Tooth for a Tooth (Di Gilchrist 3)

dry. He clicked his remote fob and was about to step into his Merc when he saw old Donnie. He caught up with him as he was turning into College Street.
    ‘I got your records,’ Gilchrist said.
    ‘Were they any help?’
    ‘Too soon to say, but thanks for your trouble. I owe you a half or two.’
    Donnie frowned. ‘It’s too early for me,’ he said. ‘I’d fall asleep in my soup if I had a half now.’
    Gilchrist nodded. It was almost too early for him. ‘Do you remember any details of any of your female renters?’ he asked Donnie. ‘Back in the sixties, I mean?’
    ‘The sixties?’ Donnie frowned, as if stunned that all these years had passed. ‘What sort of details?’
    ‘Anything that might stick out in your mind. Such as an American accent . . .’
    ‘We had more than a few Americans renting the place over the years. Can’t you just look at the addresses on my records? That should tell you who’s American or not.’
    ‘I was hoping you might recall something that seemed odd at the time.’
    Donnie shook his head. ‘They were just wee lassies giving me their names and addresses. That’s the only dealings I ever had with them. Sometimes I never even got to talk to them. Sometimes I got the information from the property manager, and just updated my records.’
    Gilchrist nodded, not quite finished yet. ‘How about Mexican accents?’ he tried.
    ‘Mexican?’ Donnie shook his head. ‘Not that I remember. Which doesn’t mean much nowadays. But I’m sure I would have remembered a Mexican. Particularly if she was giving me the eye.’ His shoulders shuffled at his joke.
    Gilchrist had known it was a long shot.
    ‘One thing I do remember about the sixties, though,’ Donnie added, ‘was the sexual promiscuity.’ He licked his lips, as if at the thought. ‘Used to make me wish I was young enough to join in. Musical fannies was what it was.’ His shoulders shrugged at the missed opportunities.
    On his walk back to his Merc, Gilchrist well remembered the days before AIDS put the fear of God into unprotected sex, and the pill was a life-saver popped like sweeties. Gail had been on the pill when they first met. He had thought nothing of it at the time, instead had been swept off his feet and her on to her back by her air of sexual liberation. Had her carefree attitude been a precursor to her marital infidelity? Should he have noticed the warning signs, even way back then? But the thought that he sometimes sensed those same signs in his daughter’s recovery worried him.
    He turned the ignition, backed out on to Market Street and was manoeuvring around a parked delivery van when his mobile rang. He recognized the office number and cursed under his breath when he heard Tosh’s voice.
    ‘You’re off the case, Gilchrist. I want that lighter.’
    ‘I told you I would turn it in.’
    ‘You did. But I don’t believe you. Where are you? I want it now.’
    Gilchrist hung up, and floored the pedal.

CHAPTER 20
     
    The Merc’s tyres squealed as they bit into asphalt and powered Gilchrist up and over Kinkell Braes. He tried calling Gina Belli again, but her mobile rang out until the call ended. No luck at the St Andrews Bay, either. He gripped the wheel and forced his thoughts into overdrive.
    He had experienced Tosh’s obsessive mania once before, when Tosh had carried out a personal vendetta against the family of a petty criminal who had conjured up witnesses to help him duck a charge of assault. After the case was dropped, one by one the family members found themselves in front of the sheriff for cooked-up charges that were driven home by questionable evidence. Fines and custodial sentences were the order of the day, until Tosh had been called into the sheriff’s office and ordered to lay off.
    Gilchrist had no doubt that Tosh would do everything in his power to press charges against him for wilful removal of evidence in a murder investigation. And with Tosh’s track record of fabricating evidence and lying in court, the fight to clear Gilchrist’s name was not a foregone conclusion. He was also troubled by the likelihood of being hindered in his search for Kelly’s killer and his efforts to clear Jack’s name. He needed to talk to Kelly’s mother, face to face, before Tosh shackled him. No matter what, he needed to be on that flight to the States in the morning.
    He glanced at his watch. He had no time. For all he knew, Tosh might already have finagled a search warrant for his cottage in