As Gilchrist pushed through The Central’s double swing doors, he was hit by the chaotic hubbub of a Scottish Friday night in full swing. The end of the working week – if you were not a DCI with a triple murder and another suspicious death to solve – was typically heralded by alcohol being quaffed as if in fear of a global shortage the following day, maybe even the following hour.
Students, rich and poor; couples, young and old and in between; red-faced caddies, wind-blasted after a day on the golf courses; groups of tourists, many from overseas, looking stunned by the sight or deafened by the noise – it was difficult to tell – filled the seats or swarmed in thirsty groups around the rectangular bar.
Gilchrist had always been intrigued by the name – The Central. Was it because of the pub’s location on Market Street, which was more or less in the centre of St Andrews, or because the bar itself – behind which bartenders glided past each other in the tight aisles with the skilled grace of dancers – was situated in the centre of the room? The conundrum usually lasted a pint or two before it faded to nothing.
Gilchrist located Stan seated in a corner booth with Mhairi, Jessie and Jackie, and signalled to the barman for a beer. Either the others had left early or Gilchrist was arriving late. He glanced at his watch – 8.20 – and decided the latter.
With a pint of Deuchars IPA in hand he waded through the crowd. ‘Room for one more to squeeze in?’ he asked.
Jackie looked up in surprise, her eyes wide behind her blackrimmed specs. Then she reached for her crutches resting against the wall.
‘I’ve got them,’ Gilchrist said, and held them steady as he worked his way past and sat next to Mhairi. ‘And never a drop was spilled,’ he said, then took a mouthful that turned into a gulp.
‘Thirsty, boss?’
Gilchrist returned what was left of his pint to the table. ‘Was I ready for that or what?’
‘So, how’d you get on with Greaves?’ Jessie asked.
Gilchrist nodded at his beer. ‘Can’t you tell? He told me to work the teams twenty-four/seven until we solved the case. I reminded him of his budget and our overtime rate.’
‘Ouch.’
‘The word apoplectic springs to mind.’ Another gulp had his pint close to the bottom. ‘Anyone fancy another?’ he asked.
‘Heh, slow down there, big boy,’ Jessie said. ‘Are you on a promise or what? Talking of which, where is Veronica Lake, anyway?’
Gilchrist pretended not to hear her, and caught the barman’s eye again. He circled the group with his hand, and mouthed, Same again. ‘I’m getting a receipt for these, which I’ll present to Greaves. That should test his heart valves for him.’
Stan reached for his pint. ‘In that case, I’ll have another two.’
Jackie laughed and tried to follow the quip with one of her own, but her stutter beat her every time, so she ended up just clapping her hands.
‘Right, Stan,’ said Gilchrist. He did not intend to stay long. He had a busy day – and probably another week or more – ahead of him, and he wanted to hear their thoughts on progress so far. ‘What’s Janice like?’
Stan raised his eyebrows. ‘Mutton dressed as lamb, if you get my drift.’
‘Yeah, but is she boinking Magner?’ Jessie asked.
‘Well, she denied it. Said she’d heard the rumour within the company and was in the process of taking legal advice.’
‘Who’s her solicitor?’ Gilchrist asked.
‘She wouldn’t say, so I pressed her a bit, and she confessed that she hadn’t exactly started the process yet.’
‘Lying trollop.’ Jessie again.
Gilchrist said, ‘I’m listening,’ then sipped the last of his beer.
‘I told her that if she was in any way prevaricating—’
‘That’s a big word,’ Jessie said. ‘Did the bitch know what it meant?’
‘She also knew what complicit meant.’
‘So she coughed up?’
‘She certainly did,’ Stan said. ‘The pair of them have been at it since Christmas.’
Which had Gilchrist thinking about Cooper. Christmas was when their affair started, too. ‘How long has she been with Stratheden?’ he asked.
‘Says she was offered a job just before McCulloch and Magner hit the big time, but turned it down. Decided to stay where she was – Robertson McKellar, an accounting firm in Cupar. Better job security.’
‘And Magner persuaded her to change her mind, when, exactly?’
‘Ten years ago. Almost to the day.’
‘An anniversary boink.’ Jessie nodded to the bar. ‘They’re up.’
Gilchrist pulled himself to his feet and pushed in at the counter. Something did not compute. If Janice had been with Stratheden for a decade, why had she only recently started an affair with Magner? His gut told him she was holding something back.
He thanked the barman, pocketed the change, carried the small glasses back to the table – Drambuie on the rocks for Jackie; Bombay Sapphire and slimline tonic for Mhairi. Another trip to the counter for his and Stan’s pints of Deuchars – he’d persuaded Stan to quit Fosters – and Jessie’s half of Belhaven Best. Again, he managed to squeeze in without spilling a drop.
