“They are well organised,” Watters told his men as they sat in the duty room in Bell Street police station. “And well-armed. I heard somebody singing a military song, so they may have army veterans amongst them.”
“Such as the Captain?” Shaw suggested.
“That’s a possibility,” Watters said. “Nobody seems to have met him.”
“I think I have,” Scuddamore said. “The fellow who visited me had an aura of dark violence, yet he might not be a real captain. He might have merely adopted the title, and just because somebody sings a military song doesn’t mean he was a soldier.”
Watters nodded. “Maybe so. But bear the possibility in mind.” He unfolded a map on his desk. “Gather round, boys. We’re going here,” he traced the route from Dundee along the ridge of the Sidlaw Hills and tapped their destinat
