Eye for an Eye

ruddied from the cold November wind, hogged the space in front of the bar, forcing him to squeeze past and claim a seat at a table in the corner. He laid his gift-wrapped presents on the chair next to him and slipped off his jacket.
    He ordered steak pie, chips and peas, and a chilled Guinness. A television set on the far wall showed blue lakes and tree-lined fairways, and he tried to work out which US PGA golf tournament was being played. It was only when he took a sip of his Guinness that he glanced over the rim and saw her.
    Her short blond hair stood tight in tufts that looked wet. A white blouse hung loose beneath a dark blue cardigan that could have been mistaken for a man’s. Her muscle tone exuded a healthiness that seemed to make her gleam in the crowd. Lex Garvie was more than just attractive. But her companion intrigued him. The same woman he had seen with Maggie Hendren in Lafferty’s.
    He carried his glass across to their table and said, ‘Can I buy you a drink?’
    Garvie gave a smile as tight as a grimace.
    ‘Is that a gin and tonic?’ he asked the other woman.
    She frowned, as if puzzling over his presence, or perhaps thinking as Gilchrist was, that they had met somewhere before. ‘Vodka and tonic, actually.’
    ‘Double?’
    ‘Thank you.’
    Gilchrist detected a masculine hardness about her. A crumpled packet of Camel cigarettes lay in an ashtray on the corner of the table.
    ‘Ice and lime?’ he asked her.
    ‘Are you always this disarming?’
    Gilchrist was not quite sure what to make of her comment. He turned to Garvie. ‘I’ve ordered some food,’ he said to her, and nodded to his table. ‘I don’t mean to interrupt your evening, just to offer a drink.’
    ‘Glenfiddich then,’ she said. ‘No water. Plenty of ice.’
    He ignored her coldness. ‘Double?’
    ‘What’s the occasion?’
    ‘It’s my way of apologizing.’
    ‘For what?’
    ‘For poking and prodding.’
    ‘But not for thinking I could be involved?’
    ‘We have to be thorough,’ he said. ‘But if it helps, yes, that too.’
    Garvie looked away.
    Her bitterness puzzled Gilchrist. He was about to turn from the table when the woman by her side leaned forward and held out her hand. Nicotine tanned her fingertips. ‘We’ve never been introduced,’ she said. The strength of her grip surprised him. ‘Patsy,’ she offered. ‘Patsy Lynch.’
    He nodded. ‘Andy Gilchrist.’
    ‘I know all about you, Andy.’
    Hearing his first name spoken by a stranger sounded odd. He glanced at Garvie. Her eyes danced with anger. ‘I can’t help thinking we’ve met before,’ he said to Patsy.
    ‘You’ve probably seen me with Sa.’
    ‘I didn’t know you were friends.’
    ‘And Maggie. As you know.’
    Gilchrist nodded. ‘Of course,’ he said, then fished up an image of Patsy driving off with Sa as a passenger. ‘Land Rover Discovery. Dark blue. Dent in the driver’s door.’
    ‘You’ll be telling me the registration number next.’
    ‘My memory’s not that good.’
    Patsy gave a wry grin. ‘That’s not what Sa tells me.’
    ‘You still drive it?’
    ‘Sold it. Why? Looking to buy one?’
    ‘Just asking.’
    ‘That’s what he does,’ Garvie cut in. ‘Next thing you know he’ll be digging through your rubbish bin.’
    ‘Is that true, Inspector?’
    ‘Why would I want to do that?’
    ‘See?’
    ‘Why don’t I order your drinks?’ he said.
    ‘Good God. He even talks in questions.’
    Gilchrist excused himself and pressed his way to the bar where he paid for their drinks.
    When his steak pie arrived, he had to divert his eyes to avoid glancing over at Garvie. The attraction he felt toward her surprised him, and it puzzled him to hear that his visit to her home had upset her so much. He had been polite, not overly investigative, nor had he stayed too long.
    So what was her problem?
    On clearing his bill, he gathered his jacket and presents and stood up. A final glance toward Garvie and Patsy, faces fired with the heat of their conversation, had him thinking they would not survive the evening together.
    Gilchrist walked up North Street to the Police Station and told the desk sergeant that he was back to clear his desk.
    The back office had an eerie quietness about it, as if he had arrived seconds after some party had ended and left its echo in the walls. He found Stan behind a grey divider, sifting through a pack of files.
    ‘You look the way I feel,’ said Gilchrist.
    Stan started. ‘Bloody hell,