Eye for an Eye

sobbing.
    Gilchrist pushed his chair back and fought off the urge to shout to the skies. If MacMillan had called right away, they might have been able to trap the Stabber.
    He glanced at Sa. She was staring at MacMillan, her face pale and drawn, as drained as Gilchrist felt. The case was taking its toll on her. On both of them. They’d been at it seven days a week for the last two months. Eighteen hours a day. Minimum. They couldn’t keep that up for ever. No one could. And that bastard, Patterson, hadn’t called yet. But that would come. As surely as the sun would—
    ‘I followed him.’
    Gilchrist stared at MacMillan, his mind demanding to hear the words repeated. But Sa beat him to it.
    ‘You did what?’
    ‘I followed him. The Stabber. I was on my way home when I seen him ahead of me.’
    ‘Are you sure?’
    ‘Aye, lass. I recognized the anorak. And the tight jeans.’
    ‘Did he see you?’ asked Gilchrist.
    ‘No, son. He went through The Pends. It’s a wee bit bendy. And I kept well back, like. He walked past Deans Court.’ He shook his head. ‘Just like the Devil himself.’
    ‘Where did he go after that?’
    ‘Into North Street.’
    Gilchrist felt his gaze being pulled to the front of the building. The Office was in North Street and so was the university. Was the Stabber a student returning to St Salvator’s Halls of Residence? But they had these halls covered last night. Or had the Stabber slipped down one of the side streets, maybe headed back to the town centre? He would check the CCTV recordings.
    ‘And then what?’ he asked MacMillan.
    ‘He was walking fast. By the time he turned into North Street he was a good bit in front of me. I didnae want to get too close, like, in case he saw me. But when I turned into North Street he was gone.’
    ‘Gone?’
    ‘Vanished.’
    ‘You never saw him?’
    ‘No.’
    ‘Did you see anyone?’
    ‘I didnae.’
    ‘After he turned into North Street,’ said Gilchrist, ‘how long did it take you to reach the corner?’
    MacMillan shrugged. ‘Fifteen seconds. Maybe more.’
    ‘Maybe a minute?’ asked Sa.
    ‘I’m sure it wasnae that long, lass.’
    ‘Where were you standing when you last saw the Stabber?’ Gilchrist asked.
    ‘In The Pends. By the entrance arch.’
    ‘We’ll work it back,’ Gilchrist said to Sa. ‘Get some feel for how far the Stabber could have walked in the time it takes to reach the corner of North Street. Carry out door-to-door enquiries. Turn out every house in the street, if we have to.’
    Sa leaned closer. ‘Maybe the Stabber ran,’ she said.
    ‘Why would he run, lass? He was walking. Fast, like. But just walking.’
    ‘Maybe he knew he was being followed.’
    ‘No, lass. I’ve told you.’
    ‘Did you see any cars?’
    ‘I didnae notice. I was looking for someone walking.’
    ‘So, you’re not sure?’
    ‘No.’
    ‘Maybe he just drove away.’
    ‘He would have had to have gone some to jump into a car, start it up and drive out of North Street before I reached the corner.’
    ‘Was he old enough to drive?’
    ‘I’d say so.’
    ‘Why would you say so?’
    ‘He didnae look like a wee boy. More like a young man with a baby face.’
    ‘But you never saw his face.’
    ‘No clear enough.’
    ‘And you never saw a car.’
    ‘I wasnae looking for a car, but with all these questions you’re firing at me, I’m no so sure any more. I just cannae remember.’
    ‘Perhaps he had a car parked down a side street,’ Sa pressed on. ‘Did you hear a car?’
    MacMillan’s face clouded. ‘I’m sorry, Mr Gilchrist.’
    Gilchrist stood up. The interview was over. ‘Your eyewitness account will be of great help to the investigation. I appreciate you coming in and talking to us.’
    ‘I’m sorry I never chased after him,’ MacMillan said. ‘That’s what Bill would have done.’
    Something in MacMillan’s tone struck Gilchrist. The Stabber’s five previous victims had all been rough men, drinking men, and up until that moment he had no reason to believe Granton was anything other than a mild-mannered bank manager.
    ‘How was Bill with women?’ he asked.
    MacMillan shook his head. ‘Bill might have looked like butter wouldnae melt in his mouth. But he could be a bad-tempered bugger when he put his mind to it.’
    Gilchrist held MacMillan’s eyes and knew the old man’s words had just cast a different light on things.

CHAPTER 4
     
    A bitter east wind sliced Sebbie to the bone as he walked through the