Eye for an Eye

creaked. At the sound, Tyke lifted his head and peered glassy-eyed at the empty chair, then gave a whimper and returned his head to his paws.
    Sadness swept through Gilchrist at the thought of having to take Tyke to the vet. But in his chirpiest voice, he said, ‘Walkies?’
    Tyke’s head lifted and his ears tweaked up. Then he jumped from the ledge, ran across the room and sat under a leather lead on a hook behind the door.
    Gilchrist kneeled and attached it to Tyke’s collar. ‘We could both do with a bit of fresh air, Tyke. What do you say?’
    Tyke trundled along the hallway, Gilchrist behind him, the old dog coming alive with the promise of a walk into a world of different smells. And Gilchrist wondered when his own life had last been as unencumbered. He called the vet to confirm the surgery was open, and to explain about Tyke. The receptionist told him to come whenever he was ready. An idea struck Gilchrist then, and he decided to take Tyke for a long walk first, before darkness fell.
    On the grassy slopes by the West Sands, Tyke scratched the ground with grumpy growls, as if he knew his time to kick up clawfuls of sand was coming to an end. On the return journey, Gilchrist visited each of the spots where the Stabber’s seven victims had been found. Not that he expected to uncover anything new by doing so, but the Stabber’s case had become such a force in his life that it seemed he might suffer withdrawal symptoms if he did not think about it. He puzzled that Tyke livened at each infamous location, as if his canine senses picked up the scent of their brutal history.
    By the time they reached the vet’s, Tyke’s fur smelled like damp wool. Gilchrist handed him over, and his parting image of Old Willie’s dog was of sad eyes looking up at him, fearful of what was about to happen.

CHAPTER 29
     
    Something in his walk with Tyke fired Gilchrist’s mind, and being the stubborn fool Gail had always taken him for, he determined to give Maggie one more go.
    Back at her cottage, he tried the doorbell, once, twice, then wondered if she had decided to work her last two nights at Lafferty’s after all. He was about to turn away when a movement on the high stone wall that bordered the cottage caught his eye.
    A black-and-white cat, more white than black, eyed him from the top of the wall, its coat glistening in the light from a coach lamp on the gable end. Gilchrist held out his hand, intrigued that the cat’s markings seemed oddly familiar.
    ‘Here, puss, puss,’ he whispered. ‘Here, puss.’
    The cat arched its white back in a slow stretch and let him chuck it under its chin. Gilchrist smiled as it purred. ‘There’s a good puss,’ he said, and felt his fingers catch on the cat’s collar. He tugged at the name tag and in the light from the coach lamp read the name etched into the disc.
    Patter.
    Gilchrist pulled the tag closer, felt the cat resist, but held on and read it again. He was not mistaken. Patter.
Pitter patter
, he heard Garvie’s voice whisper in his mind.
    Patter. Pitter’s twin. If cats had twins, that is.
    ‘I know your sister Pitter, Patter,’ he said, and smiled at the formation of the words. ‘I know where she lives.’ He chucked Patter under the chin some more, then stopped, his mind all of a sudden firing with something improbable.
    I know where she lives.
    Pitter? Patter? Two cats in two homes?
    Connected by a common thread?
    I know where she lives, his mind echoed.
    Wild thoughts flashed through his brain, the logic trying to spin away from him. He pulled out his mobile phone and called Terry Leighton.
    Four rings, and he was through.
    ‘It’s Andy Gilchrist here. I left a message.’
    ‘Oh yes yes. Sorry I never got back to you.’
    Gilchrist ignored Leighton’s apology. ‘Beth gave you a photograph. Were you able to determine what was wrong with the cat’s face?’
    ‘Oh yes yes. It’s a scar from a cut. Quite a horrific cut. You can see it quite clearly using a magnifying glass.’
    ‘Were you able to digitally enhance the image?’
    ‘Oh yes,’ said Leighton. ‘The poor creature appears to have suffered a severe injury. It has a scar running from above its left eye, down through the eyeball. It must have been completely blind in that eye. The scar misses the nose and splits the lip. Judging from the shape of the cat’s face, it must have been quite deep. Particularly around the nose. I suspect, with such a deep cut, considerable force was used.’
    ‘So