Eye for an Eye

evil.
    Nothing ever seemed the same after that. My father never lifted me and spun me around any more. I never saw my mother smile again. And my brother, Timmy, developed a stutter that stayed with him the remainder of his short life. As for me, I started punching and kicking Sandy, my one-eyed teddy that had been passed down from Timmy.
    When Sandy stared at me dead-eyed, the way my mother did, I battered him the way my father battered her. When Sandy stared back at me still, I took a kitchen knife and stabbed out his other eye. I cried when Sandy had no eyes. Until I realized that, without eyes, Sandy could not watch my hatred grow, or see the pain spread like a fungus over my mother’s wrecked face.
    Poor old blind old Sandy.
    Three weeks later, I stabbed out his brains.
     
    Gilchrist burst into the main office and stomped to his desk.
    He faced his team.
    ‘Everybody,’ he shouted.
    He waited until the group formed a loose scrum in front of him, then stared at each of them in turn. Young eyes gleamed back at him. ‘Someone’s been talking to the press,’ he said, ‘and I don’t like it.’
    Eyes shimmied to the side. Someone coughed.
    ‘Let me make this crystal clear. No one is to discuss this case with anyone outside this room. And that includes all senior officers, no matter who.’ He caught DS Nancy Wilson frowning. ‘Got a problem with that, Nance?’
    ‘Does that include DCI Patterson?’
    ‘You’re not listening.’
    Nance looked to her shoes. Someone chuckled – Baxter, perhaps. Stan almost smiled. Sa raised an eyebrow.
    ‘Every single scrap of information that leaves this office will leave this office through me,’ Gilchrist said. ‘Even if the ACC himself asks you about the case, you will direct him to me. You are following orders. Plain and simple. Is that clear?’
    The group gave a collective mumble of confused consent. His orders violated police protocol, but he had made his point. Any more leaks and he would go nuclear.
    ‘All right,’ said Gilchrist, ‘let’s move on.’ He turned to Baxter. ‘Has Traffic done its bit?’
    ‘North Street’s blocked off from Deans Court to College Street, sir. And all side streets and lanes in between.’
    ‘Each point manned?’
    ‘Closed to the public.’
    ‘Nance?’
    ‘Sir?’
    ‘Warrants?’
    ‘All in order,’ she said. ‘Eighty-two in total.’
    ‘Good. Stan?’
    ‘Boss?’
    ‘See to it that our media friends out the back are kept from the area.’
    ‘Got it, boss.’
    ‘You’ve all been briefed, so you know what we’re looking for. Anorak, dark green or blue. Jeans. Probably still wet from last night’s storm. But don’t bank on it. The staves could be from bamboo furniture, a bookshelf, a decorative screen, so anything that looks like it could be dismantled and whittled to a point, check it out. Look for shavings in the rubbish, the fireplace, marks on floors and walls. Be nosy. Snoop around. Don’t hold back. The smallest clue could be all it takes to nail this case. But remember, MacMillan has identified the Stabber as a young man. So anyone younger than thirty is to be considered a possible suspect.’
    ‘Sir?’
    Gilchrist eyed Nance. Other than Stan, she was the brightest of the young breed.
    ‘How reliable is MacMillan?’ she asked. ‘I’ve read his statement. It was coming down in buckets. He’s an old man. He was some distance away. He thought he saw a young man.’
    ‘Meaning?’
    ‘What if he’s wrong? From a distance, a woman might be mistaken for a man.’
    ‘Are you suggesting we should disregard his statement?’ Sa asked.
    ‘No. I’m saying he saw the Stabber’s face only during a flash of lightning. He could be wrong. That’s all.’
    ‘Nance is right,’ Gilchrist said, scanning the faces. ‘We don’t know who or what we’re dealing with. Best bet is someone young. We’ve a lot of ground to cover. So let’s get on with it. And Baxter?’
    ‘Sir?’
    ‘Watch those manners of yours.’
    Baxter coughed.
    ‘Right,’ said Gilchrist. ‘Debriefing’s at six,’ and left the room.
    Two minutes later, eight plain-clothes detectives and ten uniformed constables spilled from the Police Station and marched like a band of vigilantes up North Street toward the Abbey end, where they split into pre-assigned pairs – five to the north side, four to the south.
    Gilchrist eyed the stone wall that bounded the Abbey ruins and felt his gaze settle on the archway that defined the start of the