Deborah Crombie - Mourn Not Your Dead

“Wish I felt I deserved it.” Sighing, he rotated his shoulders and neck. “What a hell of a day. As much as I hated paperwork at school, why I ever-” His eyes widened as he looked towards the far end of the room, then he smiled. “The day just improved considerably.” Following his gaze, Kincaid saw Gemma edging her way through the crowd. “Why can’t my sergeant look like that?” Deveney complained with an air of much-practiced martyrdom. “I’ll complain to the chief constable, take it all the way to the top.” But Kincaid barely heard him. The dress was black and long-sleeved, but there any pretense of demureness ended, for the fabric clung to Gemma’s body until it stopped midway down her thighs. She seldom wore her hair loose, but tonight she had left it so, and her fair skin looked pale as cream within its copper frame.

“Close your mouth,” Deveney said with a grin as he got up to fetch Gemma a chair.

“Gemma,” Kincaid began, not knowing what he meant to say, and the lights went out.

For an eerie moment a hush fell over the pub, then the voices rose in a wave-questioning, exclaiming.

“Just hold on,” Brian called out. “I’ll get the lanterns.” The wavering flame of his cigarette lighter disappeared through the door at the far end of the bar. Within moments he had three emergency lanterns lit and placed throughout the room.

The lamplight cast a soft yellow glow, and Deveney smiled at Gemma with unabashed pleasure. “I’d say that was perfect timing. You look even lovelier by lamplight, if that’s possible.”

At least she had the grace to blush, Kincaid thought as she murmured something unintelligible. “No, let me get it,” Deveney said as Kincaid rose to get Gemma a drink. “It’s easier for me to get out.”

Kincaid sank back onto his bench and regarded her, unsure what he might say without antagonizing her. Finally, he offered, “Nick’s right, you do look wonderful.”

“Thanks,” she said, but instead of meeting his eyes she fidgeted with the empty ashtray and looked towards the bar. “I wonder where Geoff is? That’s Brian’s son,” she explained, turning back to Kincaid. “I met him this afternoon, and from what he told me I thought he’d be helping out behind the bar.”

Appearing once more from the kitchen, Brian announced, “I’ve been on to the Electricity Board. There’s a transformer down between Dorking and Guildford, so it may be quite some time before we have power again. Not to worry,” he interrupted the beginning buzz, “the cooker’s gas, so most of the menu is still on.”

“That’s a relief,” Deveney said as he returned with Gemma’s, vodka and orange, and the dinner menu. “I’m starved. Let’s see what Brian can do in a pinch.” When they’d made their decisions and settled back with their drinks, he said to Kincaid, “I had a message from the chief constable waiting when I got back to the station. The gist of it was he expects to see something concrete, and there were a few phrases thrown in like ‘residents’ peace of mind’ and ‘image of the force.’”

Both Kincaid and Gemma pulled faces. It was familiar “authority-speak” and had little to do with the mechanics of an investigation. “You’re still keen on your intruder theory, Nick?” asked Kincaid.

“It’s as good as anything else we’ve got.” Deveney shrugged.

“Then I’d suggest we start by interviewing everyone in the village who’s reported things missing. We’ll have to eliminate the possibility of a connection before we can move on. Do we have a list from today’s house-to-house?”

Just then Brian brought their salads. Once he’d set them on the table, he wiped his perspiring brow. “Can’t imagine what’s kept John,” he said. Then he added, “He helps out behind the bar, and I’m that strapped without him tonight.”

“But what about Geoff?” asked Gemma.

“Geoff? What has Geoff got to do with it?” Brian said impatiently, then hurried away as another customer called to him.

“But-” Gemma said to his retreating back, then subsided, a flush creeping up her cheekbones. “I know he said he worked for his dad, and it seemed a logical assumption that he tended bar.”

“So what do you make of Geoff, then?” asked Deveney, drawing attention from her embarrassment, and she launched into an account of their meeting that afternoon.

Kincaid listened, watching her animated face and hands as she talked to Deveney, and felt more excluded by the minute. He toyed with the ubiquitous cress and iceberg lettuce of his salad, wondering if he had really known her at all. Had he lain next to her, felt her skin against his, her breath on his lips? He shook his head in disbelief. How could he have been so wrong about what had happened between them?

The word “quarrel” pulled him back to the conversation and he said, “What? I’m sorry.”

“Geoff told me that he overheard Gilbert and the village doctor quarreling a couple of weeks ago,” she answered a bit too patiently, as if Kincaid were a not-too-bright child. “But he didn’t know what it was about, only that they both seemed angry and upset.

“It’s odd,” she added a moment later as she speared a tomato wedge with her fork. “I don’t remember ever seeing Gilbert angry. There was just this sort of unspoken knowledge that if he spoke even more quietly than usual, you were in big trouble.”

“What?” Kincaid said again, glass halfway to his mouth. “You knew him? You worked under Alastair Gilbert?” He felt a complete fool as Deveney looked at them with a puzzled expression.

“He was my super when I was a rookie at Notting Hill,” Gemma said dismissively. “I didn’t know it was important.” Into the awkward silence that followed, she added, “I think we should definitely interview this doctor first thing tomorrow, along with the burglary victims.”

“Wait, Gemma,” said Kincaid. “Someone needs to get on to Gilbert’s office, check out that end of things. And you’ll be needing to look after Toby. Why don’t you go up to London tomorrow, and Nick and I will do the interviews here.”

She didn’t speak as she pushed her plate away and carefully laid down her knife and fork, but the look she gave him could have frozen lava.

Morning commuters packed the Dorking-to-London train. “There’s no direct service from Guildford,” Will Darling had explained as he picked her up from the pub. “So there’s usually a bit of a crunch.” Gemma bumped more than one briefcase before she reached the only available seat. The immense woman opposite left no room for Gemma’s knees and she had to wedge herself in sideways. But as the train came to life with a jerk, she settled herself against the window contentedly enough, grateful for the journey’s quiet minutes.

A good night’s sleep had restored some of her perspective, and as Will dropped her at the station she’d apologized again for yesterday’s behavior.

“Don’t give it another thought,” he’d assured her, his friendly face unperturbed. “It’s a difficult case for us all. It’ll do you good to get home for a bit.”

She’d had every intention of apologizing to Kincaid, too, but he and Deveney had left for a meeting at Guildford Police Station before she came down for breakfast. Over solitary toast and boiled egg she tried to convince herself that she really hadn’t any reason to feel guilty. Kincaid had excused himself after dinner with a too-polite reserve, and she’d been left to fend off the good-natured Deveney.

She hadn’t deliberately set out to make Kincaid jealous-she’d always despised women who used such tactics-but Deveney’s interest and Kincaid’s growing discomfort had fueled her like water on a grease fire. In the more sober light of day, she realized she’d have to be a bit more careful with Nick Deveney. He was an attractive single man, but to have him making overtures was the last thing she needed just now. And Kincaid-the reasons she had enjoyed making him squirm didn’t bear too close an examination.