Eye for an Eye

hardworking, but he needed to feel some mutual trust, feel confident that they worked as a team. But Sa sometimes treated him with a coldness that could be mistaken for contempt. He blamed Patterson for teaming them up. Patterson had known Sa was difficult to work with and it was his perverted way of saying,
Try screwing the ass off of that one
.
     
    Sebbie opened his eyes.
    He clicked on his bedside lamp, but the bulb had blown two weeks earlier and he could not be bothered to replace it. He tried reading his watch, but it was too dark.
    He ran his fingers through his thick, greasy hair. He had not showered for over a week. He felt his penis press against his y-fronts. He was always hard in the morning, it seemed. Ever since that stupid bitch Alice had ditched him, he was always hard. But it was no longer Alice he thought of when he masturbated. He thought of
her
. He slipped his penis out.
    Every time he masturbated now, he masturbated to her. She was such a classy bitch with her polite accent and long dresses that hid tiny braless tits and came down to sandalled feet with skin the colour of cream and he bet she never wore panties when she worked in her shop and if he pushed her dress up and up and over her thighs she would ...
    He lay still for several moments, then cleaned his hand on the pillow and rolled out of bed. In the bathroom he switched on the light and blinked against the brightness. His bald chest was slathered with strips of white that trailed to his pubic hair. He slid his hand down to his stomach then slapped his fingers against the wallpaper. Wet streaks covered old stains.
    He turned on the tap and splashed cold water onto his hands. A quick rub down with a smelly towel, and Sebastian Hamilton was ready to face the world. He did not bother to wash his face or brush his teeth. No need. He had done that last night. Besides, now he had made up his mind, he felt good.
    His plan was simple. That classy bitch might think she was beyond his reach, might think she would never let him touch her. But it didn’t matter what she thought.
    He was going to have her anyway.

CHAPTER 2
     
    Gilchrist parked his Merc behind the ugly harbour-front building and stared at its bland façade rising like a grey wall in the pre-dawn gloom. The structure looked out of place.
    What he loved about St Andrews was its history, its links to the Reformation and executions for heresy by burning at the stake, its hidden lanes and ancient walkways, its stone dykes and ragged ruins, its narrow alleys and foot-worn steps. And often, when he left the pub, aglow from one too many beers, if he half-shut his eyes he could almost believe he was in an earlier century.
    He removed a pair of rubber gloves and coveralls from the boot, pulled up his jacket collar and pressed the remote as he walked along the harbour. An icy wind forced tears to his eyes. He stared off to the dark horizon of the open sea. A lifetime ago, it seemed, he had often walked this way with his children, Jack and Maureen clutching their tiny plastic buckets and floppy spades, determined to dig holes in the golden-brown beach of the East Sands or search for jellyfish and crabs in the receding sea pools. Which reminded him, he had not heard from either of them for several days. Or had it been longer? He made a mental note to call them later.
    He breathed in the aroma of salt and fish scales, the strangely pleasant stench of decaying kelp and seaweed. To his side, the sea clapped the harbour walls, and it puzzled him that the sounds and smells seemed new to him somehow, as if the harbour’s intangible familiarity had eluded him until that moment. He walked past groups of fishermen crouched by lobster creels. One of them grunted and nodded and Gilchrist nodded back. But he knew from their unhurried actions and tight-lipped silence that trapping lobsters was the last thing on their minds that morning.
    Up ahead, from the lambent glow of an adjacent window, he recognized the silhouettes of Sa and a uniformed policeman. As he neared, he saw what looked like a bloated heap of discarded clothing on the quayside. The lighting vehicle had not arrived yet and a lone photographer prowled the body like a tempted lion, camera flickering like the visual remnants of last night’s storm. Three Scenes of Crime Officers in white coveralls were preparing to set up their inflatable tent.
    Gilchrist reached the corner of the building.
    ‘Where’s Stan?’ he asked Sa.
    ‘Gone for a