As they crept through the rush-hour traffic, Gemma told him haltingly about Jackie’s revelations of the previous day.
Kincaid whistled when she’d finished. “Ogilvie bent? You think Gilbert found out somehow and Ogilvie decided to shut him up?”
“And Jackie.” Gemma’s mouth was set in a straight, uncompromising line.
“Gemma, Jackie’s death probably had nothing to do with this at all. These things happen, and they are usually utterly senseless. We both know that.”
“I don’t like coincidences, and this is too much of a coincidence. We both know that, too.”
“I don’t know anything more than I’ve told you. Don’t you think we should stop in at Notting Hill and get the details before we talk to Susan May?”
Gemma didn’t answer for a moment, then she said, “No. I’d like to see Susan first. That’s the least I owe her.”
Glancing at her profile as he idled at a traffic light, he wished he could offer her some comfort. But despite his reassuring words, he didn’t like this coincidence, either.
He found a curbside parking spot near the flat, and as they walked up to the door he saw Gemma pause and take a breath before ringing the bell. The door swung open so quickly that Kincaid thought the woman who answered must have been standing just inside it. “Can I help you?” she said brusquely.
“I’m a friend of Jackie’s, Gemma James. Susan asked to see me.” Gemma held out her hand and the woman took it, her face breaking into a smile.
“Of course. I’m Cecily Johnson, Susan’s sister. I was just on my way out to the shops for her. Let me tell her you’re here.”
The word that came to Kincaid’s mind as they followed Cecily Johnson up the stairs was
Susan May stood with her back to them, staring out the sitting room window at the small terrace with its bright pots of pansies and geraniums. In silhouette, she looked a more slender, willowy version of her sister, and when she turned Kincaid saw that she had the same creamy skin and dark eyes, but she didn’t quite manage a smile.
“Gemma, thanks for coming so quickly.”
Gemma took her outstretched hands and squeezed them. “Susan, I’m so—”
“I know. Please don’t say it. I haven’t quite reached the point where I can deal with condolences yet. Sit down and let me get you some coffee.” As Gemma started to protest, she added, “It helps if I have something to do with my hands.”
After Gemma introduced Kincaid, Susan went into the kitchen and returned a moment later with a tray. She made inconsequential small talk while she poured, then sat gazing into her cup.
“I still can’t believe it,” she said. “I keep expecting her to walk in the door and say something silly, like “It was all a big joke, Suz, ha-ha.’ She liked practical jokes.” Putting down her cup, Susan stood up and began pacing, twisting her hands together. “She left her dressing gown on the floor by her bed again. I was always fussing at her to pick up things, and now it doesn’t matter. Why did I ever think it did? Can you tell me that?” She stopped as they had first seen her, her back to them, facing the terrace. “They’ve given me indefinite ‘compassionate’ leave from work. To do what? Coming home to this empty flat in the evenings will be bad enough; the thought of spending days here alone is unbearable.”
“What about your sister?” asked Gemma. “Can she stay with you for a bit?”
Susan nodded. “She’s packed her kids off to Grandma for a few days. She’ll help me go through…Jackie’s things. She … Jackie, I mean … hadn’t any family, so there’s no one else to see to things …” Susan stopped, and for a moment Kincaid thought she would lose control, but she managed to go on. “She didn’t want to be cremated. She actually worried about it, and I used to laugh at her. Do you suppose she knew … I’ll have to try to find a cemetery that will take her. Then I’m going back to work—I don’t care how callous anyone thinks me.”
She turned around and faced them. “Jackie talked about you a good bit in the last few days, Gemma. It meant a lot to her to see you again. I know there was something she was anxious to talk to you about, but I don’t know what it was—only that I heard her mumble something about a ‘bad apple where you’d least expect it.’”
“I saw her yesterday. Before her shift. She told me—”
“You saw her? How did she—what did she—” Susan swallowed and tried again. “She didn’t happen to say anything about me, did she?”
Kincaid saw Gemma hesitate, then quickly collect herself “She talked about your promotion. She was really proud of you.”
The front door opened and Cecily came in with a shopping bag full of purchases. Twisting her hands together again, Susan smiled at her sister, then said to Gemma, “You will let me know, won’t you, if you find out… anything?”
“We’ll be in touch.” Gemma stood and gave her a quick hug. Cecily let them out and they descended the stairs in silence.
By the time they reached the street, tears were streaming down Gemma’s face. “It’s not bloody fair,” she said furiously as she got into the car. “Susan should have seen her last, not me.” She slammed the door so hard the car shook. “It’s not bloody fair. Jackie shouldn’t be dead—and if it’s because of me, I’ll never forgive myself.”
“We’re treading on very delicate ground here,” Kincaid said as he pulled into the Notting Hill Police Station car park. “We have absolutely no grounds for pursuing inquiries concerning the involvement of a senior Met officer, other than an unsubstantiated rumor. I’d suggest that we begin with discretion.” He pulled the car into an empty space, then thought for a moment, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel. “I think we’ll have to disclose Jackie’s interest in the Gilbert case in order to justify our poking our noses into her murder, but I don’t know that we need go any further at this point.”
