Tooth for a Tooth (Di Gilchrist 3)

name.’
    ‘Can I speak to her?’ he asked.
    ‘She’s just gone down to the shops for some fags.’
    ‘I’ll call her back, then.’
    The line went dead. So much for telephone etiquette.
    He closed his mobile, powered up his laptop and plugged in the Internet connection. A few minutes later, he googled
Brian Fletcher
and got 1,859,574 hits. He narrowed his search by typing
Scotland
, then again by typing
forensics
, and after several further variations managed to narrow it to four hits. He opened the first article, which turned out to be an excerpt of some court hearing and did not help. The next one confirmed that Dr Brian Fletcher was employed at Queen Margaret’s Hospital in London. Did Queen Margaret’s have a pathology department? He continued his search, but after fifteen minutes decided he needed help.
    He checked the time, then called Stan.
    Stan answered with a curt, ‘Yep?’
    ‘Can you speak, Stan?’
    ‘Boss? Where are you? Tosh has got the ear of the ACC on this one. Wants to put out a call to you on the evening news.’
    ‘What for?’
    ‘To get you to turn yourself in, of course. What do you mean, what for?’
    ‘Tosh knows where I am, Stan. He’s not interested in me turning myself in. He’s only interested in furthering his career. He knows I’m in the States—’
    ‘The States?’ A pause, then, ‘You’re at Kelly Roberts’ place, aren’t you?’
    ‘Not quite, but close. Listen, Stan, I think I’ve found something, but I need your help.’
    ‘Hold on, boss. You can get me into trouble.’
    ‘Not at all, Stan. You’ve used your head, been talking to a number of people listed on old Donnie’s records and come up with a few names. Could get you noticed by the likes of McVicar,’ he added.
    Stan paused, as if weighing the scales. ‘I hate that bastard Tosh, so let’s have it.’
    ‘I need you to track Brian Fletcher down for me.’
    ‘Who’s he?’
    Gilchrist told him.
    ‘And you think he might have killed Kelly?’
    Too early to say, he thought. But all things were possible. ‘He needs to be questioned about his relationship with Kelly,’ he said, then thought of his imminent call to Megs. ‘I might need you to do one more search for me. But let me get back to you on that, Stan.’
    ‘One other thing,’ Stan said. ‘That Gina Belli bird stuck her head in here yesterday, wanting to know about the fire in Edinburgh.’
    ‘What did you tell her?’
    ‘Told her to read the newspapers.’
    ‘Did she mention the cigarette lighter?’
    ‘Not to me, boss.’
    If Gina Belli got his message at the St Andrews Bay, she would hold the lighter until he collected it in person. He had no idea of her travel plans, when she was scheduled to return to the States, or if she was planning to stay on in St Andrews. He thought of asking Stan to track her down and retrieve the lighter. But the thought of Tosh triumphing over the return of Jack’s lighter in his absence made him decide against that.
    After hanging up, he returned to the photographs and shuffled his way through them with a fresh pair of eyes, setting aside those of Kelly’s friends. But it was a photograph of Lorena that grabbed his attention.
    There she stood, with a small, straggly-haired individual by her side, whom Gilchrist realized was her mystery boyfriend. He pulled the image closer.
    Was this the photograph of a murderer? Was he looking at Kelly’s killer? Who better to visit Mexico with Lorena and mail a postcard to the States, than her boyfriend? Gilchrist saw for the first time the muscular strength of the man. Shirtsleeves pulled above his elbows revealed forearms striped with muscles like cable. What Gilchrist had taken as a thin face he now saw were the sculpted features of a man carrying a deep-rooted hatred of those around him. Black eyes glared back at the camera, as if demanding what right the photographer had to take his picture. Even his grip around his beer mug looked as if it threatened to crush the glass. Gilchrist placed the photograph to the top of the pile.
    All he needed was a name.
    He picked up his mobile and flipped it open.

CHAPTER 24
     
    ‘This is Megs. Who’s calling?’
    As soon as he heard her voice, a short backlog of memories swept into his mind. She had accompanied Dougie to a number of police nights out when they were husband and wife: Megs, following a pint with a double Scotch in short order, guffawing at Dougie struggling to keep up; Megs, big and loud and red-faced