Mortimer seemed to make an effort to pull himself together. “Of course I know Lewis Finch. Everyone on the Island knows who Lewis Finch is.”
“Including Annabelle?”
“I … I suppose she did—she must have met him at some point.”
“Would it surprise you to learn that she knew the father as well as the son, in the biblical sense? We’re not sure which came first, the chicken or the egg, but it seems quite certain that she had an ongoing relationship with both of them while engaged to you.”
“No!” Reg Mortimer stood, sending his leather chair flying into one of the filing cabinets. “I don’t bloody believe it. I won’t believe it. Can’t you leave me
When they didn’t answer, he groped for the chair behind him, and sinking back into it, he covered his face with his hands.
• • •
“ALL RIGHT, IT’S JO LOWELL AGAIN,” Kincaid said as they climbed into the Rover. “I’m beginning to feel like a bloody yo-yo.” He’d just enough time for the run to Greenwich before his meeting with Chief Superintendent Childs. “Do you mind walking back through the tunnel?”
“Love to,” Gemma answered as they turned north into Manchester Road.
“Do I detect a smidgen of sarcasm?” As Kincaid looked to the left, he caught a glimpse of George Brent’s front garden, and George himself in a white string vest, deadheading the roses. He waved, but the old man was intent on his work and didn’t look up. “It’s a bit hard to believe that George Brent and Lewis Finch are of the same generation.”
“I suppose George must be a half a dozen years older.” Gemma rolled her window down, grimacing as a hot, gritty wind blasted into the car. “But you’re right. I can’t imagine Annabelle having a go at George.”
“Do you think Reg Mortimer knew?”
“About Annabelle and Lewis, or about Annabelle and Gordon?”
“Either. Both.”
“I don’t know. He seemed pretty cut-up.”
“In any case, I’ll guarantee you that his story about the row at the party is a load of bollocks.”
“You can’t underestimate the power of sibling rivalry. Think about Jo, feeling awkward giving a party for the first time on her own. She might easily have been tempted into a little flirtation with her sister’s boyfriend, and if that were the case, she wouldn’t be dying to admit it under any circumstances.”
“Very embarrassing. Not to mention it being a good reason for having had an all-out row with her sister,” Kincaid added, considering the scenario.
“Which she wouldn’t want to admit, either. But that doesn’t solve the problem of what happened after Annabelle and Reg left the party.”
They had reached the top of the Isle of Dogs peninsula, and he took Aspen Way to the right as it curved back towards the south and the approach to the Blackwall Tunnel.
As they entered the tunnel a draft of cooler air swirled into the car. Gemma leaned back against the headrest and closed her eyes.
Glancing at her, Kincaid said, “Were you just trying to get a rise out of Mortimer when you told him that Gordon Finch was good?”
For a moment, Gemma didn’t respond, then she opened her eyes and gave him a swift look he couldn’t read. “Not exactly. He was practicing when I arrived at his flat yesterday. But I’d heard him before, in Islington.”
“In Islington?” he said, surprised. “When?”
She shrugged. “It’s been a few months. But I wasn’t sure until yesterday that it was the same person.”
“I shouldn’t think Gordon Finch would be easy to mistake,” Kincaid said as the traffic slowed to a dead stop midtunnel. Although he’d learned he couldn’t always tell what made other men attractive to women, he sensed that Finch had a certain magnetism, and if the man had appealed to Annabelle … “The strong, silent type, is he?”
“Who? Finch?”
“Or maybe it was the dog that impressed you?”
“As a matter of fact, I remembered the dog,” Gemma answered equably. “It was seeing him again yesterday that clinched it.” She smiled, examining her fingertips, and he wondered who was taking the mickey from whom.
They rode the rest of the way to Greenwich in silence, but he couldn’t quite shake the feeling that Gemma was holding something out on him.
JO LOWELL ANSWERED HER DOOR BEFORE Kincaid had lifted his finger from the bell, and at the sight of them her face fell. “I was just on my way out. I’m late for a meeting with a client. The children were dreadful this morning—” She stopped. “Never mind. What can I do for you?”
She was dressed to go out, in crisp trousers and a white silk blouse. A dusting of makeup minimized her freckles, her dark auburn hair was pulled back with a gold slide, and she wore a pair of simple topaz earrings. For the first time Kincaid realized how attractive she could be.
“It won’t take a minute,” he apologized, and she stepped back, ushering them in with good grace.
“Is this all right?” she asked, indicating the dining room.
The vase of yellow sunflowers still stood on the table in the pleasant room, and as they sat, Kincaid thought of Annabelle here, perhaps laughing at something someone said.
“We’ll get right to the point, Mrs. Lowell. We’ve just had a chat with Reg Mortimer, and he admits that he and Annabelle had a row.”
