A Deviant Breed by Stephen Coill Page A

constables from Galashiels pulled nightshift sentry duty at the site to protect the scene until Dunbar could mobilise the manpower to conduct an extensive fingertip search and the machinery to excavate the whole site.  That would have Watt and Molineux cursing over their morning coffee at HQ. 
    Professor Geary had kindly offered them the use of the university’s equipment, which meant that Zoe and Shaggy would also have to remain behind with her.  With nothing further to be done on site until dawn, they all retired to Greenlaw where Dunbar was delighted to be reunited with his car – in exactly the same condition as he had left it.
    ‘Thanks, that was fun,’ Tyler said with a wicked glint in her eye. 
    ‘Farish?’
    ‘Odd, cooperative, a veritable mine of information.’
    ‘How odd?’
    ‘Enjoyed it too much and his responses felt – rehearsed – almost.’
    ‘Something to hide?’
    Tyler shrugged, ‘Haven’t we all?  Maybe it was just a conversation he’d been expecting to have for years.’
    Dunbar held out his hand and Tyler gave him his car keys. ‘Because?’
    ‘Archie’s a fruitcake!’  She turned and walked away. ‘Oh, and the over-steer – such a rush when you pop it into sport mode and power-glide through bends, isn’t it?’ she added when she stopped at her bedroom door.
    Dunbar leaned around the door frame and looked back.  Tyler winked then held him in her steady gaze.  He met it and waited.   He was a master at this game.  She would crack first.  She did not, just disappeared into her own room.  She was winding him up, he told himself.   No way had she thrashed it.  She drives a Fiat 500, how did she know about the over-steer in sport mode?  Watching Top Gear – aye, that was it.  Did he leave it in sport mode?  Unlikely, he rarely used it.  He looked back again.  Her door was closed. Bitch!
    ***
    The quartet hogged the crackling log fire, a pleasant moment of informality, any professional and personal tensions at truce.  A striking contrast to her Earth-Mother lover and best described as sober Nordic chic, Holmquist had arrived in good time to join them for dinner, after which they repaired to the cosy saloon for drinks.  She assured them that her lab elves were burning the midnight oil to get those DNA comparisons and should have the eagerly awaited results some time the following day.
    The two academics held hands and Dunbar inwardly chided himself for feeling uncomfortable.  Tyler positioned herself between him and the adoring couple, her back to the three locals who propped up the bar and cast the occasional disapproving glances their way.  And it didn’t escape the wary DCI’s notice.  Was it down to the presence of coppers or lesbians in their local – or both?  Dunbar could not decide.
    Professor Geary returned to their dinner table topic. ‘Archie’s passionate about local history, but like many a genealogy buff, has a blinkered, revisionist’s view of context and events.  He tries to shape facts to his own theories on his family’s part in the story.’
    ‘He even wrote to Chanel Four’s Time Team.’ Holmquist added
    ‘Thank goodness they ignored him.  His passion and habit of putting himself front and centre of the story can be quite off putting.’
    ‘Didn’t put you off.’
    ‘We eventually managed to corroborate details of his research, together with the artefacts he unearthed, the evidence proved compelling.’
    Suddenly Dunbar’s phone chimed. ‘Sorry.’ He plucked it from his pocket, rolled his eyes, shrugged apologetically and answered. ‘ Hi! ’  he listened for a moment. ‘Actually, in a pub in Greenlaw with three real bonny women.’
    ‘You can’t fool me, darling.  So, I presume you’re paying for their company,’ Elspeth responded drily.
    He cringed.  His companions grinned.  ‘ No!   Two of them are professors and the other, my new DI who has more letters after her name than she has in it.’
    Tyler blushed