Eye for an Eye

You’re a darling.’
    ‘Yeah, I love you, too, Andy.’
    Did he have it all wrong? Had Patterson and Sa simply confused where they were meant to meet? Then he saw it with a clarity that stunned him. He glanced at his watch. Just after 8:45.
    Less than fifteen minutes.
    Could he make it in time?
     
    The clouds are shifting, giving a glimpse of a wan moon and a frosted sky. Again I am reminded of Timmy. Of my mother. Of the three of us staring out through a frosted bedroom window. And of snow falling. I watch Timmy’s face break into a smile. My mother’s, too. And I realize we were a close family once.
    I feel the weight of sadness overwhelm me as I imagine how it might have been to have led a normal life, a life with Timmy in it, an older brother to talk to when our mother died. I imagine visiting Timmy’s home, sitting his children on my knees, hearing their voices whisper words of love.
    An icy breeze covers the moon with tattered strips of clouds. I can almost hear Timmy’s children call out to me.
    And I wonder why the raindrops no longer feel cold.
     
    Maybe it was driving at speed that honed his mind razor sharp to make sense of the most tenuous of connections. In all his years as a detective, he had never been able to put a finger on it and say,
Yes, now I understand how the mind rationalizes the irrational
. Perhaps that was how a sixth sense worked, brain cells sorting through nonsensical jumble, calculating improbables at a subconscious level while five other senses were tuned in to the real world. But no matter how that tenuous connection was made, Gilchrist knew he had made another.
    Beth’s attacker. And trainers. That’s what he had seen from Stan’s car on the way to the hospital. Someone walking past, wearing trainers.
    White. Clean.
    He tucked his mobile under his chin and powered the Merc through a tight bend. ‘Nance,’ he growled, ‘put Stan on.’
    Nance obliged.
    ‘Yes, boss?’
    ‘Where are you?’
    ‘Just pulling into the Office now, boss. DeFiore’s called for a debriefing.’
    Damn. Even if Stan could get out of the meeting, it would take him ten minutes to catch up. Gilchrist would have to go it alone. But Stan could help in other ways.
    ‘It’s come to me, Stan. He was wearing trainers.’
    ‘I don’t follow.’
    Gilchrist was not sure he followed the rationale himself, but said, ‘When you drove me to the hospital, I remembered seeing something odd. I couldn’t place it. Not until a moment ago. A pair of trainers, Stan. They were new. Not old. They didn’t fit.’
    ‘You all right, boss?’
    ‘Not the size. The profile.’
    ‘Profile?’
    ‘Of the person. They didn’t fit the profile. An old man wearing new trainers. It looked all wrong.’ He twisted the wheel, accelerated up the hill, felt his back press into the seat. ‘That’s when it clicked. Like the scruffy guy I saw from the Victoria Café. He was wearing trainers. And they were clean.’
    ‘Would you like me to make you another appointment?’
    Gilchrist almost laughed. He floored the pedal. He whipped past two cars and a van and hammered through a wide corner. ‘I didn’t recognize him at the time. But I do now. Sebastian Hamilton. The man who attacked Beth. And me.’
    ‘You sure?’
    Yes, Gilchrist wanted to say. I’m dead sure. But he wasn’t. Nowhere near. ‘Sure I’m sure,’ he lied, and heard only silence come back at him. Not quite the reception he expected. ‘Norris did speak to you, Stan. Right?’
    ‘He did.’
    ‘And told you to bring in Hamilton for indecent exposure?’
    ‘He did.’
    ‘And?’
    ‘He’s been evicted.’
    ‘What are you telling me, Stan?’
    ‘He wasn’t home, boss.’
    ‘So where is he?’
    ‘No one knows.’
    ‘Hang on.’ Gilchrist braked for a tight bend then accelerated out of it. Ahead, the road rushed at him from tunnelled darkness, its wet surface glistening under the glare of his headlights. A glance at the speedo, almost eighty, had him easing back a touch. He would be no use to anyone wrapped around a tree. But the thought that he was already too late made him press his foot back to the floor.
    ‘Eh, boss?’
    ‘Still here.’
    ‘Has anyone told you what they found at Hamilton’s?’
    The unusual softness in Stan’s voice made Gilchrist lift his foot from the pedal again. ‘Go on,’ he said.
    ‘I’ve only just heard about it myself, boss.’
    ‘I’m listening.’
    ‘In his bedroom. A right mess it was. Paper clippings.