Tooth for a Tooth (Di Gilchrist 3)

Yes. Tam. Have you seen Rabbie walking Tam this morning?’
    ‘Not yet.’ She glanced at her watch. ‘And I wouldnae expect to see him for another hour or so.’
    ‘Why’s that?’
    ‘Heard he got gubbed last night. He can be a right nasty drunk when he’s had a few, let me tell you.’
    ‘Do you know where he lives?’
    ‘Somewhere in town.’
    ‘Can you do any better than that?’
    ‘Sorry.’
    ‘Well, in that case, I’ll have another one of your bacon sarnies,’ then added, ‘You wouldn’t have a phone book by any chance, would you?’
    ‘You’re in luck.’
    While he waited for the bacon to fry, he thumbed through the pages, but found nothing under Robert Melrose. Perhaps he had no house phone, only a mobile. He returned the phone book to the counter. ‘Can’t find Rabbie Melrose’s number in here.’
    ‘That’s because he’s Rabbie McKerihar. Melrose is his sister’s married name.’
    Gilchrist found the number within seconds, entered it into his mobile and assigned Rabbie’s home address in Session Lane to memory. But the phone rang out and did not roll over to an answering machine.
    The cafe owner’s directions took him across the A917 into Charles Street, and had him at Rabbie’s door within ten minutes, in time to finish his coffee and crush the cardboard cup into a rubbish bin.
    The cottage reminded Gilchrist of his own before he purchased it. Paint flaked from the door frame and facia. Wet rot nibbled the window frames. Whitewash peeled from stone walls. The small garden was a patchwork of weeds and dog shit and urine-bleach marks. He set foot on the front step and was met by a barrage of growls and snarls. Something hard snapped at the door by his feet.
    He tried the doorbell.
    Tam let loose with a burst that stirred the hairs on Gilchrist’s neck.
    He rang the bell again, this time held it down. But it did little to drown the barking. Tam sounded demented. The door shivered as something hit it. Then silence, followed by a yelped whimper and a man’s curse.
    The door pulled open, and a man stepped into the chilled air, wearing a pair of boxer shorts that had seen better days ten years ago. The air filled with the smell of tobacco and stale beer. Red-rimmed eyes glared at him.
    ‘This had better be fucking good.’
    Gilchrist showed his warrant card. ‘Detective Chief Inspector Andrew Gilchrist.’
    ‘What’s this about?’
    ‘Are you Rabbie McKerihar?’
    ‘What if I am?’
    ‘Let me ask the questions, Rabbie. All right?’
    Tam’s growls turned Rabbie’s haggard face into a mask of anger. He turned and gave a growl of his own. ‘Back. Now.’ A bare foot at Tam rewarded Rabbie with a growl. He tracked Tam down the dark hallway, through an open door that he closed hard enough to loosen hinges.
    ‘Fucking nuisance,’ he said when he returned to Gilchrist.
    ‘Good guard dog.’
    ‘I can look after myself.’
    Gilchrist caught the grazed knuckles, the cut lip. ‘Even when you’re drunk?’
    Rabbie’s eyes narrowed. ‘What the fuck’ve I supposed to have done this time? It was a fair fight. He had it coming.’
    ‘Do you want to tell me about it?’
    ‘No really.’
    ‘Good,’ said Gilchrist. ‘I don’t want to hear it.’
    Rabbie’s sore eyes widened. ‘What’s this about then?’
    ‘Your sister.’
    ‘Linda?’ Rabbie’s face worked through a short display of surprise and confusion, then shifted to anger. ‘If anything’s happened to my Linda, I’ll have the bastards by the—’
    ‘Nothing’s happened to her.’
    Rabbie brushed the back of his hand across his mouth and chin, the stubble as grey as steel filings.
    ‘I need to talk to her,’ Gilchrist continued. ‘That’s all. Ask her a few questions.’
    ‘What about?’
    ‘There you go again, Rabbie, asking questions. Get dressed before I start on about last night’s fight.’
    Gilchrist could almost hear the wheels turn.
    ‘Give me a minute.’
    The door slammed in Gilchrist’s face.

CHAPTER 11
     
    Linda’s house was as clean as Rabbie’s was grubby. Paintwork glistened. Windows shone. Flowers that Gilchrist thought must have been imported at this time of year filled her home with the scent of spring. He counted three vases in the hall and six in the front room where he now waited. Overhead, the creak of floorboards gave him some bearing on Rabbie’s progress.
    Once the introductions had been made and Gilchrist had given Tam more ear-scratching than any dog deserved, Tam had