Tooth for a Tooth (Di Gilchrist 3)

by Muir, T. F.

  ‘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.

  ‘Stan told me you’d call,’ she said. ‘You’ve really done it this time, Andy. I don’t know what else to tell you. All the big guns are out. Rumour has it McVicar is going to make a personal appeal to you on the evening news.’

  Assistant Chief Constable Archie McVicar. For McVicar to take this unprecedented step, Tosh must have been able to pull some mighty big strings. ‘What’s Tosh telling everyone?’

  ‘That you hit him.’

  ‘I didn’t lay a finger on—’

  ‘He’s got cuts on his face to prove it.’

  From fighting his way through hedges, he thought. But Tosh would gut him to the hilt, do as much damage to Gilchrist’s reputation as he could. Assaulting an officer of the law was a serious offence. And with the charges piling up, Gilchrist had no doubt which of the two of them, Tosh or himself, the jurors would believe. Jesus, he really was in—

  ‘Besides,’ Nance went on, ‘he’s threatening to pull me into it.’

  ‘How can he do that?’

  ‘Someone saw us.’

  Gilchrist raked his hands through his hair. ‘I’m sorry, Nance.’

  ‘Don’t be, Andy. Just turn yourself in.’

  The call ended.

  Gilchrist felt the strength in his legs leave him. He sat on the bed, the phone still pressed to his ear. Christ, without Stan or Nance kicking the ball for him, he really was on his own. He thought of phoning Greaves, but knew Greaves would not risk his career for such a maverick detective, and he came to see that he really had only the one choice.

  The phone was picked up on the third ring. ‘McVicar speaking.’

  ‘This is DCI Andrew Gilchrist, sir. I need to—’

  ‘Good Lord, Andy. Where on earth are you?’

  He could not tell McVicar that he knew about his imminent appeal on the news. That would point the finger to others. Instead, he said, ‘I intend to turn myself in, sir.’

  ‘That’s a wise move, Andy. Tell me where you are, and I’ll have someone pick you up. I’ll do what I can for you, but I’m going to have to play this by the book. You understand?’

  ‘I do, sir.’

  ‘I have to ask you, Andy.’

  ‘Sir?’

  ‘Is there any truth to these allegations?’

  ‘None whatsoever, sir.’ Not strictly correct. He still had the lighter.

  McVicar seemed to give thought to Gilchrist’s words. ‘I have to tell you that you’ve got yourself into one hell of a mess in this one, Andy. You do understand that, I’m sure. So I’m going to insist on Dugard representing you. He’s one of the best—’

  ‘Sir, I’m not turning myself in right away.’

  ‘You’re not? Good Lord,’ McVicar’s voice boomed. ‘The media have already got hold of this. God knows how they get on to things so quickly.’

  ‘Tosh, sir?’

  ‘Pardon?’

  ‘Tosh told them.’

  ‘Can you prove it?’

  ‘Probably not.’

  Silence, while McVicar digested his words. ‘That’s too bad. There’s something about that man that worries me. But regrettably we can’t go bending the rules where our own staff are concerned. We can’t be seen to be above the law. Do you understand what I’m saying, Andy?’

  ‘I do indeed, sir, but I do intend to turn myself in this evening.’

  ‘When and where?’

  ‘The where is the office in North Street. The when I’m not so sure about.’

  ‘You’ll need to do better than that, I’m afraid.’

  ‘I can’t, sir. All I can tell you is that I will turn myself in.’

  ‘I can give you until six o’clock, Andy. After that, you’re on your own.’

  Six o’clock meant that McVicar was intent on putting out an appeal on the evening news if Gilchrist was a no-show. Six was too early. ‘I’m going to have to ask you to trust me, sir.’

  ‘What do you think I’m doing, Andy? A warrant has been issued for your arrest. After six, I’m afraid I can’t help. Think about it, Andy. Will you do that?’

  With that, McVicar hun
g up.

  Gilchrist replaced the phone. McVicar’s tone warned him that this case had climbed to the topmost branches, probably to the Superintendent. Could he blame them? Tosh would have presented a compelling case – Jack’s tooth, his DNA, a secret witness to confirm he and Kelly argued a lot, Jack’s fight outside the Keys with Branscombe. Even Jack’s letter to Kelly could be used against him. How would it look to the public if one of Fife’s finest was found guilty of removing evidence that could convict his brother for murdering his girlfriend over thirty years ago? It would be seen as a cover-up. How could the public ever trust the Force again? Heads would roll. McVicar’s, Greaves’, maybe even Superintendent Blanefield’s. Nothing would ever be the same. And all the while, praise and glory would be piling on to Tosh’s head.

