by T F Muir
‘Let me guess. Garvie’s complaint?’
‘You know about it?’
‘The whole Office knows about it.’
‘Can you get me a copy?’
‘No can do.’
‘No can do? Or no want to do?’
‘No can do. Patterson’s delivering it personally to McVicar this afternoon.’
Damn. Once McVicar received Patterson’s report it would be only a matter of time until Gilchrist was called before him. ‘Have you spoken to Garvie?’ he asked.
‘Are you crazy? She’s off limits. That’s a direct order from Patterson.’
‘Even for DeFiore?’
‘Already interviewed her.’
‘And?’
‘And nothing.’
‘You sure?’
‘Sure I’m sure. What’s so special about Lex anyway?’
‘Nothing. Just a hunch.’
‘About what?’
‘Something doesn’t fit.’
‘Give it up, Andy. DeFiore interviewed her this morning. Your hunch is wrong. If you want my advice, which I’m sure you don’t, but I’m going to give it to you anyway, stay away from her. Okay?’
‘Okay.’
‘I hear traffic,’ said Sa. ‘Where are you?’
‘Passing through Cupar,’ he lied. ‘Any results on the blood samples yet?’
‘You never give up, do you?’
‘The job’s my life,’ he said, and felt a pang at the truth of his words.
‘I’m sorry, Andy. I’ve got to go.’ Sa disconnected.
Gilchrist had lied to Sa on impulse because of ... what? Because she had called the complainant Lex? He had never seen Sa and Garvie together. And Sa had given no indication that she had known Garvie. But Garvie had been with Patsy in the Dunvegan, and Patsy had given Sa a lift in her Land Rover.
Did that mean anything?
Now he had hung up, he could think of a dozen reasons why Sa would call Alexandra Garvie Lex. But it wasn’t the dozen reasons that intrigued him.
It was only the one.
Fast Eddy looked up from the pint he was pulling. ‘Andy. It’s your good self. Pint of Eighty?’
Gilchrist shook his head. ‘Looking for Maggie Hendren,’ he said. ‘You seen her?’
‘Expecting her in later this evening.’
‘What time?’
‘Six. But I wouldn’t go holding your breath.’
‘She doesn’t look the unreliable type.’
‘Looks have eff-all to do with it, mate. Treats this place like she’s a part-timer.’
A quiet voice from behind said, ‘Why all the interest in Maggie? You could make a woman jealous.’
Surprised, Gilchrist turned around.
Patsy faced him, cigarette in one hand, empty glass in the other. Without taking her eyes off Gilchrist, she said, ‘Same again, Eddy.’
‘With you in a sec, love,’ said Fast Eddy, and carried a pint of lager to the far end of the bar.
‘Going to join me for a drink, Andy?’
‘Too early for me.’
‘Eighty Shilling, is it?’
‘You’d be wasting your money.’
She caught Fast Eddy’s eye. ‘And the usual for Andy.’
‘Gotcha.’
She drew on her cigarette, her cheeks pulling in with the effort, smooth and angular. Top fashion models would kill for a jawline like that. But it made Patsy’s face look hard. In a downpour, from a distance, she might even be mistaken for a man.
Smoke spilled from the side of her mouth. ‘I hear you’re divorced,’ she said.
‘It’s a small town.’
‘I can’t imagine someone with your looks being unattached for long.’ Another pull at her cigarette, another cloud of smoke. ‘But that’s not what I’m hearing.’
‘Put it down to pressure of work.’
‘Too many villains to chase?’
‘Something like that.’
‘You’re not dating?’
Gilchrist shrugged. ‘Are you?’
‘I’m working on it.’
‘There you go,’ Fast Eddy said. ‘Ready for yours?’
Gilchrist raised his hand. ‘Maybe later.’
‘Put one in the pipes, Eddy. My tab. There’s a good boy.’
‘Gotcha.’
Patsy lifted her double vodka and tonic and stared into Gilchrist’s eyes. ‘You haven’t answered my question.’
‘Which one?’
‘Why all the interest in Maggie?’
‘Why would that make you jealous?’
Her smile widened. ‘I’m not like the others.’
