Tooth for a Tooth (Di Gilchrist 3)

when they glanced his way.
    ‘You’re a popular kind of a guy,’ she said.
    ‘It’s a small town.’
    ‘And you’re the small-town hero.’ She handed Gilchrist his whisky. ‘I tell you, it makes you almost irresistible.’ She raised her glass. ‘What do they say in Scotland? Up your kilt?’
    ‘Something like that.’
    ‘Up your kilt, Detective Chief Inspector Andy Gilchrist.’ She chinked her glass against his, then took more than a fair mouthful.
    ‘I’m off duty,’ he said. ‘Andy’s fine.’
    She grinned, white teeth against tanned skin. ‘I didn’t want to sound too intimate in a crowded bar.’
    ‘Do you always do this with your subjects?’ he said. ‘Act the vixen?’
    Something flashed behind her eyes. Anger, irritation, he could not say. She seemed like a crackerjack filled with emotions, as if she could burst into laughter one second then attack him with clawed fingernails the next. But the moment passed.
    ‘My latest book was about the case of Frankie Hannerstone,’ she said.
    ‘Never heard of him.’
    ‘Her.’
    ‘Still drawing a blank.’
    ‘Frankie went to work one morning, four years ago, and never arrived. Her husband reported her missing later that night. By the time I was called in, she’d been missing for two years in the Carolinas. The FBI suspected her husband had killed her, but he had a rock-solid alibi. Plus, no body. He claimed she’d been threatening for years to leave him. So he supposed that’s what she’d done.’
    ‘You were called in?’
    ‘Huh?’
    ‘You said you were called in. Why?’
    ‘As well as writing, I’m a psychic-detective. I assist law-enforcement officers throughout the States in solving cold cases. Three out of every four I’m involved in get closed, or are progressed significantly.’
    ‘That’s an impressive record.’
    She eased closer, as if to confide in him. ‘It all depends on how my sightings are received, and what the police do with them. Whether they take them seriously enough to consider throwing resources at it, or not.’
    ‘Sightings? As in, I see dead people?’
    ‘Yes.’ She took a sip. ‘Does that scare you?’
    ‘No,’ he said. ‘Just hard to believe.’
    ‘I’m used to disbelievers.’
    ‘Do you see any dead people now?’
    She nodded to a group of four ruddy-faced caddies at the corner of the bar. ‘The guy at the end,’ she said, ‘has just lost a family member.’
    ‘Male or female?’
    ‘Female.’
    ‘You can see her?’
    ‘It’s not as simple as that. But, yes, I
see
her.’
    Gilchrist studied the caddies. They seemed to be enjoying themselves, not exactly mourning the loss of a family member. Somehow, just looking at them caused the hair on the nape of his neck to rise. He returned to the safety of his drink. The whisky warmed his throat, the ice chilled it.
    ‘So, this Frankie Hannerstone,’ he said, ‘did you find her?’
    ‘In a storage locker on the outskirts of Vegas. Her body had been chopped up and kept in a deep freezer.’
    ‘How did you discover it?’
    ‘I didn’t. I gave the police clues from her personal effects.’
    ‘You rub your thumbs over a photo or two, then tell them where to find the body?’
    ‘Buy my book. Check it out. Call up the Sheriff’s Office. They’ll confirm it.’ She paused, as if trying to read the disbelief on Gilchrist’s face. ‘And what about
your
cold cases?’ she asked him.
    An image of the skeleton burst into his mind. ‘What about them?’
    ‘
It,’
she said.
    ‘Now you’ve lost me.’
    ‘That’s the author in me.’
    Maybe it was the effects of the whisky, or the cosiness of the bar, or the look in her eyes, but Gilchrist surprised himself by saying, ‘Which case would you like to discuss?’
    ‘Tell me about your brother Jack,’ she said, without missing a beat.
    Something shifted in Gilchrist’s chest. ‘That’s out of bounds,’ he grunted.
    ‘You were only twelve when it happened. Surely—’
    ‘Look,’ he said, struggling to keep his tone even, ‘I’m happy to have a drink with you, but if you don’t want my company, keep this up.’
    Her gaze danced over his, as if searching for the strength of his conviction in one or other of his eyes. Then she glared at him. ‘You’re serious.’
    ‘I’m glad we agree on something.’
    ‘Come on, Andy. I can help you.’
    ‘You’re surprising me.’
    ‘In what way?’
    ‘You’re not as smart as I first thought.’
    Her look changed at that moment, and she set