Tooth for a Tooth (Di Gilchrist 3)

Gilchrist.’
    Gilchrist needed to press for one more answer. ‘Would you be prepared to go to court and give evidence?’
    Rabbie stepped forward. ‘You’ve had your final question.’
    ‘It’s all right, Rabbie, it’s all right.’
    Rabbie retreated to the side of the wheelchair, placed a hand on her shoulder.
    Linda almost smiled. ‘I don’t have long to live,’ she said to Gilchrist, ‘so what have I got to be afraid of any more?’
    Gilchrist let himself out.
    He tried to give Tam a farewell chuck behind the ears, but Tam returned the gesture with a growl, leaving Gilchrist with the feeling that he had upset everyone that morning.

CHAPTER 12
     
    It took Stan less than two hours to come back to Gilchrist with a current address for James Matthew Fairclough – Livingston, on the western outskirts of Edinburgh.
    On the drive through, Gilchrist called Jack.
    ‘How do you feel this morning?’ he asked.
    ‘Andy? Hey, man. How’s it going?’ He gave out a hard cough that sounded like gravel turning in a cement mixer. ‘What time is it, anyway?’
    ‘You sound a bit rough.’
    ‘Just hungover.’
    Hungover?
‘Jack,’ Gilchrist said, and felt his fingers tighten their grip. ‘I’m going to ask you a question, and I want you to tell me the truth.’
    ‘I’m not taking drugs, Andy. I’ve told you that before. Did Kara say that to you?’
    The speed with which Jack had jumped to his conclusion surprised Gilchrist. Maybe his son possessed his own sixth sense. ‘Why don’t I believe you?’ he said.
    ‘I smoked some marijuana not so long ago,’ Jack confessed, as if realizing the futility of arguing against a detective parent.
    ‘Define
some
.’
    ‘Not a lot.’
    ‘You’ll need to do better than that.’
    Another cough, less phlegm-laden. ‘I was struggling with the flu,’ Jack said. ‘I’d taken some stuff to keep my temperature down. We went out for a beer. I had a shandy, of all things. Don’t laugh. It was Kara’s suggestion. But we met up with an old friend, and one thing led to another. We ended up at some party in the west end, and I crashed out.’
    ‘Crashed out?’
    ‘Fainted, then. Is that better?’
    ‘What did you take?’
    ‘Mostly alcohol.’
    ‘And?’
    ‘And some marijuana. Just a couple of spliffs.’
    ‘Nothing hard?’
    ‘No. I swear.’
    ‘How many other times?’ The silence grew, along with Gilchrist’s doubts. Jack was lying. He could sense it.
    ‘There were no other times—’
    ‘Come off it, Jack. You don’t crash out on alcohol and marijuana. You’re talking as if my head zips up the back.’
    ‘I’m telling you, Andy. That’s it. The only time. With Kara, at least.’
    There. He had it. Jack’s confession that he had taken drugs
before
Kara.
    ‘What I mean is,’ Jack continued, ‘the only time like
that
. I was really sick, man. I had to go to the hospital. Kara insisted they pump my stomach, keep me overnight. I told them I had the flu, that’s all. But no one would listen. They thought I was on cocaine or something. But the alcohol must have reacted with the prescription medication—’
    ‘Prescription?’
    ‘Yeah. I went to the doctor. I was feeling lousy.’
    Gilchrist felt a spurt of hope. Jack would have seen a doctor only as a last resort. As a child he’d hated the doctor’s surgery, with its dismal waiting room and morbid silence. But a doctor kept records. ‘Which doctor?’ he asked.
    ‘Look, Andy. I’ve just about had it with you on this. I’ve told you. I don’t. Take. Drugs. OK?’
    ‘I hear you.’ But the line was already dead.
    Gilchrist slapped his mobile shut and threw it on to the passenger seat. He knew his son. Jack had always been weaker than Maureen. Well,
weaker
was not the correct word. Less strong, perhaps. More telling, he thought, was that whenever Jack lied, he would fight it out to the bitter end, argue black was white if he had to. But caught in an argument over the truth, he would clam shut, just walk away. Or hang up. Which told Gilchrist that Jack was not on drugs. He’d taken them in the past. That was an indisputable fact.
    But not now.
     
    He found the housing estate just before midday and eased his Mercedes into it.
    Detached homes lined both sides of a quiet road that branched left on to an elliptical cul-de-sac. Trimmed hedgerows bordered tidy lawns. Glistening paintwork edged sparkling windows. All picture-perfect, except for one home that stood out like an old caravan at a car