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‘Christ Almighty, Lorne! I haven’t seen so many weapons and drug charges at one time since we nicked the Brighton gang for eighteen counts of armed robbery, thirty some-odd weapons offences and possession of narcotics! How’d your Davie manage to get up yon buggers’ neb?’
Lorne brought DCI Ken Matthews up to speed, telling him about the Gedde girl and subsequent events. ‘The weapons came as small surprise, but the drugs-’ he barked a short, harsh laugh. ‘They were on a run and were so sure of themselves that it never occurred to them something might go wrong.’
Ken, a tall, bulky, rawboned figure with basset-like features and a voice like rocks in a gravel crusher, finished his coffee, wiped the remainder from his thick moustache with the back of his hand, and set the Styrofoam cup down.
‘Sod’s Law! But it were lucky for us things went off as they did! Any road, is the charge of attempted kidnapping going to stick?’
‘Like collywobbles to an elephant’s arse,’ Lorne told him.
‘Please,’ came a voice from the other side of the divider, ‘I’m trying to eat!’
‘Sorry, Connie,’ Lorne intoned unrepentantly.
‘So, what’s this about young Davie deciding he’s going to get married and become a copper? Bit sudden, isn’t it? How’d all this come about? And when’s the wedding?’