Tooth for a Tooth (Di Gilchrist 3)

and lungs still felt clogged with soot, and he hawked up a gob of blackened phlegm, walked to the end of the lane and spat into a clump of weeds. He ran his hand across his mouth and eyed the scene.
    Betson had been removed to the hospital, his wife by his side, and the fire brigade had converted the lane into a temporary storage unit. Three firemen were still clearing the garage of debris and junk, while another two clambered on top of the lock-ups, tracking down telltale flumes. With quick action from Betson’s neighbours, the fire had been contained to Betson’s garage only, and as the concrete floor continued to be cleared, the MGB GT stood alone, its blaze paintwork bubbled and blackened in the firemen’s spotlight.
    Gilchrist entered the garage and ran his hand over the front panel. The front bumper jutted out from the chassis, and he thought it might be possible for it to be damaged in a hit-and-run while the headlights were not touched. Linda Melrose mentioned nothing about the lights being different. If one headlight had been broken, she would have noticed on the drive home, would she not? Or had she been too drunk? He moved to the front nearside, the part most likely to clip a pedestrian, and tried to imagine what his brother might have heard, might have done, as the car powered its way into him.
    Had he tried to jump out of the way? Had the car swerved and hit him?
    Or had he been overpowered by murderous guilt and stepped into its path?
    Gilchrist’s mind whispered Linda Melrose’s words.
    I told him to keep his eyes on the road
.
    Distracted by a pair of legs, and a life lost for ever.
    He ran his hand over the bonnet. Although some paintwork had blistered, by the headlights it was fine. Why had Fairclough asked about stripping the front end? The vital evidence that would put his brother’s death to rest was something to do with the front panel, of that Gilchrist was certain.

CHAPTER 17
     
    Gilchrist won the jurisdictional fight over the MGB on the basis that it might have been involved in a fatal hit-and-run accident within the town of St Andrews. However, the idea that this car might now be the cause of two deaths worried him. Betson’s third-degree burns to his face, neck and shoulders had landed him in intensive care, and Gilchrist had seen enough burns victims to know he might not pull through.
    He stood back as the tow-truck driver hauled the MGB from the garage and secured it with chains to the truck’s flatbed. Six spotlights mounted on a bar running across the cabin roof exposed the MGB in all its glistening, yet blistered, glory. Despite the fire, the damage appeared superficial. Paint bubbled along the nearside front panel, door and rear panel like coloured blisters streaked with soot. The bonnet, roof and hatchback boot lid were blackened but not blistered. The wire wheels were scorched, and one of the tyres looked like skin ready to slough. The nearside headlight and bright-work looked intact.
    He signed the paperwork and checked that the car was to be delivered to SK Motors, a ramshackle garage in the town of Strathkinness on the outskirts of St Andrews. Shuggie may not run the most profitable business, but when it came to things mechanical, his layman’s terms were like gold in a court of law.
    With the MGB secured and Betson removed to the hospital, Gilchrist slid into his Merc, leaving the firemen and neighbours to restock the garage and secure it for the night. He was fifteen minutes from St Andrews when he called Stan.
    ‘What’s the latest on Fairclough?’
    ‘Bad news, I’m afraid, boss. He’s not at home or work. No one’s heard from him since yesterday. And his mobile’s been disconnected.’
    ‘You mean the battery’s flat?’
    ‘No. Disconnected. He called the phone company and cancelled his contract.’
    Gilchrist had once tracked a scam artist through the calls he made on his mobile to his girlfriend, and who was now serving two years at Her Majesty’s pleasure. But Fairclough was a different animal. Having already killed once and lived with that knowledge for over thirty years, was he now prepared to kill again to keep his freedom?
    And yet, something did not fit. Why would Fairclough think anyone would connect him to the fire in Betson’s garage? He would have fled while the fire took hold, and must have thought Gilchrist had been trapped and killed, the car destroyed. So why cancel his phone contract? If he did not want anyone to track him to