Eye for an Eye

happened. The man in her shop, Andy showing up, then Tom being late had her thinking it all happened for a reason.
    ‘Got held up,’ Tom had said as he pulled out the seat opposite. ‘You know what it’s like.’
    ‘No, I don’t.’
    ‘What’s that, pet?’
    ‘I don’t know what it’s like to get held up.’
    He picked up the menu. ‘Fancy a starter?’ he asked, and flagged down a waitress. ‘Double Grouse, miss. No ice. No water. And a bottle of Chianti.’ He eyed the tight fit of her skirt as she walked away. ‘What a day I’ve had. It’s dog eat dog out there.’
    Beth stared at him.
    ‘How was your day?’ he asked. ‘Busy behind the counter?’
    From his glazed look Beth could see he’d already had a few. Maybe more. ‘Not good,’ she said, and tried to catch the waitress’s attention.
    ‘Did you want something else, pet? Why didn’t you say?’
    ‘I’m saying now.’
    ‘Same again?’ He nodded to her glass. ‘What’s that?’
    ‘The usual.’
    ‘White wine?’
    ‘Dry white wine. With soda. And a slice of lime. Not lemon.’ The waitress caught her eye, and Beth tapped the rim of her glass and mouthed,
Same again
.
    ‘Mind if I smoke?’
    ‘We’re in the non-smoking area.’
    ‘Had a meeting with the bank this afternoon,’ he said, lighting up. He took a deep draw then exhaled. ‘Talk about tough.’
    All of a sudden, the futility of it all overwhelmed Beth. ‘I’ve had enough,’ she said.
    ‘What? You look fine. Have another wine.’
    ‘No, Tom. I’ve had enough of us.’
    He blinked, took another heavy pull.
    ‘I’m sorry, Tom. It’s not working.’
    Smoke powered from his nostrils. ‘Have another wine,’ he said again. ‘You’ll feel better.’
    Beth looked down at her handbag, stunned by the gap between them. She snapped the clasp shut then, as if seeing him for the first time, took in his ruddied face, his blotched skin, his shirt collar that seemed too tight for his thick neck.
    ‘I don’t want another wine,’ she said as she pushed back her chair. Her parting memory was of hairy fingers crumpling a long stub into the ashtray.
    Refreshed from her bath, Beth had a bowl of bran flakes with home-made tropical fruit salad. The forecast was scattered showers, so she grabbed her umbrella from the stand in the entrance porch.
    Outside, she took four steps and stopped.
    At first she thought the scratch on her car was a chalk mark, then she placed her hand to her mouth and whispered, ‘Oh, my God.’
    Up close, she saw the cut had not just scraped the surface of the paint, but had gouged exposed metal. She read the writing scratched on the boot.
     
    The hot sting of tears nipped her eyes as she dug into her bag for her mobile. It barely registered with her that she had not forgotten his number.
    ‘Andy?’
    ‘Beth? What’s up?’
    ‘He’s come back.’
     
    A frisson of ice ran the length of Gilchrist’s spine.
    ‘Where are you?’
    He had his leather jacket over his sleeve and his car keys in his hand by the time she told him.
    ‘I’ll be there in ten minutes.’
    He found Beth still standing by her car, and was surprised when she hugged him. Her body shivered, from cold or fear, he could not say. ‘Tell me what happened,’ he whispered.
    She did, then he called the Office and listened to Stan tell him that every man, woman and child who worked in Fife Constabulary and beyond had been assigned to the Stabber case. All leave had been cancelled, and DeFiore was really a slave-master in disguise who loved to whip his staff to death.
    And he’d been there only one day.
    As Stan moaned on, Gilchrist studied the passers-by on either side of the road. They all seemed oblivious to the act of vandalism on Beth’s car. In the end, all Stan could promise was to run a quick computer check on the Sex Offenders Register.
    Gilchrist slipped his mobile into his jacket and held Beth’s hands. She seemed unable to hold his gaze.
    ‘It’s him,’ she whispered. ‘He’s come back.’
    He had nothing with which to contradict her. He did not believe in coincidence. If two seemingly disparate events occurred within a short period of time, they were connected. Simple as that. All he had to do was work out how, why and who. But first, he had to help Beth.
    ‘Give me your car keys,’ he said, ‘and I’ll get an estimate for your insurance.’ He took her by the arm and opened the Merc’s passenger door. ‘Come on. You’ve got a business to run.’
    ‘I