Tooth for a Tooth (36 page)

‘If it’s second-hand, it would have been given to me. If it isn’t new, I didn’t buy it.’

He nodded. ‘So it was given to you,’ he said. ‘From who?’

‘I can’t remember.’ She reached out. ‘Let me see.’

Gilchrist pulled it back. He would be interested in seeing whose fingerprints they could lift. On the other hand, the absence of fingerprints might confirm who had not touched it. He opened the front cover and read out the penned tribute.

‘Happy Birthday. Lots of love, Brian.’

She looked at him. ‘Who’s Brian?’

‘I thought you might tell me.’

‘How would I know? It was given to me second-hand.’

‘But who by?’

‘What d’you think I’ve got? A photographic memory? I can barely remember what day of the week it is, and you’re asking who gave me a book I haven’t read in years?’

‘How many years?’ He did not want to prompt her by putting words in her mouth. He needed to hear the name from her own lips without hint or coercion. ‘I’m asking you to think,’ he tried. ‘What was going on in your life when you read this?’

Megs frowned, as if giving his question some thought. ‘I can’t remember.’

‘Try when you were at university.’ Not a direct hint, but as close as he wanted to go.

Something seemed to spark behind her eyes. ‘It’s Wee Johnnie, isn’t it? That’s why you want me to show you a photograph.’

Gilchrist would have preferred direct recall rather than deductive reasoning, and felt saddened that it had come down to this. ‘Think,’ was all he said.

‘It might have been Johnnie,’ she said. ‘He sometimes gave me stuff. Mostly drink, so he could get me drunk and screw me. That’s all he really ever wanted to do, drink and screw. And he was no good at either.’

Not quite the recollection Gilchrist had hoped for, but it opened up other possibilities in his thinking. Was it possible Megs had taken the book herself? Could she be involved in Kelly’s murder more directly? Kelly had been fit and strong, but she would have been no match for Megs in terms of muscled bulk.

‘Maybe you picked it up at a party some night and didn’t return it.’

‘What d’you mean? That I stole it at a party? Whose party?’

Megs was either telling the truth, or was a decent liar. ‘Rita’s?’ he offered.

Something seemed to settle into Megs’ mind at the mention of Rita’s name. She stared at the tribute, at the cover, back to the tribute, then glared at him. ‘That cheapskate bastard.’

‘Who?’ Gilchrist asked.

For an instant, she seemed lost. ‘Wee Johnnie,’ she blurted.

But in that moment’s delay, Gilchrist thought he caught her lie.

CHAPTER 28

Megs found the photograph she was looking for.

Wee Johnnie Walker, not quite so
wee
in this image, with an arm as tight as steel around Megs, one hand firm on her biceps, the other holding a bottle of San Miguel. Ripped muscles striped his stomach, pecs cut square like a boxer’s. Megs looked bloated and white beside him. They could have been any Scottish student couple, happy in each other’s drunken company, except that the location did not fit. Palm trees lined the street. Off to the side, the lazy waters of some sea lay as smooth as glass.

‘Loret de Mar,’ she said. ‘Costa del Beer. Thought I was going out for a week’s romancing in the sun. All Johnnie wanted to do was drink.’ She glared at the photograph. ‘That was us after breakfast. When I look at this now, I don’t know what he saw in me. Laurel and Hardy were a better-looking couple.’ She let out a laugh like a cough. ‘I think he was just racking up his score.’

Why take you to the Mediterranean? Gilchrist wanted to ask. Wee Johnnie looked as if he was nursing a hangover. Beer for breakfast. Hair of the dog? His body was tight, trim. Sinewed muscles seemed to invade his face, making him look hard and unforgiving. Wisps of a chin-only beard added to the Mexican bandito look. Was that what had attracted Lorena? Megs, on the other hand, looked more like baby-fat grown old. Laurel and Hardy might be considered a compliment.

‘Just you and Johnnie?’ he asked.

‘Dougie and Brian came, too.’

