Deborah Crombie - And Justice There Is None

"What's your name?" she asked, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

"Wesley Howard."

"Mine's Gemma James. I've been told that Alex Dunn comes in here. Do you know him?"

Wesley's smile vanished. "Sure I know Alex. What you want wiv him?" When she showed him her warrant card, he gazed at her in surprise. "You the Bill? I would never have credited that. But you still don't tell me what you want wiv Alex."

"We'd like to interview anyone who knew Dawn Arrowood well."

"Can't say I ever met a Dawn Arrowood." Wesley was not a convincing liar.

"Alex was having an affair with her. And if you're his friend I don't believe for a minute that you didn't know about it."

"And what if I did?"

"She was killed last night, and I don't believe that news hasn't made the rounds, either."

"You're not saying as Alex had something to do wiv her murder?"

"Why? Do you think he did?"

The young man's dreadlocks trembled as he shook his head. "Man, Alex would never 'ave hurt Mrs. Arrowood. He was crazy 'bout her."

A large, bald man in a white apron came through from the kitchen, his face registering alarm as he came towards them. "Wesley, is there a problem?"

"She the Bill, Otto. I only tell her Alex would never have hurt Mrs. Arrowood."

"I am Otto Popov. How can I help you?"

"Did you know Dawn Arrowood, Mr. Popov?"

As Wesley excused himself to attend to the customers, Otto sat, the chair creaking under his weight. "I had seen her about- a lovely creature- but no, I was not personally acquainted with Mrs. Arrowood."

"But you knew about Alex's relationship with her?"

"We knew because we are his special friends. It was never really discussed, even among us, until we heard this morning of the poor lady's death."

"Have you seen Alex today?"

"It was we who had to break the news to him this morning."

"How did he take it?"

"Hard. Quite hard." Otto shook his massive head. "We all felt for him very much."

"Do you know where Alex is now?"

"I have not seen him since he left here this morning. Have you tried his stall in the arcade?"

"A vendor there told me he'd left with a young woman called Fern Adams." Seeing Otto's surprise, she added, "You know her?"

"Of course," Otto answered. "Since she was a child. She's very fond of Alex. She will look after him."

"Do you know where they might have gone?"

"No. But perhaps these people can help you."

A couple had entered the café. They stood awkwardly, as if unsure whether they should cross the room and join the conversation. The woman was tall and slender, with deep auburn hair pulled back in a plait, and strong facial bones. Gemma would have called her handsome rather than beautiful; this masculine quality was emphasized by her jeans, jumper, and heavy boots.

The man was less distinguished, tall, with short-cropped hair, and spectacles that lent him a studious air. Otto motioned them over.

"This is Bryony Poole," he told Gemma. "And Marc Mitchell. Marc runs the soup kitchen just down the road."

"Oh, I know your place," said Gemma. "By the old Portobello School. You provide a great service for the neighborhood."

"This lady is from the police," Otto continued, "and is looking for our friend Alex. She says he left the arcade this morning with Fern."

"Is this about Dawn Arrowood?" Bryony Poole asked. "It's just dreadful."

"Alex was in a terrible state this morning." Marc pulled over chairs for himself and Bryony. "And Fern seemed determined to offer help and succor."

"Was there something unusual in that?" asked Gemma.

"It's just that they hadn't been on good terms lately," volunteered Bryony. "Fern and Alex had a thing going, until he met Dawn Arrowood. So of course Fern wasn't best pleased with the whole affair."

"Do I take it that Fern hasn't given up?"

"I don't think anyone thought Alex's relationship with Dawn Arrowood would last- could last," Bryony corrected. "I mean, either her husband was going to find out, or she would decide to call it off before he did."

"Perhaps he did find out," suggested Otto. "Is it not usually the spouse in these cases?"

"You think Karl Arrowood had something to do with his wife's death?" Gemma asked, and heard the sharpness in her voice.

"That man is capable of anything," Otto growled, but when Gemma pressed him, he merely shook his head and clamped his lips together. Before she could question him further, two small girls ran in from the kitchen. They wore matching hair ribbons and dresses, and their round faces marked them immediately as Otto's progeny. He wrapped his arms around both.

"These are my daughters, Anna and Maria. I have promised them the cinema. Something about spotted cows, I think?" he added, twinkling at them.

"Dogs, Daddy. Dalmatians," they chorused. "And we'll be late if we don't go."

Groaning, he let them pull him to his feet. "If you have more questions, you might speak to Wesley."

As Otto and his daughters disappeared into the kitchen, Bryony stood as well, and Marc joined her. "We've not got time for coffee, after all, I'm afraid," she said apologetically. "We- I hope you find whoever did this."

Gemma gave them each a card, asking them to ring her if they thought of anything that might help.

When they had gone, Wesley came back to her table, although he kept an experienced eye on the remaining customers. "You don't want to take what Otto says about Karl Arrowood too seriously," he told her quietly. "There's some sort of bad blood between them that goes way back. Otto thinks Karl's the devil himself."

Gemma noticed with amusement that all traces of his West Indian accent had vanished. "What sort of feud?"

"I really couldn't say. Something to do with Otto's dead wife, but that's all I know."

"An affair?"

"Could be. But it was before I came to work here, and Otto doesn't talk about it."

"I take it you do a bit of everything around here."

Wesley smiled. "Cook, bottle washer, waiter, and child minder. I like helping out with the girls."

"How old are they?"

"Seven- that's Anna, and nine- that's Maria. They're good kids."

"When did their mother die?"

"It was before I came, and I started four years ago." He looked curiously at Gemma. "Do I know you from somewhere? You seem awfully familiar- and it's not because you've thrown me in the nick."

"I used to walk a beat here, but you'd have been a mere babe," Gemma teased in turn, glad to know the feeling of past acquaintance was mutual. "Now I've been posted back to Notting Hill," she added, finding herself inexplicably confessing, "and I'm moving here as well, into a house near St. John's."

Wesley whistled. "Poncey address for a police lady."

"Terrifying." Gemma grinned. "But my kids will love it. Now, before I go, can you give me Alex Dunn's address?"

Only when she had thanked Wesley and left the café did she realize that for the first time, she had claimed Kit as her own.

"The victim's name was Dawn Arrowood," Gemma told the press gathered on the steps of Notting Hill Police Station at six o'clock. "If anyone saw anything suspicious or unusual in the vicinity of St. John's Church, Notting Hill, yesterday evening, please ring the police at this number." She gave out the number of a special line manned in the incident room. Ninety-nine percent of the calls would be cranks, but there was always a possibility that someone had actually seen something useful.

She fielded a few questions with "I'm sorry, we can't disclose that information just yet," then ducked into the station to retrieve her bag while the crowd cleared away.

Although she was leaving the station, her workday was not over. Penciled in her notebook was the number of Alex Dunn's flat in a mews just off Portobello Road. She'd already stopped there twice since getting his address, but had found the flat dark and apparently uninhabited, as were those of his neighbors.