Eye for an Eye

a hug.
     
    After a light lunch of peppered haddock garnished with the reddest tomatoes Gilchrist had seen since Gail divorced him, it was time to leave. Chloe covered the canvas with a paint-stained bedsheet and loaded it into the back of his Mercedes.
    They shook hands and pecked cheeks and Jack promised to call about Gail. Chloe promised to try to persuade Jack to take a weekend in St Andrews over Christmas. Like a child going on holiday, Gilchrist tooted the car horn and waved out the window until Chloe and Jack slid from view behind the towering corner of their tenement building.
    One night away from the job seemed to have worked wonders for his energy level, and he bustled through the Glasgow traffic like a teenager. He joined the M8 at Charing Cross and had moved into the outside lane when his mobile rang.
    ‘You’ve fucked it up this time, Gilchrist.’
    ‘What’s the weather like in St Andrews?’
    Patterson gave a forced laugh. ‘You’ve heard the news, I gather.’
    ‘Any results on the blood?’
    ‘Listen to me, Gilchrist. When I say you’re suspended, that means you’re suspended from active duty until I reinstate you. Got that?’
    ‘I don’t remember reporting in—’
    ‘I’ve received a formal complaint. Filed by Alexandra Garvie. Name ring a bell?’
    ‘Sounds familiar.’
    ‘She says you more or less forced your way into her house.’
    ‘More or less? What does that mean?’
    ‘You entered her house uninvited, Gilchrist. Good Lord, man, do you deny it?’
    ‘Of course I do. I was polite. She was helpful—’
    ‘What the hell were you doing asking her questions in the first place? You were suspended, for Christ’s sake.’
    ‘I was following up a hunch.’
    ‘Are you listening to me? You were suspended. And you still are suspended. I’ll be formally writing to the ACC with my personal recommendation that you be asked to submit your resignation forthwith. Do you understand, Gilchrist?’
    ‘More or less.’
    Patterson sighed, and Gilchrist caught an image of a pockmarked face bulging red. ‘You really are an annoying piece of—’
    ‘I’m losing you ...’ Gilchrist clicked off his mobile.
    Damn it. If he ever had doubts about Patterson having it in for him, they were now history. It made little difference that others more senior liked Gilchrist. He had disobeyed a direct order. And with Garvie’s complaint, and Patterson’s recommendation, his career was finished.
    He gripped the steering wheel. But what had he done to make Garvie complain? He thought back to his interview, to her cat on the window sill, to the coal bunker out the back, to the beads of sweat on her forehead when she had opened the door. Exercising, she had explained.
    Now that was interesting.
    One of the main objections raised to the Stabber being a woman was strength. She would need to be strong to overpower a man. Garvie looked strong. And fit. And she had invited Gilchrist in, walked away from the door and let him follow.
    So why had she complained?
    Gilchrist played over the possibilities, but came back to the same conclusion. His career was about to be terminated.
    Which meant he had nothing to lose.

CHAPTER 17
     
    ‘Sa, Andy here. I need you to do me a favour.’
    ‘For God’s sake. You can’t keep calling.’
    ‘You’re beginning to sound paranoid. What’s up?’
    ‘Patterson’s lost it. And DeFiore never had it. Is that clear enough for you?’
    Gilchrist smiled. Sa’s feistiness was refreshing. ‘I need you to get me a copy of a report.’
    ‘Let me guess. Garvie’s complaint?’
    ‘You know about it?’
    ‘The whole Office knows about it.’
    ‘Can you get me a copy?’
    ‘No can do.’
    ‘No can do? Or no want to do?’
    ‘No can do. Patterson’s delivering it personally to McVicar this afternoon.’
    Damn. Once McVicar received Patterson’s report it would be only a matter of time until Gilchrist was called before him. ‘Have you spoken to Garvie?’ he asked.
    ‘Are you crazy? She’s off limits. That’s a direct order from Patterson.’
    ‘Even for DeFiore?’
    ‘Already interviewed her.’
    ‘And?’
    ‘And nothing.’
    ‘You sure?’
    ‘Sure I’m sure. What’s so special about Lex anyway?’
    ‘Nothing. Just a hunch.’
    ‘About what?’
    ‘Something doesn’t fit.’
    ‘Give it up, Andy. DeFiore interviewed her this morning. Your hunch is wrong. If you want my advice, which I’m sure you don’t, but I’m going to give it to you anyway, stay