Eye for an Eye (28 page)

Gilchrist turned away, watched an old woman being helped from an ambulance and led into the hospital, her steps short, unsteady. Not like Garvie. He pictured her short-sleeved sweatshirt, her supple body tone. Sexual assault? If it wasn’t so serious, it would be funny. He turned back to Stan. ‘Where the hell does Maggie live?’

Panic flashed across Stan’s eyes. ‘Don’t do this to me, Andy. Patterson’ll know it’s me. He’ll have me.’

‘Patterson doesn’t know a thing.’

‘He knows I’m with you.’

‘How the hell does he know that?’

Stan lowered his gaze.

‘Well, you’re not with me any more,’ said Gilchrist. He opened the door, the move so sudden that a flock of starlings fluttered over the wall in iridescent panic. ‘You dropped me off at the hospital, Stan. I slipped out the back door. And that’s the last you’ve seen of me.’

Stan shook his head. ‘I never should have told you.’

‘Stick to the story and it’ll be fine. Trust me.’

From the dark shadows around Stan’s eyes, Gilchrist could see that he was near the edge of some mental precipice. Exhausted. The Stabber and Patterson and DeFiore and eighty-hour working weeks were finally taking their toll.

‘I can’t do it, boss. I’m going to have to call it in.’

‘Give me until this time tomorrow.’ Gilchrist slammed the door before Stan could tell him where to get off.

CHAPTER 27

This town, these streets, these buildings have seen centuries of human creatures come and go, witnessed the worst of mankind’s inhumanity against man. The Reformation arrived here five hundred years ago. Heretics were burned at the stake, some famous enough to have cobbled stones built into thoroughfares to mark the spot of execution and monuments erected in their memory. Medieval cruelties were performed in Market Street in the square next to the fountain. Pillories, hangings, burnings, all for the supposed expurgation of human sins, but in reality depravities to satisfy sick individuals. Cruelties almost beyond imagination.

I now know that the Stabber will have a place among the ranks of the most vile perpetrators of cruelty this town has ever seen. That is how I will be remembered.

And that thought makes me smile.

Gilchrist towelled himself down and examined the damage in the mirror. He looked a mess.

Bruising on his thighs, his back, both upper arms, and an ugly purplish tinge on his left side about the size of a football. He pressed his ribs, felt them give, but no pain, so the painkillers must be working. Doctor Matthews had told him to keep his head wounds dry, which was difficult in the shower, but he had done his best. His left ear had swollen and the hair behind it looked as if it had been torn from his head, not trimmed. He touched the hypo-allergenic tape that covered the six stitches. It felt hard and tight to his skin.

The other stitches seemed to be a different matter.

He held up his shaving mirror behind his head, shoulder high. In the double reflection, he ran his fingers over an inch-wide strip shaved either side of the wound. The surgical tape covering the eighteen stitches was stained dark from seeping blood.

Not good, but not too bad.

He dressed carefully, choosing something loose, a black ribbed Ralph Lauren sweater over a starched Hugo Boss shirt. If he was going to visit Maggie Hendren with a head like a half-finished Frankenstein, at least he could look and smell clean.

He pulled on his new black leather jacket and phoned Beth’s mobile. It went straight to voicemail. He disconnected, tried her home number. This time her answering machine kicked in, so he left a short message asking her to give him a call.

Next, Archie McVicar.

As he waited for the connection to be made, he stared out of his window. The rockery garden needed some work. On the bright side, if McVicar discharged him, that would be first on the list.

‘McVicar.’

The booming voice almost threw him, then he heard himself say, ‘Detective Inspector Andrew Gilchrist, sir. Returning your call.’

‘You’re a hard man to track down, Andy.’

‘I was out of town, sir. Visiting family.’

McVicar mulled over Gilchrist’s excuse for a few seconds before saying, ‘Gail?’

Gilchrist was not sure whether McVicar was asking if he had visited Gail, or how her health was. He chose the former. ‘Yes, sir. Jack and Maureen, too.’

