Tooth for a Tooth by Frank Muir Read Free Book Online

but Bert doesn’t think the scratches are initials.’
    ‘Come on, boss. They must be.’
    ‘That’s forty. Keep this up and you’ll be applying for a mortgage soon.’
    ‘Aw, shit. What are they, then?’
    ‘Bert couldn’t say for sure. Probably random scratches.’ Gilchrist listened to Stan curse under his breath. ‘Great try, Stan. Did the Dean know which club gave out lighters?’
    ‘No, boss. That’s problem number two. Some of them were secret, with only three or four members. Some even swore to lifelong secrecy.’
    ‘Have Nance stick with it,’ he ordered. ‘Get her to find out which club gave out what. I want names, addresses, phone numbers, the lot. OK?’
    ‘Got it, boss.’
    ‘Any luck with the dental records?’ he went on.
    ‘Yes and no. The good news is they’ll be sent through soon. The bad news is that none appear to match. None of her teeth have fillings. They’re perfect. Did she never eat sweeties?’
    ‘Maybe her father was a dentist.’ Again, Gilchrist wondered why her parents had not reported her missing. Had they been alive back then? Were they alive now? And in a town of sixteen thousand residents, maybe only ten or twelve thousand in ’69, why had no one at all reported her missing?
    ‘Nance has come up with a few names, boss. Three students who were all members of the same club. Years ago, Nance’s old dear worked as a waitress in the Central Bar of all places, for about ten or twelve years.’
    Gilchrist frowned. The Central was one of his regulars, had been for the last thirty-plus years. He’d had his first pint there at the age of sixteen. Underage by two years, but his height helped him pull it off. Besides, the place was always flooded with students, and back then he blended in. If Nance’s mother worked in the Central, he must have come across her.
Nancy Wilson. Wilson
. Gilchrist wracked his brain for a face to a name. Then he had it. A small woman, overweight, with dirty blonde hair. ‘Her name Phyllis?’
    ‘That’s her, boss.’
    ‘I never knew she was Nance’s mother.’
    ‘Small world, boss. But listen to this: according to Nance, her old dear remembers a group of girl students who came into the pub at least three times a week. Once a month, on a Saturday night, they would each order up four double Moscow Mules, and on the last one light up cigars.’
    ‘Cigars?’
    ‘It was a bit of a ceremony, boss. They were all pished, of course.’
    ‘Four Moscow Mules?’ said Gilchrist. ‘Which year was this?’
    ‘Late sixties, early seventies, as best she can remember.’
    Gilchrist tightened his grip on his mobile. ‘Anything else?’
    ‘She remembers one of the girls’ names because it was Grant,’ Stan said. ‘The same as her husband. Jeanette Grant.’
    ‘Where’s this Jeanette Grant now?’
    ‘Nance is still trying to track her down.’
    ‘Get her to call me with an address.’
    ‘Got it, boss. And one other thing.’
    ‘What’s that?’
    ‘Gina Belli’s called the office three times today, asking to speak to you. Nice voice. Very sexy.’
    ‘You wouldn’t like her, Stan. Believe me. She’s way too old for you.’
    ‘Could have fooled—’
    ‘Get someone to help Nance. And get her to give me a call.’ He hung up.
    Gina Belli.
Nice voice? Very sexy?
    He slowed for the mini-roundabout at City Road, was about to turn right when the lights of the Dunvegan caught his eye.
Just the one
, he thought, and accelerated up the hill.
    He found a parking spot in The Scores and five minutes later was standing at the bar, a creamy pint of Eighty-Shilling in his hand. It somehow felt odd having stood on that same spot the night before with Gina Belli, all eyes turned her way while she stripped off her jacket. He wondered if the real reason for stopping at the Dunvegan was his secret hope that she would be there, that he was looking for her, this Gina Belli, the psychic detective in the business suit with waistcoat and no blouse and a tan that