Tooth for a Tooth (Di Gilchrist 3)

said, conscious of the strength of his Scottish accent. ‘We spoke a couple of days ago. About Kelly.’
    ‘Yes?’
    ‘I’m parked in your driveway. I’m sorry it’s a bit late, but could we talk?’
    ‘Oh. It’s you. I was wondering who that was. I’m just getting ready for bed.’
    ‘That’s not a problem,’ he said. ‘I’ll come back to—’
    He jumped as a double-barrelled shotgun tapped the side window once, twice, then jerked in a
get out of the car
motion.
    ‘Take it nice and easy, mister,’ a voice said as the car door was opened for him.
    ‘I’m here about Kelly,’ Gilchrist said, and realized the error in his statement.
    ‘Is that a fact?’
    ‘I mean, I—’
    ‘Both hands where I can see them.’
    Gilchrist gripped the steering wheel, mobile phone in one hand, and kept his eyes on the shotgun. The man behind it was six foot plus, twenty stone at least, with a gut that threatened to pop the buttons off his shirt.
    Gilchrist nodded to the shotgun. ‘I hope that’s not loaded.’
    ‘She’s loaded all right.’
    ‘I’m a detective,’ Gilchrist said, ‘with Fife Constabulary in Scotland.’
    ‘Helluva long way to come for a ride.’
    Gilchrist eased his hands from the steering wheel. ‘I’m investigating a missing person,’ he went on, trying to ignore the shotgun as he pulled himself from the car.
    Face to face, at six-one, he was still a good six inches short.
    The man’s gaze shifted over Gilchrist’s shoulder, and Gilchrist turned to see Kelly’s mother standing at the front door.
    ‘It’s all right, JD. It’s Mr Gilchrist. From Scotland.’
    ‘You got ID?’ JD asked. ‘And move those hands real slow.’
    Gilchrist ended his call, then eased his hand into his jacket. He removed his wallet, pulled out his driving licence and handed it over.
    JD raised the muzzle of his shotgun, breached the barrel, then slung it over his left arm. ‘Can never be too careful,’ he said, and held out his right hand. ‘Name’s Jonathan. Everyone calls me JD. Live next door and keep an eye out for Annie here.’
    Gilchrist shook a shovel-sized hand as rough as bark. ‘Everyone calls me Andy.’
    As they walked towards the front door, Gilchrist said, ‘Did the Sheriff’s Office visit Mrs Roberts in the last day or so?’
    ‘Not that I’m aware.’
    Gilchrist felt his heart sink. No one had followed up as he had asked. He’d come all this way from Scotland unprepared to break the news. ‘In that case,’ he said to JD, ‘I’m not sure how much Mrs Roberts knows about our suspicions. I think she believes Kelly may still be alive.’
    ‘Until she sees Kelly’s body one way or the other,’ JD growled, ‘she ain’t gonna give up hope. That’s all she’s got.’
    All she’s got
. He had flown thousands of miles to take even that away from her.
    JD stepped on to the porch and leaned down to give Mrs Roberts a hug. ‘How’re you keeping, Annie?’
    ‘Just fine, JD.’ She beamed at Gilchrist. ‘Are you related to Jack Gilchrist?’ she asked. ‘Kelly said he had a younger brother.’
    Gilchrist jerked a smile, surprised not only by her question, but struck by the shape and colour of her eyes – Kelly looking at him from an older face. ‘That’s me,’ he said. ‘I’m Andy. Andy Gilchrist,’ and showed his driving licence.
    She barely glanced at it.
    ‘I never realized until I put two and two together,’ she said. ‘I’m not as bright as I used to be, you know, but I’m not altogether dumb.’
    ‘Still sharper than a double-edged deer knife,’ JD retorted.
    ‘Please come in, Andy. You don’t mind if I call you Andy, do you?’
    ‘Not at all, Mrs Roberts.’
    ‘Annie,’ she said. ‘Call me Annie. That’s what Kelly called me, and I’ve been known as Annie ever since.’
    JD remained at the door and tipped an imaginary Stetson. ‘’Night, Annie. If you need anything, just give me a holler.’ With that, he walked along the front of the house and melted into the darkness.
    Gilchrist followed Annie along a narrow hallway that opened on to a spacious living room with a stone fireplace that filled most of one wall. Shelves lined the walls, laden with ornaments, books, framed photographs, houseplants that dangled or climbed.
    ‘Why don’t you sit here?’ Annie asked, leading him to a long four-seater that fronted a slate-topped coffee table. ‘Can I get you anything to drink? You must be tired after such a long flight.’
    ‘I’m fine, thank