Eye for an Eye (17 page)

Gilchrist shrugged. ‘We have reams of psychobabble that supposedly answers that, ranging from the Stabber has one eye or knows someone with one eye, to the murders symbolizing humanity’s blindness against the evils of a cruel world. And everything in between.’

‘But why the left eye?’ said Jack.

Gilchrist smiled. ‘Maybe the Stabber is a right-wing extremist who hates socialists.’

‘Maybe he’s a Rangers supporter.’ Jack dug his fingers into Chloe’s shoulder. She laid her hand on his, and some unspoken message seemed to pass between them.

Gilchrist talked on. ‘Out of all the mumbo-jumbo, the psychological evaluation, the printouts, the discussions, the endless theories’ – he shook his head – ‘no one even knows for sure if the Stabber’s a man or a woman.’

Chloe frowned. ‘What do you think?’

‘Well,’ he said, ‘according to our one and only witness, the Stabber’s a young man.’

‘So what’s the problem?’ It was Jack.

‘I’m not sure I believe him.’

‘Why not?’

Why not, indeed? What could he say? That he thought MacMillan was too far away on too bad a night? That Maggie Hendren might have been cruel to animals? That something was niggling the back of his brain? He held up the newspaper. ‘Maybe it’s this,’ he offered. ‘Just when you think you have it sussed, the Stabber goes and does it differently.’

‘If it is the Stabber,’ said Chloe.

‘Maybe Chloe’s right,’ said Jack. ‘Why would the Stabber change his habit?’

‘He’s smart,’ said Gilchrist.

‘Maybe
she
’s smart,’ said Chloe.

Something seemed to settle in Gilchrist’s mind at the sound of Chloe’s words, as if the fact they had been spoken by someone unconnected with the crimes confirmed his suspicions. ‘She knows we’re closing in,’ he said, pleased with the way the feminine pronoun slushed through his lips. ‘She knows we’re on to the meteorological service every hour of every day checking when the next storm is forecast for the east coast. And she knows that when it does, we’ll be out on full alert, because we know that’s when she kills.’ He grimaced. ‘But now she’s done a flanker, I wonder what the profilers will make of that.’

‘You sound convinced it is the Stabber,’ added Jack.

‘Oh, it’s the Stabber, all right.’ After the second murder, Gilchrist had known they had a serial killer on the loose. By the third, he was convinced the Stabber bore a grudge against men who abused women. That was when females hit the top of his list. But a female serial killer was a rarity, and when he presented his own criminal profile to Patterson, he had been all but laughed from his office.

‘Do you think they’ll catch her?’ It was Chloe.

They.
Not
you
. Gilchrist felt a stab of hurt at his exclusion, but nodded anyway. ‘One day,’ he said, and added, ‘Sooner rather than later, I hope.’ He felt another stab of uncertainty. They would catch the Stabber. Of that he was certain. It might take time. But they would prevail. And when that day came, Patterson would pile the glory onto DeFiore’s head and revive his efforts to remove Gilchrist from the Force. Then what? It didn’t bear thinking about.

‘Right,’ said Gilchrist, and slapped his hand on the bed. ‘I’d better get up. I must see Maureen before I head back.’

‘Maureen’s in Edinburgh for a couple of days,’ said Jack. ‘Didn’t Mum tell you?’

‘We never really spoke about you and Maureen.’

Jack nodded, as if understanding, and Gilchrist was pleased he did not press for details. ‘What’s she doing in Edinburgh?’ he asked. ‘Did you tell her I was coming?’

‘It’s her new boyfriend. Larry somebody-or-other. Total wanker. But you know Maureen. Head over heels in sixty seconds flat.’

Sixty seconds flat. Maureen’s reaction to the opposite sex reminded him of his own relationship with Gail. He had sworn his undying love to her on their first date. Making love in the Valley of Sin had helped, but look where it got him. He dreaded Maureen being hurt the way he had, and made a silent promise to himself to talk to her the first—

‘You can have it,’ said Chloe.

