by Muir, T. F.
‘It’s five days before Hamish McLeod’s funeral.’
Gilchrist tried to ignore the significance of that, pretend it was harmless.
Tosh placed a plastic bag on the desk and slid it over to Gilchrist. ‘We found this on the woman’s clothing. It’s a tooth. Your dead brother Jack’s, to be exact. The one extracted on the nineteenth.’
As feared, the date made sense. He felt his brow furrow. Without a DNA analysis, how could Tosh be so confident? But even as he asked himself that question, he realized Tosh must have accessed his brother’s cold files and carried out a comparative DNA analysis on his clothing, all of which had been soaked through with Jack’s blood.
‘We had a DNA analysis done on the tooth. Mitochondrial. Quicker, cheaper, but every bit as damning.’
‘Define damning,’ Gilchrist said.
Tosh pressed close enough for Gilchrist to catch a whiff of underarm sweat. ‘You removed critical evidence from an ongoing murder investigation. You withheld further evidence vital to the enquiry. You could be charged with attempting to pervert the course of justice.’ Tosh sat back. ‘However, seeing as how we’re all part of the same team, we’d like to hear your side of the story first.’
Gilchrist did not miss the unspoken threat in the word first. He felt a bead of sweat trickle down his back. How had Tosh managed to move so quickly? Had Mackie told them about the nicks on the lighter? But even if he had, what would that have proven? Gilchrist had told no one of the connection to his brother. Except Gina Belli. Her rush of anger came back to him. Had she lied?
As these questions flickered through his mind, he realized his error in not informing Mackie of his concerns. But more damaging had been his failure to return the lighter. He had been so consumed by Gina Belli’s psychic results – the driver, the passenger – that he had forgotten the lighter and left it lying on the table in the St Andrews Bay Hotel. With its connection to his brother now leaked, any competent Fiscal could turn that against Gilchrist and nail his head to the legislative wall for removing critical evidence. They might even argue that he was culpable in some way. Had his brother confessed to him all those years ago? Was that why he had removed a vital piece of evidence? What other secrets did he know about his brother, or Kelly’s murder? Gilchrist needed to limit the damage, somehow recover control.
‘Where did you find the tooth?’ he asked.
‘Let me ask the questions—’
‘Unless and until someone directs me otherwise, I am the senior investigating officer on this murder enquiry. And if you refuse to cooperate by not telling me where the tooth was found, I’ll have you charged with attempting to pervert the course of justice.’
Tosh sat back with a forced grin. ‘Listen to him, Jeff. Back’s against the wall and he thinks he can still call the shots.’
Randall leaned forward. It struck Gilchrist then that Randall was not assisting Tosh, but the other way around. If Randall had been drafted in from Complaints and Discipline in Tayside, it was odds on that his next step was to chop Gilchrist from the case. ‘It was found wrapped in silver foil in the remains of the pocket of her nylon jacket, by . . .’ Randall referred to his notes, ‘. . . a Ms Geraldine McNab, an assistant with Dr Bert Mackie, the forensic pathologist.’
‘Thank you,’ Gilchrist said. ‘Why wasn’t I notified?’
‘You were, but your mobile was switched off.’
Gilchrist retrieved his mobile from his pocket, flicked it open, checked the log and, sure enough, there they were, two calls from the office.
He slapped it shut.
‘Do you have any idea how the tooth got there?’ Randall asked, his voice purring with an ingratiating English accent.
‘No.’ At least that was the truth.
Randall smiled, but Gilchrist sensed the worst was yet to come. ‘So, Andy. You don’t mind if I call you Andy?’
‘That’s my name.’
‘So, Andy, although we can all take a stab at why the tooth was in the jacket pocket in the first place, and why the lighter was on the body, too, what I don’t follow, you see, is why you would remove critical evidence from an ongoing murder investigation. Do you see my problem with that?’
Gilchrist clasped his hands. Gina’s words came back to him. How far do you want to push using something that no one else believes in . . . at the ridicule of others? His explanation for removing Jack’s lighter would sound ridiculous. What could he tell them? Who would believe him? On the bare face of it, it looked like he had removed it for no other reason than to protect his brother’s name.
