Eye for an Eye

road known simply as The Pends. When the Stabber turned into North Street, MacMillan was standing at the entrance arch. Gilchrist glanced at his watch, and said to Sa, ‘Let’s see how long it takes.’
    He strode down the shallow incline at the pace he imagined MacMillan might walk. When he reached The Pends, he stepped behind the crumbling entrance support and checked his watch again. Thirty-one seconds. He eyed the entrance to North Street and visualized the Stabber turning the corner. Once again, doubt crept through him. The Stabber could have known he was being followed, regardless of how cautious MacMillan had been.
    Gilchrist walked back to North Street, faster this time. Twenty-five seconds.
    ‘Right,’ he said. ‘The world record for the two hundred metres is less than twenty seconds. Assuming the Stabber’s not the fastest human on the face of the planet, then somewhere between here and two hundred metres is where he must have gone.’
    Sa stared along North Street. ‘Presuming he didn’t drive off, of course.’
    Gilchrist followed her line of sight. The spire of St Salvator’s, where Prince William resided, pierced the roofline like a marker that defined the limits of their enquiries. The Stabber could not have run that far in twenty seconds. Maybe Sa was right. He could have turned into North Street and driven off. Or hidden for a while, then driven off.
    That was possible.
    Gilchrist guided his team into action.
    Stan crossed the street to join WPC Liz Gregg, his partner for the door-to-door. Baxter and Clarke approached the first door on the left, armed with a warrant. Young and Mann the next. Stan and Liz stepped up to the first door on their list and Gilchrist caught Stan’s hand touch the back of her jacket, an almost unnoticeable contact that spoke volumes. Patterson had pronounced sexual relations forbidden between staff, on threat of termination. But as long as the job didn’t suffer, Gilchrist was happy to keep quiet.
    Wilson and Gray reached the top of a short flight of steps. From an opened doorway, a young woman with blond hair and blue denim jeans frowned at them.
    Gilchrist turned to Sa. ‘Did you talk to Patterson?’
    ‘About what?’
    ‘MacMillan’s statement.’
    ‘That’s old news, Andy. The ACC’ll have a copy by now. What’s your point?’
    ‘He talked to McKinnon.’
    ‘Patterson?’ she sneered. ‘He talks to everybody.’ Her gaze locked on to his in an unfamiliar moment of intimacy. ‘I wouldn’t give Patterson the time of day,’ she went on. ‘He’s violated the integrity of your investigation. You should file a complaint.’
    ‘He’d deny it.’
    ‘I’d support you.’
    ‘I didn’t know you cared.’
    ‘You’re being set up, Andy. Patterson wants you off the case. You know that, don’t you? And I don’t like it.’
    ‘What’s in it for him?’
    Sunlight burst through the grey clouds and Gilchrist noticed one of Sa’s eyes had more flecks of green in it than the other.
    ‘Safety,’ she said. ‘His.’
    Gilchrist frowned.
    ‘You threaten him,’ she added.
    As Sa’s words fluttered through his mind, he realized how little he knew of her. She had lived in St Andrews most of her life, never married, and lesbian rumours did the Office rounds from time to time. Gilchrist had never given them any credence and something in the way she now looked at him strengthened his belief.
    ‘Come on,’ he said. ‘Let’s go.’
    Sa turned, and Gilchrist found himself staring at Wilson and Gray as they stepped inside. As the young woman in blue jeans turned to close the door, Gilchrist thought he caught a glint of recognition in her eyes.
     
    ‘You should call the police.’
    ‘Cindy, I don’t even know what he looks like. What do I tell them?’
    ‘They’d have your call on record. If it happens again—’
    ‘Don’t.’ Beth closed her eyes, pressed her hand to her mouth. ‘Don’t say that.’
    Her body gave an involuntary shudder.
    In the small utility room at the back of her shop, she had run her hands under the tap for a full minute, scouring her skin and fingernails with a nailbrush, washing her wrists and forearms with hefty squirts of antibacterial soap. She had dried herself off and looked in the mirror, checked that nothing had dripped onto her clothes. And when Cindy arrived she had asked her to give her the once over, too.
    But the worst part had been swabbing the door handle, the glass panel, the entrance tiles, with soapy