‘The others?’
‘Our little group.’
Patsy. Maggie. Lex. Our little group?
‘In what way?’ he asked her.
‘You’re the detective.’
Sa called Alexandra Garvie Lex. Patsy knew Sa. All of a sudden the rumours of Sa’s bisexuality seemed well founded. Patsy, Maggie, Lex. And Sa?
Patsy took another pull at her cigarette. This time she inhaled and almost swallowed. Twin streams of smoke blew from her nostrils like an unspoken warning to back off.
But backing off was no longer on Gilchrist’s agenda.
Sebbie flattened his hands to his ears to press out the sound of the hammering on the front door.
‘Open this door, Mr Hamilton. We know you’re in there.’
He pulled the quilt around his shoulders like a winter blanket. Spikes of pain shot through his stomach. He groaned and slipped a corner of the quilt into his mouth, the material soft between his teeth. The pain in his stomach drifted away for a blissful second.
‘Open this door, Mr Hamilton. We will not leave until you open this door.’ The wall by his ear gave a shiver, as if a sledgehammer had struck the framing. ‘Open up.’
Another thud. A pause. Then again.
‘Open the door. This is your landlord. I have a legal right to enter my property. Open this door.’ The letterbox flapped, a tinny rattle against a booming background. ‘I’m not leaving until you let me in to inspect my property. Open up, Mr Hamilton. Open—’
Sebbie let out a high-pitched shriek.
Silence.
He held his breath. Had they gone?
Four quick raps from a knuckled fist. ‘Mr Hamilton?’ The voice sounded quieter, as if the landlord was concerned over Sebbie’s well-being. But he had met the landlord before, a bungling ape of a man with a bald head and hair like thin fur that protruded from the back of his shirt collar.
‘Go away,’ Sebbie shouted. ‘Just go away.’
‘Can’t do that. Under the terms of your lease agreement, I have the right to carry out an inspection of my property once a year. I am exercising that right.’
Sebbie closed his eyes. ‘Go away.’
‘You have refused to acknowledge correspondence from my lawyers, and you are obliged to provide me access to inspect my property. Failure to do so will result in eviction proceedings being initiated against you.’
Sebbie blinked at the hot sting of tears. This was the house he had been raised in, the only home he had ever known. ‘I pay my rent,’ he shouted.
‘That satisfies only one condition of your lease, Mr Hamilton. You need to satisfy other conditions by letting me perform my annual inspection.’
‘My parents lived here.’
A burst of light lit the hallway as the letterbox opened, then darkened as a face lowered to it. Two dark eyes blinked then changed to a black hole of a mouth. ‘I couldn’t care less if the fucking Pope lived here,’ the mouth growled. ‘I own this property, and I’m coming in, even if I have to break this fucking door down.’
‘You can’t do that. I have rights.’
The letterbox closed with a clatter then reopened. A folded sheet of paper was pushed through and fell to the floor. Sebbie did not have to look at it to know it was a copy of his lease agreement with the inspection clause highlighted.
The black hole returned. ‘There’s your rig
hts. You have the right to pay me rent. That’s what rights you have. And I have the right to get into my fucking property. Now open up.’ The letterbox clattered again, followed by a dull thud like a muted explosion.
Sebbie covered his ears. ‘Fuck off,’ he screamed. ‘Fuck off fuck off fuck off.’
Two eyes again. ‘Oh, I’ll fuck off all right, you little fucker. But I’ll be back. You’d better believe it. And I’ll be back to break this door down. So, sleep tight. And sweet dreams.’
The letterbox snapped shut. Someone laughed.
The door thudded. Once. Twice. Then silence.
Sebbie suckled the quilt. The landlord would keep his word. He would be evicted. Of that he had no doubt. Then where would he go? What would he do? He had squandered almost all the insurance money from his father’s policy, and had not worked since being fired from Coulthart’s Engineering for poor timekeeping.
Then it struck him. His life had been leading to this moment. His father’s death. His mother’s disappearance. His failure at university. His inability to hold down a job. His burgeoning hatred of life, of people, of all things beautiful.
Of her.
