Deborah Crombie - Where Memories Lie

"Nonetheless, Mrs. March," Khan sounded more annoyed than placating. "That has nothing to-"

"Actually, we're not here about the Goldshtein brooch," Kincaid interrupted. "At least not directly. We're here because we have reason to believe that Kristin Cahill's death was no accident."

Amir Khan hustled them into his office before Mrs. March had a chance to do anything but sink back into her chair, looking stunned.

Cullen, who had been occupying himself by examining an intricate wooden model of a steamship that was apparently going on the block, followed, unease now added to his aggravation. He hadn't cared for feeling like a piece of furniture while Gemma led the questioning, although he had to admit she had probably got more from the receptionist than he would have if it had been his call. But by rights it should have been his guv'nor in the lead, not Gemma, who had no business here.

And now he was faced with Amir Khan, the sort of man who as a boy would have been his nemesis at school-Anglo-Indian, yes, but the product of money and breeding, with the perfect accent, the perfect clothes, an undoubtedly sharp and sarcastic tongue, and who had probably captained his cricket team. Doug hated him on sight.

"Now you've set the cat among the pigeons," said Khan as soon as he had them sequestered in his office. The space was cramped, and he didn't ask them to sit. A bouquet of long-stemmed pink roses sat on the far desk, some of its buds already drooping. "I don't know what sort of nonsense this is," Khan continued, "but Mrs. March will have it spread round the salesroom in five minutes." He glanced at his watch, which Doug suspected was a real Cartier and not a copy. "Or sooner. I don't appre-"

"Mr. Khan." This time Kincaid took the lead. "This is not nonsense. Someone ran Kristin Cahill down last night, brutally and deliberately. I don't care if it upsets your staff. And as we will be talking to each of them in turn, there's no way you could keep the news from them."

"But surely that's not possible." Khan glanced from Kincaid to Gemma, his certainty wavering. "Why would anyone want to hurt Kristin?"

"We were hoping you might tell us," Kincaid said. "It seems you gave her a bit of a bollocking yesterday, after Inspector James left."

"Bollocking?" Khan gave a grimace of distaste. "I'd hardly say that, even if I were to use such a word."

"Then what would you call it? A row?"

"Certainly not. I merely reminded Kristin that our first priority is our clients' confidentiality, and asked her to be discreet."

"You mean discreet about the Goldshtein brooch?" asked Gemma.

"Discreet as regards giving out information pertaining to any of our buyers or sellers, and that included the seller of the Goldshtein brooch."

"Kristin had been working for you a year, I think? Why would you suddenly feel a need to remind her of something she surely knew quite well?"

Khan leaned against his desk and picked at his perfectly starched shirt cuff, looking less than comfortable for the first time. "Of course, Kristin was well aware of our policy. But this was the first time she was to receive an introductory commission. And to my knowledge, this was the first time she'd ever had someone make a prior claim on an object taken in for auction."

"An introductory commission?" asked Gemma. "I remember you saying Kristin had brought the piece in. What does that mean, exactly?"

"Kristin had an acquaintance with the seller. When one of our staff brings in someone with a piece to auction, the staff member receives a small commission."

"How small?" Kincaid asked sharply.

"Four percent."

"Four percent of how much?"

"The reserve price on the brooch is one hundred twenty thousand pounds. But with the reputation of the designer, and the size of the diamonds, it could go considerably higher."

Cullen heard Gemma give a small whistle under her breath. "So Kristin could have made as much as five or six thousand pounds?" she asked. "Or more?"

"Or nothing," replied Khan. "The brooch might not meet its reserve. That's always the danger when setting a limit."

"When you say Kristin brought in the seller, does that mean she knew him or her personally?" asked Cullen.

"I've no idea. She didn't explain the connection to me, and I didn't ask."

"You keep talking as if the sale of the brooch is still on," said Gemma. "With Kristin's death-"

"Kristin's death doesn't change anything, Inspector. Of course, it's regrettable, but there is certainly no reason we should consider removing an item from the sale because of it."

"But if Kristin had a connection with the seller-"

"It doesn't matter," Khan said with finality. "That association is now meaningless."

"And Kristin's commission?"

Khan shrugged. "A moot point, obviously."

"And that means more profit to the salesroom," put in Cullen, wanting to ruffle this man's smooth exterior.

But Khan merely gave him an amused look down his aquiline nose. "And more for the seller, Sergeant-I'm sorry, I don't remem-"

"Cullen," Doug said sharply.

"Sergeant Cullen, then. You can't seriously think that the seller would have murdered Kristin for the paltry few thousand pounds' difference her commission would have made in his profit?" While Doug was considering the difference that paltry sum would make in his life, Gemma stepped up to Khan and looked him in the eye.

"Possibly not, Mr. Khan. But under the circumstances, you can see that we must interview the seller."

"Then I'd suggest you have a word with Kristin's friends and associates. But as a representative of Harrowby's, I can't give you that information. Our client confidentiality cannot be breached."

Kincaid, who had been leaning against a filing cabinet, hands in pockets, straightened up and gave a deceptively courteous smile. "Then I suspect a warrant will make a fairly good battering ram."

"We'll have to start with the parents," Kincaid said as they pushed through the salesroom doors back out into the ordinary hustle of the Old Brompton Road, where passersby untouched by this particular tragedy bumbled past on their own urgent errands, and the lunchtime scent of pizza and kebabs wafted from the open doors of restaurants and cafés.

Gemma knew he hated such interviews as much as she did, but he was better at concealing it. She stopped him with a touch on his arm, having remembered a fragment of conversation. "Wait just a sec."

She ducked back into Harrowby's and emerged a moment later. "I've got Kristin's friend Giles's address from Mrs. March. If he was cut up enough to go home, we should have a word. Especially if Giles might have sent the flowers."

"Where does he live?" Kincaid asked.

"Fulham."

"We'll see the parents on the way, then." He turned to Cullen. "Doug, can you go back to the Yard and get a start on that warrant? I want to know who put that brooch up for sale, whether Mr. Khan likes it or not. And, Gemma, about those flowers-"

"Already on it," Gemma said as she pulled Melody up on her mobile. She'd got the name of the florist from Mrs. March along with Giles's address, and when Melody answered, she asked her if she could use her powers of persuasion to get the name of the sender without a warrant.

"That's asking a lot, boss," Melody said, but she sounded more amused than aggrieved. It might save them valuable time, and she knew it.

"I've no doubt you can do it." Gemma gave her the information and rang off, her smile cut short as she saw the play of emotions on Doug Cullen's face as he watched her.