Deborah Crombie - Necessary as Blood

Gemma imagined Sandra, driven by an impulse they might never understand, perhaps asking to use the loo, then darting across the hall for a quick look in the bedroom. Had she meant to take a photo of the sari, but tucked her camera beneath the silk when she heard Alexander coming?

“Were there any pictures in the camera?” she asked.

“I don’t know, guv,” the woman answered. “But I don’t think they’ve sent it to the lab yet.”

“I want to see it,” Gemma said. She turned and went into the house, and Kincaid followed her.

While he went upstairs, she waited in the kitchen, listening to the murmur of his voice as he talked to someone on the upstairs search team.

When he came back, he held a small camera with gloved hands. “There was only one photo on the memory card.” He held the camera up so Gemma could see.

She gazed at the bright square of the view screen. There was an arch of dark brick, and within it, a peeling poster. It was a street artist’s fading work, so damaged that Gemma couldn’t be certain whether it was a painting or a photograph.

It didn’t matter. The young woman in the picture seemed to gaze back at her, unconcerned by her nakedness, her serene face innocent and as ageless as time itself.

In the old days there were angels who came and took men by the hand and led them away from the city of destruction. We see no white-winged angels now. But yet men are led away from threatening destruction: a hand is put into theirs, which leads them forth gently towards a calm and bright land, so that they may look no more backward; and the hand may be a little child’s.

– George Eliot, Silas Marner

“Why don’t you sit down for a minute,” Kincaid had said. “It’s hot, and you look a bit done in.” He’d fetched her a glass of water, then gone back into the garden.

Gemma had emptied the tumbler into the sink, then scrubbed it with soap and hot water before filling it again. It was stupid, she knew, and she was thirsty, but she didn’t want to drink from Alexander’s glass.

When Kincaid came back, she had rinsed it once more.

“I think I know her name,” he said. “Cullen did some digging this morning. According to Immigration’s records, the last girl Alexander brought in from Bangladesh was called Rani. He never divorced her.”

“What about Lucas Ritchie?” asked Gemma. “Did he identify any of the men in the photos?”

“All of them. Cullen will get started on the warrants. Listen.” He came over to her and took the glass from her hands, setting it in the sink. “There’s not much else we can do here at the moment. I think, if we left right now, we might get to Chelsea Town Hall before closing.”

Gemma looked at him blankly. “Chelsea Town Hall?”

“We have a marriage license to apply for, in case you’d forgotten.”

“Oh, so we do.” It seemed a world away from what she had witnessed in the garden-a world she suddenly wanted very much. She turned the ring on her finger. “I think that’s a bloody brilliant idea.”

Melody watched them go from the front step. She’d promised to drive Gemma’s car back to Notting Hill, and had taken the keys.

Feeling a momentary pang of envy, she wondered when Gemma would see the light about Charlotte. Some people had everything, and were blind. But still, it wasn’t her place to say-and it wasn’t like her to be standing round feeling sorry for herself either.

The door opened and Doug Cullen came out.

“Oh, it’s you,” she said. “I understand you’ve been vehicularly abandoned. The super took the pool car. Do you want a lift?”

“Yeah. In a bit, if you don’t mind.” He stood beside her, gazing up the street, and didn’t meet her eyes. “So is this going to show up in tomorrow’s Chronicle ?” he asked.

Melody looked at him, startled. “What?”

“You heard me. I did some research, you know. After the leak about Ritchie’s club. It was blindingly obvious, really. It’s just that no one ever thought to look.

“It’s a common enough name,” he continued, “common enough to pass unnoticed for a while, but how could you have thought that your identity wouldn’t eventually come out? And to put Gemma at risk-”

“You’re defending Gemma?” Melody’s anger overcame her shock. “That’s rich, since you’re the one always trying to sabotage her. Admit it, you’re jealous, and you have it in for me because I’m connected with her. So what are you going to do?”

Doug looked at her, his expression mulish. Melody glared back at him. Then, it came to her that the whole business was really stupid, and that she was tired of it.

“You’re right,” she said, her shoulders slumping. “It’s not fair to Gemma, even though I’ve told her the truth. I should resign. I love this job, but I don’t want to go on doing it like this.”

“I’m right?” Cullen sounded surprised. “You’d really quit? What else would you do?”

“I don’t know. I’m good at finding out things. I suppose I’d go to work for the paper. It’s what my father’s always wanted.”

“But you didn’t do what he wanted.”

“No.”

Cullen shifted awkwardly. “Look, I didn’t mean-”

“Are you saying I should stay on, and have you hold the truth over my head?”

“No. Not me. But you should tell the guv’nor.”

“You think I would ever be assigned to a major case again?”

“Well, if they discriminated against you because of who your father is, you could always threaten to take the story to the paper.” He grinned suddenly, but Melody wasn’t sure she found the irony funny.

“Seriously,” Cullen continued, “you are good at what you do. And I suppose you were right. I have been jealous of Gemma, and of you.”

“Doug, why?” she asked, and the use of his first name felt comfortable again. “You’re a good officer, and Kincaid depends on you.”

“Because I don’t seem to have the talent for reading signals.” He shrugged. “I’m good with facts, but I always seem to get things wrong with people. Foot in mouth.” He looked away. “Like that night in front of the Yard. I was an idiot.”

Even now, remembering his rejection made her flush with embarrassment. But she’d only suggested a drink, after all, and maybe he had just felt shy. Had she overreacted? And was it too late to make amends?

“You were,” she agreed, but without rancor. “But that was ages ago. Do you think, if I talked to the super, that I could get on in this job?”

“There are times it might be helpful to have a friendly connection with the press. As long as the press knew where your interests lay.”

“Loyalties, you mean,” she said.

“Yeah. That, too. Do you know?” he asked, with a frankness she’d never heard from him.

“Definitely.”

“Then maybe…” He rocked a little on his feet, and pushed his glasses up on his nose. “…if you gave me a lift, we could stop for a drink. Have a chat or something.”

Melody laughed aloud. She felt a bit giddy with liberation. “What would we talk about?”

“I’m thinking of looking for a new flat.”

“Well, that’ll do for a start.”

“You have sixteen days of official freedom,” Duncan said when they left the town hall, having filled out the paperwork required by the Borough of Kensington and Chelsea for a marriage license. “In case you change your mind.”

“I’d better not,” she said, teasing. “Your mum and dad have promised to come to Glastonbury for Winnie’s blessing. And Juliet’s promised to come with the kids. Kit should be pleased.” She took his arm. “It’s cooling off. Let’s walk down to the river, to celebrate.