Tooth for a Tooth (Di Gilchrist 3)

three men behind them lounged a young Geoffrey Pennycuick, his face at an angle, his eyes captured in a lustful look at an American blonde. Gilchrist studied his face. No doubt about it – Kelly was his focal point, or rather, her backside was.
    The other men in the group were out of focus, their faces turned to the bar. Only Pennycuick seemed aware of the sexual possibility before him. Others in the periphery tugged at Gilchrist’s attention. Was that the profile of a young Jeanette Pennycuick? He pulled the image closer, thought of having it digitally enhanced. But what would that prove? That Pennycuick went out with his wife before they married?
    He scooped up another photograph, a close-up of Kelly by herself, smiling her white American smile, wrapped up against the winter chill, her scarf covering her chin. She did not look like someone who would be dead before spring. He was about to return the photograph to the box when he paused. Something about Kelly’s scarf caught his eye – black, with an unusual red edging, of material as fine as silk but without the sheen. Merino wool, he thought, or maybe cashmere. He had seen that scarf before.
    He flicked through the photographs as fast as a card trickster and found what he was looking for. Rita and Kelly on a windblown West Sands, black scarf around Rita’s neck, matching gloves on her hands. And there was the red edging. He compared the photographs. The same scarf. He thought he knew enough about women to know that buying identical outfits was tantamount to sacrilege. But students, especially close friends, would not have been averse to sharing.
    Can I please have my scarf and gloves back, and my books, especially my Jane Austen? I wouldn’t have expected that of you
.
    Bills, food, drink, make-up, scarves, gloves. Boyfriends, too?
    That thought struck him. Would Rita and Kelly have shared the same boyfriend? Could Brian have been persuaded to participate in a threesome? Maybe the answer to Kelly’s murder lay not in her own list of one-night stands, but in Rita’s infrequent lovers. Had Brian been pulled in by Kelly’s blonde charm? Had they consummated a forbidden relationship in Rita’s absence? The opportunity was there. Hormones, too. But a session on the side with your girlfriend’s flatmate was no reason to commit murder.
    He pushed the photographs aside. He could not go on. Sleep pulled him bedside.
    He staggered to his feet, dumped himself on to it.
    By the time he wriggled up to the headboard, he had drifted off.

CHAPTER 23
     
    Morning brought a quiet stirring of different sounds – a door closing, a heat pump switching on, a melange of noise that rustled in the background.
    Shaving and showering did little to bring Gilchrist awake. His back felt stiff and his neck hurt, and by the time he pulled on his leather jacket it was almost nine thirty. One part of his brain told him it was morning, while another computed five hours ahead and reminded him it was 2.30 p.m. in Scotland. Another day had almost passed, and he wondered if Tosh had made any progress with his vendetta against him, or if he’d had the audacity to phone his kids.
    He called Mo’s number first, but it rang out. Jack’s did, too, not even kicking into voicemail. He peeled back the curtains with a grunt, and faced a grey sky. Pockets of snow spotted the sidewalks and property lines. Beneath him, his rental car sat in a distant corner of the parking lot where he had abandoned it.
    Downstairs, reception gave him a phone number for Saratoga County Sheriff’s Office and an address in Ballston Spa, some eight miles south on Route 50. He called the number and set up an appointment with a Detective Latham of the Records Department for ten thirty, which gave him plenty of time.
    But once off Route 50, and on Fairground Avenue, Gilchrist drove past the turn-off for County Farm Road and had to double back. By the time he found the Sheriff’s Office, a relatively modern building that sat alone in what seemed like acres of open ground, he had six minutes to spare.
    He asked for Detective Latham and was instructed to take a seat.
    At ten thirty on the button, Detective Latham walked through the double swing doors, blonde hair pinned back and a uniform two sizes too small for her chest.
    They shook hands and introduced themselves.
    ‘You’re interested in the Kelly Roberts case, right?’
    ‘Right.’
    Latham strode off, and it took Gilchrist a full second to realize he was supposed