Gilchrist stared at the road ahead, saying nothing until he sensed Jessie settling. ‘Can I buy you lunch?’ he offered.
‘You think that’s going to make me feel better?’
‘It’s amazing what food can do. And drink,’ he added.
‘Does it have anything with a double whisky in it?’
‘It can have a treble in it if you think you need it.’
‘Jesus, Andy,’ she said. ‘These fucking things. I tell you,’ she shook her head, ‘just seeing them reminded me of a case I was involved in. Three years ago. In Cambuslang. A wee girl got savaged by a big dog, just like one of these things. A Rott . . . something or other—’
‘Rottweiler.’
Jessie let out a rush of breath. ‘I don’t suppose you have a cigarette on you?’
‘Sorry. No.’
‘Some knight in shining armour you are.’
‘Forgot my horse.’
Jessie stared at the passing countryside for a quiet mile or two, then said, ‘You should have seen the mess that wee lassie was in. Her ribcage was crushed, her neck was broken. She’d been shaken like a doll. Her face was unrecognisable. And, if that wasn’t bad enough, do you know what really got me upset?’
It took several seconds for Gilchrist to realise she was waiting for an answer. ‘No, what?’ he said.
‘The dog’s owner. A big fat punter with tattoos all over the place. You know what he said?’ She paused for a couple of beats. ‘He said she shouldn’t have been in his garden. That was it. No remorse, no mention of the fact that the wee girl had just been mauled to death.’ She sniffed. ‘Caroline, her name was. She’d only pulled herself over the fence to get her tennis ball back. When the fat prick said that, Caroline’s father went for him. It took three of us to pull him off. Then the big fat punter stands up, spits blood from his mouth, and says he wants the father charged with assault.’
Gilchrist kept his eyes on the road. He had only ever seen one victim of a dog attack, and nothing as serious as Jessie was describing. But he had watched police dog handlers working with their animals, witnessed the brutality of their attacks. Something chilling about the ferocious way they tore into their victims, snarling and slashing with bared fangs, pure animal instinct directing them to the throat, to tear it out, go for the kill. If he was ever attacked by a dog as powerful as a Rottweiler, he knew he could do little to save himself. Few men could. Let alone a three-year-old girl.
‘I nearly got fired over that,’ Jessie said.
Gilchrist jolted in his seat. ‘Come again?’
‘I lost it. Completely.’ She stared out the window for several seconds, then said, ‘It must be a woman thing. There were four of us, and I was the only female. Not one of them said anything to the fat prick. I pulled out my baton and said, If you want to charge anyone, try charging me. Then I broke his nose. Out like a light. Of course, when he came to, we all had our stories sorted. And that was the end of that. But I tell you, I was worried for a while.’
‘Should you be telling me this?’ Gilchrist asked.
She shook off a shiver, then said, ‘When these things battered into that fence back there, it all came back to me. I couldn’t stop thinking about that wee girl, the pain she must have felt. I tell you, Andy, I was shitting myself. I can’t tell you how scared I was.’
‘I wasn’t exactly trying to scratch their ears and take them for walkies either.’
She gave a short chuckle. ‘I shouldn’t have told you any of that,’ she said. ‘It just . . . I don’t know . . . seeing these things . . . hearing them . . . and the size of their teeth . . . and all that slobbering—’
‘Forget it,’ he said.
The words came out louder than intended, but if the truth be told she should not have confessed to having hit a civilian with her baton. He could make discreet enquiries, maybe even file a report. But on the other hand, how many times had he been confronted with the condescending arrogance of a hardened criminal, someone for whom the law was only to be scoffed at, shoving it in his face, threatening him with vitriol and spittle, ready to take it farther than he ever could, because the police, by definition, were constrained by the limits of the law. If one of his own children had been mauled to death by a dog, it would take a far stronger man than he was to turn his back on it and let the law take over. He felt his lips stretch at the unintended pun. Best to let sleeping dogs lie.
‘We both got a fright back there,’ he said. ‘Let’s leave it at that.’ He waited for Jessie’s nod, then added, ‘We need to talk to this Jason Purvis, regardless of how many dogs he’s got. So get hold of Jackie and find out what he drives.’
‘Hang on,’ Jessie said, retrieving her mobile. ‘In our rush I didn’t go through Jackie’s email completely.’
Gilchrist slowed down for the roundabout at City Road, then accelerated into North Street. He had not been in the Dunvegan Hotel for a couple of weeks. Lunch there would make a nice change. Just the thought of warm food had his mouth watering.
First left took him into Golf Place, and he found a parking spot on The Scores.