  But Gilchrist also knew that as all the stops were out on this one, his calls to Stan and Nance’s mobile phones would be in the process of being tracked. He figured he had about ten minutes, probably less, before Megs’ house would be overrun with police officers, cars, dogs and anything else Tosh could throw his way.

  He found Megs in the kitchen.

  ‘What’s got you in such a tizzy?’ she asked.

  ‘Do you have a car?’

  ‘If you can call it that.’

  He grabbed her by the arm. ‘I need you to do me a favour.’

  ‘Steady on, Andy,’ she said, tugging her arm free. She looked at him as if seeing him for the first time.

  ‘Get the car keys,’ he said. ‘I’ll explain on the way.’

  Gilchrist stuffed everything into his computer case and lugged it over his shoulder. He followed Megs out the back door, along a slabbed path to a single garage that sat back from the house and could not be seen from the road. Megs seemed to take for ever to unlock it. By the time he swung the door up and over to reveal an old Vauxhall surrounded by a household’s worth of bric-a-brac, he caught the sounds of police sirens in the distance.

  He threw his computer case into the back seat. ‘You drive,’ he ordered.

  ‘If it starts.’

  ‘When did you last have it out?’

  ‘Couple of months ago.’

  Gilchrist wondered if he should just skip over the neighbour’s hedge and make a run for it. ‘Megs?’ he urged.

  She glared at him as she opened the door. Then her look softened as she focused on something in the distance. ‘Those sirens,’ she said. ‘They’re after you, aren’t they?’

  ‘It’s a long story, Megs. Please?’

  ‘Right.’ She bundled herself on to the driver’s seat. ‘Fingers crossed.’

  Gilchrist groaned as the engine clicked. Nothing. The battery was as flat as—

  Another click, followed by the empty rattling of an engine running on no fuel.

  Not flat battery. Faulty starter motor.

  Another click, but this time the starter motor engaged and the engine burst into life. It held for a moment, threatened to stall, then gave a healthy snarl. A blast of grey exhaust erupted from the car, causing Gilchrist to cover his mouth.

  Megs backed out of the garage and swung the car around, tyres crunching the gravel.

  The sound of approaching police sirens told him they were almost upon them.

  He slammed the garage door shut and jumped in beside Megs.

  The Vauxhall seemed to hobble down the driveway.

  ‘Doesn’t it go any faster?’

  ‘It takes some time to get going.’

  Shit. Time was not something he had.

  The Vauxhall bounced on to the road with a lunge that convinced Gilchrist its suspension was shot. Ahead, a police car careened into the housing estate, lights flashing, sirens howling. Gilchrist flipped a lever at the side of his seat and pushed back. The seat folded flat with a jerk that made him grunt in surprise. But at least he was out of sight.

  He almost felt the rush of air as the police car tore past them.

  He pulled himself up and watched out of the rear window, worried that the trail of exhaust would lead them to Megs’ house. But the police car passed it and slid to a broadside stop as the driver made a mess of a U-turn. Smoke poured from its wheels as it backed up, then again as it leaped forward and screeched to a stop in front of Megs’ driveway.

  Tosh was first from the car. Three constables spilled out after him, bodies thickened with body armour, carrying tasers and what looked like baton guns. What the hell had Tosh told them? At the entrance to the driveway, Tosh gave directions with one hand, mobile pressed to his ear with the other.

  The scene vanished from sight as they rounded a corner that brought them to a junction.

  ‘Which way, Superman?’

  ‘Right.’

  Megs obliged, powering the Vauxhall forward into a sweeping turn.

  Two motorcycle policemen passed them before Gilchrist had time to duck. But with the siege action up ahead, they did not so much as glance at Megs’ Vauxhall.

  Gilchrist pulled his seat upright, felt himself breathe a little easier as the seconds ticked by. How long would it take Tosh to realize no one was home and he could kick down the door? One second? Two? Something seemed to have snapped in him. He had heard it in the phone messages, seen it in the angry flush of his face as he led the assault on Megs’ house. An image of a cowering prostitute on a rain-soaked street flashed into his mind, and he felt a surge of regret at not having followed up to the hilt all those years ago.

  They reached another junction, and Gilchrist gave directions. He glanced at Megs, saw she had paled. ‘Are you all right?’ he asked.