‘Sorry?’

‘My painting. Jack and I would like you to have it.’

Gilchrist glanced at Jack.

‘What can I say?’ Jack’s eyebrows shuffled. ‘It’s a gift.’

‘I can’t accept your work as a gift,’ Gilchrist said.

‘Please.’ Chloe glanced at Jack as if seeking support, but from his silence she was on her own. ‘I want you to have it,’ she said to Gilchrist.

‘Only if you let me pay.’

‘It’s a gift from Jack and me.’

‘How much?’

‘Nothing. Please.’

‘I can’t, Chloe.’

‘Please?’

He realized that his obstinacy was hurting her, so he gave a smile of defeat and thanked her with a kiss and a hug.

After a light lunch of peppered haddock garnished with the reddest tomatoes Gilchrist had seen since Gail divorced him, it was time to leave. Chloe covered the canvas with a paint-stained bedsheet and loaded it into the back of his Mercedes.

They shook hands and pecked cheeks and Jack promised to call about Gail. Chloe promised to try to persuade Jack to take a weekend in St Andrews over Christmas. Like a child going on holiday, Gilchrist tooted the car horn and waved out the window until Chloe and Jack slid from view behind the towering corner of their tenement building.

One night away from the job seemed to have worked wonders for his energy level, and he bustled through the Glasgow traffic like a teenager. He joined the M8 at Charing Cross and had moved into the outside lane when his mobile rang.

‘You’ve fucked it up this time, Gilchrist.’

‘What’s the weather like in St Andrews?’

Patterson gave a forced laugh. ‘You’ve heard the news, I gather.’

‘Any results on the blood?’

‘Listen to me, Gilchrist. When I say you’re suspended, that means you’re suspended from active duty until I reinstate you. Got that?’

‘I don’t remember reporting in—’

‘I’ve received a formal complaint. Filed by Alexandra Garvie. Name ring a bell?’

‘Sounds familiar.’

‘She says you more or less forced your way into her house.’

‘More or less? What does that mean?’

‘You entered her house uninvited, Gilchrist. Good Lord, man, do you deny it?’

‘Of course I do. I was polite. She was helpful—’

‘What the hell were you doing asking her questions in the first place? You were suspended, for Christ’s sake.’

‘I was following up a hunch.’

‘Are you listening to me? You were suspended. And you still are suspended. I’ll be formally writing to the ACC with my personal recommendation that you be asked to submit your resignation forthwith. Do you understand, Gilchrist?’

‘More or less.’

Patterson sighed, and Gilchrist caught an image of a pockmarked face bulging red. ‘You really are an annoying piece of—’

‘I’m losing you ...’ Gilchrist clicked off his mobile.

Damn it. If he ever had doubts about Patterson having it in for him, they were now history. It made little difference that others more senior liked Gilchrist. He had disobeyed a direct order. And with Garvie’s complaint, and Patterson’s recommendation, his career was finished.

He gripped the steering wheel. But what had he done to make Garvie complain? He thought back to his interview, to her cat on the window sill, to the coal bunker out the back, to the beads of sweat on her forehead when she had opened the door. Exercising, she had explained.

Now that was interesting.

One of the main objections raised to the Stabber being a woman was strength. She would need to be strong to overpower a man. Garvie looked strong. And fit. And she had invited Gilchrist in, walked away from the door and let him follow.

So why had she complained?

Gilchrist played over the possibilities, but came back to the same conclusion. His career was about to be terminated.

Which meant he had nothing to lose.

CHAPTER 17

‘Sa, Andy here. I need you to do me a favour.’

‘For God’s sake. You can’t keep calling.’

‘You’re beginning to sound paranoid. What’s up?’

‘Patterson’s lost it. And DeFiore never had it. Is that clear enough for you?’

Gilchrist smiled. Sa’s feistiness was refreshing. ‘I need you to get me a copy of a report.’

‘Let me guess. Garvie’s complaint?’

‘You know about it?’

‘The whole Office knows about it.’

‘Can you get me a copy?’