‘You’re getting good at that,’ Jessie said.
‘Plenty of practice.’ He gripped his glass. ‘Here’s to Greaves.’
‘Long may he choke,’ Jessie said. Gilchrist had the IPA to his lips when her eyes lit up and she announced, ‘You’ve got company.’
He turned, expecting to see Cooper, then felt his heart stutter at the sight of Maureen.
Her face, which had once been full and attractive, now looked haunted and drawn, with eyes that stared from hollow sockets. Her dark hair no longer bounced thick and glossy by her neckline, but was tied back in a tight ponytail that only accentuated how thin she had become. Three stone she had lost in total, but from a body that had been slim in the first place.
Jessie rose to her feet, and offered Maureen her seat. ‘Here you go, Mo. I’m going outside to make a call. I’ll be back in five.’
Gilchrist stood, as Maureen nudged his cheek in a half-hearted peck and whispered, ‘Sorry for hanging up on you earlier.’ Then she squeezed past him, nodding hello to everyone in turn. And in the passing, he sensed the lightness of her body, even though she was cocooned in a woollen scarf and thick anorak that hid her emaciated frame. She sat, black jeans slack on too-thin legs.
‘The usual?’ he asked her.
‘I’ll just have one,’ she said. ‘Then I’m heading back to the flat.’
‘Anything to eat with it?’
‘I’ve already had a bite.’
Gilchrist doubted it, but did not have the heart to challenge her in front of the others. Instead, he returned to the bar, caught the barman’s eye again, and asked for a Cabernet.
‘Large or small?’
Gilchrist wanted to reply ‘small’, but Maureen would only down it in one to remind him she never drank small measures. ‘Large,’ he said.
When he returned to his seat and handed Maureen her drink, the conversation had already shifted to her Open University studies.
‘Can’t wait to get the exams out of the way,’ she said, in response to a question from Mhairi.
‘And then will you apply for a job with Fife?’
Maureen lifted the glass to her lips, then shrugged, giving Gilchrist his first hint that she might soon be leaving St Andrews again.
‘I guess you wouldn’t want your old dad as a slave driver,’ Stan joked.
Jackie mouthed a laugh, then clapped again.
‘I’m not that cruel,’ Gilchrist said, but that only encouraged Maureen to hide behind her wine, letting him know that the topic of her postgraduate employment was off limits.
And so was his investigation. An early debriefing with the teams, followed by almost two hours with Greaves, most of which had been a waste of time, meant that Gilchrist had scarcely discussed the day’s events with Stan and the others. Although he trusted Maureen, and shown her details of previous cases, for some reason he did not want her involved in the massacre of the McCullochs.
He gripped his pint and asked, ‘So, how’s Jon?’
‘Wouldn’t know. I hardly see him these days.’
‘I thought you liked him.’
‘I thought so, too,’ she agreed. Her next sip of wine almost drained the glass.
Well, that put an end to that. Like father, like daughter, he thought. Or maybe like father, like family was more correct.
In the several years leading up to their separation, Gail had cut back on her alcohol intake. He had since wondered if her sobriety had contributed to their break-up. Maybe through sober eyes she had seen what a failure he had been as a husband and father, which in turn had encouraged her to have the affair with Harry.
He almost felt relieved when Jessie reappeared.
‘I tell you what,’ she said. ‘I’m ready to chew nails.’
‘Ouch,’ said Mhairi.
‘There are never enough stools when you want one,’ Jessie said, looking around.
‘That’s ’cause it’s Friday and the bar’s busy.’
‘Who’s a clever Stan? Can I squeeze in beside you, Andy?’
Gilchrist took his chance and said, ‘My turn.’ He stood, mobile already in hand, and left Jessie to take his chair. Without another word, he threaded through the crowd and exited by the side door on to College Street.
Outside, the air felt raw, as if the temperature had plummeted ten degrees. A bitter wind brushed the cobbles, and he turned his back to it as he made the call. A gull screeched from the black skies above Church Street as he counted five rings, then six. He was about to hang up when Cooper answered.
‘I’ll give you a call back,’ she snapped.
The line died before he had time to respond.
He returned the mobile to his pocket and eyed the entrance to the bar. If Maureen had not been inside, he would have walked to the Merc and driven straight to his cottage in Crail. As it was, he returned inside with a heavy heart, saddened by the knowledge that Cooper would be sharing her bed with her undeserving husband that night.