head, and Gilchrist caught the sparkle of tears. ‘When we’re out of sight he makes his move. He presses me against the wall, starts telling me how much he’s always wanted me. I tell him to piss off. He pushes. I push back. But he just keeps on. He won’t take no for an answer. Next thing I know, he takes it out.’ She stared at Gilchrist, her eyes and mouth wide open with disbelief. ‘His cock. He just took it out.’
After several seconds, Gilchrist realized he was expected to say something. ‘Then what?’
‘I laughed.’ She placed her hand to her mouth. ‘I just laughed at him. At
it
. Well . . .’ She shook her head. ‘He went wild. Called me all the names under the sun. Fucking trollop. Tight-cunted dog. Next thing, he leaves. So I head to the bathroom to put myself in order. Not that anything was hanging out, mind you, but I was shaking like a leaf. Before I’m finished, in barges Jeanette, accusing me of coming on to Geoffrey, and what the hell did I think I was doing trying to split up a family? Them with two kids and everything.’ She stared off to some point over Gilchrist’s shoulder. ‘I gave it to her straight, but the more I tried to sort it out, the more she didn’t believe me. In the end, I told her I never wanted to see her or her pencil-dick husband again. That’s when she knew.’
Gilchrist frowned. ‘Knew what?’
‘That Geoffrey had tried it on. She knew I had seen his cock. Long and thin, it was.’ She laughed. ‘Bob might have been getting to be a right fat slob, but I tell you what, it would take a lot more Christmas paper to wrap his up than Geoffrey’s.’
Gilchrist said nothing. He smiled in an attempt to share her amusement, but deep down he burned. Here was a woman who had almost been raped, who had the guts to fight back, only to find her would-be rapist had the barefaced audacity to turn the truth against her, making him the offended, not the offender. As sadness settled over Betty’s face, Gilchrist wondered why Jeanette would stand by her husband when—
‘And for about five seconds that night,’ Betty continued, ‘I was scared.
Really
scared.’
‘You sounded as if you had it all under control.’
She shook her head. ‘For five seconds I had nothing under control. I thought I was going to wet my knickers. For five seconds I saw the real Geoffrey Pennycuick. I had no doubt he would kill to get what he wanted. Kill someone. Me. Anyone. Who knows. I saw it in his face.’ Tears swelled, threatening to spill down her cheeks. ‘It was his eyes,’ she hissed. ‘They blazed.’ She glared at him. ‘Do you know what I mean?’
Silent, Gilchrist nodded, his mind crackling through possibilities until his thoughts clicked into place as firmly as snapping handcuffs on to Geoffrey Pennycuick.
CHAPTER 8
Back in his Roadster, Gilchrist called Stan and asked him to check the university records for Geoffrey Pennycuick. ‘And while you’re finding out what he eats for breakfast, get someone to comb through police records and see if we’ve got anything on him. Unpaid parking tickets, drunk and disorderly, spitting in public, flashing his cock at old women, anything and everything, I want to know about it.’
‘Gotcha, boss.’
It was not until Gilchrist was crossing the Kincardine Bridge and casting his gaze over the mud-brown waters of the River Forth that Bert Mackie called.
‘You OK to talk, Andy?’
‘I’m all ears.’
‘One of my boys gave that cigarette lighter a good going-over. It’s a common-or-garden lighter of the cheapo type, the kind you used to pick up in any shop back in the sixties. Imitation silver-plated, rusted to buggery. One interesting thing though,’ he added. ‘The scratches look like they’re initials after all.’
Gilchrist’s thoughts flashed to Geoffrey Pennycuick. Surely it could not be this easy. ‘Let me guess,’ he said. ‘GP?’
‘Try JG.’
Disappointment flushed through him, then stilled with a cold
After several seconds, Gilchrist realized he was expected to say something. ‘Then what?’
‘I laughed.’ She placed her hand to her mouth. ‘I just laughed at him. At
it
. Well . . .’ She shook her head. ‘He went wild. Called me all the names under the sun. Fucking trollop. Tight-cunted dog. Next thing, he leaves. So I head to the bathroom to put myself in order. Not that anything was hanging out, mind you, but I was shaking like a leaf. Before I’m finished, in barges Jeanette, accusing me of coming on to Geoffrey, and what the hell did I think I was doing trying to split up a family? Them with two kids and everything.’ She stared off to some point over Gilchrist’s shoulder. ‘I gave it to her straight, but the more I tried to sort it out, the more she didn’t believe me. In the end, I told her I never wanted to see her or her pencil-dick husband again. That’s when she knew.’
Gilchrist frowned. ‘Knew what?’
‘That Geoffrey had tried it on. She knew I had seen his cock. Long and thin, it was.’ She laughed. ‘Bob might have been getting to be a right fat slob, but I tell you what, it would take a lot more Christmas paper to wrap his up than Geoffrey’s.’
Gilchrist said nothing. He smiled in an attempt to share her amusement, but deep down he burned. Here was a woman who had almost been raped, who had the guts to fight back, only to find her would-be rapist had the barefaced audacity to turn the truth against her, making him the offended, not the offender. As sadness settled over Betty’s face, Gilchrist wondered why Jeanette would stand by her husband when—
‘And for about five seconds that night,’ Betty continued, ‘I was scared.
Really
scared.’
‘You sounded as if you had it all under control.’
She shook her head. ‘For five seconds I had nothing under control. I thought I was going to wet my knickers. For five seconds I saw the real Geoffrey Pennycuick. I had no doubt he would kill to get what he wanted. Kill someone. Me. Anyone. Who knows. I saw it in his face.’ Tears swelled, threatening to spill down her cheeks. ‘It was his eyes,’ she hissed. ‘They blazed.’ She glared at him. ‘Do you know what I mean?’
Silent, Gilchrist nodded, his mind crackling through possibilities until his thoughts clicked into place as firmly as snapping handcuffs on to Geoffrey Pennycuick.
CHAPTER 8
Back in his Roadster, Gilchrist called Stan and asked him to check the university records for Geoffrey Pennycuick. ‘And while you’re finding out what he eats for breakfast, get someone to comb through police records and see if we’ve got anything on him. Unpaid parking tickets, drunk and disorderly, spitting in public, flashing his cock at old women, anything and everything, I want to know about it.’
‘Gotcha, boss.’
It was not until Gilchrist was crossing the Kincardine Bridge and casting his gaze over the mud-brown waters of the River Forth that Bert Mackie called.
‘You OK to talk, Andy?’
‘I’m all ears.’
‘One of my boys gave that cigarette lighter a good going-over. It’s a common-or-garden lighter of the cheapo type, the kind you used to pick up in any shop back in the sixties. Imitation silver-plated, rusted to buggery. One interesting thing though,’ he added. ‘The scratches look like they’re initials after all.’
Gilchrist’s thoughts flashed to Geoffrey Pennycuick. Surely it could not be this easy. ‘Let me guess,’ he said. ‘GP?’
‘Try JG.’
Disappointment flushed through him, then stilled with a cold
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