Deborah Crombie - And Justice There Is None

She put her hands over her face and wept.

By unspoken agreement, they had not discussed the case at home over Christmas. But as they drove to the police station the next morning, Kincaid said, as if continuing a recently interrupted conversation, "We can't rule out Alex Dunn altogether, you know. We can't be certain that he didn't attack Karl, then come back to see if he needed to finish the job."

"I think Mrs. Du Ray is a reliable witness," Gemma protested. "If she says he was frightened-"

"I'm not questioning her interpretation, just whether his fright absolves him of murder. You can kill someone in the heat of a struggle and still be horrified by the consequences."

"Yes, of course, but say he did kill Karl- and he's admitted intent and motive- he has an alibi for the time of Dawn's- Bryony!" she exclaimed as they entered the station. "What are you doing here?"

"Hullo, Gemma." Bryony rose from a seat in the reception area. "I hoped I could have a word with you, if I'm not too early. I had to come before the surgery opened."

"No, that's fine. Bryony, this is Superintendent Kincaid, from Scotland Yard."

Bryony shook Kincaid's hand, and Gemma noticed that her right index finger was bandaged. "Is there somewhere we could talk?"

"We'll go in my office."

"How's Geordie?" Bryony asked as Gemma signed her in and led her through the security door.

"A little worn out from the excitement of Christmas, I think. We had two little ones who took it upon themselves to run him ragged in the snow."

In spite of Karl Arrowood's death, it had turned out to be a lovely Christmas. Hazel, in her marvelously organized way, had arrived with a car boot of food ready to reheat in the Aga. They had supped around Kit's festive table with much jollity, and if Gemma fell asleep during the Queen's speech, no one seemed to mind.

Then, before succumbing to bed, Gemma had at last managed a half hour alone with the piano. For that brief time, all that had mattered was the sound of the notes as they followed one another.

"-Boxing Day," Bryony was saying to Kincaid as they reached the conference room. "Do you know, when I was a child, I thought it had to do with fighting? What a fool I felt when I found out that was the day they gave out alms from the church boxes." She sat, twisting her plain, strong hands in her lap.

"What happened to you?" Gemma asked, nodding toward Bryony's injured finger.

"A Yorkshire terrier the owner assured me never bites." Bryony glanced up at them with a crooked smile, which immediately disappeared. "I heard about Karl Arrowood. Have you any idea who did it?"

Obviously, she hadn't heard about their investigation of Gavin Farley- but then it wasn't likely he'd have broadcast his troubles. "We're pursuing some leads," Gemma replied noncommittally. "What is it, Bryony? Has something else happened?"

"I didn't know what I should do. It seems petty and disloyal to come tattling like a schoolgirl, but on the other hand…" She glanced uneasily at Kincaid.

"Go on," urged Gemma. "Superintendent Kincaid is working with me on these cases. Anything you can tell me, you can tell him."

Bryony took a breath, then nodded. "When I was finishing up in the surgery on Monday, I found some photos in Gavin's desk. They were all of Dawn and Alex."

"Dawn and Alex?"

"I'd no idea Gavin knew. Now I wonder if he overheard me mention their relationship to Marc… but even so-"

"Blackmail!" Kincaid exclaimed. "That would explain a good deal. If he was blackmailing her, and she refused to play along any further-"

"But then why kill her?" protested Gemma. "It's usually the victim who murders the blackmailer, not the other way round."

"Maybe she threatened to expose him, regardless of the consequences to herself-"

"Or to Alex?" Gemma asked dubiously. "You think Dawn would have sacrificed Alex to Karl's wrath, just to get Farley off her back?"

"Perhaps. If she meant to leave Karl for Alex, it would have to come out eventually. But I admit I'm getting ahead of the evidence. We need to see those photos."

"What did you do with them?" Gemma asked Bryony.

"I left them where they were."

"Okay. Good. Don't touch them. And don't say anything to Mr. Far-"

There was a knock at the door and Melody Talbot asked, "Could I see you outside a moment, boss? Superintendent?"

Excusing themselves, they followed Melody out into the corridor. "What's up, Constable?" asked Kincaid.

"The search team found a surgical scalpel in a rubbish bin about two blocks east of the Arrowood house. It's been wiped clean, but they've sent it to forensics with a rush request."

"Farley should be at work by now," Gemma said decisively. "Have him brought in again, alibi or no alibi. And then have a team search his surgery." She related Bryony's information.

"The surgery!" Melody exclaimed. "It's the perfect place to clean up. He could even have worn surgical scrubs, then tossed them in the laundry. Under the circumstances, no one would think anything of a bit of blood."

"True." Gemma looked up from the rough list she'd scribbled in her notebook. "Melody, once you've got things in motion, go and interview Farley's neighbors again. See if there's any way they'll budge on his whereabouts last night."

When Melody had gone, Kincaid said, "I don't like this business about Farley, Gemma. No matter how damning the circumstantial evidence, we can't charge him unless we can budge his alibi. Nor is there any connection between this man and Marianne Hoffman, and I'm absolutely certain that these three crimes are connected."

"Maybe he was practicing?" offered Gemma.

"Hoffman as a random victim? I don't buy it. But we might as well tackle him about the scalpel while we're waiting for confirmation on the other-"

His mobile phone rang.

As he took the call, Gemma thought about what he'd said. He was right: A good defense lawyer would make mincemeat of the prosecution's case for Farley as the murderer of either Dawn or Karl Arrowood. The scalpel could have come from any one of a thousand places; Farley might have photographed Dawn and Alex with no motive other than prurient curiosity; they had only Bryony's word that he'd had a disagreement with Dawn on the day she was murdered.

Nor, as she knew from last night's experience, would they even be able to talk to Farley until his lawyer got there.

"That was Marianne Hoffman's daughter in Bedford," Kincaid said as he returned to her. "She's found some things she wants me to see. Do you mind interviewing Farley on your own, if I drive up there?"

"No, but why not send someone else?"

"Apparently, she wants to talk to me specifically. Must be my pretty face."

"Right. Go on then. I'll ring you if we make any progress." Gemma repressed a sigh as she watched him go. It was going to be a long morning.

"Thank you for coming," said Eliza Goddard as she led Kincaid into her kitchen. "I've sent the girls next door to play for a bit."

Kincaid followed her, curious about the difference in her reception of him compared to his last visit. They sat down at the table where Eliza's twins had squabbled over their coloring books, and he saw that she had placed a shoe box beside the stack of children's projects.

"You said there was something you wanted to talk to me about," he said, to give her an opening.