Eye for an Eye

about?’
    ‘Alex Granton is also known as Fats Cockburn. You knew that, too. Why didn’t you tell me?’
    ‘What’s that got to do with the Stabber?’
    Gilchrist pulled out Granton’s photograph and slid it across the table.
    Sa stiffened. ‘Where did you get this?’
    The venom in her voice surprised him. ‘From Fats,’ he said.
    ‘You spoke to him?’
    ‘Last night.’
    ‘Where?’
    ‘Glasgow.’
    ‘You visited him?’
    ‘Yes.’
    A series of emotions shifted through Sa’s eyes until they stilled in a cold look Gilchrist had never seen in her. Then she picked up the photograph, ripped it in two, and slapped it onto the table with a smack loud enough for the barman to raise an eyebrow.
    ‘What do you think you’re playing at?’ she snapped.
    Gilchrist pulled the two pieces of the photograph toward him and slid them together. Alex’s left arm had been ripped from his shoulder. How appropriate, he thought. But a pre-teen Maggie and her pet cat remained intact.
    ‘What happened to the cat’s face?’ he asked.
    ‘I’m still waiting for an answer.’
    ‘So am I.’
    Sa glared at him. ‘Why are you doing this?’
    ‘I have an inquisitive nature.’
    ‘And that gives you the right to look into the past lives of my friends?’
    ‘Alex was your friend?’
    ‘You’re twisting my words, Andy. I won’t have it.’
    He tried to disassociate Sa’s voice from his memories of irrational arguments with Gail. ‘Has anyone figured out why Bill Granton was embezzling from the bank?’
    ‘Who told you that?’
    ‘Pub talk.’
    ‘Name?’
    ‘You know I can’t give you names.’
    ‘And you know I could have you arrested for interfering with an ongoing investigation.’
    ‘But that would mean Granton’s embezzlement is linked to the Stabber case.’ He watched his rationale work its way through her mind, then leaned closer. ‘Is that what you think?’
    ‘I think you should stay out of it, is what I think.’
    ‘Alex said the cat was Maggie’s pet,’ he pressed on.
    ‘Don’t push it, Andy.’
    He brushed a finger over the photograph. ‘So you don’t know what happened to its face?’
    Sa jumped to her feet. ‘Stay out of my private life, Andy. You got that? Just stay the fuck out of it.’
    The table wobbled as she stormed out.
    Gilchrist pulled the photograph closer. What about it had made Sa react that way? The cat? Fats? Maggie? His snooping around? What? The image of the cat was too small, the quality too poor to scrutinize it in detail. But the sliver of an idea was shifting in his head.
    ‘All things are possible,’ he whispered to himself.
     
    Beth locked the shop door.
    Beside her, Cindy tightened her scarf around her neck and puffed her breath into gloved hands. ‘Look at it,’ she said. ‘Ten past six, and it’s pitch black.’
    ‘Only four weeks to Christmas.’
    ‘Don’t say that, Beth. I haven’t even thought about presents yet.’
    ‘Don’t worry. Neither have I.’ After the warm stuffiness of her novelty shop, the night air smelled fresh. Beth looked up at the dark skies. ‘It’s supposed to snow this evening,’ she said.
    ‘You’re full of good news, I must say,’ moaned Cindy. ‘I’m missing the summer nights already. I hope it warms up for the weekend. Stewart’s driving down from Inverness.’
    ‘Again?’
    ‘He says he loves me. But I know he’s only after my body.’ Cindy giggled. ‘I can hardly wait.’
    ‘How long has that been now?’
    ‘A year come January.’
    ‘Isn’t it about time you proposed?’
    ‘No way, José.’
    Cindy was in her early twenties, a former student at St Andrews University who decided to take a year out. Three years ago. Since then, she had shown no desire to return to the penury of full-time study, preferring instead to work and date a string of well-to-do young men.
    ‘Talking about proposals,’ said Cindy. ‘That was a surprise seeing Andy again. Is it back on?’
    Beth gave a tight smile. Cindy was broaching a subject that was out of bounds. Beth’s affair with Andy had lasted almost two years, but she could acknowledge only now that she had loved him. And for the duration, they had each lived on their own, Beth in her luxury flat in St Andrews, Andy in his restored fisherman’s cottage in Crail. Perhaps if he had moved in they would still be together ...
    ‘Did you tell Andy about that creep?’
    ‘He said he would look into it.’ Beth felt her skin crawl. ‘Just the thought of