Eye for an Eye

Sin.’
    She led him straight to it, and together they stood in its lowest spot, the night-lights of St Andrews twinkling all around them, it seemed. With the salty smell of the cold night air, they could have been on a ship at sea, looking at lights on the shore.
    ‘The Valley of Sin,’ she repeated, then dipped forward. One step, two steps, and her knickers were in her hand. ‘Such an appropriate name,’ she whispered, as she lay down on the grass, her right arm reaching up for him. Even now, the memory of that moment could bring a smile to his lips.
    MacMillan came into view, walking past Deans Court. And sure enough, a pair of binoculars dangled from his left shoulder. Gilchrist waited until the old man was only a few yards from the corner of South Street, then crossed, unnoticed.
    ‘Sam.’
    MacMillan stiffened, almost backed away.
    ‘DI Gilchrist,’ he said, making sure his voice gave off the authority it had once possessed before Patterson emasculated it.
    ‘Buggeration, son.’ Sam slapped a thick hand onto his chest. ‘For a nasty moment there, I thought it was my turn.’
    Gilchrist stepped up to MacMillan, close enough to see the moisture in his eyes. ‘I didn’t mean to scare you.’
    MacMillan’s lips almost pouted. ‘Well, you’re going about it the wrong way.’ He tightened his grip on the binoculars and Gilchrist had an image of Sam as a younger man, tough and tight and a fearsome adversary.
    ‘Would you like to take a walk, Sam?’
    ‘I’ve just had one.’
    ‘It won’t take long.’
    ‘Where to?’
    ‘This way.’
    Down by the harbour, a stiff wind blew in from the sea, carrying the smell of salt and seaweed and the distant sound of surf crashing over rocks.
    Gilchrist walked along the stone promontory that sheltered the entrance to the harbour from northerly gales. Spray, fine as mist, drifted on the air. He looked up at the sky.
    ‘Sometimes I think Scotland’s the most beautiful place in the world,’ he said. ‘Other times I wish I was any place else.’ They reached the first of four breaks constructed in the wall, the stones inset to form a seating area. ‘What do you think?’ Gilchrist asked.
    ‘About what?’
    ‘About anything.’
    ‘I think you’re an odd sort.’
    ‘In what way?’
    ‘If you can’t answer that, Mr Gilchrist, how do you expect me to?’ His eyes narrowed and his stance widened, and again Gilchrist had the impression that MacMillan had once been a tough guy to face down.
    He held out his hand. ‘Binoculars?’
    MacMillan slid them from his shoulder and handed them over. Gilchrist focused on the gable end of the building where Granton was killed.
    ‘Did you spy on him from here?’ he asked.
    ‘On who?’
    ‘Don’t play buggerlugs with me, Sam.’
    MacMillan inhaled, then let it out in a defeated rush. ‘Next one back,’ he grumbled.
    Gilchrist walked toward the second cutback. ‘Here?’
    MacMillan nodded.
    Gilchrist raised the binoculars and scanned the harbour, shifting his view along the harbour building, the entrance to The Pends, the bridge, the black expanse of the East Sands, then back again. ‘It’s a bit far, Sam.’
    Another grunt.
    ‘I said, it’s a bit far.’
    ‘I didn’t want anyone to see me.’
    ‘No one would see you from here, I grant you that.’ Gilchrist lowered the binoculars and handed them back. ‘And even with these, you wouldn’t see much of Bill. If you get my meaning.’
    MacMillan retrieved his binoculars, flung the strap over his shoulder, and looked back at the harbour. Gilchrist did likewise, sensing that MacMillan was reliving the events of the previous night.
    Out here on the promontory, the waves would have crashed over the wall, the spindrift icy, the rain horizontal. MacMillan’s binoculars would have been useless. What could he have seen? And it was easy to lose your footing and stumble into the harbour. Why would he have put his life in danger?
    ‘What’re you thinking, Sam?’
    ‘Not a lot,’ he growled. ‘How about you?’
    ‘I think you’re in trouble, is what I think.’
    MacMillan glared at him, and Gilchrist had a real sense of the brute strength of the man. All of a sudden, being alone with him out there at midnight did not seem a sensible place to be.
    ‘Granton had two hundred quid on him,’ Gilchrist said. ‘All brand-new notes.’
    ‘So?’
    ‘So what was he doing carrying that kind of money around with him at night in the middle of a storm.’
    ‘How the fuck