Eye for an Eye

forest whose damp scent seemed to come at him from the ground at his feet.
    He reached the covered vestibule and rang the doorbell.
    Thirty seconds later, a flicker of light at eye level told Gilchrist he had just been spied on through a peephole. Another flicker, then a key clicked, and the heavy weather-door was pulled open with a crack like splintering wood.
    ‘Alex,’ said Gilchrist. ‘Good to see you again.’
    ‘Fuck do you want?’
    ‘To come in, for starters.’
    ‘Got a warrant?’
    ‘Don’t need one. Been suspended.’ Gilchrist stepped into a hallway, rich with wood wainscoting. Intricate cornicing rimmed the high ceiling like frosting on a wedding cake. ‘This is nice, Alex. You’ve done well for yourself. Must cost a lot to maintain.’
    The door slammed shut.
    Alex Granton, also known as Alex Cockburn, alias ‘Fats’ Cockburn to Strathclyde Police and law-enforcement agencies throughout the nation, stood with his back to the door. The buttons on his white shirt strained to contain his belly. Black eyes blazed.
    ‘Bit far from home, Gilchrist. Take a wrong turn?’
    ‘Like I said, I’ve been suspended.’
    ‘Caught with your cock in someone’s mouth?’
    ‘This is a friendly call, Alex. Let’s keep it that way.’
    Granton glared at him.
    ‘I didn’t know they paid male nurses enough to maintain a mansion in Newton Mearns.’
    ‘Fuck’s it got to do with you?’
    ‘Just asking.’
    ‘If you must know, I day trade.’
    ‘Expert with computers now, are we?’
    ‘Know enough to get around.’
    ‘I bet you do.’
    ‘Fucking fortune last year.’ Granton’s mouth twisted into an ugly sneer, then he gave a beefy chuckle. ‘Fuck did you take home?’
    ‘A lot less than you, I’m sure.’
    Gilchrist slipped his hand inside his leather jacket, and Granton stiffened, as if expecting to find a handgun aimed his way. ‘Mind if I put this here?’ said Gilchrist, and placed his plastic bag of books on a hall desk inlaid with coloured wood.
    In the lounge, a silver tray with handles curled like leaves sat on a trolley in the corner. Crystal decanters that glowed with the warmth of their contents stacked its shining surface.
    Gilchrist removed the stopper from a ship’s decanter. ‘Mind if I have a drink?’ he said, and poured himself a hefty measure. The fiery liquid salved his throat. ‘Not bad.’ He held the glass to the light. ‘What is it?’
    ‘Bruichladdich. Twenty-five-year-old Special Reserve.’
    ‘Didn’t know you were a whisky connoisseur. Real ale’s more my style.’ He poured another glass and handed it to Granton, who downed half of it in one gulp. ‘You’re supposed to sip single malts, Alex.’
    Granton finished it off, poured an even bigger measure, then eyed Gilchrist over the rim. ‘Fuck do you want? I did my bit yesterday,’ he said. ‘ID’d the old man’s body. Here to get me to sign off on more fucking paperwork?’
    ‘Interesting choice of words.’
    ‘What is?’
    ‘I heard you didn’t like Bill, so I’m intrigued as to why you would elevate him to old man.’
    ‘She tell you that?’
    ‘She?’
    ‘Liz.’
    Gilchrist waited a beat, then said, ‘Liz gave me the impression you loved her.’
    ‘Fuck’s that got to do with anything?’
    ‘I must say I was surprised when your mother told me her maiden name.’ Gilchrist took a sip of whisky, but kept his eyes on Granton. ‘Cockburn.’ He shook his head. ‘Took me a while to make the connection, but once the old wheels start turning they take some stopping.’ He looked down at the rug on which he stood, and flexed his legs. ‘Feels nice, Alex. This expensive, too?’
    Granton polished off his whisky and returned the glass to the tray with a metallic smack that should have cracked it. ‘You’ve got ten seconds to tell me what the fuck you want,’ he growled, ‘then I’m calling the police.’
    ‘I am the police.’
    ‘Thought you were suspended.’
    ‘Temporarily.’
    ‘You always were a smarmy bastard, Gilchrist. Time’s up.’
    Gilchrist let Granton walk to the phone on the side table by the five-seater sofa and pick it up before he waggled a finger and said, ‘I wouldn’t do that, Alex, if I were you.’
    ‘You’re not me.’
    ‘No one knows I’m here.’
    ‘Fuck off.’
    ‘If you want the whole world to know where I am, just keep going.’
    Granton slammed down the phone. ‘Fuck do you want?’
    ‘To talk about a couple of things.’
    ‘Fuck should I answer