Tooth for a Tooth (Di Gilchrist 3)

When that little lot comes out, I wouldn’t bet tuppence on your career.’
    Gilchrist levelled his gaze at Tosh. ‘Johnnie Walker,’ he said.
    Tosh frowned, struggling to find the joke.
    ‘Wee Johnnie Walker,’ Gilchrist repeated. ‘That’s who killed Kelly.’
    Tosh shook his head. ‘You’re as slippery as they come, Gilchrist. I told them you would try to pass it on to someone else.’
    ‘Have you located him? Do you even know where he lives?’
    ‘The only Johnnie Walker I’m interested in is the stuff that comes in a bottle.’
    ‘He went out with Lorena Cordoba,’ Gilchrist went on. ‘Lorena’s from Mexico. Same place the postcard came from.’
    ‘You’re making it up as you go along,’ Tosh snarled.
    ‘Personal vendettas are not good for business.’
    ‘Maybe so, Gilchrist. But at the end of the day, you’re the one going to prison. Not me.’
    ‘All you can prove,’ he argued, ‘is that Jack once went out with Kelly. Unless you have more than a tooth, you’re on a loser.’
    ‘How about a jacket and a cigarette lighter?’
    Gilchrist tightened his lips.
    ‘And Jack and Kelly argued a lot,’ Tosh said.
    A lot?
How did Tosh know that? Had he spoken to someone who had known Jack and Kelly all those years ago, someone who would say in court whatever was necessary to support Tosh’s charge? All of a sudden Gilchrist was aware of Jack’s letter to Kelly in his computer case. If he was taken to North Street and charged, they would go through his personal belongings and find it, clear evidence that Jack and Kelly argued –
a lot
. That’s how the procurator fiscal would present the letter in court. The damage would be done, the seed of doubt planted in the minds of the—
    ‘He must have really bopped her one to crush the side of her head like that,’ Tosh continued. ‘Did he boot her when she was down? I bet he did, the murdering fucker.’
    Gilchrist shifted in his seat. ‘Jack never hit a woman in his life.’
    ‘Maybe not after Kelly, he didn’t.’
    Gilchrist forced a laugh. It sounded faked. ‘The tooth, the jacket, the lighter. All of it’s circumstantial. Nothing direct. Kelly happened to be wearing Jack’s jacket, with his tooth and lighter in it. Of course she did. It’s what lovers do. Please tell me you have something else with which to go to court, before you waste all that taxpayers’ money.’
    Tosh shifted in his seat and glared out the window, and Gilchrist caught the corners of Nance’s mouth shift in a smile. But his mind was made up now. If circumstantial evidence was all they had, then the last thing he wanted was for them to read Jack’s letter to Kelly, the single piece in the jigsaw that could arguably meld the individual parts of the case into a cohesive whole.
    Gilchrist realized that he could not be taken to North Street. The more he thought about it, the more conceivable it became that he could be locked up for days, maybe weeks, even longer. He could not let that happen. He would need to find some way to escape, or ditch his computer case. Or the letter? Could he do that? Throw the letter away? He heard the echo of his promise to Annie to return everything when his investigation was over. Well, that was that, then.
    Again, thoughts of making a run for it flooded his mind.
    At the office in North Street, Nance would drive through the arch and park the car in the back. From there, he had one chance before he was taken into custody: the boundary wall. It was six feet high. If he was quick enough, if he took them by surprise, he could pull himself up and over and into someone’s back garden. Risky, for sure. They could follow his progress on CCTV until he got out of St Andrews. As his mind struggled to calculate the risks, he came to see that fleeing was the beginning of the end of his career. And so, too, would being found guilty of attempting to pervert the course of justice.
    In the centre of Cupar, the traffic thickened. Nance eased forward in stops and starts.
    ‘It’s always the fucking same, this place,’ Tosh grumbled. ‘Jam-packed solid. I’ve never understood why.’ He tapped his jacket’s side pockets, then twisted in his seat as his hands worked into his trousers. He tutted, then said, ‘Stop at the first newsagent’s. I’m out of cigarettes.’
    ‘Can’t you wait?’
    ‘What’s your bloody problem? You’d think the car was yours.’
    Nance shook her head, gripped the wheel.
    Fifty yards on, Tosh pointed. ‘There,’