Free Tooth for a Tooth by Frank Muir

lived in moderate luxury most of my life.’
    ‘Even as a student?’
    She shook her head. ‘My parents wanted me to learn a bit about life, or so they told me. I lived in a rented flat in St Andrews. Bit of a dump, really. They paid all the bills, so what I learned I really don’t know.’
    ‘Any room-mates?’
    ‘Three.’
    ‘Names?’
    ‘Oh, my goodness. Now you
are
testing my memory.’
    Gilchrist’s own memory for names was not the greatest, but he could still remember the person with whom he first shared a flat. Sammy McFarland. Laugh-a-minute Sammy. Drink-a-minute, too.
    ‘Betty Forbes,’ she said. ‘Betty and I were best friends back then. Inseparable, I would have said. But we haven’t spoken in almost five years.’ Her gaze flickered over Gilchrist’s shoulder, and he detected a stiffening in her posture.
    ‘Did you and Betty fall out?’ he tried.
    She gave a stuffy little chuckle. ‘That’s putting it mildly.’
    ‘What happened?’
    ‘She tried to have an affair with Geoffrey.’ Her nostrils flared. ‘But Geoffrey would have none of it.’
    Gilchrist felt his gaze tug to his right. Pennycuick stood with his lips tight, eyes blazing. He seemed to puff out his chest, and Gilchrist wondered if he was doing so in offence at the memory, or from guilt at the thought of infidelity. He forced his thoughts back on track by asking, ‘Can you remember the names of the others?’
    ‘There was Ella. Big Ella, Betty and I used to call her. She stayed with us for two years, as best I can recall. But I can’t remember her last name.’
    ‘And the fourth?’ he asked.
    She shook her head. ‘The fourth came and went. Betty and me were in the same year, so we earned some spending money by taking in the occasional student, then flinging them out when we got fed up with them.’ Her face seemed to sag, as if in remorse at the unkindness. ‘We could be bitches when we put our minds to it.’
    Geoffrey coughed.
    ‘Can you remember any of their names?’ Gilchrist asked.
    She shook her head. ‘Denise rings a bell. Maybe Alyson. But I really couldn’t say. Just the two of us for certain.’
    ‘All Scottish?’
    ‘The occasional Englishwoman.’
    ‘Any foreigners?’
    ‘None that I recall.’
    ‘Good teeth?’
    ‘Excuse me?’
    ‘Do you remember if any of them had good teeth?’
    ‘Can’t say that I do. Why?’
    ‘Just a thought.’ He then told her about the list of names Nance had prepared, and offered to send her a copy for her review. Maybe one might jog her memory.
    ‘Here’s my email address,’ she said, removing a business card from her purse.
    ‘Anything else, Inspector?’ It was Pennycuick.
    ‘You drank in the Central,’ he said to Jeanette.
    She frowned. ‘One of many pubs, I’m sure.’
    ‘What about the cigars?’
    She looked at him as if he had cursed. ‘Cigars?’
    ‘And the Moscow Mules?’
    Then it dawned on her. ‘Oh, that,’ she said. ‘Just some student stupidity.’
    ‘An initiation of some sort?’
    ‘I don’t follow.’
    ‘Friends can be cliquish,’ he suggested. ‘Form gangs, clubs, that sort of thing.’
    ‘None of us joined any gangs,’ she objected, ‘or clubs. Not to my knowledge, anyway.’
    ‘Did you form one of your own?’
    Pennycuick stepped into the centre of the room. ‘How much longer is this going to take?’
    ‘Not much.’ He faced Jeanette. ‘Why once a month?’
    ‘I beg your pardon?’
    ‘Why did you smoke cigars and drink Moscow Mules once a month?’
    She seemed to give his words some thought, then shook her head. ‘I’ve often heard about policemen like you, who look for clues in the strangest of places only to find nothing.’ She gave a tired smile that evaporated to leave a hard face.
    ‘You haven’t answered my question.’
    ‘Oh, for goodness sake. Must I spell it out for you? Our menstrual cycles. Women living together often tune in to each other’s monthly cycles. It was our way of combating the dreaded rag