Eye for an Eye

away from her. Okay?’
    ‘Okay.’
    ‘I hear traffic,’ said Sa. ‘Where are you?’
    ‘Passing through Cupar,’ he lied. ‘Any results on the blood samples yet?’
    ‘You never give up, do you?’
    ‘The job’s my life,’ he said, and felt a pang at the truth of his words.
    ‘I’m sorry, Andy. I’ve got to go.’ Sa disconnected.
    Gilchrist had lied to Sa on impulse because of ... what? Because she had called the complainant Lex? He had never seen Sa and Garvie together. And Sa had given no indication that she had known Garvie. But Garvie had been with Patsy in the Dunvegan, and Patsy had given Sa a lift in her Land Rover.
    Did that mean anything?
    Now he had hung up, he could think of a dozen reasons why Sa would call Alexandra Garvie Lex. But it wasn’t the dozen reasons that intrigued him.
    It was only the one.
     
    Fast Eddy looked up from the pint he was pulling. ‘Andy. It’s your good self. Pint of Eighty?’
    Gilchrist shook his head. ‘Looking for Maggie Hendren,’ he said. ‘You seen her?’
    ‘Expecting her in later this evening.’
    ‘What time?’
    ‘Six. But I wouldn’t go holding your breath.’
    ‘She doesn’t look the unreliable type.’
    ‘Looks have eff-all to do with it, mate. Treats this place like she’s a part-timer.’
    A quiet voice from behind said, ‘Why all the interest in Maggie? You could make a woman jealous.’
    Surprised, Gilchrist turned around.
    Patsy faced him, cigarette in one hand, empty glass in the other. Without taking her eyes off Gilchrist, she said, ‘Same again, Eddy.’
    ‘With you in a sec, love,’ said Fast Eddy, and carried a pint of lager to the far end of the bar.
    ‘Going to join me for a drink, Andy?’
    ‘Too early for me.’
    ‘Eighty Shilling, is it?’
    ‘You’d be wasting your money.’
    She caught Fast Eddy’s eye. ‘And the usual for Andy.’
    ‘Gotcha.’
    She drew on her cigarette, her cheeks pulling in with the effort, smooth and angular. Top fashion models would kill for a jawline like that. But it made Patsy’s face look hard. In a downpour, from a distance, she might even be mistaken for a man.
    Smoke spilled from the side of her mouth. ‘I hear you’re divorced,’ she said.
    ‘It’s a small town.’
    ‘I can’t imagine someone with your looks being unattached for long.’ Another pull at her cigarette, another cloud of smoke. ‘But that’s not what I’m hearing.’
    ‘Put it down to pressure of work.’
    ‘Too many villains to chase?’
    ‘Something like that.’
    ‘You’re not dating?’
    Gilchrist shrugged. ‘Are you?’
    ‘I’m working on it.’
    ‘There you go,’ Fast Eddy said. ‘Ready for yours?’
    Gilchrist raised his hand. ‘Maybe later.’
    ‘Put one in the pipes, Eddy. My tab. There’s a good boy.’
    ‘Gotcha.’
    Patsy lifted her double vodka and tonic and stared into Gilchrist’s eyes. ‘You haven’t answered my question.’
    ‘Which one?’
    ‘Why all the interest in Maggie?’
    ‘Why would that make you jealous?’
    Her smile widened. ‘I’m not like the others.’
    ‘The others?’
    ‘Our little group.’
    Patsy. Maggie. Lex. Our little group?
    ‘In what way?’ he asked her.
    ‘You’re the detective.’
    Sa called Alexandra Garvie Lex. Patsy knew Sa. All of a sudden the rumours of Sa’s bisexuality seemed well founded. Patsy, Maggie, Lex. And Sa?
    Patsy took another pull at her cigarette. This time she inhaled and almost swallowed. Twin streams of smoke blew from her nostrils like an unspoken warning to back off.
    But backing off was no longer on Gilchrist’s agenda.
     
    Sebbie flattened his hands to his ears to press out the sound of the hammering on the front door.
    ‘Open this door, Mr Hamilton. We know you’re in there.’
    He pulled the quilt around his shoulders like a winter blanket. Spikes of pain shot through his stomach. He groaned and slipped a corner of the quilt into his mouth, the material soft between his teeth. The pain in his stomach drifted away for a blissful second.
    ‘Open this door, Mr Hamilton. We will not leave until you open this door.’ The wall by his ear gave a shiver, as if a sledgehammer had struck the framing. ‘Open up.’
    Another thud. A pause. Then again.
    ‘Open the door. This is your landlord. I have a legal right to enter my property. Open this door.’ The letterbox flapped, a tinny rattle against a booming background. ‘I’m not leaving until you let me in to inspect my property. Open up, Mr Hamilton.