A low groan escaped his lips as he rocked back and forth.
If he was going to lose, then so was she.
Gilchrist realized he had switched off his mobile after talking to Sa. He powered it up and found he had missed two messages. One from Beth, thanking him for returning her car, and asking if he could drop the keys off at her shop. The other from ACC McVicar, ordering him to call at his earliest convenience, and leaving a number Gilchrist did not recognize.
Gilchrist wondered if he should call McVicar right away. True to his word, Patterson had forwarded Garvie’s complaint to him – accompanied by a scathing report, no doubt – and McVicar had no option but to follow it up.
Christ. It was really happening this time. He was about to be fired. Then what would he do? Take a part-time job at the driving range? Work the bar in Lafferty’s? Or nights for some security firm out of town? The injustice he felt he had suffered at the hands of Patterson more than irked him.
He stared off along the street, seeing in the random movement of an unconcerned public the passing of the final hours of his own police career. His once promising sky’s-the-limit career had peaked at detective inspector and was about to be terminated with the stroke of a pen. For one crazy moment, he wondered if McVicar had called for some other reason, then saw there would be no saving grace. He could almost hear Patterson telling it how it is.
After twenty-seven years with Fife Constabulary the stagnating career of Detective Inspector Andrew James Gilchrist, father of Jack and Maureen, ex-husband of Gail Gilchrist, née Jamieson, is herewith terminated.
He was finished. Just like that.
And that thought brought him to a decision. After twenty-seven years, they could bloody well suffer him for one more day. He switched off his mobile, stuffed it into his jacket pocket, and drove to Beth’s shop.
It always struck Gilchrist that This and That had the lazy ambience of a library reading room. The soulful sound of Kenny G filled the air. Beth looked up from sorting the shelves, her eyes seeming to dance with pleasure at his arrival. He handed over her keys and the envelopes with the repair estimates.
‘Any good news?’ she asked.
‘Not as bad as it could be.’
He enjoyed being close to her again and his frustration at the imminent loss of his career seemed to melt him. He breathed in her smell, a hint of familiar perfume, an altogether female fragrance that both pleased and aroused him.
When he finished telling her about his rounds of the garages, she asked, ‘How did it go with Gail?’
‘She’s not handling it well,’ he said. ‘She’s bitter, hurt, angry, confused. All of the above.’
‘Is she in any pain?’
‘Not according to Jack. But I never really had a conversation with her. I just can’t ...’
‘Andy, I’m so sorry.’
He shook his head. Even though it had been Gail who had the affair, he felt as if he had let her down in some way. He cared for her, wanted to help her, but she would not let him near. ‘Maybe I’m frustrated at my own failure,’ he said. ‘I know she’s got Harry now, and the kids keep in touch with her. But Gail and I had a life together. We were happy once.’ He shrugged. ‘At least I thought we were.’
Beth seemed to give his words some thought, then said, ‘Maybe she wants to let you in, Andy, but doesn’t know how.’
‘She seems to be way past that now. For whatever reason, she can’t stand me. And as for Harry, well, what can I say?’
Dark smudges stained the skin under Beth’s eyes like misapplied mascara. ‘How are Jack and Maureen holding up?’
‘Jack’s hurting,’ he said. ‘But he’d have you believe he’s taking it all in his stride. He talks to his mum every other day, and visits her twice a week. Alone,’ he added, deciding not to divulge Gail’s hurtful comment. ‘God knows if he’ll ever make it as an artist. But he keeps doing his own stuff and seems to be making some kind of living. I never saw Maureen. She was in Edinburgh for a couple of days. With her boyfriend. Don’t ask which one.’
‘She didn’t get to see her wonderful present?’
‘Afraid not.’
‘Did Jack like his?’
‘He liked it so much he said, Cool.’
Gilchrist loved the high pitch of Beth’s laugh and the way her eyes creased with pleasure. It struck him that his life had been devoid of real happiness since they split up. On impulse, he said, ‘Are you doing anything later?’
Her surprise deflated him.
