror-like surface of the toe caps. “Well, now. With your boss’s permission, why don’t we start by getting you into some civvies. Can’t have you looking all uniformed when you’re working as a detective on a murder inquiry, now can we inspector?” Guthrie gave Buchanan a quick, conspiratorial wink and raised an eyebrow questioningly.

“Absolutely correct. Alisdair, get yourself off home and put on something a little more appropriate, and come right back here A.S.A.P. to take Mr Guthrie out to the cliffs.”

“Yes, sir!” beamed Alisdair. He spun on his heal and trotted out of the incident room.

“Good kid,” Buchanan said as he walked over to the coffee pot, Guthrie trailing him. “A little too enthusiastic sometimes, but you’ll lack for nothing with him working alongside you. Sharp as a tack and he knows this town inside and out — good and bad.”

“Well, I appreciate it, Ian. It’ll be hard enough not knowing the lay of the land, so I’ll be relying on all the help I can get. He’s not the son of Jock McEwan is he?”

“Yes, he is. Jock retired a few years ago now.” Buchanan looked around the room then lowered his voice, no longer interested in continuing the small talk. “Tom, we all want to see this one sorted quickly. Nothing like this has happened in this town for a long, long time and I want it handled right, and I’ll be damned if I let anyone here slip up.” Buchanan’s smile slipped from his face and was replaced by a sternness that took Guthrie by surprise. “And just for the record, when I asked for additional resources I didn’t expect they’d send a civilian to head up the case. I appreciate your experience, but ultimately you’re in my town and it falls to me to make sure we don’t c**k this up. It’s no secret that our past collaborations didn’t go as smoothly as they could have. I hope you understand my position here.” This was the other side of the Arbroath inspector that explained the quiet efficiency Guthrie had seen from the moment he had walked through the station doors. Inspector Ian Buchanan took no prisoners and cut no slack.

Guthrie took another long sip of coffee but kept his eyes firmly on Buchanan. Lowering the mug, he narrowed his eyes and nodded. “Well, let’s just see how it all progresses then, shall we?”

Buchanan turned without responding and walked from the room. Guthrie sighed deeply and stared out of the window and down at the traffic outside. The last thing he needed during a murder investigation was the boss of the local nick, and therefore his resources, being hostile. Never mind the fact that they had worked together for years and didn’t like each other.

“Bugger.”