Eye for an Eye

nice.’
    ‘Me too.’
    ‘Let’s not rush anything, Andy. You hurt me. I don’t want to be hurt again.’ A pause, then, ‘Why don’t you call later and let me know how you got on with Terry?’
    ‘I’ll do that.’
    ‘Talk to you later.’
    He replayed their conversation in his mind and felt almost afraid that he could have resurrected their relationship. He had fallen for Beth hard, taken their break-up even harder. So how had he hurt her? Had it not been the other way round? And what had become of Tom Armstrong, the man with whom she had appeared to replace him so easily? He could ask these questions later. First, he had some facts to uncover. But Leighton’s number rang out, connecting to voicemail, and he left a message.
    Back in the bathroom, Gilchrist turned the shower up to hot. He flexed his muscles for a full five minutes under a roasting stream, feeling the heat work its magic.
    By 7:30 the skies hung dull and dark with banks of rain cloud. Outside, Gilchrist almost shivered. Cold enough for snow, he thought. Or was it too cold for snow? Was that not what his father used to say on days like this? And Old Willie. He could come up with the most peculiar phrase from time to time. Priceless information, too. Which had Gilchrist puzzling over his comment in Lafferty’s.
If I was you I’d watch Sam MacMillan
.
    Why MacMillan? What did Old Willie know about him?
    Gilchrist’s hunch about MacMillan had been proven wrong by Fats.
Fucking plonker. That the best you can do?
    It seemed to make no sense, but somehow a painter and decorator was mixed up in all of this. How? And why?
    Gilchrist knew of only one way to find out.
    The Merc started with a healthy growl. He cut through the miles to St Andrews in short order, parked by the harbour front and walked to where MacMillan had watched Granton being murdered. He was struck with the sudden thought that perhaps MacMillan was not homosexual but rather hiding behind that misconception. Why would he do that? Because if the police believed he had an overt homosexual relationship with Granton, they would not ask the question he dreaded: why had he extorted money from him? Was that it?
    Gilchrist removed his mobile from his leather jacket.
    Directory Enquiries gave him the number.
    MacMillan answered on the second ring.
    ‘Morning, Sam. Andy Gilchrist here.’
    ‘What do you want now, Mr Gilchrist?’
    ‘Honest answers to some honest questions, Sam.’
    ‘I’ve told you the truth.’
    ‘That’s today’s first lie.’
    ‘No it’s not.’
    ‘That’s the second.’
    ‘You really are an aggressive bugger.’
    ‘I’ve been called worse.’
    ‘Aye, son, I’m sure you have.’
    ‘Ready to talk?’
    ‘About what?’
    ‘Honesty being the best policy.’
    Silence.
    ‘What did you do with all the money?’
    ‘What money?’
    ‘The money Bill gave you for flashing his cock at you.’
    Silence.
    ‘That’s all it was, Sam, wasn’t it? There never was a homosexual relationship between you and Bill, was there? Bill had a fetish. He needed to expose himself in public. He got his thrill from knowing someone was looking. But he couldn’t afford to be found out. He couldn’t walk up to just anyone and open his coat and flash his cock. Not in a town the size of St Andrews. He’d lose his position at the bank before he had time to zip up.’
    Gilchrist paused to let MacMillan confirm his theory or deny it, but he heard only silence.
    ‘Every once in a while Bill would flash his cock at you, Sam,’ he went on. ‘Maybe even shoot a load or two in your direction. That way, his perversion was safe. You were friends from way back. He knew you would keep your mouth shut. As long as he gave you money. Make you both guilty in a manner of speaking. And you took the money, Sam. And kept quiet.’
    Silence.
    ‘I’ve checked the marriage register, Sam. You were married—’
    ‘So was Bill.’
    ‘But his wife didn’t desert him.’
    Silence.
    ‘She left you for a reason—’
    ‘She buggered off, is what she did.’
    ‘And left you holding the baby, so to speak.’
    ‘Fuck you, you wee shite.’
    ‘She left you with Louise,’ Gilchrist said. ‘Louise Samantha MacMillan. Your daughter.’ From the fumbling on the other end, he sensed MacMillan was struggling with his emotions. After several seconds, Gilchrist said, ‘I’m sorry, Sam. I’m truly sorry.’
    ‘So,’ MacMillan said with a defeated sigh, ‘you know all about her, what happened to her.