Deborah Crombie - Necessary as Blood

“Sandra Gilles’s brothers had alibis for the day of her disappearance.”

“Given by their mates down the pub-”

“Naz Malik did not,” said Weller, ignoring the dig. “He said he was in his office, on a Sunday, but there was no corroboration.”

“You’re saying Naz had something to do with Sandra’s disappearance?” Tim was half out of his chair, his fists balled.

Weller raised a hand. “No, Dr. Cavendish. I’m merely saying that you can’t take anything for granted. Even from the mouths of friends. Now, you tell me if your mate Naz Malik really thought his wife was coming back.”

Tim sank back in his chair, his anger seeming to drain away. “No. Yes. Look at it from Naz’s viewpoint, will you? Either something terrible had happened to his wife and the mother of his child, whom he adored. Or everything he believed about his life was a lie, and his wife, his beloved wife, had voluntarily left him. How could he choose between those alternatives? So one day he believed one thing, the next, the other. But I think in his heart he thought something dreadful had happened to her…except…”

“Except what, Dr. Cavendish?” All Weller’s weariness seemed to vanish in an instant. Gemma found herself tempted to caution Tim, but she couldn’t-it was not her interview, she couldn’t interfere. And she wanted to know what he had been about to say as much as Weller.

“I-it was nothing. A rumor. I’d never repeat it if Naz were…here.”

“Go on. What sort of rumor?” asked Weller.

Tim, fidgeting, with obvious reluctance, glanced at Hazel, then back at Weller. “It isn’t anything-” He shook his head. “Some of the last commissions Sandra did were for a club in Spitalfields. A private club. The owner’s name is Lucas Ritchie. Naz heard-”

“Naz heard what, Dr. Cavendish?” prompted Weller.

“There was…talk…that Sandra was having an affair with Ritchie.”

From hence I only infer that an Englishman, of all men, ought not to despise foreigners as such, and I think the inference is just, since what they are to-day, we were yesterday, and to-morrow they will be like us.

– Daniel Defoe, The True-Born Englishman

“Why didn’t you tell us this?” demanded Weller.

“It didn’t occur to me-Naz only told me the last time we talked.” Tim glared back at Weller.

“And Mr. Malik didn’t think this was germane to our investigation of his wife’s disappearance?” DI Weller shot back. His large hands twitched, and Gemma felt sure his annoyance was not feigned.

“He only heard it a couple of weeks ago,” said Tim. “And he didn’t take it seriously. Sandra didn’t run off with Lucas Ritchie-Ritchie’s never left London. Naz went to see him.”

“Oh, he did, did he? And this Ritchie assured him he had nothing to do with his wife’s disappearance, and that was that? Was your friend really that naive, Dr. Cavendish? That’s not the only scenario. If Sandra Gilles was having an affair with this man, maybe she wanted more. Maybe she threatened to expose him and he shut her up-”

“No! It wasn’t like that-at least not from what Naz told me. Look, according to Naz, Lucas Ritchie is single and well off, with no shortage of available women in his life. Who would Sandra have threatened to expose him to? She would have been the one with something to lose.”

“So maybe Ritchie wanted her to leave Malik. Maybe she refused and they fought.”

“No. Naz didn’t believe she was having an affair, and I don’t believe it, either. She wasn’t-she wasn’t that kind of person.”

“And what kind of person is that?” Hazel said, her voice shrill with fury. She’d been standing at the edge of the patio, listening, half forgotten by the others. “Did she come with some sort of guarantee? A no-fault wife? ”

Tim looked horrified as he realized the import of what he’d said, but he defended himself. “Hazel, will you just not take everything so bloody personally? All I meant was that Sandra Gilles had no use for Lucas Ritchie’s lifestyle. She told Naz it was all gloss and window dressing, hype, and she valued real things, like her husband and her child and her work.” He faced his wife, not backing down. “You were not so different, once.”

By the time Gemma got away from Islington, she couldn’t face another visit to hospital. A phone call had reassured her that her mother was resting comfortably. She drove across London, feeling barely able to breathe in the car. The late-afternoon heat was stifling, and she was still tense from the atmosphere at the Cavendishes’.

Weller had left after telling Tim he’d want to speak to him again. “I’m not about to skip the country,” Tim had muttered, earning another dirty look from Hazel.

Hazel had followed close on Weller’s heels, refusing to speak to either Tim or Gemma. “I don’t understand,” Tim said to Gemma as they watched her drive away. “Everything she’s done has been her choice. Why is she so angry with me?”

“I’m sorry, Tim.” Gemma gave him a quick hug, not wanting to confess that Hazel’s behavior had shocked her as well. Tim had suffered the loss of a friend, and now he had to face the task of telling Alia, Naz Malik’s nanny, that Naz was dead. Gemma couldn’t imagine the Hazel she had known failing to express sympathy or being unable to put aside her own concerns in a crisis.

When she reached Notting Hill, the square brown brick house with its cherry red door seemed comfortingly, reassuringly familiar. She found the boys watching a video in the sitting room, the dogs sprawled lazily by the garden door.

She hugged Toby until he yelped, squirming, and Kit ducked away from her, grinning. “No squishing for me, ta very much.”

“Why aren’t you outside?” asked Gemma.

“Too hot. Dad said we had to watch something Toby liked, so it’s Pirates again.” Johnny Depp swaggered across the screen, gold tooth glinting, and Toby folded himself cross-legged on the floor once more, transfixed.

“So I see.” The dogs were panting gently. “Where is your dad?”

“Doug called him into the office, something about reports that had to be finished by Monday morning. He said for you to ring him.”

Gemma hoped that meant she was forgiven for her bad temper of the night before, and she realized she’d been mentally criticizing Hazel when she’d been guilty of behaving unreasonably herself.

“Would you two like to pay Erika a visit?” she said on impulse. “We could walk.”

“Too hot,” said Kit.

“We could get an ice cream afterwards.”

Toby dragged his attention from the screen. “Yay, Mummy! What kind?”

“Yeah, okay, so I’m susceptible to bribery,” agreed Kit.

“Let me give Erika a ring, then get cleaned up a bit.”

It wasn’t until they were walking down Ladbroke Road a few minutes later, Gemma having taken a quick shower and changed, that she confessed to an ulterior motive.

“I want to see Erika, too,” she said, “but while you’re visiting I need to stop by Betty Howard’s for a few minutes.”

“You’re going to see Wesley’s mum without us?” Kit stared at her suspiciously. “Why can’t we go? Betty always wants to see us.”

“Of course she does, but this time it’s a bit complicated.” She explained that Betty was taking care of a little girl named Charlotte who needed a place to stay for a while, and that Charlotte wasn’t ready to meet anyone else new quite yet.

She knew she would have to tell them about Charlotte’s parents, but she wasn’t eager to broach the subject with Kit. Kit merely said, however, “You won’t be gone long, will you?”

Gemma had become friends with Erika Rosenthal in the course of investigating a case when she had first been posted back to Notting Hill. In the past few months they had become even closer, when the unexpected appearance of an antique brooch at auction had opened a window into the older woman’s troubled past.