Deborah Crombie - Necessary as Blood

He grimaced, then said, “And what do you have to do with any of this?”

She explained about Tim and Naz, and how she had come to be involved in the investigation into Naz’s death, and how she had helped arrange a temporary placement for Charlotte.

“But my friend told me that Naz and Sandra didn’t want Charlotte to have anything to do with her grandmother,” she continued, “and I’ve since heard some other things that make me think…I’m afraid of what will happen to Charlotte.”

Blakely shook his head. “I never thought-when Sandra disappeared…I know it was tough for Naz, caring for a child on his own, but I thought he was the coping sort. I never imagined-what the hell happened to him? The rumors floating round could sink a ship.”

“We”-she caught herself-“ they don’t know exactly, but it looks like he was murdered.”

“Murdered?” Blakely stared at her. “Why would somebody want to kill Naz Malik? Nice bloke. Good father, good husband. Helped people out when they needed it.” He shrugged his powerful shoulders. “Although, since Sandra’s been gone, he’s been a bit of a walking ghost. Not quite all there. I have to admit I was beginning to wonder if he could go on without her, if you want the truth.” He hesitated, then said, “You’re sure he didn’t-”

“The pathologist and the local police believe it was murder. Scotland Yard’s been called in.”

Blakely’s hands twitched and flexed, as if he were uncomfortable in not having something to do with them. She thought he’d paled a little beneath his tan. “And Sandra?” he asked. “Have they found out something about Sandra?”

“No, though they can’t help but wonder if Naz’s murder and Sandra’s disappearance are somehow connected. Are you certain there’s noth-”

“Do you think I haven’t gone over every single word said that day a million times, trying to find something, make some sense of it?” He turned towards her, his knuckles now white where he gripped the chair arms. “I’ve memorized every word she said. I dream them. And there’s nothing, absolutely nothing, that explains where she can have gone.”

“I’d like to hear, if you could manage to tell it one more time,” Gemma said softly.

He leaned back again, closed his eyes. When he spoke, it was carefully, as if every word mattered. “She came late, just as we were beginning to shut down the stall. I looked up, and she was standing there with Charlotte on her hip, watching me. I said something like, ‘Come for the best of the lot, have you?’ because we always joked about me saving the knockdowns for her at the end of the day. Charlotte piped up, wanting a cupcake, but Sandra told her to wait. And then she said, ‘Roy, can I ask a favor? I’ve an errand, but I won’t be long. We have to meet Naz at two.’

“Charlotte wanted to help with the flowers. Sandra set her down. Then she looked at her watch. And now, when I look back at it, I think she hesitated for a minute, a fraction of a minute. But then she kissed Charlotte, and waved at me, and walked away. The next time I looked up, she was gone. That’s it,” he finished roughly.

“Did she have anything with her?” asked Gemma, trying to imagine the scene.

“Just her handbag. But I used to tell her she could get the bloody London Eye in that thing.”

“Did she look different, or sound different-”

“No!” Blakely rubbed a hand over his mouth, as if he were making an effort to maintain his patience. “No. She had on jeans and a T-shirt. I don’t remember what color the shirt was. I’ve tried. Some days she tied her hair back, but that day it was loose. I don’t think she had on any makeup. There was only-there was only that bit of hesitation, like she almost changed her mind about what she was going to do. Or maybe I’m just making that up.” He shook his head. “But it wasn’t like Sandra to hesitate. Once she made up her mind to do something, God forbid you got in her way.”

“She worked for you a long time?” Gemma asked.

“All through high school and art college. Even after she and Naz married she liked to do her bit. But I’d known Sandra since she was a tot. Truth is, I’d known Gail since I was a kid. Grew up on the same council estate.”

“So why didn’t Sandra and Gail get on?”

Roy shrugged. “The wife always said Sandra must have been one of those babies substituted at birth-a changeling.”

“Your wife?”

“Billie. She’s on holiday in Spain. A girl’s jaunt-hen party for our niece.”

Gemma shied away from the mention of hen parties. “You have kids?” she asked.

“No. I suppose that’s one reason we were always so fond of Sandra, not that she wasn’t a mouthy little thing sometimes. Took after her mother there, but in a good way.”

“You haven’t told me why Naz and Sandra didn’t want Charlotte to have anything to do with Gail.”

Blakely was silent for a moment, then he said, “You know that Sandra never knew her dad, and that her sister, Donna, and the boys are her half siblings? And Donna and the boys have different fathers as well.”

“But the boys have the same father?”

“Yeah, he stayed around for a bit, that one, although I think he was gone by the time Terry was born. It was Donna’s dad stayed the longest, but he was a right tosser. Lived off Gail’s benefits.”

“Gail never married any of them?”

“No. Gail’s mum helped out with the kids, but she’s gone now. That was the old Bethnal Green, extended families, everyone helping each other out. Not that it did much for Gail, but it at least kept Sandra from going the same way as her mum. She’s got no judgment, Gail. She could never keep her knickers on, from the time she were twelve. Blokes have been taking advantage of her ever since, including those useless sons of hers. And she never cared a fig for either of the girls.”

“But Sandra managed to make something of herself in spite of her family,” said Gemma.

“And they didn’t thank her for it, believe me. Called her ‘hoity-toity’ and ‘jumped-up cow.’”

“Her brothers, too? I heard they didn’t get on. And that Naz thought they might have had something to do with her disappearance.”

Roy’s face wrinkled in disgust. “Kev and Terry are a couple of shiftless louts who’ve been nothing but trouble for Sandra since she was a kid. And yeah, Naz came to see me, wanted me to say I’d seen them that day, but I hadn’t. And why would they hurt her? She was the one person they could count on to bail them out of trouble, worst case.

“Not to mention that if they had done something to her, at least a hint of it would have leaked. Those two couldn’t keep their mouths shut if their lives depended on it, and word still travels in these parts.”

“Was there anyone else that Sandra didn’t get on with, besides her family?”

Blakely reached for Gemma’s empty water glass and rubbed his thumb round the rim. “Sandra was…connected. Interested in people. And she crossed the border into the Bangladeshi community, something not very many old East End families are willing to do. Only person I can think of that she had a falling-out with was Pippa, and then she didn’t talk about it.”

“Pippa?” asked Gemma, her interest piqued by the unfamiliar name.

“Pippa Nightingale. Owns a gallery on Rivington Street. She’d been Sandra’s mentor since art college, and she represented Sandra’s work for years.”

“She doesn’t anymore?”

“I don’t think so. Like I said, Sandra didn’t really talk about it. You could ask Pippa yourself. Her place is called the Nightingale Gallery.”

“Mr. Blakely-Roy.” Gemma hesitated, not wanting to break the rapport she felt she’d established with Sandra’s friend, but she knew she had to ask. “There were rumors when Sandra disappeared that she might have been-that there was another man-”