Deborah Crombie - Necessary as Blood

With the things that had happened in the last few days, she had managed to put the wedding completely out of her mind. Now, all the weight of obligation came rushing back, and with it the nausea that had been nagging her since Sandra’s brothers had cracked her head against the Escort’s door. The interior of the car suddenly seemed unbearably hot and confining.

She got out carefully, fighting a wave of dizziness, and collected the holdall with Charlotte’s things from the backseat. This time she looked round before she leaned into the car, but that made her dizzier.

Then, feeling oddly disconnected from her feet, she walked the few yards to Betty’s building. As she went in and glanced up the stairwell, the climb seemed as daunting as Mount Everest. Slowly, gingerly, she made the ascent, stopping on each landing to ease the thumping in her head.

By the time she reached Betty’s flat and Charlotte ran into her arms for a hug, she felt she was the one most in need of comfort.

Charlotte had finally been persuaded to let go of Gemma and settle down with her pencils at the small table in Betty’s kitchen. She drew with grave concentration, while in the sitting room, Betty exclaimed over the clothes Gemma had brought.

“Her mama was that good to her,” Betty said softly as she refolded a little pink skirt. “Oh, I don’t just mean the clothes,” she added. “But you can tell, with the little ones, when they’ve been loved. And I don’t believe for a minute that this one’s mama left her of her own accord.” She added a neatly folded T-shirt to the skirt. “Not unless there was drink or drugs involved.”

“Not on her mum’s part, anyway,” Gemma agreed, but when Betty gave her a questioning look, she merely added, “I’d have heard something by now, I think, if there was anything like that.”

“Will she be all right if she goes to her granny?” Betty asked. “I do worry, and I haven’t heard a thing more from the social worker.”

“I know,” said Gemma. “I’m worried, too.”

The admission brought back her sister’s hateful words in full force. Was she as selfish as Cyn had said? Should she be doing more for her mother and less for Charlotte? But how could she not do everything in her power for this child, who had no one else to protect her? And if Cyn was right, was she letting Duncan down, as well? Was he losing patience with her?

“Gemma, honey, you’re right away with the fairies. Are you all right?” Betty was looking at her in concern, and Gemma realized she hadn’t heard a word Betty had said.

“I’m sorry. It’s just-” She couldn’t begin to explain what was wrong, and especially not in front of Charlotte.

“Look, Gemma,” said Charlotte, holding up her paper. She had drawn stick figures, the larger two red and blue, the smaller one yellow. They were a bit squiggly, but still recognizable as people. “That’s a mummy and a daddy and a little girl,” Charlotte informed her.

Gemma studied the picture with the seriousness it deserved. There were clouds, and a sausagey-shaped thing with legs near the yellow stick figure’s feet. “That’s very good, lovey. The little girl is yellow. That’s a happy color. And is that her dog?”

“Georgy,” Charlotte said. She still couldn’t manage the d sound in Geordie. “I want to see Georgy.”

“Maybe you can come over for a bit, this afternoon or tomorrow, if it’s all right with your auntie Betty here.” To Betty, she added, “The boys are quite smitten. As are the dogs,” she added, summoning a smile. “Sid, I’m not so sure about.”

“You should stay and have some lunch,” said Betty. “I’ve made a cold salad.”

“I’d love to,” Gemma said, although the thought of food made the sweat break out on her forehead. “I’d better go, though. Toby has a football match, and I promised I’d take him to the art store for some pencils like Charlotte’s afterwards.” She stood and kissed Betty’s cheek. “But I’ll ring you, and we’ll see about arranging a visit.”

She gave Charlotte a hug, resisting the temptation to keep her in her arms, then waved as she let herself out of the flat.

The stairs, however, proved almost as daunting going down as they had going up, and when she reached the car, she got in and simply sat.

She felt overwhelmed, as if the pieces of her life were flying off in all directions, out of her control, and she couldn’t summon the focus to hold them together.

Avoiding the tender bruise on her forehead, she rested her head on the hot steering wheel, trying to think. Wedding…Mum…Charlotte…the Gilles brothers…Melody…wedding…

Her mind whirled and she sat up, fighting another wave of dizziness. She couldn’t sort it out, not the way she was feeling. She needed some sensible advice, and suddenly she realized who she could talk to. Putting the key in the ignition, she started the car and drove, not to Toby’s football match, but to Kensington.

Doug Cullen had left home that morning with a list of flats and estate agents in his pocket. But somehow, instead of taking the District Line to Putney, he got on the wrong train and found himself at Victoria. The mistake was half habit and half absentmindedness. But as the reason for the absentmindedness was his mulling over of the business of the newspaper story, he decided to get off the train and go on into the Yard.

He was glad to shut himself in his office, quiet on a Saturday, where he could think it through properly. Something was not right about the whole thing. There was Kincaid’s reaction, to start with. After his first surprise, the guv’nor had gone all quiet and nonchalant about it, and while he might have the clout to buck displeasure from above, Cullen had been in on the interview with Ritchie as well, and he knew he wasn’t bulletproof.

How the hell had someone put together their visit-because that had to have been the “police investigation”-with Azad’s membership in the club, something they hadn’t known themselves?

Unless, of course, there really was another investigation…He picked up a pen and doodled on the message pad on his desk-names, interconnected with big swooping arrows. What if the club was somehow tied into the Narcotics investigation? But if he and Kincaid had been warned off, there was no way any other detectives were going to be going round asking official questions, so that idea didn’t wash.

But Lucas Ritchie did have a connection with Sandra Gilles’s brothers, through his friendship with Sandra. And if the brothers were dealing drugs, was it possible that Ritchie was running them? The club would certainly be a convenient front for money laundering, and some of Ritchie’s clients might be investing in a bit of the action on the side.

But how did Ahmed Azad tie into that? He had never been accused, as far as Cullen knew, of having any connection with drugs.

The pen had leaked as he scribbled. Cullen tore the inky piece of paper into strips, staining his fingers in the process. He shuffled the strips, realizing he’d left something-or rather someone-out.

Gemma. Gemma had been involved in this case from the beginning, even before they’d been called in. And he knew her well enough now to be certain that she hadn’t just walked away from it, especially after she’d helped arrange foster care for Naz Malik’s daughter. But what could Gemma possibly have to do with Lucas Ritchie? The more he thought about it, the more certain he became that Gemma was mixed up in all of it, somehow, and he didn’t like the idea one bit. But he needed more information.

Maybe it was time to take advantage of a favor owed him by a reporter on the Chronicle . These things were tit for tat-and Doug, like most detectives, had developed a list of contacts useful to both parties.