‘How’s Gail faring?’

‘Not good, sir.’

‘Prognosis?’

‘A year at the outside.’

‘Pain?’

‘She’s on medication for that, sir.’

‘Hmm.’ A pause. ‘I’m sorry to hear you say that, Andy. Next time you see her, if she’s well enough, perhaps you could let her know Rhona and I are asking after her and praying for her every night.’

It was on the tip of Gilchrist’s tongue to say there might never be a next time, but instead he said, ‘Thank you, sir. Gail will be pleased to hear that.’

‘Tragic,’ McVicar said. ‘Absolutely tragic.’

‘It is indeed, sir.’ Gilchrist heard McVicar take a deep breath then let it out in a gust of resignation. For Gail? he wondered. Or for himself? He felt his grip tighten on the phone. McVicar might be a sensitive man where family matters were concerned but when push came to shove, nothing stood in his way.

‘Right, Andy. This to-do with Patterson. What the hell’s it all about?’

‘He believes I’m not the man for the investig—’

‘Yes yes I know all that, but why the devil does he want you out? Sometimes I wonder if the man’s not a liability. I would never have let you go at a time like this.’

‘Define let go, sir.’

‘Pushed off the Stabber case. By all means bring in the Scottish Crime Squad, or anyone else who could help bring this maniac to justice. But Lord above us, now’s not the time to rack up the score in some personal vendetta.’

‘I agree, sir.’

‘We need every man we can lay our hands on. And more.’

Gilchrist listened to McVicar air his grievances. He knew McVicar on a personal level, knew him to be fair. He was a tough codger but a good man to have on your side. His wife, Rhona, had hit it off with Gail after they joined the same gardening club. But following the divorce they had barely kept in touch.

‘... which brings me to my next point.’

Gilchrist stared down at his garden. He would start by levelling and relaying the slabs.

‘This Alexandra Garvie. What’s your interest there?’

Gilchrist let the loaded question filter through his mind. Just how much did McVicar know? Did he know of his suspicions of her? Did he know of Patterson’s plans to have him charged with sexual assault? Smart? Or dumb? He chose dumb. ‘My interest, sir?’

‘Yes. Interest. Why are you always nosing around her home?’

Always? So, McVicar knew. ‘I’ve spoken to her twice—’

‘Yes yes I know. But why?’

‘A hunch,’ he said. ‘Nothing more at this stage.’

‘A hunch?’ McVicar made the word sound like the world’s filthiest disease. ‘Nothing more than just a hunch?’

‘No, sir.’

‘No hard evidence?’

‘No, sir.’

‘Hmm.’

Gilchrist caught an image of McVicar frowning, looking up to the sky in that thoughtful pose of his when his mind was churning over some facts.

‘You think she’s got something to do with the killings?’ McVicar asked.

‘I’m still fishing, sir.’

‘Any nibbles?’

For a split second, Gilchrist wondered if McVicar knew about his searching Garvie’s ventilation grille. Then just as quickly decided he did not. ‘Not yet,’ he replied.

‘But you’re not through with her. Are you?’

‘No, sir.’

‘Patterson disagrees.’

‘He would, sir. If I said white, he’d say black.’

‘He’s instructed all personnel to stay away from Garvie’s residence. You are aware of that order, I presume.’

‘I am, sir.’

‘So why do you continue to defy the man?’

‘I thought being suspended from service provided me the rights of any other citizen in the United Kingdom. One of them being the freedom to talk to whoever I choose. Sir.’

McVicar chuckled. ‘Quite.’

‘Do you mind if I ask you a question, sir?’

‘Not at all. Shoot.’

‘Have you asked yourself why?’

‘Why?’

‘Why does DCI Patterson want no one to talk to Garvie?’

‘The Scottish Crime Squad’s already taken her statement. The chief inspector’s well within his rights to direct the investigation as he sees fit.’

‘And if he’s wrong?’

‘Then he’ll have a great deal to answer for.’

