There was a bottle of Loch Dhu on Angelique’s desk when she came back from the sandwich shop with her breakfast. It was a gimmick whisky dreamed up by a marketing man rather than a stillman, its hopefully saleable distinction being that it was black. Really black. Not just darkly peaty like Laphroiag, but black enough to suggest it shouldn’t be taken internally. Some whiskies were matured in sherry casks, some bourbon; this one was evidently aged in a treacle barrel. She just hoped it didn’t taste like it. It could have been worse, though. They could have gone with some muck like Tia Maria or Kahlua, which would have been the cheaper option. Cops were never done whining about how little they got paid, given the hours, the danger and the canteen lasagne, but no expense was spared when it came to wind‐ups and daft jokes. Still, it was proof of changed days that it wasn’t intended to refer to her skin. Her sex and her stature were still tediously fair game, but you had to be grateful for any advances in a profession where cultural progress moved like a greased glacier.
What do You think about Big Boy Did It And Ran Away?