‘I’m not sure, Andy, I—’
‘I mean, would you like a drink, or a bite to eat? Or even just a chat. To catch up.’ He hoped his smile would resolve the doubt he caught shifting behind her eyes. ‘If you’re free, that is,’ he added.
‘I can’t get out of here until six at the earliest.’
‘I think I can survive until then.’
‘And I was planning to take some paperwork home with me. Accounts.’
Gilchrist gave a quick shrug to hide his disappointment. ‘If you’re busy, that’s okay. Why don’t you give me a call if you can find the time? All right?’
She nodded and smiled.
But when Gilchrist glanced over his shoulder as he left the shop, she had her back to him.
Robbie McRoberts reached across to the passenger’s seat and dug his fingers into a fat thigh.
‘Wakey wakey, Kev, old son.’
Kev groaned, tried to rub the pain from his leg. ‘Fuck sake, Robbie, I’ve got a wife and kids, you know.’ He pulled himself up on his seat.
‘Keep that ugly coupon of yours out of sight. He’ll see you.’
Kev slid back down into his seat. ‘What’s he at?’
Robbie scratched a podgy finger at his bald head. ‘It looks like he’s going for a walk, is what he’s at.’
Kev tried to peer over the dashboard.
‘Come to Daddy, you fucker.’
‘Still see him?’
‘I see him all right. But does he see me? is what I ask myself.’ Robbie let out a laugh that formed spittle at the corners of his mouth. ‘And do you know what the answer to that one is, Kev, old son? Boy wonder doesn’t have a clue. Not a fucking clue.’
Kev pulled himself up. In the distance, he watched a skinny figure walk down the side of the house, hesitate at the street, then look left and right as if deciding whether or not to cross the road. ‘What’s he doing?’ he asked.
‘He’s thinking we’ve gone, is what the fucker’s doing,’ said Robbie, his grin crushing his neck into folds of flesh. He slapped the steering wheel. ‘I think we’re in business.’
‘Hang on,’ said Kev. ‘He’s going back inside.’
‘You know your problem, Kev? You’re a worrier. That’s what your problem is. You worry too much.’
Kev had nothing to say to that. Of course he worried. Batte
ring their way into someone’s home when they were out was against the law, no matter what the lease agreement said about annual inspections. But as usual, he said nothing, just slid down in his seat and tried to catch another forty winks before he was ordered to do his stuff.
Thirty minutes later, they stepped into the damp evening air. ‘Ready to do the necessary?’ Robbie asked, and cracked his knuckles.
‘Fuck sake, Robbie. One of these days you’re going to pull the lot off if you keep doing that.’ Kev tucked the head of the sledgehammer under his donkey jacket. But he was short and the handle thudded against his thigh with each step as he followed his employer.
In the dark by the back door, an overgrown hedge offered some protection from the neighbours’ eyes.
Robbie turned to Kev. ‘Give it one.’
The first blow splintered the door frame and cracked the panel. The second buried the head of the sledgehammer into the wood. Kev struggled to pull it back out.
‘The lock,’ complained Robbie. ‘How many times do I have to tell you? Hit the fucking lock.’
Kev gritted his teeth, lifted the sledgehammer, held it for a second, then swung it hard with a step to the side.
The frame splintered. The door burst open.
Robbie kicked his way inside and placed a hand over his nose and mouth. ‘Fucking hell, Kev. Open a window. Get some air in here.’
Kev fought back the need to gag.
Robbie turned, eyes ablaze. ‘Don’t just stand there, Kev. Open the fucking windows. All of them. And the front door.’
Kev stomped along the hallway and opened the front door.
Back in the kitchen, strips of plaster showed where the wallpaper had peeled off. Tin cans, black toast and clotted baked beans littered the floor around an overflowing bin. In the sink, crusted plates lay in scum as thick as vomit. Kev toed a furred slice of green bread and stepped back as maggots crawled from beneath it.
‘Fucking hell.’
Kev looked up. He had seen many a sight, but he had never before seen his boss on the verge of throwing up.
‘I’m going to have that fucker’s balls,’ growled Robbie. ‘What did I tell you? I knew something was up. And tomorrow morning I’m going to see my lawyer and charge that fucker with vandalism.’
