Gemma nodded, then fished a tissue from her bag and blew her nose.
“We could just say that Jackie told you she’d heard something dodgy about Gilbert, but that you don’t know what it was. Then in the meantime, let’s see if we can trace Ogilvie’s movements last night and the night of Gilbert’s murder, but in a roundabout way. That’ll be enough to get the wind up him, if he’s dirty.”
“Chat up his secretary, why don’t you?” Gemma suggested. “She has an eye for a pretty face.”
Kincaid glanced at her, wondering if the comment was a dig or an attempt at banter, but she was examining her fingernails with great concentration. “Who was the sergeant that Jackie said stonewalled her?” he asked.
“Talley. I remember him from my days here.”
“I think we might want to have a word with him, too.” Watching her, Kincaid wished again for something he might say, some comfort he might offer without sounding condescending, but no words seemed adequate. He resisted the urge to touch her shoulder, her cheek. “Are you ready?”
She nodded. “As I’ll ever be.”
“This is a stroke of luck,” Kincaid murmured to Gemma as they were shown into Superintendent Marc Lamb’s office. He and Lamb had met during their first development course, but it had been several years since they had bumped into each other.
“Duncan, old chap.” Lamb came around his desk, beaming, and pumped Kincaid’s hand. “The Yard’s wonder boy in the flesh. Do have a seat.”
Kincaid introduced Gemma with a small, unworthy spark of satisfaction, for although he and Lamb were the same age, Lamb was decidedly losing his hair and gaining a paunch.
When they had spent a few minutes chatting about mutual acquaintances, Kincaid explained their interest in Jackie Temple.
Lamb sobered immediately. “You never think something like that will happen at your station. Brixton, maybe, but not here. Jackie Temple was one of my best officers—levelheaded and well liked by the public as well as her fellow officers. You know how it is—sometimes coppers starting out have a lorry load of good intentions and not a particle of common sense, but Jackie had both from the very beginning.”
Now Kincaid noticed the hollows under his old friend’s eyes, and the slept-in state of his jacket. He had probably been up all night. “Was there any indication of a burglary in progress?”
Lamb shook his head. “Sweet eff-all. Nor has forensics turned up anything useful so far.” Glancing at his watch, he added, “We should be getting the autopsy report anytime now, but I’ll guarantee you right now that from the powder burns on the scalp and the size of the entrance wound, she was shot at point-blank range. She never had a chance.”
Kincaid saw Gemma’s fists clench convulsively in her lap. “So what do you make of it, Marc?” he asked.
Lamb straightened a picture frame on his cluttered desktop. Wife and kids, thought Kincaid, but he could only see the back of the frame. “This is a tough patch,” Lamb said slowly, “with its gentrified neighborhoods and its ethnic population, but we try to keep it clean.” He looked up and met Kincaid’s eyes. “As much as I hate to admit it about my own territory, this reeks of a gang-style execution.”
With Lamb’s permission, they found Sergeant Randall Talley having a tea break in the canteen. “That’s him,” said Gemma, nodding in the direction of a small, grizzled man in his fifties who sat alone at a table.
When they reached him, Gemma held out her hand and introduced herself, adding, “Do you remember me, Sergeant Talley?”
Studiously avoiding her hand, Talley glanced at her, then looked away. His eyes were a light, faded blue. “Oh, aye. And what if I do?”
Seeing Gemma’s surprise and confusion, Kincaid pulled out a chair for her and one for himself. Talley was obviously not the sort of man who would allow himself to be questioned by a former subordinate, but perhaps rank would induce a bit more cooperation. “Mind if we sit down, Sergeant?”
“You can do as you like.” He finished his tea in a deliberately long swallow and pushed his chair back from the table. “Break’s over for me.”
“We’d like to ask you a few questions, Sergeant. We’ve cleared it with your guv’nor. You were one of the last people to talk with Jackie Temple, and we thought she might have said something that would give us a lead to her murderer.”
“She was shot down in the street by a bunch of effing thugs! How the hell should I know anything about that?” He glared at them with bulldog aggressiveness, but there were tears in his eyes. “And you have no bloody jurisdiction over Jackie Temple’s murder.”
“But we do have jurisdiction over Alastair Gilbert’s,” Kincaid said. “And Jackie had been asking questions about Alastair Gilbert. She told the sergeant here, in fact, that you very nearly boxed her ears for it.”
“Why shouldn’t I? She had no business digging for dirt on a senior officer, dishonoring his memory. Gilbert was a good man.”
Kincaid raised an eyebrow. “Ah, a supporter in a legion of detractors. That’s a nice surprise. And what do you think about Detective Chief Inspector David Ogilvie, Sergeant?”
The whites of Talley’s eyes showed. “I’ve never heard a word said against DCI Ogilvie, not that I’d repeat it if I had.” He pushed his chair back and stood up. “Now, I have better things to do with my time than spread scurrilous gossip, even if you do not. Good day to you.” He turned smartly and left them, threading his way through the scattered tables until he reached the door. Watching his rolling gate from behind, Kincaid wondered if Talley had spent his formative years in a less landlocked locale.
“Well, well,” Kincaid said to Gemma as they looked at each other with wide eyes. “If you ask me, I’d say the man’s bloody terrified.”
“You don’t suppose …” Gemma said slowly. “The bad apple Jackie mentioned … you don’t suppose it could have been Sergeant Talley?”
The placard on Ogilvie’s secretary’s desk read HELENE VANDEMEER. Gemma had got it right, for a smile like a
