Deborah Crombie - Necessary as Blood

“I want my daddy!” Charlotte’s wail ended on a hiccupping sob, and when Janice Silverman reached for her, she threw herself at Gemma.

Gemma gathered Charlotte into her arms, cradling her head and feeling the dampness of the child’s tears against her shoulder. The girl smelled of the newly mown garden grass, and faintly, of chocolate. Tightening her grip, Gemma murmured, “You are a little love, aren’t you?” and suddenly found she couldn’t bear the thought of this precious child being turned over to a stranger.

“Look, Mrs. Silverman,” she said, “can’t I take her? I’m a police officer. I’ve got two boys, and my-partner”-she’d been about to say husband and realized she couldn’t, not yet-“my partner and I could look after her until things are sorted.”

“She’s obviously formed an attachment to you. Have you done any foster care?”

“No, but-”

Silverman shook her head. “Then you’re not in the system. I’m sorry, but you’d have to be evaluated, and we need someone who can take her right away. I’ll just-”

“Wait,” said Gemma as inspiration struck. “I know someone. Just let me make one phone call.”

“I’ve a friend,” Gemma explained when the still-tearful Charlotte had been coaxed into Tim’s arms. “She’s fostered children before. If she’s willing, would that be acceptable?”

“If she’s in good standing,” Silverman said cautiously. “I’d have to speak to her myself, and do a check.”

“I’m sure she’d be fine. She’s the mother of the friend who helps look after our kids. She’s great with them.” Gemma knew she was over-explaining, and that it was as much to reassure herself as Janice Silverman. Excusing herself, she walked to the back of the garden and looked out over the garage flat as she made the call, fingers crossed.

When she heard Betty Howard’s cheerful voice, West Indian accent still intact after more than forty years in Notting Hill, she breathed a sigh of relief. “Betty, it’s Gemma. I’ve a favor to ask.” She explained the situation as succinctly as she could.

“Oh, the poor child,” said Betty. “I’d be glad to take her, Gemma. Only thing is, I’ve got the costumes for carnival-”

“We could help out,” Gemma offered. Betty had sewn elaborate costumes for the Notting Hill carnival since the seventies, and Gemma knew what a time-consuming job it was. “If that would make a difference.”

“Wesley should be able to pitch in a bit,” said Betty, in a considering tone. “Though it would mean less time with your two. But if you could take the child the odd hour or two in the evening, I think we could just manage.”

“You’re a dear, Betty. I’ll let you speak to Mrs. Silverman, then.”

When Betty had given her information to Janice Silverman, and the caseworker was calling her own office to confirm them, Gemma went into the house to put together Charlotte’s things. She found Hazel in the kitchen, pouring orange squash into glasses that held a few meager ice cubes.

“This is all there is,” Hazel said. “Tim’s run out of anything decent to drink. Not to mention he’s forgotten to fill the ice trays. And I can’t,” she added, her voice rising, “bloody find anything.” She opened the fridge door, then slammed it shut again.

Gemma stared at her in surprise, but Hazel didn’t meet her eyes. “Even water would be fine,” Gemma said after a moment, treading carefully, not sure what had triggered the outburst. “It doesn’t matter, really. Hazel, I just need to get Charlotte’s things together. Do you-”

“No. I don’t know where Tim’s put her things. I’ve just said I don’t know where anything is.” Hazel pushed the most recently filled glass into the others on a tray, causing them all to slosh, then went into the sitting room, wiping her hands on a tea towel. Gemma heard her say more calmly, “Holly, can you put Charlotte’s things in her little bag? Is it in your room? Good girl. Just bring it down when you’re done, and don’t miss anything.”

Then Holly clattered up the stairs, and Hazel came back into the kitchen, muttering, “…herd of elephants.” Her eyes were red. “I’m sorry,” she said to Gemma. “I didn’t mean to snap, and at you, of all people. It’s just that-last night, I thought Tim was manufacturing a drama. I never thought-poor little Charlotte-her father’s really dead?”

“Yes. I saw the body.”

“Oh, God.” With the tea towel, Hazel swiped at the spilled drink on the work top. “Now I feel a complete bitch. Did he-was it suicide?”

“We don’t know. They don’t know,” Gemma corrected as she glimpsed Weller through the kitchen window, reminding herself that it wasn’t her case. “There were no obvious signs of foul play. We’ll have to wait for the postmortem.”

“Surely he wouldn’t have deliberately left that adorable child-” Hazel gestured towards the garden. “Will she be all right?”

“For the moment. I’ve fixed it so that she can stay with Betty Howard.” Gemma went to stand beside her friend. Lowering her voice, she said, “Mrs. Silverman told Charlotte her father was dead. I know, when we-the police-give a death notice, we get it over with as simply and quickly as we can, but for a child that young it seems awfully harsh-”

“No, Mrs. Silverman was right.” Hazel nodded in agreement. She had often worked with children in her therapy practice. “Allowing her to think her dad was coming home would be worse for her in the long run. She would have to be told eventually, and the deception would damage her ability to trust. Not that I would know anything about that.” Hazel folded the tea towel, then shook it out again, staring at it. It had a pattern of little red roosters on a beige background. “This is hideous,” she said. “Where did he find it?” She glanced at Gemma, then away. “And he’s painted the kitchen.”

“I noticed.” Gemma searched for the right thing to say. “It looks nice. But it’s…different.”

“Everything’s different,” said Hazel. “And I know it’s all trivial in comparison to what’s happened to Tim’s friend, but I didn’t think it would be so hard.”

“Dr. Cavendish, from what DI James has told me, you’ll be best placed to help us with inquiries into your friend’s death,” Weller was saying to Tim as Gemma came back out onto the patio.

She’d just given Charlotte a last hug, and a promise that she’d come to visit her later that afternoon. She didn’t know how much the little girl understood. She had clung to Gemma, and after a final fit of sobbing, she’d gone mute in Janice Silverman’s arms.

“I’ve already told Gemma everything I know.” Tim had emptied his glass of squash, apparently having no objection to its safety-glow orange color. Now he sipped at the melting ice cubes, then rubbed the back of his hand across his mouth. “Naz loved Sandra and Charlotte. He’d never have done anything to hurt either of them. They were the perfect family.”

Hazel, having got Holly started playing in her sandbox on the far side of the garden, had come to stand at the edge of the patio. At Tim’s words, she winced.

“Perfect, except for the fact that Sandra Gilles disappeared,” said Weller.

Tim stared at him with dawning recognition. “You investigated the case. I remember Naz talking about you. You made him feel he’d done something wrong.”

“And had he done something wrong, Dr. Cavendish? You’d be the one he confided in, the one he felt safe with-”

“No.” Tim thrust his head forward. “Naz thought you’d not taken Sandra’s disappearance seriously, that you’d overlooked things. He said you’d never investigated her brothers thoroughly.”