Tooth for a Tooth (A DCI Andy Gilchrist Investigation, Band 3) - Softcover

Buch 3 von 14: DCI Andy Gilchrist

Muir, T. Frank

 
9781616954598: Tooth for a Tooth (A DCI Andy Gilchrist Investigation, Band 3)
Softcover
ISBN 10: 1616954590 ISBN 13: 9781616954598
Verlag: Soho Crime, 2014

Inhaltsangabe

Skeletons emerge from a St. Andrews graveyard—and from Detective Inspector Andy Gilchrist's own past

When a woman’s skeleton is discovered in a shallow grave, DCI Andy Gilchrist is tasked with finding her murderer. But a psychic’s warnings and markings on a rusted cigarette lighter found among the rotted remains take Gilchrist on a journey into his own past that brings him closer to discovering the identity of his brother’s killer from a hit-and-run case some thirty-five years before. Dental records from an extracted tooth force Gilchrist to confront the unthinkable—that his brother might have been her killer. He keeps his fears to himself, only to be suspended on suspicion of destroying evidence.

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Über die Autorin bzw. den Autor

Frank Muir was born in Glasgow, but from a young age he has had the urge to see more of the world than the rain sodden slopes of the Campsie Fells. Thirty-plus years of living and working overseas helped him appreciate the raw beauty of his home country. Now a dual US/UK citizen, Frank makes his home in the outskirts of Glasgow, Scotland, and he visits St. Andrews regularly to research the town’s many pubs and restaurants. He is also the author of Hand for a Hand.

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Chapter 1
 
October 2004
 
Detective Chief Inspector Andy Gilchrist stood alone at the back of the chapel as the curtains closed on the coffin of his ex-wife. He barely heard the prayer of committal as he watched his son, Jack, place an arm around Maureen in the family group in the front pew. Beside them shuddered the grieving figure of their stepfather, Harry. Even now, at the moment of Gail’s final parting, Gilchrist could not find it in his heart to forgive Harry. 
       As the chapel emptied, Gilchrist held back, tagging on to the end of the mourners, each giving their condolences to the family line as they shuffled through the vestibule. 
       Jack gave him a sad smile of surprise. “I didn’t see you.”
       “Late as usual,’” Gilchrist offered.  
       Jack’s grip was firm, a son-to-father handshake meant to assure Gilchrist that Jack would be strong for all of them. The tremor in his chin said otherwise. 
       Gilchrist pulled him in closer and gave him a hug. “Mum’s no longer suffering,” he said. 
       Jack nodded, tight-lipped, as they parted.
       Maureen went straight for a hug. “I wasn’t sure you’d come.”  
       Even through her heavy coat he could feel her bones, her body light enough to lift with ease, it seemed. She was thin, too thin. He tried to say something but found he could not trust his voice. Instead, he hugged her tighter, breathed her in, and pressed his lips to her ear. 
       “We’ll miss Mum,” he managed to say. 
       “Oh, Dad.”
       He gave Harry a firm handshake and a wordless nod, conscious of Maureen’s eyes on him, searching for signs of forgiveness. Then he was down the stone steps, marching across the car park, avoiding eye contact with family friends he did not know. From his car, he watched Jack and Maureen leave the chapel hand in hand, Harry in front, defeated and alone. Something in that simple formation told Gilchrist that Harry could never fill their paternal void.
       He caught Maureen’s eye as she prepared to step into the funeral car. 
       Are you coming back? she mouthed to him.
       He nodded as she slipped from his view, then he powered up his mobile and saw he had two missed calls, both from Stan.
       “What’s up, Stan?” Gilchrist asked.
       “Thought you might be interested in a skeleton, boss. Just been dug up.”
Gilchrist switched on the ignition, slipped into Drive. “Keep going.”
       “In Dairsie Cemetery. Uncovered while the lair was being opened for another burial. No coffin and not six feet under, boss. So we’re definitely thinking murder.”
Gilchrist eased his Mercedes SLK Roadster forward. Ahead, the funeral car cruised through the crematorium grounds, grey exhaust swirling in the October chill. The wake was being held in Haggs Castle Clubhouse, the golf club where Harry was a member. Gilchrist knew he should attend, for Jack and Maureen, for Gail’s memory, too. But the thought of faking a face for Harry it was too much for him.
“I’m on my way, Stan.” 
 
* * *
 
       Gilchrist walked through the gate in the old stone wall and into the cemetery grounds. 
       The forensic tent was erected by a gnarled willow tree in the far corner. Yellow tape looped around it from headstone to headstone. As Gilchrist approached, Stan broke the connection on his mobile with a slap of its cover. 
       “This skeleton,” Gilchrist said, as he pushed his feet into his coveralls. “Is it in good nick?”
       “Right thigh bone chopped through by one of the gravediggers. But other than that, it seems perfect.”
       “Whose plot were they preparing?”
       “A local by the name of Lorella McLeod. Fair old age of eighty-seven. Passed away at the weekend and was to be laid to rest in the family plot next to her husband, Hamish. He died in ’69. So the grave’s not been touched for thirty-odd years.” Stan shook his head. “Already checked our misper files for ’68 to ’75 and came up empty-handed.” 
       “What about the PNC?”
       “Got Nance doing that, even as we speak.”
       Gilchrist pulled his coveralls up and over his shoulders, his mind working through Stan’s rationale. “Did the McLeods have children?” he asked. 
       “None. Mrs. McLeod lived by herself.” 
       “For the last what, thirty-five years?”
       “So I’m told, boss. But I haven’t confirmed that yet.” 
       Gilchrist looked away. Tree-covered hills were already greying with the coming of winter. It seemed unimaginable for someone to live alone for that length of time, and he wondered if the end of his life would be as destitute. Sadness swept through him at that thought. The end of his life. Or more correctly, part of it. Gail was now gone, and he worried he would spend even less time with Jack and Maureen. He forced his mind to focus on the present and eyed the forensic tent. 
       “So, Stan, it looks like we’re dealing with a thirty-five-year-old murder.”
       “Bit soon to jump to that conclusion, boss. The body could have been buried any time since the burial of Hamish McLeod.”
       Gilchrist zipped up his coveralls. “But why was it buried in that grave, Stan? Have you asked yourself that?” 
       Stan scratched his head. “It’s difficult to imagine a more perfect place to hide a body. I mean, who would look for it in a cemetery?”
       “But why that particular grave?”
       “Boss?”
       “Because it would have been fresh, that’s why. And if there is no coffin, there was no funeral. And if there was no funeral, no one knew about it. Therefore, we have a thirty-five-year-old murder on our hands.” He stared off to the edge of the cemetery and the open fields beyond. Scotland in the sun was like no other place on earth. But its blue skies offered only false promise of a fine day. “Not exactly thriving, is it, Stan?”
       “Dead center of town, boss.”
       Gilchrist almost smiled. “Ever been here before, Stan? In this cemetery?”
       “No.”
       “Neither have I. Which makes me think neither have a lot of people. So start off by making a list of all those who attended McLeod’s funeral.” 
       Stan livened. “I’ll get onto it, boss. Door to door, discreet like, see who knows what,” he said as he walked away.
 ...

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Verlag
Soho Crime
Erscheinungsdatum
2014
Sprache
Englisch
ISBN 10 
1616954590
ISBN 13 
9781616954598
Einband
Taschenbuch
Anzahl der Seiten
336
Kontakt zum Hersteller
Nicht verfügbar
Verantwortliche Person
Nicht verfügbar

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