Eye for an Eye

God, I’ll have your job
and
your pension.’
     
    Gilchrist clutched McVicar’s mobile. ‘Eddy, it’s Andy.’
    ‘How’s it going, mate?
    ‘Did Maggie turn up?’
    ‘Demanded her wages like she owned the place. Gave them to her and told her to piss off and never come back.’
    ‘When?’
    ‘About an hour ago.’
    ‘Walking? Or driving?’
    ‘Driving. Why? What’s the problem?’
    ‘What car’s she drive?’
    ‘Used to have a Volkswagen, but got rid of that for a Land Rover. One of those new ones. Discovery. Second hand, but I don’t know where she got the money. Not from doing overtime here. That’s for sure.’
    ‘Blue?’
    ‘Blew what?’
    ‘The colour of the Land Rover. Was it dark blue?’
    Fast Eddy gave a fast chuckle, and said, ‘Think so. But don’t quote me.’
    ‘One last question.’
    ‘Shoot, mate.’
    ‘Was she with anyone?’
    ‘Can’t say that I noticed.’
    Gilchrist bit his lip. ‘Thanks, Eddy.’
    ‘Gotcha.’
    Gilchrist laid the mobile on the central console. ‘We may already be too late, sir.’
    ‘Let’s give it a try,’ said McVicar, ‘shall we?’
     
    They pulled into Market Street before quarter to eleven. Gilchrist thought he had missed her, then saw a Discovery parked near the Whyte-Melville Memorial Fountain. He could not be sure it was Maggie’s. He walked toward it, brushed his hand over the driver’s door, felt the dent.
    McVicar stood beside him. ‘Care to share your thoughts, Andy?’
    Gilchrist shrugged. ‘Another one of my hunches, sir. I could be wrong.’
    ‘I see. Do I need to call for reinforcements?’
    ‘Not yet,’ said Gilchrist, and crossed the street.
    The painkillers were wearing off and the fire had returned to his side. He tried to hide his discomfort from McVicar, but once, when he almost tripped and grunted in pain, McVicar said, ‘Is this a good idea, Andy?’
    ‘Probably not.’
    They reached Maggie’s cottage, and Gilchrist was pleased to see a light in the dormer window and Patter sitting on the boundary wall. Once again, he worried that he had it wrong. He chucked Patter under the chin, felt the throat vibrate and his own lips tug into a smile. ‘Do you like cats, sir?’
    McVicar gave a wry grin. ‘Prefer to have a dog if it came down to it.’
    ‘Ever had a cat solve a murder case?’
    ‘Can’t say that I have.’
    ‘Say hello to Patter.’
    McVicar looked at Gilchrist as if he had lost his mind. But Gilchrist ignored him, pressed the doorbell, and kept his finger on it.
    From within, a voice complained, ‘All right, all right, hold your bloody horses.’
    The door opened with a jerk, and Maggie Hendren stepped onto the threshold.
    ‘What the bloody hell’s the ... Oh, it’s you.’ Her anger softened into bewilderment as she took in his condition. ‘What do you want?’ she asked.
    Gilchrist knew he looked dreadful. The paramedics had covered his stitched wounds with a bandage, which he had not even noticed until McVicar commented on it in the car. He caught Maggie’s shock of recognition as she noted McVicar’s uniform.
    ‘May we come in?’
    ‘What for?’
    Gilchrist ignored her defiant tone. ‘It’s to do with Sa.’
    ‘What about her?’
    ‘She’s dead.’
    Maggie’s lips threatened to purse, then broke into a forced smile that showed large teeth. ‘This is a joke. Right? A sick joke.’
    ‘I’m sorry,’ said Gilchrist, and watched tears well in her eyes. ‘We’d better come in.’
    Maggie gave the slightest of nods.
    Gilchrist ushered McVicar ahead, then followed him into a small lounge with a low ceiling. The room lay dark. A table and chairs sat at one end, a sofa and single seat at the other. Three suitcases lined the back wall. Near the corner by the front window a faded rectangle of wallpaper, as tall and narrow as a bamboo bookshelf, overlooked a strip of clean carpet like a spectral shadow of what used to stand there.
    Gilchrist waited for Maggie to wipe the tears from her eyes before asking, ‘When were you intending to leave?’
    ‘In the morning.’
    ‘Early?’
    She sniffed. ‘About six.’
    Gilchrist noted an airline ticket on the table. ‘Not the south of England.’
    ‘Majorca.’
    ‘Flying out of Glasgow?’
    ‘Edinburgh.’
    ‘You never told Sa?’
    ‘No,’ she whispered.
    Gilchrist glanced at the suitcases. ‘Plan on staying long?’
    ‘You could say.’
    ‘One-way ticket?’
    ‘You’ve got one guess.’ Maggie sniffed. ‘How did she ...?’
    ‘She