‘No can do.’

‘No can do? Or no want to do?’

‘No can do. Patterson’s delivering it personally to McVicar this afternoon.’

Damn. Once McVicar received Patterson’s report it would be only a matter of time until Gilchrist was called before him. ‘Have you spoken to Garvie?’ he asked.

‘Are you crazy? She’s off limits. That’s a direct order from Patterson.’

‘Even for DeFiore?’

‘Already interviewed her.’

‘And?’

‘And nothing.’

‘You sure?’

‘Sure I’m sure. What’s so special about Lex anyway?’

‘Nothing. Just a hunch.’

‘About what?’

‘Something doesn’t fit.’

‘Give it up, Andy. DeFiore interviewed her this morning. Your hunch is wrong. If you want my advice, which I’m sure you don’t, but I’m going to give it to you anyway, stay away from her. Okay?’

‘Okay.’

‘I hear traffic,’ said Sa. ‘Where are you?’

‘Passing through Cupar,’ he lied. ‘Any results on the blood samples yet?’

‘You never give up, do you?’

‘The job’s my life,’ he said, and felt a pang at the truth of his words.

‘I’m sorry, Andy. I’ve got to go.’ Sa disconnected.

Gilchrist had lied to Sa on impulse because of ... what? Because she had called the complainant Lex? He had never seen Sa and Garvie together. And Sa had given no indication that she had known Garvie. But Garvie had been with Patsy in the Dunvegan, and Patsy had given Sa a lift in her Land Rover.

Did that mean anything?

Now he had hung up, he could think of a dozen reasons why Sa would call Alexandra Garvie Lex. But it wasn’t the dozen reasons that intrigued him.

It was only the one.

Fast Eddy looked up from the pint he was pulling. ‘Andy. It’s your good self. Pint of Eighty?’

Gilchrist shook his head. ‘Looking for Maggie Hendren,’ he said. ‘You seen her?’

‘Expecting her in later this evening.’

‘What time?’

‘Six. But I wouldn’t go holding your breath.’

‘She doesn’t look the unreliable type.’

‘Looks have eff-all to do with it, mate. Treats this place like she’s a part-timer.’

A quiet voice from behind said, ‘Why all the interest in Maggie? You could make a woman jealous.’

Surprised, Gilchrist turned around.

Patsy faced him, cigarette in one hand, empty glass in the other. Without taking her eyes off Gilchrist, she said, ‘Same again, Eddy.’

‘With you in a sec, love,’ said Fast Eddy, and carried a pint of lager to the far end of the bar.

‘Going to join me for a drink, Andy?’

‘Too early for me.’

‘Eighty Shilling, is it?’

‘You’d be wasting your money.’

She caught Fast Eddy’s eye. ‘And the usual for Andy.’

‘Gotcha.’

She drew on her cigarette, her cheeks pulling in with the effort, smooth and angular. Top fashion models would kill for a jawline like that. But it made Patsy’s face look hard. In a downpour, from a distance, she might even be mistaken for a man.

Smoke spilled from the side of her mouth. ‘I hear you’re divorced,’ she said.

‘It’s a small town.’

‘I can’t imagine someone with your looks being unattached for long.’ Another pull at her cigarette, another cloud of smoke. ‘But that’s not what I’m hearing.’

‘Put it down to pressure of work.’

‘Too many villains to chase?’

‘Something like that.’

‘You’re not dating?’

Gilchrist shrugged. ‘Are you?’

‘I’m working on it.’

‘There you go,’ Fast Eddy said. ‘Ready for yours?’

Gilchrist raised his hand. ‘Maybe later.’

‘Put one in the pipes, Eddy. My tab. There’s a good boy.’

‘Gotcha.’

Patsy lifted her double vodka and tonic and stared into Gilchrist’s eyes. ‘You haven’t answered my question.’

‘Which one?’

‘Why all the interest in Maggie?’

‘Why would that make you jealous?’

Her smile widened. ‘I’m not like the others.’

‘The others?’