Eye for an Eye

tub of hummus from the fridge. She pulled a bottle from the wine rack and filled a glass to the rim then gulped it back, almost emptying it straight off.
    She spread the toast with hummus, but her hands shook when she lifted it to her mouth and she returned it to the plate and gripped the corner of the work surface. She counted to ten before releasing her grip. But the shaking started again, a tremor that seemed to take hold of her. She felt the hot nip of tears and lifted her fingers to her cheeks. Her sobs, quiet at first, hardened with each intake of breath, until she sank to the floor and let the tears flow.
     
    Gilchrist was first into Old Willie’s flat.
    He walked through to the front room, Tyke trundling around his feet, and found Old Willie seated in his favourite armchair, his mouth and eyes open as if Death had stalked into his home and caught him by surprise.
    A paramedic brushed past and pressed the back of his hand against Old Willie’s neck then looked up and shook his head. Gilchrist said nothing as the paramedic kneeled on the threadbare carpet and pushed up the old man’s trouser legs. He squeezed the right leg first, then the left, then moved to the right arm and slid up the shirt sleeve.
    Old Willie’s arm looked like bone clad in skin. How anyone could find a muscle, let alone determine if it was slack or tight, defied the imagination.
    ‘Looks like he just slipped away,’ said the paramedic. He leaned forward as if to stare into Old Willie’s eyes, then pressed the lids down. But Old Willie remained as stubborn in death as he had been in life. His lids refused to close, settling into a heavy-lidded stare like a stunned drunk.
    ‘Would anyone like a Highland terrier?’ Gilchrist asked. ‘Goes by the name of Tyke. And house-trained.’
    ‘Sorry, mate. Four kids is enough for me.’
    Gilchrist turned to the others. ‘Anyone?’ he asked.
    No one took up the offer.
    In the kitchen, the smell of faecal matter was thick enough to taste. He raised the sash window and let fresh air waft in. He found the source of the smell under the work surface in a space that had once housed a washing machine, but in which now lay a shallow-lipped plastic tray. Old Willie had been proud of having house-trained Tyke.
That dog’s got mair sense o’ hygiene than some o’ thae mucky louts that roam the streets
, he had once told Gilchrist.
    Gilchrist removed a plastic bag from the cupboard under the sink and tipped Tyke’s litter tray into it. He twisted the top of the bag and sat it beside the hall doorway. From there, he listened to the metallic clatter of a gurney being unfolded and wondered if Old Willie’s body would oblige them by straightening out from its seated position.
    No one in the front room seemed to notice Gilchrist’s absence, so he closed the kitchen door. To the side of the kettle, tucked underneath the wall cabinets, sat three white ceramic pots. Embossed lettering on each cracked lid led Gilchrist to the sugar container.
    He removed the lid, tipped the sugar through his fingers into the sink. A plastic bag fell into his waiting hand. He shook it, scattering trapped sugar crystals, then removed the tight roll of twenty-pound banknotes and slipped it into his pocket. Next, he turned on the tap, returned the emptied pot to its spot, and popped the lid back on.
    Fifteen seconds later, he had the sink cleaned.
    As he made his way along the hall, Old Willie was being gurneyed from the front room inside a black body-bag, zipped up and strapped down. From the angular protrusions, he saw the team had been unsuccessful in unfolding him.
    In the front room, Tyke sat on the window ledge, nothing more than a wooden shelf Old Willie had mounted level with the bottom of the window so that his tired old dog could look out at the activity on the street below. But now Tyke had no interest in the outside world and eyed his master’s empty chair with a cataract look of uncertainty.
    Gilchrist leaned down and smiled as Tyke’s tail squirmed. ‘There’s a good boy,’ he said, scratching the dog behind its ear. The fur was thick and matted and had about it a smell of old age and oily clothes. He dug his fingers deeper. Tyke twisted his head and grumbled with pleasure, and together they watched the ambulance take Old Willie’s body away.
    It felt odd being alone there with Tyke. This had been Old Willie’s home for as long as Gilchrist had known him. As if sharing his concerns, the old building