Tooth for a Tooth (Di Gilchrist 3)

Is everything all right?’
    ‘Dad? Is that you?’
    ‘Mo. Where are you, honey? Are you at home?’
    ‘In bed.’
    ‘Are you sick?’
    ‘Why’re you calling?’
    He thought he heard someone speak in the background, a man’s voice, but he could not be sure. ‘I was thinking of coming—’
    ‘I’ll call back later, Dad.’
    ‘Mo—’
    The line died.
    He dialled her number again, then slapped his mobile shut before it connected.
    Maureen worried him. She was still far from well. But drink was not the cure. He downed his pint with an angry rush and was about to pay for his meal when his mobile rang.
    ‘Got Rita Sanderson’s address and phone number for you, boss.’
    ‘Be with you in a minute, Stan.’
     
    The American accent still grated, but something in the tone of Gina Belli’s voice had Gilchrist pressing the phone hard to his ear. ‘So what are you suggesting?’
    ‘Be careful, Andy. That’s what I’m saying. I saw flames, fire—’
    ‘Sounds more like a nightmare than a—’
    ‘Don’t minimize me.’
    Stan entered the room and caught his eye. ‘Look, Gina, I appreciate your concerns,’ Gilchrist said, ‘but I’m caught up in the middle of something.’
    ‘Sure you are,’ she quipped. ‘But just remember. It’s what you do with what I tell you that makes the difference.’ And with that, she hung up.
    Gilchrist slapped his mobile shut.
    ‘Problems, boss?’
    Gilchrist snatched Stan’s note from him.
    ‘She’s now Mrs Thomas, boss. Living in Chatham, Kent.’
    Gilchrist walked along the corridor into the first interview room. He switched on the recorder, introduced himself and Stan and dialled Rita’s number.
    As a youngster, he had met Rita when Jack first showed him around his new flat. Gilchrist had been struck by her height, an inch or so short of six foot, and by how long and slender her hands and fingers were. She had told him that was why she was an excellent pianist, but Gilchrist had never been sure if she was joking or not. Not long after, his own growth spurt had kicked in, and by the time he turned fourteen he stood at his final height of six-one, all skin and bone and pimple-faced.
    ‘Rita Thomas, formerly Rita Sanderson?’ he asked, just to be sure.
    ‘Yes? Who’s this?’
    Even from those few words, her voice sounded just as he remembered, its Welsh lilt melodic to his ears. He formally introduced himself and Stan, gave the address of the office in North Street and advised her that the call was being recorded.
    Once she placed Gilchrist’s name to her memories of Jack and St Andrews, she said, ‘Well, I never. After all these years. It’s lovely to hear from you. And you’re now with the police?’
    ‘For better or for worse.’
    She chuckled. ‘You sound so Scottish.’
    ‘Some things will never change.’
    ‘Thank God for that. So, what brings you crawling?’
    Gilchrist smiled. Some things really will never change. Rita used to tease him about the way he hung around when he was with Jack, never one to be in the forefront. ‘It’s a case I’m working on,’ he said. ‘I’d like to scratch your memory, ask a few questions. Are you up for it?’
    ‘What’s it about?’
    ‘A missing woman.’
    ‘And you think I might be able to help?’
    ‘Do you remember Kelly Roberts?’
    ‘How could I ever forget her? I could never understand why she left in such a hurry for the States. I remember Jack was devastated.’
    Having turned twelve a few months earlier, Gilchrist had never fully understood the emotional change in Jack in the weeks before he was killed. Only now, with the realization of Kelly’s sudden disappearance, was he beginning to piece it together.
    ‘After she left,’ he pressed on, ‘did you ever hear from her?’
    ‘Not a squeak.’
    ‘Did she ever mention Mexico?’
    ‘Mexico? Not that I remember,’ she said, as her voice rose. ‘Hold on, Andy. Is Kelly this missing woman you’re looking for?’
    An electronic hiss filled the line.
    Her voice came back at him in a whisper. ‘Oh, my God. She never went back to the States. Did she?’ She paused, waiting for his answer, then said, ‘I caught something on the national news. About the remains of a young woman being found. I didn’t pay much attention. Is she . . . ?’
    Gilchrist let her question hang unanswered. ‘When was the last time you saw her?’
    ‘I drove down to Wales for my birthday. When I came back, Kelly had left.’ Her voice sounded flat, as if the life