Tooth for a Tooth (Di Gilchrist 3)

wasn’t, why did you remove it?’
    ‘I took it by mistake.’
    ‘That doesn’t cut it,’ Randall said, shaking his head.
    ‘You have the tooth,’ Gilchrist said. ‘That’s enough to try to nail my brother to the cross, if that’s your aim.’
    ‘But we found the tooth only after you removed your brother’s lighter, Andy. Do you see our problem with that? If we hadn’t found the tooth, what evidence would we have had?’
    ‘The only problem I see is that you continue to assert, without one shred of proof, that the lighter is Jack’s.’
    Randall gave a tired smile and sat back.
    Gilchrist returned a smile of his own, but his mouth refused to work the way it should. If he was in Randall’s position, the only course of action he could recommend would be to remove the SIO from the case. The facts were almost unarguable. The SIO had a personal stake in this case and could not be trusted, evidenced by the fact that he had removed his brother’s lighter. They would argue that if Gilchrist had been around when they found the tooth, he would have removed that, too.
    ‘I see,’ said Randall. ‘I would remind you, Andy, that we are trying to help you here. Give a bit, take a bit, that sort of thing. Back and forth. But if you’re holding anything from us, it really isn’t helping anyone. Do you understand, Andy?’
    Loud and clear, Gilchrist thought. He struggled with the sudden impulse to get up and leave. He was the SIO, and the case was still his until instructed otherwise. He made a conscious effort to breathe slow and deep.
    Randall shifted in his seat. ‘What can you tell us about the jacket?’
    ‘What jacket?’
    ‘The one in which the tooth was found.’ Randall scanned his notes. ‘We’ve established that it was a man’s jacket.’
    Where the hell was he when all this investigation was going on? Chasing a lead to his brother’s hit-and-run accident, came the answer. No wonder he was so far out of touch.
    ‘Maybe she liked to wear men’s clothes,’ he said.
    ‘Not just any man’s clothes,’ Randall said. ‘But your brother’s.’
    Gilchrist said nothing. He knew they had found something on the jacket to tell them it belonged to Jack. In his mind’s eye, he watched his mother sew a name-tag into the seam of the collar. She had done that on all their clothing, from the first day he had gone to school, for as long as he could remember.
    ‘Do you see where this is going, Andy? We need you to be more open. We need you to help us out. Can you do that for us, Andy? Can you?’
    ‘What colour?’ Gilchrist said.
    Randall frowned. ‘Colour?’
    ‘The jacket. What colour?’
    Randall referred to his notes, flustered for a moment. ‘Dark blue, we think.’
    ‘Material?’
    ‘Nylon-based.’ Randall smiled, pleased to be back in control. ‘Just an ordinary waterproof jacket.’
    ‘You sure?’
    ‘Positive.’
    ‘I never knew Jack to wear any kind of waterproof jacket.’ Gilchrist pushed his chair back and stood.
    Tosh sprang to his feet. ‘What are you doing?’
    ‘Ending this charade,’ Gilchrist snapped. He looked down at Randall. ‘This is still my investigation. And I will bring formal charges against anyone who keeps anything from me or interferes with it. Got that?’
    Randall pushed his chair back. He stood a tad taller than Gilchrist, six-two, perhaps, to Gilchrist’s six-one. ‘I’m prepared to put matters on hold for the time being,’ he purred. ‘But I have to advise you that I am not altogether
au fait
with your answers.’
    Au fait?
In which country was this investigation being carried out, exactly?
    ‘But I would be grateful if you could find a way to return the lighter,’ Randall said.
    Gilchrist nodded.
    ‘You still have it, I presume?’
    For one disconcerting moment Gilchrist suspected it was a trick question, but he said, ‘I do,’ and prayed that Gina Belli had not checked out of the St Andrews Bay.
    Outside, he breathed in clean cold air. The wind had picked up, carrying with it the taste of the open sea. Overhead, gulls wheeled and dived in the swirling winds. He needed to clear his mind, try to think straight.
    At the end of North Street, he crossed into Gregory Place, a narrow access road that paralleled the cathedral wall towards the harbour. He changed course at the ruins of Culdee Church, doubled back along the pathway that led to the castle ruins. He stopped at the path’s peak, gripped the black wrought-iron fence and stared out to