was with Martin Lowell from eight o’clock on, when they had dinner at the Trafalgar Tavern. They left the tavern about eleven and went directly to her flat, where they gave one another full body massages”—Janice raised an eyebrow—“and she says she’s sure she’d have known if he’d left at any time during the night.”
“Full body massages? Not the kind that would pass a licensing board.”
“Like that, was it? Do you think she’s a reliable alibi, or would she lie to protect him?”
“I think she’s too witless to carry off anything more complicated than saying she’s sure he stayed the entire night when she actually slept like a log—and if Martin killed Annabelle he’d have needed a bigger fabrication than that.”
Janice glanced at the statement again. “How so?”
“Annabelle would’ve had to contact him in the missing two hours, between the time both Mortimer and Gordon Finch say they saw her last: around ten, and before midnight, when the pathologist estimates she died.” Frowning, Gemma took another bite of tuna sandwich. “Let’s send someone round the Trafalgar—see if we can confirm they were there and stayed until eleven.”
“It’s a big place, lots of traffic. But suppose we can confirm it, what’s to say Martin didn’t go directly back to his flat and find Annabelle waiting for him?”
“I guarantee you Martin Lowell didn’t take Brandy out for a nice evening of intellectual stimulation and kiss her good night at her door.”
“Well, what if he stopped off at his flat for condoms or something, found Annabelle waiting for him, and killed her there? Then he went on to Brandy’s flat for a good time, got up in the wee hours and went back to his flat, stuffed Annabelle’s body in the boot of his car, and dumped her in the park,” Janice suggested.
“I suppose it’s possible. But he’d have to carry her body across the open courtyard of his building—not a very safe prospect even in the middle of the night. And he has a very nosy neighbor. We might send a PC to have a word.” Gemma finished her coffee and tossed the cup in the rubbish bin.
“What about Teresa Robbins? Anything new on Mortimer from her?”
“Only what we should have guessed from the beginning—she’s quite besotted with him, or at least she was until she learned Reg hadn’t told her what he knew about Annabelle’s affairs.”
“That would give Teresa a motive,” mused Janice. “What if Annabelle went to see Teresa that night—she was that upset, wanted a friend to talk to—”
“And Teresa decided to kill her so she could have Mortimer for herself? Why not let nature take its course? It doesn’t sound as though Reg and Annabelle were likely to have patched things up.”
“She could have helped Mortimer, though, if he killed Annabelle.” Janice poked distastefully at the remains of her tomato on white. “And he’s still the best fit for it, in my opinion.”
“Except for the fact that if he killed her elsewhere, he’d no way of moving her. And I can’t imagine how he’d have convinced her to go to the Mudchute when she was alive.”
“Maybe he followed her, saw her meeting someone else?” Janice met Gemma’s eyes.
“Gordon Finch?” they said at the same time.
Then Janice shook her head. “But why would she meet him in the park? It’s the same problem as with Mortimer, and Finch doesn’t own a car, either. His landlady didn’t provide him an alibi, by the way. Says she has no idea when, or if, he came home that night, and she’s not sure she’d have noticed if he’d had a visitor.”
The strength of Gemma’s disappointment surprised her. She hadn’t realized until that moment how much she’d hoped that someone would provide him an unshakable alibi for the time of Annabelle’s murder. “I wonder,” she said slowly. “If we assume it was Gordon she meant when she told Reg she was in love with someone else … why did Annabelle call
“When Gordon turned her down, she took the next available number?” Janice offered.
“I don’t believe that. Not when she’d just told Reg she wouldn’t settle for anything less than the real thing. Maybe she wanted a shoulder to cry on—”
“Lewis Finch? Not bloody likely! Don’t make the mistake of underestimating Lewis,” warned Janice. “And don’t be lulled by his well-barbered looks and Savile Row suits into thinking money’s made him soft. The man’s a shark, and he’s bloody relentless when he’s after something.” Janice scowled. “Which reminds me—I’ve been doing a bit of inquiring. With the idea of a connection between the Finches and the Hammonds, I remembered I’d heard a rumor or two that made me curious, so I stood the head of the Neighborhood Association a few pints.
“It seems that for the past several years, Finch, Ltd. has shown an extremely active interest in buying the Hammond’s warehouse. The company has developed several similar riverfront properties, and Hammond’s occupies a prime location, one of the last holdouts in what’s now almost entirely a residential or mixed residential/commercial area.”
“But nothing came of it?”
“No. Apparently, William Hammond refused to sell, and he still maintains a controlling interest in the firm, even though Annabelle had taken over as managing director. What’s odd is that Finch has apparently passed up a couple of similar properties in the last year.” Janice swirled the remains of the coffee in her cup, grimaced at it, then set it down and lit a cigarette. “This is just the sort of project that Gordon would actively protest.”
“Why?” Gemma brushed the last crumbs from her blouse and settled into a more comfortable position in the hard plastic chair.
“You have to understand what happened here. The last of the Docks closed in the late seventies, and by the early eighties the Island was a rotting wasteland. I know because I watched it happen as I grew up, and by the time I finished school the prospects were bugger all.” Janice shook her head. “But there are those who criticize any development on the Island—they hate the yuppie in-comers and the disintegration of the old neighborhoods, they’re angry because there’s less and less housing available to the working-class people who made the Island what it is —”
“And that’s how Gordon Finch feels?” Gemma asked.
“The paradox is that without the development, the Island would have become a massive slum in the last ten or
