“Deconstruction?” Juliet grasped Gemma’s arm. “What does that mean?”
“Just what it sounds, I’m afraid,” Gemma answered with a sigh.
“It means that Chief Inspector Babcock thinks there’s a possibility that where there was one body, there might be more. It wouldn’t be the first time.”
“But—” Juliet took an involuntary step forward, but stopped when she saw Rasansky’s glare. “But that mortar work over the old manger was the only sign of disturbance—”
“Nevertheless, he’s got to be thorough.” Gemma thought of the horrors discovered in the garden and cellar of Fred and Rosemary West’s Gloucestershire home, a lesson no British police officer was likely to forget. Babcock didn’t know enough at this point to rule out multiple murders.
“But this will delay construction for months. The Bonners might
even pull out altogether.” Juliet looked close to tears. “Can’t I at least oversee what they’re doing so that they damage things as little as possible?”
Her distress seemed to soften Rasansky’s attitude. “I’m sorry, miss. It’s strictly authorized personnel. But this crew’s good, and I’m sure you’ll be compensated for any damages.” He seemed to have recovered some of his assurance, however, and fixed Gemma with a hard stare. “If you don’t mind me asking, ma’am, what’s the Met got to do with this?”
“We’re consulting with DCI Babcock,” she said briskly. “I’d like to have a look round the perimeter while I’m here, but you needn’t trouble yourself. I’ll let you know if I have any further questions.”
She nodded at him while taking a firm grip on Juliet’s arm and turning her in the direction of the canal.
Juliet began to protest as Gemma led her towards the humpbacked bridge. “What are we—”
“I’ve no authority to pull rank on him, or to poke about, and I’d just as soon he not realize it,” Gemma whispered. “But I do want to have a look at the canal from here.”
They picked their way through ruts and pools of slush until they reached the old stone bridge. “It doesn’t go anywhere,” Gemma said in surprise when they stopped on the slight rise at the bridge’s center. A green- and- brown checkerboard of fields stretched away on the other side, bordered by a distant line of trees.
“It does.” Juliet smiled a little for the first time that morning. “It gives access to the towpath. There are any number of bridges like this on the waterways.”
Gemma turned, slowly, as the wind tugged at her coat with probing fingers. The haze that had dulled the morning at Barbridge had condensed into solid cloud, and the gray bowl of the sky seemed to press down on the landscape. The canal beneath them, unruffled by the wind, held the sky in mirrored perfection.
To the north, a half dozen narrowboats were lined up opposite
the towpath, their primary colors glowing in contrast to the dullness of the day.
“Permanent moorings,” Juliet explained. “Leased from the land-owner.”
From this perspective, Gemma could see that the dairy barn would have a view of these boats, and of the pretty stone bridge, and of the curve of the canal in either direction. Perhaps the place was more desirable than she’d imagined, but that wasn’t what piqued her curiosity.
She pointed to the north. “How far to Barbridge from here?”
The distance had seemed to flash past coming by road, and she thought the canal ran more or less parallel.
“I don’t know,” Juliet answered. “A mile. Maybe a little more.”
Gemma frowned. “Is there any way to get to the canal by road between here and there?”
“No. You’d have to cut across the fields. Why?”
“It just seems odd to me,” Gemma said, shrugging. “Two bodies within such a short distance of each other, and the second following so soon on the discovery of the first.” She turned to Juliet. “Did the woman who was found this morning have any connection with your building site?”
“Not that I know of. But—are you suggesting her death had something to do with the discovery of that baby’s body?” Juliet’s voice rose on a note of horror.
“No, no, I’m not suggesting anything, really, just thinking aloud.
There’s no need for you to be concerned.”
But Juliet was shaking her head. “That’s too much. If something else holds up this job, I don’t know what I’ll do. I know that sounds horribly selfish, and it’s not that I don’t care about that poor woman who was killed last night. But I can’t make payroll for my crew, and if I lose them, I’m as good as finished.”
Recognizing the signs of imminent panic, Gemma realized she’d have to put her speculations aside. She threw an arm round Juliet’s
shoulders and turned her back towards the car, saying, “Never mind that now. The first thing we have to do is get your things. Then we’ll think about what’s next.”
The cabin door swung open before Althea could knock, and Gabriel Wain pulled her inside, roughly. The salon curtains were tightly closed, and a single lamp cast a circle of yellow light on the drop-down table. The room was as cold as it had been the previous day, and the fire in the stove burned low.
Althea’s eyes were still adjusting to the dimness as she heard Gabriel’s hoarse voice in her ear. “Is it true? Is it true what they’re saying?
That she’s dead?” His fingers dug into the flesh of her upper arm.
“If you mean Annie Constantine, yes, she’s dead.”
For an instant, she thought she would cry out from the pain in her arm. Then he released her, turning away, and it seemed to Althea that he shrank before her eyes.
Cradling the oxygen tank against her chest, she rubbed at her arm with her free hand. Now she could see that the children were huddled on the bench by the table, their eyes enormous in frightened faces. There was no sign of Rowan.
Gabriel spoke to his son without turning back. “Joseph, go up top and tidy up. We’ll need to pump out and fill the water tank. And take your sister with you.”
The children stood obediently, and as they edged past Althea, she had to resist an unexpected urge to touch the boy’s curling hair.
When they had gone, Gabriel Wain faced her once more, his expression unreadable.
“I’m sorry for the trouble you’ve taken,” he said. “But we won’t be needing what you’ve brought.” He nodded at the oxygen tank.
Althea’s heart thumped. “Your wife. Is she—”
“Much the same. She’ll be all right.”
She stared at him. “But she won’t. I thought I explained—” Then
she realized what he had meant when he spoke to the children, and to her. “You can’t think of leaving,” she said, shocked.
“It’s best,” he answered shortly. “Now if you’ll—”
“Mr. Wain, I don’t think you realize how . . . difficult . . . things are going to be for your wife. I can help her. Why would you refuse her that?”
“We can’t be doing with interference. The police—”
“Why would the police need to speak to you? What happened to Mrs. Constantine was dreadful, but surely no one would think it had any connection with you.”
He rubbed a hand across his unshaven chin. “You can’t know that.
I— When she came to the boat, on Christmas Day. We had words.”
“Words?”
“A row. It was Rowan who insisted she come aboard. I’d told her we wanted nothing to do with her, to leave us be. Why should she come poking into our lives, after all this time?”
“She only wanted to help you.”
“And where does that leave us now?” he hissed at her, and she heard the despair.
“With me.” Althea said this with more assurance than she felt.
But even as she wondered if this man could have done such a terrible thing to Annie Constantine, she rejected it. She would swear the news had been a blow.
Then doubt niggled at her. Could he have argued with Annie again, struck her in a fit of temper, then left her, not realizing how badly she was injured?
“Gabriel. Did you see Annie Constantine last night?”
