Tooth for a Tooth (Di Gilchrist 3)

are making me think you’re dumber than I—’
    ‘You don’t get it, do you? You’ve fucked up, Gilchrist. I have a warrant for your arrest.’
    ‘Well, here I am.’ He pulled himself forward, his face close enough that he could smell the man’s hatred. If he was not so exhausted, he might have tried some anger of his own. ‘If you had listened to me,’ he said, ‘instead of playing Rambo and running up a ton of man hours trying to settle some personal vendetta, Megs would not be anchored to the bottom of some water-filled quarry pit.’
    ‘Don’t try and slime your way out of this one so—’
    ‘If you hadn’t been so pig-headed,’ Gilchrist pressed on, ‘Megs would still be alive. Have you thought about that, Tosh? Have you thought about how your brainless stupidity caused a woman’s death?’
    Tosh’s eyes flared with a flicker of madness. He pushed back, slapped his hands on the table with a smack that should have cracked the frame, then stomped from the interview room, leaving Gilchrist with CI Randall.
    Gilchrist slumped back into his chair. His body demanded rest. His left wrist was swollen and bruised, and burning from the fire of broken bones. His right arm throbbed from shoulder to fingertips. His hair was matted with blood where he had split his skull from his lucky stumble by the quarry edge. Several more backward steps and it would have been his body the police divers were searching for, if they would ever have known where to look.
    He tugged the blanket around his neck.
    Randall pulled up his chair and faced him. ‘Can I get you anything, Andy? Tea? Coffee?’ He eyed Gilchrist’s wrist, raised his eyebrows. ‘A doctor?’
    ‘I’m all doctored out.’
    Randall gave a soft chuckle in response, but it was short-lived. He leaned forward. ‘I’d like to ask a few questions of my own, Andy,’ he said, glancing at the recorder to make sure it was still on. ‘Tell me once again what happened.’
    Gilchrist did, taking fifteen minutes to explain events leading to Megs being dragged over the quarry edge.
    ‘And then you phoned Bert?’
    ‘I did.’
    ‘You were naked. Where was your phone?’
    ‘I used Dougie’s. It was in his jacket.’
    ‘I see.’ Randall looked down at his notes. ‘And what did you tell Bert?’
    ‘That he should go to Megs’ house and retrieve two postcards. Megs kept a spare key under a flowerpot at the back door. It’s how Dougie used to get in.’ Gilchrist smiled at Randall’s puzzlement. ‘Although Dougie and Megs are divorced, they’ve been having an affair for over twenty years.’
    ‘And Dr Ewart gave this information willingly? About the key?’
    ‘He spoke to Bert of his own free will.’ Which was Gilchrist’s first lie. It had taken a foot pressed to Ewart’s broken shoulder to force him to agree to speak to Bert. Ewart’s squeals still rung in his ears. Well, the man had intended to kill him, after all.
    ‘That’s not what Dr Ewart is saying.’
    ‘Of course not.’
    ‘You didn’t coerce his cooperation by force.’
    ‘Is that a question?’
    ‘It is.’
    ‘When I told him what had happened to Megs, he collapsed. It was over for him, and he knew it.’ Which was his second lie. Ewart had cursed Megs to hell and back for having spoken out in Gilchrist’s presence. Then he had smiled up at Gilchrist, swore blind he would deny everything, until Gilchrist mentioned the postcards. The look that flashed across Ewart’s face told Gilchrist all he needed to know.
    The postcards were still intact, lying on the shelf, hidden by a cookbook.
    ‘I’m sure you realize, Andy, that without a warrant, any evidence obtained by Bert in an unofficial search of Megs’ house would be inadmissible in court.’
    ‘That’s true.’
    Randall seemed to rise up in his chair. ‘Then why did you order Bert to do it?’
    ‘I didn’t. Bert’s next-door neighbour is Sheriff Tyler.’
    ‘So Bert had a warrant?’
    ‘Of course.’
    Randall’s ice-blue eyes narrowed. For the first time that morning, resentment seemed to shimmer in them. But Gilchrist had sound reason for being unhelpful. Randall was senior to Tosh, and should have reined Tosh in. Not doing so broke whatever trust Gilchrist might have been prepared to extend to the man.
    ‘When did you next speak to Bert?’ Randall went on.
    ‘About an hour or so after I first spoke to him.’ Which was not exactly correct. By the time Gilchrist had limped naked into the nearest police station,