Eye for an Eye

his head. ‘It’s a game we play.’
    Gilchrist frowned, puzzled. ‘Go on.’
    ‘I’ve known Bill since we was toddlers. We grew up together, went to school together, been friends all our lives. Close friends, like.’ Sad eyes shifted beneath bushy eyebrows.
    Gilchrist studied him. ‘Did you know Bill was homosexual?’ he tried.
    ‘Homosexual? Sounds better than poofter.’
    ‘So you knew?’
    A shadow settled behind MacMillan’s eyes. ‘Aye, son.’
    ‘Would it be right to assume that you and Bill were ...’
    MacMillan’s nostrils flared for a brief second. ‘Aye, son. It would.’
    ‘And that’s where you and he met? At the harbour?’
    ‘I go out for a walk every night. Been doing that for the last forty years. Never missed a day, come hail, rain or snow.’
    ‘Even in thunderstorms?’
    ‘Even in thunderstorms.’
    Sa leaned forward as if to ask a question and Gilchrist surprised himself by pressing the flat of his hand against her thigh. She sat back.
    ‘No one knows about me and Bill,’ MacMillan whispered, then dabbed a thick finger at the corner of his eye. ‘I dinnae think I could stand the looks.’
    ‘Tell me about the game you played,’ Gilchrist said.
    MacMillan took a deep breath.
    ‘Every night, I take my midnight walk. On Tuesdays I go to the harbour and wait for Bill. I never know if he’s going to come or not. That’s part of our game. Sometimes he does. Sometimes he disnae. He likes it that way.’ Teary eyes held Gilchrist’s. ‘I would walk out to the pier and watch through my binoculars. I would be out of sight. But Bill knew I was there. I was always there. He hadnae come by for nigh on three weeks, the longest time yet. Something told me he would come last night. You know what I mean?’
    Gilchrist nodded.
    ‘I seen someone walk down by the Abbey wall. I thought it was Bill. But I wasnae sure. I was too far away and it was bucketing. When I got closer I seen by the walk that it wasnae him. Then I seen him, up by the shorehead.’
    MacMillan picked up the binoculars and Gilchrist noticed the yellow taint of nicotine on thick fingertips. He would have given a hundred quid for a cigarette at that moment. He took another sip of coffee. It tasted even more bitter.
    ‘Bill would walk to the harbour wall,’ MacMillan went on. ‘All innocent like. As if he was staring out to sea. But he would be looking for me. Then when no one was around he would unbutton his coat and he’d ...’ MacMillan lowered his head.
    ‘But he didn’t get a chance to do that last night,’ Gilchrist whispered. ‘Did he, Sam?’
    MacMillan shook his head. ‘No, son. He didnae.’
    ‘What happened, Sam. Tell me.’
    MacMillan gripped the binoculars. ‘Bill heard something. He turned around. I didnae know what was going on at first. Then I seen someone walk toward him.’
    ‘The Stabber?’
    ‘Aye.’
    ‘Was that when you got a good look at him?’
    ‘It was dark. But, aye. I could see fine well. The Stabber was young, like. Just a boy.’
    ‘How could you tell?’
    ‘I’m no altogether stupid.’
    ‘What was the Stabber wearing?’
    ‘An anorak. With the hood up.’
    ‘Colour?’
    ‘Dark green. Or blue, maybe. It was dripping. And jeans. Tight jeans. Even though Bill was looking away from me, I knew he was talking by the way his head moved.’
    ‘You had a clear view?’ Sa again.
    ‘Not too clear, like. I kept having to wipe the lenses.’
    ‘Well enough to identify him?’
    MacMillan stared at Sa. ‘When Bill was stabbed, he fell flat on his back. Down like a sack of tatties he went. And just then, the skies lit up.’
    Gilchrist held his breath. He glanced at the recorder. It was still turning. He resisted the urge to look at Sa, could sense her tension. ‘Do you know who he is, Sam?’
    MacMillan grimaced. ‘I seen his face. Pure evil, it was. But I just seen it for a fraction of a second.’ Then he shook his head. ‘If I seen him again, I wouldnae be sure.’
    Gilchrist slumped back in his chair. Something stirred within him, flared to anger. ‘Why didn’t you call the police? You’d just witnessed a murder, for crying out loud.’
    ‘I couldnae think straight. Bill was dead. I couldnae do nothing for him. I had to walk past his body to get off the pier.’ He shook his head. Tears welled in his eyes. ‘I couldnae even look at him. I havenae slept all night for thinking about it.’ Then he buried his face in his hands and his shoulders heaved with his