A hard wind blew in from the Eden Estuary and swept a chill off the Old Course as he helped Jessie across the street, still scrolling through Jackie’s email. They had just turned the corner at Hamilton Hall, when Jessie stopped.
‘You’re not going to believe this,’ she said. ‘Jackie’s done it.’
Gilchrist waited.
‘A black BMW 650i is registered in the name of Jason Purvis.’
Gilchrist had his mobile in his hand almost before Jessie finished the sentence. He got straight through to HQ Control. ‘Add a locate and trace marker on the PNC for a black BMW 650i,’ he said, then held out his mobile to Jessie. ‘Year?’
‘2004,’ she said, then rattled off the registration number.
Gilchrist moved the mobile back to his ear. ‘Suspected to have been involved in a fatal hit-and-run on the outskirts of Anstruther. Driver, Jason Purvis. Previous conviction for serious assault. Six years in Peterhead. Approach with caution. BMW could have some damage on the front-nearside panel. And run the registration through the ANPR and see if you get any hits. You got that?’
She had, and Gilchrist told her to call him with any feedback.
Next he called the Anstruther Office and instructed them to initiate proceedings for a search warrant for Purvis’s home. They couldn’t fool around if a serial offender was in any way involved in a fatal hit-and-run – just get a warrant and go in with maximum force.
He ended the call, and slipped the mobile back into his jacket.
Things were now moving. The Automatic Number Plate Recognition system – ANPR – tracked vehicle movements in real time, so there was a good chance of someone pulling Purvis over in short order. On the other hand, it still left time for a quick lunch. But something also told Gilchrist that he was going to need all his strength to tackle a nutcase like Purvis.
‘Come on,’ he said. ‘My stomach’s grumbling. I’m having fish and chips. How about you?’
‘Double Glenfiddich, if you’re still buying.’
‘On an empty stomach?’
‘On a diet.’
‘Not for Jabba, I hope.’
‘Jesus, Andy. You’re in a right cheeky mood, so you are. I’ll nick some of your chips then, if that’ll make you feel better.’
They hurried inside and Gilchrist ordered at the bar, then carried their drinks to one of the corner tables, and took a seat with his back to the window that overlooked Auchterlonies. Jessie slumped in beside him, her sullen silence suggesting she was still unsettled by the memory of that wee girl, Caroline.
Gilchrist took a sip of Belhaven, then called Stan to tell him about the locate and trace marker for the BMW. ‘And I’ve decided that I’m not waiting until tomorrow for the banks to open,’ he said. ‘We’re working all weekend, but we’ve to wait for everybody else to get their arse into the office on Monday? I’m through with it, Stan. Get hold of Anne Mills right now, then call her bank manager and tell him we need access to a safe-deposit box today. I want to see what she’s holding.’
He almost slapped the mobile on to the table and powered it down.
‘Steady on,’ Jessie said. ‘You’re scaring me.’
‘Yeah, well, maybe you should be.’ He was saved by the arrival of a basket of fish and chips, which he shoved Jessie’s way. Then he asked the waitress, ‘Could we get a side plate, and another fork and knife, please?’
‘I’ll just use my fingers,’ Jessie countered, and picked a chip from the basket. She was nibbling it when the side plate arrived.
Gilchrist tilted a pile of chips on to it. ‘Like a piece of fish, too?’ he asked.
‘You’ve talked me into it.’
He broke off a piece. ‘Excuse the fingers.’
They ate in silence, both deep in their own thoughts, until Jessie angled her whisky Gilchrist’s way and said, ‘Fancy one?’
‘Not when I’m on duty,’ he said, as if beer did not count as alcohol.
‘Me neither,’ Jessie said, bringing the glass to her lips. ‘Cheers.’ Her mobile rang at that moment, and she eyed the screen before taking the call. Gilchrist took a sip of beer, and felt his heart give a stutter when she said, ‘So where’s Magner at right now?’ She tightened her lips, then shook her head. ‘So, he’s nothing to do with it?’ She nodded again. ‘We’ll be there in thirty minutes.’ She ended the call, and said, ‘That was DI Smith. He couldn’t get through to you. Linda James has just been found dead in her flat in Cupar.’
Linda James: one of the eleven who filed a complaint against Magner.
‘And Magner’s got a watertight alibi?’
‘Spot on.’ She threw back her Glenfiddich. ‘DI Smith gave me the address. We’re meeting him at Linda’s flat.’ She nodded to his plate. ‘You might want to put that to the side.’
Gilchrist let out a groan. ‘Don’t tell me . . .’
‘Got it in one. According to Smith, it’s not pretty.’