“What’ll you have?” he asked as she sat down.
“Mmmm … a lemonade would be nice. Something with a bit of ice.”
“Shall I order the food as well? Fish and chips?”
“Make it two, then,” she said, fanning herself with the menu.
When he returned with her drink, he said, “Did you get Toby settled? How is he?”
“I just rang Hazel from the car. She says he’s fine now, just a bit of the sniffles.” Gemma drained half her glass, then sat back, looking much restored. Touching his arm, she said, “Duncan, about Kit … Hazel said you told him —”
He shook his head. After a night spent tossing and turning, just the thought of talking about it made him feel drained. “It’s a proper cock-up. I wasn’t naive enough to expect to be welcomed with open arms. But I hadn’t thought he’d take it so hard.” He shrugged, making light of it. He couldn’t tell her the worst part.
“He’s been through such a lot, poor little beggar. I don’t imagine he knows what he feels. What are you going to do now?”
The barmaid arrived at the table and plopped loaded plates down in front of them, followed by serviette- wrapped cutlery and plastic packets of tartar sauce. Without a word, she went back to her tete-a-tete over the bar with a shirtless young man sporting a large and very well-endowed, naked lady tattooed on his arm.
Kincaid poked at his fish with the tip of his fork. “Give him more time, I suppose. Try to behave as ordinarily as possible. And have a talk with Laura Miller—see how she feels about having him through some of the summer hols.”
“Why didn’t you wait last night?” Gemma speared a chip. “We missed you by minutes.”
“I’m sorry. I suddenly realized that I was too knackered to think.”
Gemma gave him a swift glance but didn’t pursue it. “Tell me about Annabelle’s solicitor.”
“A very high-powered lady with an office in Canary Wharf. But she was persuaded to give me the time of day,” he answered, feeling relieved. “It seems Annabelle hadn’t much to leave in the way of material things.” Downing the last of his pint of Tetley’s, he thought for a moment of ordering another, but decided it would only make him groggy in the heat. “Her flat was mortgaged, and bought recently, so there’s very little equity. Her car was leased. Some debts, but nothing out of the ordinary.”
“No assets at all, then?”
“I didn’t quite say that. She had her shares in the company, and she left those to Harry and Sarah Lowell. She designated their father, Martin Lowell, as trustee.”
Gemma looked up in surprise. “Not her sister?”
“The solicitor says that since Jo’s divorce, Annabelle had discussed making a change, but hadn’t actually done anything about it.”
“Could Lowell benefit directly from the share income?”
“I imagine that would depend on how tightly the trust is structured. The question is, did Lowell know about the bequest?”
“Annabelle’s death could have been convenient for him, in that case,” said Gemma. Finishing her lemonade, she added, “But we’ve not had the impression so far that Hammond’s Teas was a financial gold mine.”
“Annabelle seemed to live comfortably on her income, but I’d assume she was also paid a salary.”
Gemma pushed her plate aside. “I’d like to know if Jo Lowell was aware of the bequest.”
“Then I suggest we ask her before we interview Martin Lowell. Shall we walk?” he asked, rising.
“I suppose it’s quicker,” said Gemma, but he thought she sounded less than enthusiastic.
As they left the pub and started down Saunders Ness towards the tunnel, she told him about Janice’s interview with George Brent, and the appointment Janice had made for them with Lewis Finch that afternoon.
“I’m impressed with the inspector’s initiative. So there
“
“You’ve seen it?”
“And I’ve spoken to him. It’s clear from the video that she wanted something from him, and that he refused her. He says he had broken off their relationship, and that she wanted to mend things between them.”
“Then why did he lie?” They’d reached the tunnel entrance, and as they waited for the lift, Kincaid glanced at her. “You had him brought in?”
“I went round to his flat. I thought he might be more cooperative.”
Kincaid frowned. “On your own?”
“That was the idea—a bit less police presence,” she said defensively. “He’s not the sort who responds well to authority.”
“Gemma, for Christ’s sake—the man could very well have murdered Annabelle Hammond. What were you playing at?”
“What was he going to do—bump me off in his flat in broad daylight, after I’d left word at the station where I’d be?” Gemma’s sarcasm echoed the mulish set of her jaw. “That would be daft, and I don’t think we’re dealing with a lunatic. And besides”—she shot him a defiant glance—“I’m still here, aren’t I?”
“That’s beside the point. Just don’t do it again—you might not be so lucky next time. Not to mention the fact that you’ve played hell with protocol.”
