Tooth for a Tooth (Di Gilchrist 3)

and cut through the slag in his mouth. He stuffed the container into the holder in the console, then tore open a packet of chewing gum he hoped would keep his breath fresh, or at least rid his mouth of the residual taste of stale alcohol.
    He strode up the gravel path. The grass either side lay neat and trim, and what he had at first taken to be a dark and dingy building was in fact an old stone residence that had been maintained with care. Window frames glistened with fresh paint. Plant beds looked dark and fresh and free of weeds. Even the lion flowerpots seemed more tame, the doorknob harmless.
    He pressed the doorbell, coughed his throat clear as the door cracked open.
    An attractive woman, who looked to be in her early fifties, stood before him.
    He tried a smile. ‘Jeanette Pennycuick?’
    ‘Yes?’
    He held up his warrant card. ‘Detective Chief Inspector Andrew Gilchrist,’ he said, choosing not to mention he was with Fife Constabulary. ‘I’d like to ask you a few questions.’
    ‘Questions? What about?’
    ‘Routine enquiry.’
    She frowned, as if uncertain whether to believe him or not.
    ‘Inside might be better,’ he suggested.
    ‘We’re running late.’
    ‘I won’t keep you.’
    ‘Problem, darling?’ The man’s voice blasted from the depths of the hall a moment before he, too, appeared in the doorway.
    ‘It’s the police, Geoffrey.’
    He was a good six inches taller than his wife, and glared down at Gilchrist like a Roman emperor about to give the thumbs-down. Gilchrist almost expected the petrified lions to spring to life. ‘Is there some problem?’
    ‘Routine enquiry.’
    ‘We’re running late.’
    ‘I won’t keep your wife long.’ Gilchrist wondered if they could see through his alcoholic glaze and know he had been pretty much legless the night before. He chewed his gum, but the fur persisted like moss in grass. Then, with a speed that almost made him start, Pennycuick removed a mobile from his suit pocket, a gesture at which his wife stepped back as if in resigned agreement.
    As Gilchrist followed her into the front lounge, he heard her husband bark into the phone that all his appointments should be pushed back one hour. Just how late were they running anyway?
    The front lounge looked and smelled of money. Cornicing bordered the high ceiling. The walls were dark, papered in a rich burgundy. A Bechstein grand piano stood in the corner by the curved bay window, cleared of clutter and glistening with the fresh sheen of varnish. Side tables, four in total, dark wood and polished, accompanied the seating, their tops littered with framed family photographs.
    Jeanette held out her hand, directing Gilchrist to a sofa close to the piano. As he sat, she took the chair opposite, conjuring an image in his mind of her listening to her husband playing.
    Gilchrist nodded to the piano. ‘Do you play?’
    ‘No.’
    ‘Your husband?’
    ‘The children.’
    On the table to his left, a gallery of framed photographs stood like a phalanx of some two-dimensional army. He eyed the closest frame. ‘Is this them?’
    ‘Yes.’
    ‘Names?’
    ‘Penny and James.’
    The boy looked frail and tired, barely smiling at the camera. Beside him stood a young girl, more attractive than beautiful, and he wondered what kind of parents would dare name their daughter Penny Pennycuick.
    ‘Gone to school already, have they?’
    ‘They’re both through university.’
    Pennycuick entered the front room, stuffing his phone into his inside jacket pocket. ‘Right,’ he said, ‘I have a busy day ahead. What’s this about?’
    Gilchrist rested his elbows on his knees, tempted for a moment to ignore him. ‘I’m here to talk to your wife,’ he replied. ‘So don’t let me keep you from your office.’
    ‘Hospital. I’m a consultant at the Western. And I drive my wife to the city centre. Who did you say you were with?’ he ordered.
    ‘I didn’t. But I’m with Fife Constabulary.’
    ‘Fife?’ He frowned. ‘Are you not out of your jurisdiction?’
    Gilchrist pulled himself to his feet. At six-one, he stood a couple of inches shorter than Pennycuick. ‘I can obtain a warrant, if that would make you feel more comfortable. Then we could talk at Police Headquarters in Glenrothes in a day or so.’ He let his words settle. ‘Or we can talk now. Informally.’ He smiled at both of them in turn. ‘Whichever way’s fine with me.’
    ‘How can we help?’ It was Jeanette.
    Gilchrist decided to remain