Maureen, who had been in court that morning, sat sober and smart in a grey suit, the skirt an efficient length below the knee. Elder, who was wearing shapeless trousers and a faded blue shirt, was feeling slovenly and under-dressed by comparison, uncomfortable in the heat. They hadn’t been sitting there many minutes when Maureen took off her suit jacket and folded it neatly across the back of the adjacent chair. ‘It was Dixon’s in the Victoria Centre,’ Maureen said. ‘Saturday. Trying to buy a CD Walkman. Not cheap.’ ‘How sure are we it was Donald?’ Elder said. ‘Pretty sure. We got quite a good description from the young Asian guy who served him. Early twenties, hair cut really short, trainers, jeans. Skinny as a rake.’ Unless he’d changed a lot in prison, Elder thought, Donald could be mistaken for early twenties, no problem. ‘Apparently the assistant had been watching him for some little time. Thought there was something shifty about him, nervous even. Seems he’d been in the shop earlier, looking around.