Brian? Of Brian and Rita? He thought it odd that Megs had not remembered Brian moments earlier. But she seemed not to have noticed. ‘Was Rita there?’ he asked.

‘No, just Dougie and Brian. The three of them went everywhere together. Worse than musketeers.’

‘So you were the only woman?’

‘Not for long. A pair of pick-up artists, they were, Johnnie and Brian.’

‘But not Dougie?’

She gave a hard cough again. ‘Johnnie and Brian were as cocky as they come, but Dougie just hung around.’

‘So Johnnie and Brian picked up some Spanish women and—’

‘English,’ Megs grumbled. ‘From London or somewhere.’

‘So Johnnie just . . . ?’

‘Pissed off and left me.’

‘Left you with Dougie?’

She smiled, and something touching warmed her eyes. ‘That’s when Dougie and I first started going out. Romantic, don’t you think?’

Well, that might explain Johnnie’s invitation to Megs to go to Spain. Three friends studying the same course at university, one of them hopeless with women, too awkward or shy to ask her out directly, and all by himself. But on holiday, with plenty of drink, it would be easier to establish a relationship, even take over when one ended. Particularly if that had been the plan all along. It might be considered a convoluted way to start a romance, but he had heard of stranger beginnings.

‘You and Dougie didn’t marry for years.’

‘Off again, on again. I liked to go on foreign holidays, see a bit of the world. Dougie didn’t. I could have lived in South America. Definitely my favourite. But Dougie was so undecided about everything. In the end, I had to take the bull by the horns, or in Dougie’s case the boy by the balls, and make up his mind for him.’

‘And the divorce?’

‘I made up his mind on that, too.’ She shook her head. ‘How he got to where he is defies logic. But I wish him no harm.’

Gilchrist held up the photograph. ‘Do you mind if I keep this?’

‘You can have it, for all I care. Don’t know why I can’t throw stuff out. Worse than a magpie, so I am.’

‘Do you have a plastic bag?’ he asked.

She gave him a Ziploc bag from the kitchen, into which he slipped the book. Her Mediterranean photograph of Johnnie he placed with Kelly’s.

‘Did the three musketeers ever go on holiday anywhere else?’ he asked her.

‘Once or twice, I suppose. But they all ended up going their separate ways. Why?’

‘Did they ever go to Mexico?’

Megs frowned. ‘I think so, but don’t quote me.’ Then her eyes lit up as some long-forgotten memory returned. ‘They did,’ she said. ‘I remember it now. They had just come back. It was not long after I moved into the flat with Rita and that Mexican brat. We all went over to the boys’ place one night.’

‘All of you?’

‘Me, Rita and Miss Mexico.’

Gilchrist gave that some thought. Brian and Rita. Johnnie and Lorena? Which left Dougie and Megs. ‘Was this before or after the trip to Loret?’

‘Before,’ she said, a bit too quickly. ‘I had just moved in.’

Lorena would still have been seeing Johnnie. ‘What was so memorable?’ he asked.

‘We got drunk on tequila. That’s what happened. The real McCoy. Duty-free in Mexico City Airport, I think. I remember it because Johnnie ate the slug. I never knew tequila had slugs. Why do they do that, anyway? I thought it was some sort of joke.’

That would be Wee Johnnie’s style, Gilchrist thought. Macho man. But was he a killer? ‘And what about Dougie? He was free. You were free. Did you, eh, get together?’

‘Nope. Just got drunk.’

The thought of Megs being in the presence of a man and turning down the opportunity for sex seemed out of character. Perhaps Dougie had been too shy for someone as bold as Megs. ‘So, when did you and Johnnie start going out?’

‘I wouldn’t call it
going out.’

‘What would you call it, then?’

‘Sex on tap.’

‘And Lorena? Did she just sit back and let Johnnie walk away?’

‘She was looking to leave him. She fancied Dougie.’

‘Your Dougie?’

‘Not any more.’

‘And did she go out with Dougie?’

‘Dougie fell head over heels for the tramp.’

Now Gilchrist thought he understood. Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned, or a woman whose man was having sex with the local Mexican. After all these years, Megs still held a grudge. The atmosphere in the flat must have been like touchpaper looking for a light.

