himself?
He fell quickly into the heavy but unrestful sleep brought about by the consumption of too much alcohol. His dreams were strange and disjointed, and when his pager started its strident beeping in the wee hours of the morning, he woke with pounding heart and a mouth like sandpaper.
He fumbled for the pager’s off switch, then squinted blearily at the LED readout. Swearing under his breath, he sat up and turned on the light. What on earth could Scotland Yard want with him this time of the night? Any call concerning a breakthrough on the Gilbert case would have come from Guildford. And what had prompted him to drink so much? He was not ordinarily given to such excess. Madeleine, he thought with a wan smile, must have a wooden leg. He retrieved his jacket from the chair back and patted the pockets for his phone, then realized he must have left it in the car. Bloody hell.
In dressing gown and slippers he made his way down the stairs to the phone in the alcove next to the bar. When the switchboard put him through to the duty sergeant at the Yard, he listened in growing dismay. When the sergeant had finished, Kincaid said, “No, don’t. I’ll take care of it myself. Right.”
Hanging up, he stood for a moment numb with shock, then made an effort to pull himself together. He looked at his watch. If he drove like all hell was after him, he could make it to London by daylight.
CHAPTER
12
Kincaid pulled up in front of Gemma’s garage flat at exactly seven o’clock. Red-eyed and stubble-chinned, he climbed stiffly out of the car, dreading what he had to do.
His light tapping at the door brought Gemma, who blinked at him in sleepy confusion. “What are you doing here? I thought you were in Surrey.” Peering at him a bit more closely, she added, “You look absolutely dreadful, guv. No offense.” Yawning, she stood aside to let him in. She wore a ratty, toweling dressing gown in an unflattering maroon which made her tousled copper hair look orange by contrast.
“Toby’s still asleep,” she said softly, with a glance in the direction of his room. “I’ll make us some coffee, then you can tell me about it.”
“Gemma.” Kincaid reached out and held her shoulders as she started to turn away. “I’ve got some very bad news. Jackie Temple’s dead.”
He’d never thought to see that blank, stunned look on Gemma’s face, as if she’d just been slapped with an open palm.
“What? Jackie can’t be dead. I just saw her yes—”
“It must have happened just as she finished her beat last night. She’d checked in by radio about a quarter past ten. When she didn’t log in after her shift and they couldn’t raise her by radio, they sent a patrol out to look for her.”
“What …” Her pupils had dilated until her eyes looked like black holes against the chalk of her skin. Through the thick, nubby fabric of the dressing gown he felt her begin to tremble.
“She was shot. In the back of the head. I doubt she knew anything at all.”
“Oh, no.” At that Gemma’s face crumpled and she covered it with her hands.
Kincaid drew her to him and held her, stroking her hair and murmuring endearments. She smelled faintly of sleep and talcum powder. “Gemma, I’m so sorry.”
“But why?” she wailed into his shoulder. “Why would anybody want to hurt Jackie?”
“I don’t know, love. Susan May, her flatmate, asked that you be notified, but when the call came through to the Yard, old George happened to be on the desk and he rang me instead.”
“Susan?” Gemma pulled away from him and stepped back. “You don’t think … Surely it was just some yobbos doing a burglary … Oh, my God …” She fumbled behind her for a chair and sat down hard. “It wasn’t, was it? You don’t think it had anything to do with—”
Toby padded out of his room, looking like a chubby yellow bunny in his pajamas. “Mummy, whatsa matter?” he said sleepily, butting up against her.
Gemma gathered him into her lap and rubbed her face against his hair. “Nothing, sweetheart. Mummy just has to go to work early, after all.” She looked up at Kincaid. “You will go with me to see Susan, won’t you?”
“Of course.”
She nodded, then said, “I’ll tell you about… yesterday on the way.” Studying him for a moment, she added, “They rang you in Surrey? This morning?”
“About half past four.”
“Who’s Susan, Mummy?” asked Toby. He squirmed around until he could straddle her knees, then made swooping motions with his arms. “Look, Duncan, I’m a airplane.”
“A friend of a friend, lovey. Nobody you know.” Gemma’s eyes filled with tears and she scrubbed at them, sniffing.
“I’ll wait outside until you’re ready,” said Kincaid, suddenly feeling that he had intruded long enough.
“No.” Gemma set Toby down and patted his bottom. “I’ll change in Toby’s room. You can play airplane with him in the meantime. Then I’m going to fix you both some breakfast.” With a critical glance at him and an attempted smile, she added, “You look like you’re running on fumes.”
A half hour later, Gemma had showered and dressed, then lent Kincaid the use of her tiny bathroom to shave and put on a clean shirt. As he sat at the half-moon table finishing off buttered toast and hot coffee, he felt considerably more human. With Toby, dressed now in corduroy overalls and little trainers, playing happily at his feet, Kincaid wished that he might be there under different circumstances.
He accompanied Gemma across the garden and was briefly introduced to Hazel, then Gemma kissed Toby good-bye and they were on their way to Notting Hill.
