Eye for an Eye

lay in the Police Mortuary in Dundee.
    When everyone was served, Mrs Granton sat in a floral-patterned chair by the fireplace, patted down her pleated skirt and took a delicate sip.
    ‘Okay, dear,’ she said to him. ‘Why are you here?’
    Gilchrist hesitated at her odd behaviour, then said, ‘Firstly, on behalf of Fife Constabulary, I would like to offer our deepest sympathy over the tragic death of your husband ...’
    ‘Another, dear?’
    ‘Pardon?’
    Mrs Granton nodded at his side plate. ‘Would you like another finger of shortbread?’
    ‘No thank you, Mrs Granton, I’m—’
    ‘Call me Liz,’ she said. ‘Please. Everybody knows me as Liz. Liz Cockburn.’
    ‘Cockburn?’ he repeated.
    ‘That was my name before I met William.’
    The name niggled somewhere in the depths of Gilchrist’s mind. ‘And you were married for how long?’
    ‘Forty years next March. The eighteenth.’
    ‘Forgive me. But why would everybody know you as Liz Cockburn?’
    ‘Because that’s my name.’
    ‘Yes, but why not Granton?’
    ‘I’ve never liked Granton. I much prefer Cockburn. It sounds so much more Scottish, don’t you think? Another piece of shortbread, dear? It’s my own recipe.’
    ‘No, thank you, Mrs, eh, Liz, I’m all shortbreaded out.’
    She smiled. ‘I can tell Sa was right about you. She said you were a nice man. There’s not a lot of you around.’
    ‘I’m sorry?’
    ‘Nice men,’ she said. ‘You’re few and far between.’ Her eyes misted over, then she blinked and said, ‘More tea, dear?’
    ‘No, really, Mrs—’
    ‘Liz.’
    ‘Right. Liz. No. Thank you.’ He glanced at Sa. He could have been a mouse between two cats. He forced himself to focus and said, ‘I was told you declined to identify your husband’s body.’
    ‘Alex can do that.’
    ‘Your son?’
    ‘I called him this morning as soon as I heard. He said he’d be very pleased to identify the body, and that it wasn’t before time.’
    ‘Are you saying Alex was pleased to hear ...’
    ‘Not pleased, dear. Delighted.’
    ‘Oh.’ Gilchrist sat back.
    ‘He didn’t like him.’
    ‘Did he have good reason?’
    Mrs Granton glanced at Sa, and Gilchrist had a sense of Sa having given her permission to speak out. ‘He knew William hit me.’
    ‘He
hit
you?’
    She tilted her head back in an act of silent defiance. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘He hit me. Many times.’
    Gilchrist leaned forward. ‘I’m sorry, but I have to ask. How, exactly, did he hit you?’
    ‘Usually with his fist. Never in the face. William was clever that way. Sometimes he would whip me across my back with his belt.’
    Gilchrist struggled to keep his voice level. ‘How long had that been going on?’ he asked.
    ‘Since before we were married.’
    Gilchrist clawed a hand through his hair. He wanted to ask why she had married someone who beat her, but instead said, ‘Were you ever injured?’
    ‘Often. William once cracked six of my ribs. I was in bed for over two months.’
    ‘What did you tell the doctor?’
    ‘That I fell down the stairs.’
    ‘And he believed you?’
    ‘Why wouldn’t he?’
    Something swept through Gilchrist then. A sense of the futility of it all. ‘And the belt whippings?’ he pressed on.
    ‘I never went to the hospital unless anything was broken. He fractured my arm once.’
    ‘And you reported none of this to the police?’
    ‘No.’
    ‘What about Alex? Did he do anything?’
    ‘He threatened to report William to the authorities.’
    ‘And did he?’
    ‘No.’
    ‘Why not?’
    ‘I asked him not to. William said he would throw me out of my home and leave me penniless if I reported him.’
    ‘But surely you—’
    ‘It was my choice, Inspector. For better or for worse. Those were the vows I took. The worse was the beatings. But the better was full of kindness. William could be the most charming man at times.’ She smiled, and the years seemed to fall away from her. ‘Most charming. And that’s the way I would like to remember him.’
    Something in her tone told Gilchrist the meeting was over. He stood. Sa did likewise.
    ‘No need to get up,’ he said to Mrs Granton. ‘We’ll let ourselves out.’
    But the old woman struggled to her feet with a dazed smile that had Gilchrist thinking she was not all there and that forty years of beatings had finally taken their toll.
    ‘I may come back later for a statement,’ he said to her.
    ‘Oh, that would be nice, dear. Do let me know when, and I’ll have