Tooth for a Tooth (Di Gilchrist 3)

seemed so innocent, it rattled alarm bells. They had found no watch or jewellery of any kind on the woman. Only the lighter. If the killer had removed her jewellery, if in fact she had ever worn any, why leave the lighter? Gilchrist grimaced at the thought. Had the lighter been overlooked? Or was he searching for clues where there were none?
    As he unzipped his coveralls, he struggled through his rationale.
    Was it possible the lighter had been deliberately left in the woman’s clothing? If so, did that mean the killer had known Hamish McLeod, had known that the family lair would be reopened in the future to bury Lorella, and the body found? It all seemed possible. But more troubling was the thought that for thirty-five years the murder had gone unnoticed, as if the young woman had simply been forgotten by all who had ever known her.
    Had her parents been alive? Would they not have missed their own child?
    Would she not have had friends, or siblings, someone who would have reported her missing? And now her remains had been found, would her killer worry about her murder investigation commencing? That thought troubled Gilchrist.
    After all these years, what secrets from the past was he about to uncover?

CHAPTER 2
     
    By the time Gilchrist left the cemetery the day was dying, clear skies turning a murky grey. A chilling dampness in the air hinted of rain to follow. The woman’s remains had been removed and bagged, as had the soil from the grave. Other than the rotting remnants of some clothing and the cigarette lighter, nothing of any real significance had been found. Somehow, just thinking about that lighter gave Gilchrist an urge to feel the hot hit of a cigarette. To change his thoughts, he called Nance, but ended up leaving a message.
    He stopped by Lafferty’s. Six thirty, and night had already begun.
    Fast Eddy winked as he caught his eye. ‘Usual, Andy?’
    ‘You talked me into it.’ Gilchrist rested his elbow on the counter and eyed the pint of Eighty-Shilling as its creamy head filled the glass and threatened to foam over the top.
    ‘First of the day?’
    ‘And gasping for it.’
    Fast Eddy machine-gunned a laugh. ‘All that sunshine works up a right thirst,’ he said. ‘Enjoy it while you can. It’s supposed to be pissing by the weekend.’ He eased the pint from under the tap. ‘I’ll never understand why you don’t put on any weight. You stopped eating or something?’
    ‘Stopped smoking.’
    ‘I had a cousin who gave up smoking. Put on three stone in three months. That’s a ton of beef, let me tell you. Three stone? He’d love to know your secret. What are you now? Ten? Ten and a half?’
    ‘Almost twelve last time I looked.’
    ‘Get out of here.’ Fast Eddy mouthed a silent whistle and glanced at a blonde who had risen from the bench seat that backed on to the street window. ‘With you in a sec, love,’ he said, giving her a smile and a wink. He slid Gilchrist’s pint over. ‘Here you go, Andy. This one’s on me.’
    Gilchrist raised his eyebrow. ‘What’s the occasion, Eddy? My birthday’s not until the end of the year.’
    ‘I think I’m about to get lucky, if you know what I mean.’
    Gilchrist lifted his glass to his lips. ‘Thought you were settling down with Amy.’
    ‘A man would be a fool to fight nature, Andy. Shagging to a man is as natural as breathing. It’s his instincts, is what it is.’ He winked, then lowered his voice. ‘Now what would a man do with that, I ask myself.’
    Gilchrist thought the blonde looked over-tanned. With her mobile phone to her ear, and navy-blue jacket and trousers, she looked every bit the businesswoman. She caught his eye at that moment, and he gave a quick smile, then returned his attention to his Eighty-Shilling. The beer tasted cold and creamy, and he had just opened the sports page of the
Daily Record
when he sensed someone beside him.
    ‘I was told I might find you here.’ Her jacket heaved with sunburned cleavage. She thrust out her hand. ‘Hi,’ she said, her lips twisting in a crooked smile that warned Gilchrist to be careful. ‘I’m Gina.’
    He caught her American accent, placed her somewhere in the New York area. Her grip felt businesslike, firm and brisk.
    ‘Andy,’ he said.
    ‘And I’m Eddy. Nice to meet you, Gina,’ he offered, giving one of his best Irish smiles.
    She kept her eyes on Gilchrist. ‘Detective Chief Inspector Andrew James Gilchrist,’ she continued, ‘of the St Andrews Division of