Tooth for a Tooth (Di Gilchrist 3)

book to him. ‘You have two copies of
Pride and Prejudice
, but only one of others by Jane Austen. Why is that?’
    Megs shrugged. ‘Sometimes I buy books I’ve forgotten I’ve read.’
    Maybe Gilchrist was mistaken. ‘One copy looks new,’ he said. ‘The other is second-hand. This one.’
    Megs glared at him. ‘What’s this about, Andy?’
    ‘You said all your books were bought, gifted, or stolen.’ He glanced at the cover. ‘Which was this?’
    ‘If it’s second-hand, it would have been given to me. If it isn’t new, I didn’t buy it.’
    He nodded. ‘So it was given to you,’ he said. ‘From who?’
    ‘I can’t remember.’ She reached out. ‘Let me see.’
    Gilchrist pulled it back. He would be interested in seeing whose fingerprints they could lift. On the other hand, the absence of fingerprints might confirm who had not touched it. He opened the front cover and read out the penned tribute.
    ‘Happy Birthday. Lots of love, Brian.’
    She looked at him. ‘Who’s Brian?’
    ‘I thought you might tell me.’
    ‘How would I know? It was given to me second-hand.’
    ‘But who by?’
    ‘What d’you think I’ve got? A photographic memory? I can barely remember what day of the week it is, and you’re asking who gave me a book I haven’t read in years?’
    ‘How many years?’ He did not want to prompt her by putting words in her mouth. He needed to hear the name from her own lips without hint or coercion. ‘I’m asking you to think,’ he tried. ‘What was going on in your life when you read this?’
    Megs frowned, as if giving his question some thought. ‘I can’t remember.’
    ‘Try when you were at university.’ Not a direct hint, but as close as he wanted to go.
    Something seemed to spark behind her eyes. ‘It’s Wee Johnnie, isn’t it? That’s why you want me to show you a photograph.’
    Gilchrist would have preferred direct recall rather than deductive reasoning, and felt saddened that it had come down to this. ‘Think,’ was all he said.
    ‘It might have been Johnnie,’ she said. ‘He sometimes gave me stuff. Mostly drink, so he could get me drunk and screw me. That’s all he really ever wanted to do, drink and screw. And he was no good at either.’
    Not quite the recollection Gilchrist had hoped for, but it opened up other possibilities in his thinking. Was it possible Megs had taken the book herself? Could she be involved in Kelly’s murder more directly? Kelly had been fit and strong, but she would have been no match for Megs in terms of muscled bulk.
    ‘Maybe you picked it up at a party some night and didn’t return it.’
    ‘What d’you mean? That I stole it at a party? Whose party?’
    Megs was either telling the truth, or was a decent liar. ‘Rita’s?’ he offered.
    Something seemed to settle into Megs’ mind at the mention of Rita’s name. She stared at the tribute, at the cover, back to the tribute, then glared at him. ‘That cheapskate bastard.’
    ‘Who?’ Gilchrist asked.
    For an instant, she seemed lost. ‘Wee Johnnie,’ she blurted.
    But in that moment’s delay, Gilchrist thought he caught her lie.

CHAPTER 28
     
    Megs found the photograph she was looking for.
    Wee Johnnie Walker, not quite so
wee
in this image, with an arm as tight as steel around Megs, one hand firm on her biceps, the other holding a bottle of San Miguel. Ripped muscles striped his stomach, pecs cut square like a boxer’s. Megs looked bloated and white beside him. They could have been any Scottish student couple, happy in each other’s drunken company, except that the location did not fit. Palm trees lined the street. Off to the side, the lazy waters of some sea lay as smooth as glass.
    ‘Loret de Mar,’ she said. ‘Costa del Beer. Thought I was going out for a week’s romancing in the sun. All Johnnie wanted to do was drink.’ She glared at the photograph. ‘That was us after breakfast. When I look at this now, I don’t know what he saw in me. Laurel and Hardy were a better-looking couple.’ She let out a laugh like a cough. ‘I think he was just racking up his score.’
    Why take you to the Mediterranean? Gilchrist wanted to ask. Wee Johnnie looked as if he was nursing a hangover. Beer for breakfast. Hair of the dog? His body was tight, trim. Sinewed muscles seemed to invade his face, making him look hard and unforgiving. Wisps of a chin-only beard added to the Mexican bandito look. Was that what had attracted Lorena? Megs, on the other hand, looked