End of the Line Read Online Free

continued.
    Jean returned to her coffee. In a way she regretted not offering the inspector a cup but he had sore vexed her and could damned well do without
    â€˜It’s not what I suspect,’ she answered finally. ‘It’s McLevy. What is in his mind.’
    Hannah thought further.
    â€˜Angus doesnae gamble,’ she remarked at last.
    â€˜Exactly,’ said Jean, taking a sip of the now lukewarm Lebanese. ‘He’s an Aberdonian.’
    * * *
    The three men walked down the hill from the quivering gates, each silent for their own reasons.
    McLevy was fuming at the icy contempt shown to an officer of the law, dying for a coffee, and calculating what effect that barb he had stuck into the coachman’s thick hide might produce. He would also contact his police acquaintances in Jedburgh to find out if the bold Angus had left a trace of sorts in the streets or taverns. The man was huge; surely there would be some nosey bugger to recall his exploits.
    Mulholland kept his face straight but inside was hugging himself with glee. Not often did he witness his inspector under the cosh, and he cherished the experience though there was nothing malicious in this delight, just a slight buzzing in the ears. There had always been rumours that Jean Brash and McLevy were once at close quarters in grappled love but it was hard to see one way or the other. Dark and deep the pair. Well matched.
    Pettigrew had a deal running through his mind to render him silent. Unexpected and unwelcome emotions that troubled his conscience. He shook his head as if to clear his mind. That was the first bawdy-hoose he had ever seen and he sincerely hoped it would be the last.
    â€˜The roses were very nice,’ he said finally.
    No response was forthcoming.
    â€˜My dear wife was very fond of roses. I often leave them on her grave,’ he added. ‘My daughter and I pray for her everlasting peace.’
    Again silence reigned.
    The guard sighed. It would be good to get back to the refuge and sanctuary of his timetable.
    Mulholland loped along and thought about the case. No doubt McLevy would have all sorts of schemes and intuitions that he would not yet deign to share with his constable, but in the meantime there was the compensation of this faint but joyful auditory buzzing.
    Of course had the constable known what was heading his way he may not have hugged his glee quite so tightly.
    * * *
    Senga Murdison dipped a sugar biscuit in her tea and swiftly transferred the soggy half into her mouth with a contented gulp. The said aperture was wide in the extreme with rather small teeth, which gave it a somewhat feral air, as if the woman might take a sharp bite out of you at any given moment.
    Mulholland was installed stiffly opposite in an armchair. They sat in her flounce-bedecked sitting room and there was a cage with a morose-looking canary directly in his eye-line.
    He tried to avoid gazing at the masticating mouth or the bird, and also to evade contact with the woman’s eyes which last seen had been brimming with tears but now might appear to be gleaming with obscure intent.
    â€˜I am impressed with your alacrity, constable,’ Senga remarked, daintily nudging a crumb of biscuit away from the aforementioned orifice with her pinkie.
    â€˜Lieutenant’s orders,’ Mulholland said formally. ‘When I got back in he told me I had to get back out. I have to get back in though,’ he added quickly.
    Indeed he and McLevy had arrived back at the station to find a grimly amused Roach waiting with news for his constable. The lieutenant had been paid a visit by Senga Murdison, who told him amongst many other things, the woman gushing like a fountain, that she had recalled something possibly helpful to the investigation.
    It was personal and could only be confided to someone of a gentle disposition as it concerned her former betrothed who was now unfortunately dead, and murdered to boot. To relay this confidence she