Deborah Crombie - And Justice There Is None

"No. I'm sorry." His mind felt suddenly clear again, as if the static that had fogged it for days had vanished. "I've got to go back. There are things-"

"Fern rang this afternoon. She said the police are looking for you, they've even put out an alert for your car-"

"The police? What do they want with me?"

"I'm sure they hope you know something about the murder. The sooner you talk with them, the sooner you'll be able to clear things up."

It hadn't occurred to him that the police might think him a witness- or a suspect. Well, he would go back to London first thing the next morning, and he would talk to them. But his purpose had become clear, and he'd no intention of letting the police or anyone else interfere with his agenda.

Gemma lay in bed, staring at the partially opened slats of the blinds and hoping for the faint gray streaks that would presage dawn. Kincaid slept with his back to her, his breathing comfortingly steady. From the next room she could hear Toby's occasional snort; he was getting over a slight cold.

At last she gave in and tilted her head so that she could see the luminous face of the bedside clock; she groaned. It was only bloody five o'clock. Daylight was still a good two hours off, and it looked as if sleep had deserted her for the night.

Nor had they gone to bed at a reasonable hour the previous evening. Still furious with Kincaid over the business of Doug Cullen's invitation, she'd turned on him as soon as he arrived to help her pack.

"How could you? How could you accept a dinner invitation in the midst of moving house? We'll be tired, and filthy, and I've only so much time to get the new house sorted-"

"But I thought it would give you a break-"

"It's our first evening in the new house as a family!"

His face fell. "Of course, you're right. It was really stupid of me. I'll ring Doug straight away and say we can't come." He flipped open his phone and stepped outside.

Gemma knew she should be pleased at his capitulation, but her face flamed as she imagined his conversation with Cullen. When he returned a moment later, she spat, "Now I feel a right bitch. They'll have made arrangements already-"

"Gemma, they'll understand." He frowned at her. "It's not like you to be unreasonable-"

"So now I'm unreasonable?" She turned away and began rolling a wineglass in a sheet of newspaper, her fingers trembling.

"That's not what I meant, and you know it." He came to stand beside her, placing a tentative hand on her shoulder. "What's wrong?"

She hesitated, then the words boiled out in a rush. "The super called me in today. Gerry Franks complained to him that I'd been too soft on Karl Arrowood."

"Surely Lamb didn't take him seriously?"

"Not really. But he told me my management skills could use some improvement."

"So what did you do?"

She took another glass from the kitchen shelf. "At first I was going to rip Franks to shreds, but then I decided that wasn't the most helpful tack. I told him he was welcome to get off the case, but that he was a valuable asset and I'd rather we tried to work together, and that I hadn't meant to exclude him from portions of the investigation."

"Very diplomatic of you." Kincaid raised a quizzical eyebrow. "Was it true?"

"Oh, I suppose the super's right," she admitted, grimacing. "Franks is a good officer, especially with detail- he has that sort of bulldog mentality, worries at things until he gets them right. I should've managed the situation better."

"It sounds as though you've made a good start at improving things," Kincaid had said reassuringly, and thus, harmony had been more or less restored.

Now, lying awake in the predawn darkness, she found herself thinking of her ex-husband, Rob, who would have seen her confidence as an opportunity to tell her just how he would have handled things. Kincaid's supportiveness, she realized, was rare, and a trait to be appreciated- so why the hell couldn't she bring herself to tell him so?

Three hours later, hunched over her desk at the station, she'd pored over every note, every communication from the incident room, every file, wondering what she could possibly have missed. Exhausted, she groaned and dropped her head in her hands.

At the soft rap on her door, she looked up, blinking. It was Melody, carrying two coffee cups and a bag that smelled suspiciously of fresh carrot muffins.

"Latte, again? And breakfast? You must be the coffee fairy, Melody. Or coffee angel, I should say."

A blush stained Melody's plump cheeks. "I get off the tube at Notting Hill Gate. So it's no trouble to pop into the Starbucks on my way here. I know how much you like it, boss, and it seemed, especially today… I mean, I heard about Sergeant Franks talking to the super, and I think it's bloody unfair."

"Thanks. But I suppose he had a point. We don't seem to be making much progress, do we? Here, sit down, eat your muffin."

Melody sat obediently and peeled the paper wrapper from her breakfast. "Remember you asked me if I knew why Otto Popov was so certain Arrowood was guilty? Well, I went round the pubs last night, some of the more fringy ones, if you know what I mean."

"Not dressed like that?" Gemma gestured at Melody's neat skirt and jacket.

"Not on my life. I wore my leather trousers- you'd never have recognized me."

"I take it you weren't looking for a date?"

Melody grinned. "Well, I did chat up some okay-looking blokes. But I got a name, in the end, someone who might know something about Popov. A little Cockney named Bernard. I found him in a pub near the flyover, and after a couple of pints he agreed to have a chat with you, for the price of a pint and some readies."

Gemma's interest quickened. "When? Where?"

"Lunchtime today, in the Ladbroke Arms. Said he wanted to meet someplace no one would notice him. But, as Bernard has a face like a monkey and smells like he hasn't bathed for years, I don't think he'll be exactly inconspicuous."

Gemma tensed when the phone on her desk rang, fearing a repeat of yesterday's summons to the superintendent's office. But it was the officer on duty in reception. "There's a young man to see you, Inspector. Says his name is Alex Dunn."

"Dunn?" Gemma repeated, before swiftly collecting herself. "Right. Put him in an interview room. I'll be down in a second." Hanging up, she said to Melody, "Come with me. I'll need backup on this."

Alex Dunn rose as they entered the room, holding his hand out as if it were an ordinary social occasion. He was about Gemma's age, good-looking in a tidy sort of way, and on first impression it seemed to Gemma that his was not the sort of appeal likely to make a woman risk a marriage.

When she had introduced herself and Melody, she switched on the recorder and gestured for him to sit again.

"Is that necessary?" he asked, with a shocked glance at the recorder. His ready confidence seemed to ebb a little.

"Oh, I think so," Gemma replied evenly. "We've been looking everywhere for you for five days. That tends to make us feel a bit official."

"I didn't know. Honestly. I was down at my aunt's in Sussex- a friend drove me there on Saturday- and it never occurred to me that anyone wanted to talk to me. I wasn't…" His voice trailed off. "Myself," he concluded.

"How could you not realize that the police would want to question you? Your mistress was murdered-"