Tooth for a Tooth (Di Gilchrist 3)

anorexic in appearance, with the black silken hair of the South Americas. And he remembered being surprised that she could not speak much English, and that she would choose to live in a foreign country so alien to her homeland.
    He felt a cold frisson as he eyed her home address, and country.
    Mexico.
    He scanned the records again.
    Mexico? He had always thought Lorena was South American. He read the phone number and wondered if it was possible. After all this time, could she still live at the same address, still have the same telephone number?
    Two minutes later, he had the international code for Mexico. He dialled the number.
    ‘
¿Aló?
’ A woman’s voice.
    He tried, ‘Lorena Cordoba?’
    ‘¿Córdoba?
’
    ‘Yes. Lorena Cordoba. You speak English?’
    ‘
¿Aló? ¿Quién llama?
’
    ‘Can I speak to Lorena, please?’
    ‘
¿Lorena? ¿Quién llama? ¿Aló?
’
    ‘Lorena? I want to speak to Lorena?’
    ‘Creo que tiene el número equivocado.
’
    The call was cut.
    If he had asked for a dead-end he could not have found a better one.
    Or was it?
    Kelly’s mother had received a postcard from Mexico. Could Lorena have mailed it? Was she somehow involved in Kelly’s murder? Gilchrist stood, walked around the table, letting that thought fire his mind. Lorena had been small, verging on fragile, surely too small to manhandle Kelly’s dead body.
    But what if she had a boyfriend?
    That thought stopped him. Lorena had been attractive; nice features, smooth skin and a permanent tan. But in the few times he had seen her, he could not remember her being with a boyfriend.
    He glanced at his watch. Twelve twenty-nine. How inconsiderate could he be? If he was any man at all, he would wait until the morning.
    He found her number stored in his mobile.
    ‘Hello?’ her Welsh sing-song voice said.
    He thought she sounded awake. ‘I’m sorry to disturb you at this late hour.’
    ‘Andy? Is that you?’
    ‘It is. I’m sorry.’
    ‘It’s OK, I couldn’t sleep. I can’t get Kelly out of my mind.’
    ‘Do you mind if I scratch your memory again?’
    ‘Scratch away.’
    ‘Do you remember the fourth flatmate in St Andrews?’
    ‘Barely. It wasn’t Lorna, but it was something like that.’
    ‘Lorena?’
    ‘That’s it. But don’t ask me her last name.’
    ‘What was she like? I mean, did you ever see her with anyone?’
    ‘She was odd, I remember that much. She didn’t speak very good English, which didn’t help. But I remember seeing her with one boy she used to go out with.’
    ‘Boy?’
    ‘Man. But young-looking. Not much facial hair. No sideburns, that sort of thing.’
    ‘You have a name?’
    ‘I’m hopeless with names.’
    She had to know more, he thought. He just hadn’t asked the right question. ‘Describe him,’ he said. ‘Was he Scottish?’
    ‘Yes.’
    Well, at least that was a start. ‘Dark hair? Blonde hair?
Any
hair?’
    She laughed out loud, a sharp surprise. ‘Dirty blonde,’ she said. ‘Almost light brown. Whenever I saw him he always looked unclean, like his hair needed washing or combing.’
    ‘Were they going out?’
    ‘You could say. But they never seemed close, if you get my meaning. I never saw them holding hands. Even when they were together, they hardly spoke to each other. I remember thinking it was a really odd relationship.’
    ‘Were they having sex?’
    ‘Now how would I know about that?’
    ‘I meant, did he sleep over?’
    ‘Not that I recall. She kept herself to herself, and often she would slip out without letting anyone know. Kind of creepy when I think about it. But back then we had plenty to keep ourselves occupied.’
    ‘Was he a local?’
    ‘I couldn’t say.’
    ‘A student?’
    ‘Don’t know.’
    ‘What height was he?’
    ‘I’m no good with heights.’
    ‘Small, medium, large?’
    ‘Medium.’
    ‘Less than six foot?’
    ‘Definitely.’
    Gilchrist paused. ‘So he was more small than tall,’ he confirmed. ‘Fat?’
    ‘No. Skinny. Like her.’
    Gilchrist ran through his notes. He was looking for a skinny, medium-built Scotsman, scruffy, with light brown hair. He might as well look for a sheep in a white flock—
    ‘There is one more thing I remember,’ she said. ‘He had bad teeth.’
    ‘In what way?’
    ‘It was really noticeable, especially when they were together. Lorena had such white teeth, and his were so yellow.’
    ‘Any missing?’
    ‘No. Just yellow.’
    ‘Crooked? Buck-toothed?’
    ‘No. Just normal.’
    They