Free The Unkindest Cut by Gerald Hammond

I can see you have a problem or two. Go away and solve them.’
    Ledbetter, waving his arms, made a grumbling departure escorted by DS Bright. Ian called to his departing back, ‘The bank’s hole-in-the-wall is only a minute’s walk away. They can draw cash.’ The comment was not acknowledged. Ian glared at the youth. ‘You were robbed at knifepoint. Yes?’
    â€˜It weren’t my bloody fault,’ the boy whined.
    â€˜Nobody said it was but you make me wonder. Now shut up for a minute.’ There was silence while Ian added a paragraph to his email and hit a key that Jane assumed would send it. With his superiors in Edinburgh alerted he returned his attention to Hugh Dodd. ‘Now calm down and tell me exactly what happened.’
    DS Bright had returned. He set the recorder to work again. Dodd avoided looking directly at it. ‘We don’t open ’til ten on a Sunday morning,’ he said. ‘I opened up and started taking the money. You usually get een or twa drivers early who’ve been waiting half the nicht. After that it goes quiet. Mr Ledbetter had emptied the till yestreen, except for a float for making change. You get the odd sale of a gallon or twa, mostly two-stroke, so you need change.’
    â€˜What time did he empty the till?’ Ian asked.
    Dodd opened his mouth, closed it again and smacked himself on his forehead. ‘’Twasn’t yestreen, it were the day before. Bank doesn’t open on Saturday and the boss doesn’t like the night safe; he’s had disagreeances with the bank staff afore noo. Friday it were, just afore it closed. Yestreen was busy, I could tell when I opened up, but mostly not in coins. In notes I’d say about twa hunner.’
    Ian nodded. Two hundred pounds in notes would be a reasonable guess, with credit cards in such general use for the purchase of petrol and diesel. ‘Now tell me exactly what happened.’
    Young Dodd closed his eyes in thought for a few seconds. ‘I’d just taken twenty quid on Mastercard from Quent Williamson for that Morgan of his and he’d driven off. And old Mr Mowatt had just filled his can with lead-free for his mower and two-stroke for his strimmer. He paid in cash. I gave him change and a receipt and he’d just walked out the door when this chiel walks in – must’ve been waiting outside to catch me alone. He had his toorey bonnet pulled down over his gizz and holes cut for his een.’ Ian opened his mouth but Dodd answered his question before it could be asked. ‘In fitba colours it was. He had a bloody great knife, just like the one my mam chops up the veggies with, and he jouked under the flap and came behind the counter, which isna’ allowed, and next I knew his knife was at my throat. He telled me to open the till. So I opened the bloody till. Whit else would I dae?’
    â€˜I’d have done the same,’ Ian reassured him. ‘Tell me about his voice.’
    â€˜Hoarse. Sort of whispery.’
    â€˜Man or woman?’
    â€˜It was a bloke for sure. Quinies don’t hold up filling stations with knives.’
    â€˜But from the voice alone could you be sure that it was a man?’
    Again Dodd paused for thought. (Ian was patient. He said sometimes that he preferred a witness who took time to think about what he was going to say to one who blurted out a quick reply and was then too stubborn to amend it.) ‘Not just from the voice, but a man has a different shape to his chest and bum and walks different.’ Dodd got up from his chair. ‘See, a woman walks like this …’ Showing a rare talent for mime, Dodd walked around what vacant floor space the room had. He had the tilt of the hips and the placing of the feet to perfection. Jane decided to monitor her own walk and prevent her bottom from swaying so much.
    â€˜So you’re sure that it was a man?’ Ian said. ‘Or a skilled