‘Well?’ Tosh grinned at him.
‘I put it in my pocket by mistake,’ Gilchrist said at length.
‘Don’t give us that shit, Gilchrist. You put fuck all in your pocket by mistake. You were—’
‘Walter,’ purred Randall. ‘Let’s stick with the facts, shall we?’
Tosh shifted in his seat, eyes blazing. If ever there was a portal to the soul, Tosh’s eyes were it. He pressed forward. ‘Here’s how we see it,’ Tosh growled. ‘The lighter’s your brother’s. Fact one. The tooth’s your brother’s. Fact two. Both were found on the belongings of a dead woman. Kelly Roberts, to be exact. Fact three. A woman your brother was screwing when she died. Fact four. And the night Kelly was killed, your brother was involved in a fight outside the Keys. Fact five.’
Gilchrist almost jolted. ‘Who told you that?’
‘Did you not know that, Andy?’ Randall again.
‘No.’ Not strictly correct.
Tosh pulled his chair closer to the table. ‘So that puts—’
‘I asked, who told you that?’
Tosh screeched his chair away from the table and stood. He raked his hair, then tried a smile. ‘No one told us. It’s in the files. Your brother had a record. And don’t try to tell us you didn’t know that.’
Record might be the correct word, but being charged for underage drinking was hardly a serious offence. The fact that Jack had been attacked by two older youths as he was leaving the Keys, and in the act of defending himself knocked one of them unconscious and put the other in hospital, was something Gilchrist had always admired as a youngster. But Jack had been charged with assault and jailed for the night. In court the following day, the charges were dropped, thanks to three eyewitnesses.
Gilchrist returned Tosh’s riveting glare, seeing in his pig eyes an anger verging on the manic. ‘Which means what, exactly?’ he asked.
‘That your brother’s fingerprints are all over this case.’
‘Have you found any fingerprints?’
Randall raised his hand to stop Tosh from launching himself. ‘Let’s stay focused, shall we?’ He pulled himself closer to the table. ‘Andy, I have to ask you. Are you able to tell us why you withheld evidence regarding the cigarette lighter?’
‘What evidence?’
‘That it belonged to your brother.’
‘You don’t know that.’
Randall sat back, seemingly surprised by Gilchrist’s answer. But the truth of the matter, whether they liked it or not, was that the only person who could confirm the lighter belonged to his brother was himself. Which had him cursing under his breath that he had told Gina Belli.
‘It has three nicks,’ Tosh said. ‘You mentioned that to Mackie.’
‘And your point is?’
Randall stared at him, dead-eyed, and Gilchrist made a mental note to keep an eye on the man. Too smart by far. Cool and calculating.
‘Run through it for me,’ Randall said. ‘Your reasons for removing evidence on one count, and for withholding evidence on the second count.’
‘And if I don’t?’
Randall’s ice-blue eyes never flickered. Here, thought Gilchrist, is a man who could look the Devil in the eye and not flinch. He thought of calling the interview to an end and asking for his solicitor. But what would that prove? Requesting a solicitor could send the wrong message.
Randall placed both hands palms-down on the table, as if to show how
harmless he was. ‘I’m with you on this, Andy. We both are. We’re on the same side. We don’t want to make accusations that could tarnish the Force’s reputation. We have enough problems with our image as it is. But you must see how it looks, Andy. The body of a young woman is found thirty-five years after she disappeared, and the brother of one of our own boys in blue, the SIO in charge, no less, was going out with her at the time she was murdered.’
Randall paused, lifted both hands from the table in a gesture of helplessness. ‘And to make matters worse, this SIO removes an important piece of evidence, and withholds further evidence, both of which are critical to the case. Which puts us in a bit of a dilemma, Andy.’ Randall tried a smile of sympathy, but he was fooling no one. ‘What we’re hoping for is that you can help us explain away this . . . this damning evidence, if you’ll pardon the expression.’
Gilchrist sat motionless. He had heard some pretty persuasive arguments before, but never with such self-serving guile. If Randall was a fox in a henhouse, he would have convinced the chickens he was laying their eggs for them.
