to appreciating the tea itself, but I’m not sure William ever really accepted the decision. He—”
There was a click of a latch and the front door swung open. Kincaid could make out nothing but the tall silhouette of a man, but Teresa pushed herself up from her chair. “Mr. Hammond. What are you doing here?”
“Teresa, my dear.” Coming forward, he took her outstretched hand and gave it a pat. “Jo shouldn’t have asked you to do this. It’s the family’s responsibility to look after things here.” He turned to Kincaid and Gemma. “I’m William Hammond. How can I help you?”
Gemma would have recognized Hammond from Annabelle’s photos without the introduction, although his expensive dark suit added an austerity to his courtly good looks. She wondered fleetingly how he could bear the suit in this heat, but his palm felt cool against hers as he shook her hand.
Teresa touched his arm, and when he turned back to her, she said, “Mr. Hammond. I’m so sorry—”
“I know you and Annabelle were very close,” William Hammond answered with what seemed an effort. “She depended on you a great deal. As does Reginald. He came to see me this morning—” He broke off. “This is a terrible thing for us all. My daughter said you had some questions, Superintendent. And unless Teresa can be of further help, I think she’d like to go home.”
“That’s fine.” Kincaid directed his reply to Teresa. “We know how to reach you.”
Teresa hesitated for a moment and then, with a nod at Kincaid and Gemma, left.
“Sit down, please.” Hammond took the chair Teresa had vacated and motioned for them to follow suit.
“I know how difficult this must be for you, Mr. Hammond,” Kincaid said, tugging at the knot on his tie. He’d abandoned his jacket in the car midmorning, and Gemma wagered the tie wouldn’t last much longer. He glanced at her, a signal for her to take over.
“Have you any idea why someone would want to harm your daughter, Mr. Hammond?” She clasped her hands over the notebook she cradled unobtrusively in her lap.
He stared at her, his eyes tearing. “Annabelle was so beautiful. You couldn’t begin to understand unless you knew her. No man could have asked for a more perfect daughter.”
“I’m sure that’s true, Mr. Hammond,” Gemma said gently. “But we think it’s possible Annabelle may have known her killer. Are you aware of any enemies she might have made through the business? Or of any rifts in her personal life?”
“Of course not. That’s an absurd idea. Everyone loved Annabelle.”
Gemma changed tack. “How did you feel about her engagement to Reginald Mortimer?”
“Her engagement? What has that to do with this?” Hammond drew his brows together impatiently.
“You approved of the engagement?” Gemma pressed.
“Of course. I’ve known the boy since he was an infant. You couldn’t have found a couple more suited to one another, and his family is of the highest quality. His father, Sir Peter, serves on our board as well as being a personal friend. Peter and Helena have taken this very hard.… They looked on Annabelle as a daughter.”
“Reginald and Annabelle got along well, did they?” Kincaid interposed. “No tiffs or rows?”
“As far as I know, they got on extremely well, and if they had any disagreements, they didn’t share them with me.” With a frown, he added, “I hope you haven’t been upsetting Reginald with these sorts of questions. The poor fellow’s had enough to deal with as it is.”
Kincaid allowed a pause to lengthen before he asked, “Mr. Hammond, in your experience, would you say Reg Mortimer is a truthful person?”
“What do you mean by that?” Blue veins stood out on William Hammond’s hands as he clasped them over his knees. “He’s a fine young man. Peter Mortimer and I have known one another since Oxford, and I have the greatest confidence in father
Confidence enough, wondered Gemma, to marry your daughter off to him, and bring him into your company with no more incentive than friendship? She framed an idea into a question. “You said Sir Peter served on the board. Does that mean he has a financial interest in Hammond’s?”
“Naturally he owns a number of shares. I’m sorry, but I really don’t see the point to this, under the circumstances. And I’ve things to attend to—people will be coming by the house to pay their respects.” Although polite, it was a dismissal as firm as the one he’d given Teresa Robbins.
“Thank you for your time, Mr. Hammond. You’ve been very kind. We won’t trouble you any further at the moment.” Kincaid rose and Gemma followed his cue, uncomfortably aware of her skirt plastered to the backs of her thighs with perspiration. “Our technicians will need to have a look round, however,” Kincaid added, as if it had just occurred to him. “Perhaps Teresa could arrange that for us?”
“Here? In my building?” William Hammond’s voice faltered. He looked suddenly exhausted, and Gemma thought that for all his appearance of control, he’d reached the limit of his endurance.
“They’ll do their best not to disrupt things,” Kincaid replied soothingly.
Gazing at the dust motes swirling in the bars of sunlight that dissected the air, Gemma realized she had become aware of complex layers of scent—the mustiness of old wood and the nearness of water, mixed with the ripe aroma of tea. The sense-tickling smells, the golden light, and the slow movement of the air under the spinning fans made the warehouse suddenly seem a timeless place, and she wondered what other dramas it had witnessed. She turned to Hammond. “I think Teresa said your great-grandfather started the business? So Hammonds have always been here?”
“I’ve always seen that as rather a special obligation, carrying on the family tradition. And it meant so much to Annabelle.…”
“What will happen now?” asked Gemma. “Will Jo carry on in Annabelle’s place?”
“Jo has her own career, and she’s never had much interest in the business.” Hammond met Gemma’s eyes, and the desolation she saw in his made her flinch. “But I doubt it would matter if she had. No one can possibly replace Annabelle.”
CHAPTER 7
