Eye for an Eye

her whisper, ‘Timmy.’
    He pressed his ear to her lips. ‘What about Timmy?’
    ‘It’s ... snowing.’ Her voice was as hushed as the wind.
    ‘Yes,’ he whispered. ‘It’s snowing.’
    ‘Snowing ...’ She coughed, choked, then tried to smile. ‘Snowing ... for Timmy.’
    ‘For Timmy,’ he said, and watched the light die behind her eyes. He turned away then, felt the burn of tears and thought back to the times they had argued, to the bitterness in her voice, the feistiness in her spirit, and wished she had told him of her pain, her troubles, her loneliness. He could have helped her. If she had only told him.
    When he opened his eyes, the snow flurries had thickened. Flakes were landing on Sa’s face, the tiniest of white feathers settling on the corneas of her eyes and melting into tears. He lifted his hand to her eyelids and closed them.
    He stumbled to his feet and staggered onto the path that ran along the side of the house, feet crunching and slipping on the tiny pebbles. He reached the back door and stepped inside.
    Patterson’s wife let out a short scream.
    ‘For God’s sake, woman. Shut up.’ Patterson turned his glare to Gilchrist. ‘Where is she?’ he asked.
    Gilchrist shook his head, too exhausted to be troubled talking.
    ‘Good God, man. Did you let her get away?’ Patterson opened a kitchen drawer and pulled out a long-bladed knife.
    ‘She’s dead,’ said Gilchrist.
    ‘Dead?’ Patterson’s chest seemed to inflate, and his back straightened. ‘Did you kill her?’
    ‘She killed herself.’
    ‘Well, then,’ said Patterson, and laid the knife on the work surface.
    It was only then that Gilchrist noticed a tear in Patterson’s uniform. ‘You’re bleeding,’ he said.
    ‘It’s just a scratch. Lucky for you.’ Patterson turned to face his wife. ‘Why don’t you make yourself useful for a change? Get me a whisky.’
    She turned to obey.
    ‘Mrs Patterson?’
    She stopped in the doorway, her face tense with uncertainty.
    ‘I’m sorry to have given you a fright,’ Gilchrist said, ‘when I barged in like that. I must look a sight.’
    She shook her head, then returned to the sink, ignoring her husband. She grabbed a cloth and wet it under the tap. ‘Here you go,’ she said, and dabbed the side of his face, close to the ear with the stitches. ‘You’ve got yourself in a right old mess. And you’ve cut yourself. Oh, dear. Quite badly.’
    ‘Do you mind if I use your phone?’ he asked her.
    ‘For God’s sake, Gilchrist. I’ve already called for an ambulance.’
    Gilchrist ignored the outburst. ‘May I?’
    ‘What in heaven’s name for, man?’
    ‘Oh, for goodness sake. Can’t you see he’s bleeding?’ And with that, she removed a cordless phone from a cradle on the wall.
    It felt so heavy that for one dizzying moment Gilchrist thought he was going to have to lay it down. He felt a surge of relief when he heard a booming voice say, ‘McVicar.’
    ‘Sir,’ he whispered. ‘It’s Andrew Gilchrist.’
    ‘Andy? You sound ...’ A pause, then, ‘Is it ...?’
    ‘No, sir. It’s the Stabber.’ The words seemed to come at him from a distance, as if they had been spoken by someone else. His peripheral vision was darkening and he knew he was running out of time. ‘You need to get over here,’ he said.
    ‘Where are you?’
    But McVicar’s voice was already fading and Gilchrist had time only to pass the phone back to Patterson’s wife before his legs gave out and he sank to the floor.

CHAPTER 34
     
    Voices came at him, faint and indiscernible, then faded, like birdsong carried off by the wind. He tried to open his eyes, but the effort seemed too great, as if his eyelids had clotted. Then he felt a sickening sensation of spinning, falling, floating down into some deep, dark place.
    He returned to the same dream.
    She stood before him, her arms outstretched, beckoning him to her. He held her gaze, uncertain of her intentions, his heart swallowed up by her beauty. Wisps of blond hair framed her face like threads of gold. She smiled, and in her smile he saw she wanted their lives to be the way they had been before their marriage broke up. He walked up to her, and she lifted her arm and struck at him with a bamboo stave. He saw it coming down at him, down at his eyes, hard and fast, its point bloodied and bright. But he could do nothing to stop it. He tried to scream.
    The voices returned.
    ‘Easy. Easy. Keep it level.’
    He was lying on his back, his head