‘So, Andy. Can you help us? Can you tell us why you removed your brother’s lighter?’
‘Who said the lighter was my brother’s?’
‘Isn’t it?’
‘How would I know?’
‘If it wasn’t, why did you remove it?’
‘I took it by mistake.’
‘That doesn’t cut it,’ Randall said, shaking his head.
‘You have the tooth,’ Gilchrist said. ‘That’s enough to try to nail my brother to the cross, if that’s your aim.’
‘But we found the tooth only after you removed your brother’s lighter, Andy. Do you see our problem with that? If we hadn’t found the tooth, what evidence would we have had?’
‘The only problem I see is that you continue to assert, without one shred of proof, that the lighter is Jack’s.’
Randall gave a tired smile and sat back.
Gilchrist returned a smile of his own, but his mouth refused to work the way it should. If he was in Randall’s position, the only course of action he could recommend would be to remove the SIO from the case. The facts were almost unarguable. The SIO had a personal stake in this case and could not be trusted, evidenced by the fact that he had removed his brother’s lighter. They would argue that if Gilchrist had been around when they found the tooth, he would have removed that, too.
‘I see,’ said Randall. ‘I would remind you, Andy, that we are trying to help you here. Give a bit, take a bit, that sort of thing. Back and forth. But if you’re holding anything from us, it really isn’t helping anyone. Do you understand, Andy?’
Loud and clear, Gilchrist thought. He struggled with the sudden impulse to get up and leave. He was the SIO, and the case was still his until instructed otherwise. He made a conscious effort to breathe slow and deep.
Randall shifted in his seat. ‘What can you tell us about the jacket?’
‘What jacket?’
‘The one in which the tooth was found.’ Randall scanned his notes. ‘We’ve established that it was a man’s jacket.’
Where the hell was he when all this investigation was going on? Chasing a lead to his brother’s hit-and-run accident, came the answer. No wonder he was so far out of touch.
‘Maybe she liked to wear men’s clothes,’ he said.
‘Not just any man’s clothes,’ Randall said. ‘But your brother’s.’
Gilchrist said nothing. He knew they had found something on the jacket to tell them it belonged to Jack. In his mind’s eye, he watched his mother sew a name-tag into the seam of the collar. She had done that on all their clothing, from the first day he had gone to school, for as long as he could remember.
‘Do you see where this is going, Andy? We need you to be more open. We need you to help us out. Can you do that for us, Andy? Can you?’
‘What colour?’ Gilchrist said.
Randall frowned. ‘Colour?’
‘The jacket. What colour?’
Randall referred to his notes, flustered for a moment. ‘Dark blue, we think.’
‘Material?’
‘Nylon-based.’ Randall smiled, pleased to be back in control. ‘Just an ordinary waterproof jacket.’
‘You sure?’
‘Positive.’
‘I never knew Jack to wear any kind of waterproof jacket.’ Gilchrist pushed his chair back and stood.
Tosh sprang to his feet. ‘What are you doing?’
‘Ending this charade,’ Gilchrist snapped. He looked down at Randall. ‘This is still my investigation. And I will bring formal charges against anyone who keeps anything from me or interferes with it. Got that?’
Randall pushed his chair back. He stood a tad taller than Gilchrist, six-two, perhaps, to Gilchrist’s six-one. ‘I’m prepared to put matters on hold for the time being,’ he purred. ‘But I have to advise you that I am not altogether au fait with your answers.’
Au fait? In which country was this investigation being carried out, exactly?
‘But I would be grateful if you could find a way to return the lighter,’ Randall said.
Gilchrist nodded.
‘You still have it, I presume?’
For one disconcerting moment Gilchrist suspected it was a trick question, but he said, ‘I do,’ and prayed that Gina Belli had not checked out of the St Andrews Bay.
Outside, he breathed in clean cold air. The wind had picked up, carrying with it the taste of the open sea. Overhead, gulls wheeled and dived in the swirling winds. He needed to clear his mind, try to think straight.