‘So the Mediterranean beer outing was the end of Lorena’s relationship with Dougie and the start of yours?’

Megs grimaced. ‘A beer outing it was, that’s for sure. But yes, Dougie and I, how should I say it, consummated our relationship during that short week.’

Gilchrist thought he saw Lorena’s dilemma. First, her Johnnie was lost to Megs, then her Dougie. So how did that explain Megs’ hatred? Should it not have been the other way around? ‘You and Dougie didn’t last long, did you?’

‘Not that time.’

‘Lorena persuaded Dougie to stay with her?’

Megs frowned, and a hint of anger flitted behind her eyes. ‘What is it about men?’ she grumbled. ‘Spread your legs and they’re like putty in your hands. Drooling all over you until they get what they want. If it wasn’t so pathetic it’d be funny.’

‘So, it’s safe to say that you and Dougie split up not long after Costa del Beer?’

‘Very safe.’

‘For how long?’

She shrugged. ‘Can’t really remember. Months, I suppose.’

‘When did he give you the scarf?’

‘My birthday,’ she said, without missing a beat.

‘Which was . . . ?’

‘Beginning of March.’

‘Before you moved into the flat on College Street?’

‘Just after.’

He thought it amazing how memories could improve. ‘And
Pride and Prejudice?’

‘The same, I think.’

Gilchrist tried to work through the logic. Johnnie, Brian and now Dougie. Each one of them might have had some personal reason to kill Kelly, but what that reason was he could not say for certain. Jealousy? Rejection? Rape? But if he pushed his thoughts beyond the actual murder itself, and fast-forwarded to the disposal of the body, he found he could think of only one name.

He needed help. But with Tosh on the rampage, he would have to call in for it.

He powered up his mobile and noticed he had three messages, the first over an hour ago. He listened to Tosh’s breathless voice tell him, ‘I’m going to have you for this, Gilchrist. You’re in deep fucking shite now.’

Gilchrist worked out the time, figured that must have been Tosh on the run, the call made as he was chasing him along the communal path. The second was from Tosh again, this time in control of his breathing.

‘I know you’re going to listen to these messages some time, Gilchrist, and when you do, I want you to know that I now have a warrant for your arrest. So my advice to you, old son, is to do the right thing and turn yourself in.’

The third was Tosh again. Did he have nothing better to do than leave voicemail?

‘Got some good news I thought I should share with you. You’re going to be on the telly tonight, Gilchrist. The evening news.’ Then a voice close to the speaker. ‘You really are fucked this time.’

Gilchrist deleted Tosh’s messages and powered down his phone.

‘Got some problem with my mobile,’ he lied. ‘Do you mind if I use your phone?’

‘If you want some privacy, use the one in the bedroom. And I’ll not come in.’ She waved him off with a flap of her hand. ‘Go on with you. I’m only joking.’

In the bedroom, Gilchrist closed the door. He dialled 141 to shield Megs’ number from caller ID, then got through on the first ring.

‘Stan. It’s me. Don’t hang up.’

‘Boss?’ A pause, then a breathy rush. ‘For crying out loud, boss, what’s got into you? This is serious. Even McVicar’s calling for your blood. And as for that prick, Tosh, he’s prancing about like he’s been awarded a knighthood.’

‘Nance told me Johnnie Walker committed suicide. How did he die?’

‘Drugs overdose.’

Somehow, from the images he had seen of Walker, that did not surprise him. ‘I need you to do something else for me, Stan.’

‘No chance. I can’t do it, boss. This is all the way to the top. I can’t afford to lose my job over this—’

‘I need you to find Lorena Cordoba for me, Stan. She flew to Mexico that Christmas. I need you to find out who was on the flight with her.’

‘I’m sorry, boss.’ The line went dead.

Shit
. This was worse than serious. Stan was his fallback, someone he could rely on when everything was against him. He dialled Nance on her mobile. Busy. He tried again. Still busy. On the third attempt, she picked up.