‘One other question, sir?’

‘I’m listening.’

‘Why did you ask me to call?’

‘When I first got wind of this, I had intended to coerce your compliance with a demand for your resignation.’

‘Why didn’t you?’

‘I feared you might be stubborn enough to tender it.’

Gilchrist turned away from the window. Repairs to the rockery were on hold. ‘Thank you, sir.’

‘Before you thank me, Andy, I should warn you that Chief Inspector Patterson has applied for a warrant for your arrest on the grounds of sexual assault against Alexandra Garvie.’

‘I have heard, sir.’

‘Lord above us, is nothing sacred?’ Another pause, then, ‘I’m assuming there’s nothing in it, Andy.’

‘That’s correct, sir.’

‘I’ll be keeping a close eye on it, Andy. But I won’t be stopping the charge.’

Something sank to the pit of Gilchrist’s stomach. ‘Sir?’

‘I can’t be seen to stand above the law. If the chief inspector believes he has sufficient evidence to charge you, then charge you he must. Let the chips rest where they fall.’

Gilchrist held on to the phone. ‘I see, sir.’

‘Good luck, Andy. And do give our regards to Gail.’ With that, McVicar disconnected.

Gilchrist looked at his mobile and depressed the
POWER
button. For what he was about to do, he could not afford to be interrupted. He had until tomorrow morning to clear his name.

Sebbie looked down at Alice.

Her naked body lay spread-eagled on the bloodied sheet. He eyed the slit of her vagina and tried to recall what he had felt when he pushed his penis into her.

But he felt nothing. Not a thing.

Not even the anger that had boiled from deep within him when she had first stepped out of her panties. That was gone, too. He kneeled, ran the palm of his hand over what was left of her pubic hair, nothing more than a thin strip shaved to satisfy Dieter’s sexual longings.

He stared at her closed eyes. ‘Why did you shave it off?’ he asked, and poked a finger into the hard skin of her inner thigh. ‘Huh? Can you tell me?’

Silence.

‘Cat caught your tongue?’

He stood and pulled down his zip, took out his flaccid penis and pointed it at her stomach, his spray splashing off her hard skin. Midstream, he turned to Dieter’s body and sprayed his face. Yellow urine splashed into his open eyes and the black hole of his mouth.

‘Cat caught your tongue, too?’ Sebbie laughed.

CHAPTER 28

Gilchrist walked up to the bar. ‘I’m looking for a favour.’

Fast Eddy frowned at him. ‘Easy there, big feller. What’s the other guy like?’

‘All my own work,’ said Gilchrist, not wanting to get into it. ‘Had a fight with a cricket bat.’

‘Try to hit it for six?’

‘Something like that.’

‘Well, take my advice, mate.’ Fast Eddy shoved a pint glass under the tap. ‘Drink plenty of beer to ease the pain. This one’s on me.’

‘Can’t,’ said Gilchrist. ‘I’m on medication.’

‘Perfect. Twice the bang for half the price.’ Fast Eddy continued pouring. ‘Haven’t seen Old Willie since you were here last. You heard from him?’

Gilchrist shook his head. ‘Anyone call his home?’

‘Couldn’t tell you, mate. There you go, Andy. That should top you up.’

Gilchrist stared at his beer, its smooth head spilling down the side of the glass. It looked good enough to eat. He clasped the glass. He felt fine, a bit stiff, perhaps, but the pain had all but gone. He lifted the pint to his lips, took a mouthful, and returned it to the bar.

‘Now, was that not worth waiting for?’

‘Bloody marvellous,’ said Gilchrist.

Someone called out and Fast Eddy glanced to the end of the bar. ‘Two Bloody Marys, darling? That what you’re after? One of them a Virgin? Not many of those around.’ He gave one of his infamous chuckles and said, ‘Gotcha, darling. Coming right up,’ and jammed a glass under the vodka optics, removed two sticks of celery from the fridge and turned back to the bar. ‘You were saying something about a favour, Andy. What can I do you for?’