At the end of North Street, he crossed into Gregory Place, a narrow access road that paralleled the cathedral wall towards the harbour. He changed course at the ruins of Culdee Church, doubled back along the pathway that led to the castle ruins. He stopped at the path’s peak, gripped the black wrought-iron fence and stared out to sea.
Sixty feet beneath him, waves thrashed the rocks.
A tooth. Had it come to that? And a jacket. Why had he not told them the truth?
He remembered the jacket clearly now. Dark blue, a present from Kelly to Jack, a Christmas gift that she seemed to wear more often than Jack. She wore it to the New Year party – dark blue jacket and dark blue jeans. With her blonde hair and even tan, Gilchrist thought he had never before seen anyone as beautiful. Jack had told him that she loved to slip it over whatever she was wearing, to keep out that cold Scottish weather, that dreich and dreary dampness. He smiled at the memory of her American accent tripping over the Scottish words.
‘Dreich,’ Jack had said to her, ‘with an eegh not an eek.’
‘Dreek,’ she had replied.
Gilchrist watched a pair of gulls tumble in the wind, then he fixed his gaze on the grey horizon. Was this what it was all coming down to? Thirty years of a police career sucked down the drain because of a cigarette lighter and a tooth?
CHAPTER 19
He called Gina Belli on the number registered in his mobile’s log, but it rang out. He then tried the St Andrews Bay, managed to confirm that she was still resident and asked the receptionist to pass a message to her to hold the lighter until he collected it.
Then he went to find Stan.
The jacket was barely recognizable as a piece of clothing. What appeared to be rotting strips of material had been the collar and sleeve and part of the front, the rest having disintegrated to more or less nothing. The name tag had been removed for forensic analysis. But what had looked like a clump of dirt in a pocket, had been a tooth wrapped in the silver foil from a chewing-gum packet.
Gilchrist remembered it now, the rugby game the weekend before, in the days before gumshields were the norm. Jack had dived at a loose ball and been booted unconscious by a poorly aimed clearance kick. The tooth had cracked above the root, and had to be extracted.
‘So where does that put us, boss?’
‘Nothing changes, Stan. We still have a murder to solve.’ And even as he said the words, he knew he did no
t have long to go.
‘It’s not looking good for Jack.’ Stan scratched his head. ‘Is it, boss? With the fight outside the Keys, and the assault charge and everything.’
‘Jack could take care of himself,’ Gilchrist said, ‘but he would never harm a woman. That you can bet your life on.’
Stan nodded and turned away, as if unconvinced.
Who could blame him? ‘I think Kelly was sexually assaulted,’ Gilchrist said.
Stan turned around. ‘Boss?’
‘Think about it, Stan. She was wearing a jacket. When they found her, she was not wearing knickers. Jacket with no knickers? Doesn’t sound right, does it?’
‘Maybe she was changing and got interrupted.’
Gilchrist shook his head. ‘The jacket, Stan.’
‘Maybe the killer put it on after she was killed.’
‘Why?’
Stan scratched his head, for once out of ideas.
‘And now they have Jack’s tooth, Tosh will try to force-fit the evidence to get the result he wants. And have me fired or demoted at the same time.’ Gilchrist pursed his lips, raked his hair. Or even charged, he thought. Tosh. He wished he had never met the man, never confronted him. But looking back, he would have done it all over again.
‘What are you doing?’
Tosh had turned, chest heaving with the anger of the moment. At his feet, a woman sat huddled in a puddle, arms protecting her head, strands of hair striping her face like wet string. Gilchrist had not known if she was shivering from the cold, or from the kicking.
‘What are you doing?’ he asked again.
Tosh adjusted his jacket, his muscles bulging. ‘Making an arrest,’ he panted.
Gilchrist stepped around him, aware of the animal strength of the man. He reached down, took hold of the woman’s hand, pulled her to her feet. Her clothes clung to her, cheap and sodden. Mascara streaked her cheeks like oil. She could have been sixteen, maybe younger. She ran the back of her hand under her bloodied nose.
Gilchrist removed his leather jacket and hung it over her shoulders. ‘Would you like to register a complaint?’
‘She’s a fucking hoor, is what she is.’