Tooth for a Tooth (Di Gilchrist 3)

shuffled his shoulders. ‘But I always insisted on their phone numbers.’
    ‘Can I see it?’
    ‘If I can find it. It should be somewhere at home.’
    ‘Where’s that?’
    ‘Glasgow.’
    Gilchrist had hoped Donnie lived locally, but Glasgow was seventy miles south-west of St Andrews. He would have to wait for Donnie to mail it to him.
    ‘How long are you here for?’ he asked Donnie.
    ‘We’re up for a couple of days. My wife, Kathy, drives. Long drives are too much for me now. Besides,’ he said, eyes twinkling with a hint of mischief, ‘it’s nice to have a designated driver on hand. I don’t have to worry about reaching my limit.’ His shoulders shuffled again, and his grin revealed the even teeth of a dental plate.
    ‘Do you have anything planned for this evening?’ Gilchrist asked.
    ‘Drinking. Napping. Not necessarily in that order.’
    ‘Listen, Donnie, it might shed nothing on the investigation, but I’d like to have a look through these records of yours tonight, if possible.’
    Donnie frowned. ‘Tonight?’ he puzzled. ‘They’re in the attic somewhere. It’ll take me a day or two just to find them.’
    ‘If it’s not too much to ask,’ Gilchrist said, ‘I could have someone drive you home, get you started. If you’re lucky you could be back in St Andrews in time for me to buy you a couple in the Central. If I’m out and about, leave them at the office in North Street.’
    ‘Well,’ said Donnie, as if trying to warm to the idea. ‘I’ll see what I can do, but I’ll have to talk to Kathy, of course.’
    ‘Of course,’ said Gilchrist, ‘but before you do, can you show me the back bedroom?’
    ‘Follow me.’
    Gilchrist traipsed after Donnie, out of the living room, down a step, across a short hallway, up another step and through a low doorway that opened on to a room that had memories rampaging back at him.
    Little had changed. The room was small, rectangular in shape, with a large sash window that overlooked the back garden. He had stood by that opened window when Jack had lit that first cigarette for him. Tired curtains hung either side of venetian blinds half-opened in disarray. A single bed lined one wall, but not where Jack used to have it. A white wardrobe stood lopsided on the slanted floor. The wooden flooring, which had been covered by a threadbare oriental rug years earlier, now lay hidden beneath a footworn carpet that stretched from skirting board to skirting board.
    Gilchrist felt his hopes soar. ‘How long has this carpet been down?’
    Donnie frowned. ‘Now you’re asking. Ten, fifteen years, maybe. We don’t spend much on upkeep any more. Used to. But every year’s the same. Place wrecked and needing repainted from top to bottom.’ He shook his head. ‘My father would have skinned me alive if I’d done half of what these youngsters get up to nowadays.’
    Gilchrist eased the wardrobe door open to reveal blouses on hangers, folded sweaters, pressed jeans, scuffed boots on shelves. ‘Someone’s staying here?’
    ‘They’re away for the weekend.’
    ‘Perfect,’ said Gilchrist. ‘I’ll arrange for the SOCOs to complete their investigation before they return.’
    Doubt flickered behind the old man’s eyes.
    ‘That’s not a problem, is it?’ Gilchrist asked.
    ‘SOCOs?’
    ‘Scenes of Crime Officers. Forensic investigators. We’re investigating a suspected murder.’
    ‘Murder? Here? In this room?’
    Gilchrist did not want to tell Donnie that if nothing was found in this bedroom the team would extend their search to other rooms, take over the entire house if they had to, until they found evidence of Kelly’s murder, or not. ‘Now, about that guest book of yours . . .’
    ‘The less Kathy knows about this, the better,’ Donnie said. ‘I’ll talk to her later.’
    ‘Won’t she worry about where you’ll be?’
    ‘She’ll think I’m having a couple of drams,’ said Donnie, and wiped an arthritic hand over his mouth. ‘After what you’ve just told me, I could do with a double right now.’
    ‘How about later?’ Gilchrist said.
    Donnie glanced at his watch, as if to figure out how to pace himself.
    ‘And they’re on me,’ Gilchrist added. ‘All right?’
    That seemed to make up Donnie’s mind. ‘Let’s get on with it, then,’ he said, and trundled down the stairs as Gilchrist followed.
    Fifteen minutes later, Donnie was on his way to Glasgow, courtesy of Stan, and the SOCOs had the bedroom stripped of furniture, the