69
Feeling uncomfortable in yesterday’s clothes, Skinner walked along to Frasers, at the West End of Princes Street, and bought a shirt, socks and underwear.
He changed into the fresh items in the small private room behind his office then buzzed through to Pamela. ‘A word please, Sergeant,’ he said. A few seconds later, the door opened. She was dressed, as the day before, in a fresh white blouse and in her close-fitting grey business suit. He smiled as she entered.
‘Hi Pam. Look, I’ve got something I’d like you to do for me as a priority, involving the lab, before we go to check on Thirty-First Whatever.’
‘Okay, boss,’ his assistant replied. ‘But first, the Chief called a minute ago, from his car. He said I should tell you that his visit was successful and that he has what you asked for.’
‘Good; that’s good.’ He sounded a shade distracted.
‘How was Stafford Street?’ she found herself asking, as she turned towards the door.
‘It was messy, very messy. You may have heard the term “hatchet job”, but believe me, you don’t want to see one. Every murder scene I’ve ever visited has been one too many, but some are worse than others.’
She grimaced. ‘This priority thing you want me to do? Has that got anything to do with it?’
The depth and sincerity of his sigh took her completely by surprise. ‘I hope not, Pam. I really do hope not.’