  ‘It’s about Kelly, isn’t it?’ she said, and looked at him.

  ‘Eyes on the road, please.’

  ‘I never thought that of you, Andy, that you would harm a woman.’

  Gilchrist understood her dilemma. In her eyes she was helping a murderer escape the law. What else was she supposed to think?

  ‘When they question you,’ he said, ‘just tell them that I asked you to give me a lift, and that you had no idea I was on the run.’

  ‘You killed her, didn’t you?’

  ‘No, Megs. I didn’t kill her. But they’ve found evidence that links Jack to her.’

  ‘So why are you on the run?’

  Gilchrist smiled at the logic of that question. ‘It’s personal,’ he said. ‘Someone doesn’t like me and is out to get me.’

  ‘Why?’

  She’s a fucking hoor, is what she is.

  Gilchrist shrugged. ‘Who knows,’ he said.

  They drove on in relative silence, Gilchrist giving directions, Megs obeying without a word. They turned into Cupar’s main thoroughfare, and Gilchrist directed her through the backstreets. Five minutes later, they pulled into a small office complex and parked at Gilchrist’s instruction.

  ‘Thanks for the lift,’ he said to her.

  ‘I’m not stupid, you know.’

  ‘I didn’t say you were.’

  ‘There’s only one reason you’re here,’ she said, and nodded to the square building.

  ‘I’m only going to ask some questions,’ Gilchrist said.

  He slipped from her car and walked towards the surgery.

  CHAPTER 29

  The waiting room murmured with the subdued stirrings of a seated group.

  Someone coughed. Behind Gilchrist, a door clicked shut. He was instructed to take a seat and told he would have to wait at least forty minutes. Dr Ewart had appointments through to midday. Gilchrist did as ordered, but kept his eyes on a board that displayed four names, each with a small light beside them. All glowed red.

  He did not have long to wait until the light next to Dr Ewart’s name turned to green. He marched down a short hall to Ewart’s office, gave a hard rap and entered.

  Ewart looked up from his desk, down at his files, then gave a twisted smile. ‘You don’t look like Mrs Forrester.’

  A small voice from behind Gilchrist said, ‘I’m sorry, Doctor. I couldn’t stop him.’

  ‘That’s all right, Annette. Insp
ector Gilchrist won’t be staying long. Will you?’

  ‘I shouldn’t think so,’ Gilchrist agreed. He waited until the door closed behind him, then pressed his back against it. They would not be disturbed so readily next time. ‘I have a bit of a problem,’ Gilchrist began. ‘It seems that the case I’m working on has turned a bit too personal.’

  ‘I don’t understand.’

  ‘I’d like to ask you a few questions.’

  ‘Sit down, sit down. Take a seat.’

  ‘I’d rather stand.’

  ‘Well in that case, I’ll join you.’ Ewart pushed his chair back and walked around his desk. He was a good three inches shorter than Gilchrist, but seemed to prefer that to being seated. Gilchrist thought the polished, dark-brown brogues and tartan trousers with inch-high turn-ups were a bit over the top, even for a Highland doctor. But Ewart had never been renowned for his sartorial wisdom.

  ‘How long did you go out with Lorena?’ Gilchrist asked him.

  Ewart frowned. ‘Who?’

  ‘Lorena Cordoba. And don’t even think about denying you know her, Dougie. I’ve got photographs.’

  ‘Photographs?’ Ewart paused as if some thought had just struck him. ‘Lorena,’ he said with some emphasis. ‘Cordoba? From way back when? That Lorena?’

  ‘Were there any other Lorenas?’

  ‘I didn’t go out with her at all, as best I can recall.’

  ‘Not even for a few days?’

  Ewart pressed his lips together, shook his head.

  ‘Not go on holiday with her?’

  ‘No.’

  That was the first lie, Gilchrist thought. ‘Ever been to Spain?’ he asked.

  ‘Once,’ he said, too quickly, as if Gilchrist was asking questions to which Ewart was primed for the answers. ‘And no, Lorena wasn’t with us.’

  ‘Us?’

  ‘Me, Brian and Johnnie.’

  ‘Brian Fletcher and Johnnie Walker?’

  Ewart nodded. ‘What’s this all about?’ he asked. ‘Has she been murdered?’

  Right question. Wrong woman. ‘Why would you think that?’

  ‘Isn’t that what you do? Investigate murders?’

  ‘And missing people.’

  ‘Ah,’ Ewart said.

  ‘And what about Mexico?’

  ‘What about it?’