Eye for an Eye

misaligned hits that connected with dulled effect.
    ‘Care to join me?’ he asked Sa.
    ‘I can’t. I’ve got all this—’
    ‘In that case I’d like to report a public disturbance,’ he said. ‘Market Street. Outside the Central.’ He held his mobile toward the scuffle for a few seconds, then returned it to his ear. ‘Did you hear that?’
    ‘Can’t you arrest—’
    ‘Nope. Suspended.’
    Gilchrist disconnected and slipped his phone into his pocket. Sa would be livid. But no matter how many hours DeFiore had them working, she would have to respond to a public disturbance.
    He pushed past a heavy-set spectator and stepped into the tussle. He grabbed the nearest battler by the hair, pulled him off his opponent, twisted his arm up his back and marched him onto the pavement.
    He shoved him hard against the wall.
    Out with the handcuffs. Click once, twice, and the guy looked in drunken disbelief at his wrist locked to the pub’s door handle.
    His opponent swayed, chest heaving, the tip of his nose skinned and bloodied. Clenched fists swung by his side, as if demanding something to hit. Gilchrist approached him and sidestepped an arm that whipped in front of his face. Then he grabbed the flailing limb and twisted, pushing high and hard against the shoulder blades. The drunk gave out a dulled scream and fell to the ground like a lump of meat.
    Gilchrist followed him down and dug his knee into the small of his back. He fought the short kick of resistance then felt the slump of defeat as the fight went out of the guy. He grabbed a handful of hair and jerked the head to the side.
    Spittle slavered from bloodied lips in angry gasps. ‘My arm. You’re breaking my—’
    ‘Up.’
    Gilchrist pulled the drunk to his feet and frog-marched him off the street. He thudded him against the pub wall and ordered him to stand. With only one set of handcuffs, it was not a good idea to lock the two together. So he waited.
    The crowd began to move away, seemingly disappointed.
    ‘You you and you,’ snarled Gilchrist, pointing to three men who looked as if they had seen the bottom of a beer glass at breakfast and every hour since. ‘You’re witnesses.’ He pointed to a spot near the door. ‘Over there.’
    Like trained dogs, they obeyed, and stood silent in their positions. A few minutes later, a police Transit van drew up, and the gathering dispersed like leaves in the wind.
    The two fighters, now subdued and both handcuffed, were bundled into the back with barely a murmur. Sa appeared from College Street, a police radio at her ear. The witnesses were pointed out to her and she scribbled down their personal details and a brief witness summary. When she finished her preliminary interrogation, she instructed them to report to the Police Station to give a formal statement.
    Approaching Gilchrist, she said, ‘Citizen’s arrest, was it?’
    ‘Keeping in touch.’ He nodded to the Central. ‘Beer’s getting warm,’ and returned inside. His pint stood on the table where he’d left it.
    Sa sat down beside him.
    ‘Thirsty?’ he offered.
    ‘Can’t. I’m on duty.’
    ‘When did that ever stop you?’
    ‘DeFiore’s got us doing more door-to-door.’
    ‘Hard taskmaster, is he?’
    ‘Makes Patterson look like a clueless lump.’
    ‘Nothing’s changed then.’
    Sa forced a smile.
    ‘How about a coffee?’ he asked.
    ‘Why not?’
    Gilchrist ordered Sa’s coffee and carried it back to the table. As she took a sip, he was surprised to see her hands shake. The pressure to catch the Stabber had the entire east coast police force desperate for a breakthrough. And with the Scottish Crime Squad involved, others would be suffering likewise.
    ‘What happened to your hand?’ he asked her.
    ‘What?’
    ‘Your wrist. It’s bruised.’
    Sa lifted her left arm and turned it around.
    ‘The other one.’
    She studied two scrapes on the inside of her right wrist. ‘Must have knocked it jumping over Granton’s wall.’
    ‘Next time use the front door. It’s never locked.’
    Sa’s smile failed to reach her eyes.
    ‘How long have you and Maggie been friends?’ he asked.
    Sa took a shaky sip of coffee. ‘Why?’
    ‘She knew Alex Granton as a child. Did you know that?’
    ‘She grew up here.’
    ‘And you must have known Alex, too.’
    ‘Hardly at all. I never liked him.’
    ‘But you must have seen him around, spoken to him.’
    ‘Not for donkey’s.’
    ‘Remember when?’
    ‘What’s all this