“Babcock may get there by himself. He has access to the same records you saw. And if he does, and realizes we withheld information—”
“What? Your reputation would suffer a little damage?”
“And yours,” he retorted, stung. “We could both face disciplin-ary action.”
“If you think that matters more than people’s lives, then you’re not the man I thought.”
Kincaid heard echoes of his sister’s condemnation, and thought of the consequences of his insistence on doing what he thought right.
“Twenty-four hours,” he said. “We’ll sit on it for twenty- four hours, see what progress Ronnie Babcock makes on the Lebow case.
We’ve got to make sure that Gabriel Wain is not connected to Annie Lebow’s death. You have to give me that.”
“Yes.” Gemma sighed and turned away, and as Kincaid followed, she added reluctantly, “I suppose I do, although I don’t believe he’s guilty.”
They crossed under the bridge, each occupied with his own thoughts, but as they emerged from the shelter of the arch, a fi gure came hurtling out of the darkness and cannoned into Gemma.
Gemma and her assailant went down in a tangle of arms and legs, both swearing, and Kincaid recognized the other voice.
“Lally? What in hell’s name are you doing here?” he said as he lifted his niece, allowing Gemma to get to her feet, if a little un-gracefully. “You could both have gone in the canal.”
“Uncle Duncan?” the girl said tremulously. He could feel her shoulders shaking beneath his hands, and her teeth were chattering.
“What are you doing here? How did you know? I didn’t know if I could find you in time—”
“What do you mean, in time?” Kincaid said, fear shooting through him. “What’s happened? Where are Kit and the little boys?”
“Toby and Sam are at the house, but Kit—” Lally mumbled something he
couldn’t understand, then began to sob convulsively.
“Lally, where’s Kit?” He increased the pressure on her shoulders, shaking her, but she only sobbed harder.
“Lally, Lally.” Gemma gently disengaged the girl from Kincaid’s grasp. “It’s all right.” She wiped the tears from Lally’s cheeks with the palms of her hands. “You just have to tell us what’s happened, so s
we can take care of it.” There was an undertone of panic in her voice, but still it seemed to calm Lally.
“We met Leo. I— He wanted Kit— He sent me home, but I’m afraid of what will happen to Kit. That night with Peter, he made me leave, and then—”
“And then what?” Gemma prompted when Lally stopped. “It’s okay. You can tell us. You won’t be in trouble.”
“Leo had some stuff. Vodka, that’s all. But he wanted me to help him get Peter drunk. And Peter went along with it. But then Leo told me to go. And Peter—” She held her hands to her face and her sob drew out to a little keening wail.
“Peter?” said Gemma, but the pieces were cascading in Kincaid’s mind.
“Peter? The boy who drowned?” He remembered Annie telling him, that day on the boat, about the boy she’d seen running along the towpath, his clothes wet, and how she’d assumed, when she’d heard later about the boy who drowned that night, that it was he she had seen.
“How did you know about Peter?” asked Lally, shocked enough to stop crying.
Kincaid made an effort to match Gemma’s patience. “Lally, on Boxing Day, do you remember when you and Kit met Annie Lebow?
Was Leo with you?” When she nodded, he took a breath and said,
“Did she speak to him?”
“No, not really.” Lally wiped her nose with the back of her hand.
“But he seemed anxious to get away. I thought he was just bored—
he doesn’t like grown- ups much.”
Kincaid’s thoughts raced. What if it had not been Peter Llewellyn Annie saw running that night, but Leo Dutton? Leo, dripping wet from holding the other boy under the water? And what if Annie had recognized him and realized her mistake?
Gemma was staring at him, baffl ed, but he couldn’t take the time to explain.
“Lally, start from the beginning. If you thought Leo had something to do with Peter’s death, why didn’t you say?”
“Because I wasn’t sure at first. And then, when I started to suspect, Leo said— I didn’t want—”
Leo had made her think she’d be held responsible for Peter’s drowning if she tried to implicate him, Kincaid guessed. He couldn’t let himself wonder why Leo would have hurt Peter Llewellyn, or why he might want to hurt Kit. There wasn’t time. “You said you left Kit with Leo? Where did you meet him?”
“We met at the dairy barn. But that’s not where—Leo will have taken him to the clubhouse.”
“Tell me exactly where it is, this clubhouse.”
“It’s on Leo’s dad’s property, almost right on the canal, but you’d never see it if you didn’t know it was there. Leo says it’s an old tollhouse, but I don’t think they’d have put a tollhouse so far from the junction.”
For just an instant, Kincaid heard his father in the girl’s slightly pedantic explanation, and his heart softened towards her. “It’s all right, Lally,” he said, trying to reassure himself as much as her.
“We’ll find them.”
Pulling out his mobile, he dialed Babcock.
The building was a windowless brick cubicle, about eight feet square, with a small door sagging half off its hinges. When Leo steered him firmly through the doorway, Kit’s head just missed the lintel. Once inside, he saw that half the roof was gone. The snow-heavy clouds showing in the gap cast a diffuse light that just allowed him to make out shapes.
Leo flicked on the torch, and the shapes resolved into upturned packing crates and some old blankets made into a nest. “Have a seat,” he said, in a tone that made it clear it was not a request. “It’s not elegant, but it’s mine,” he went on, as Kit sank reluctantly onto a s
packing crate. “I don’t think my father even knows this is here; he’s never explored the property. The country-squire thing is just for show.
“No glasses, I’m afraid,” he added as he produced a bottle of vodka from behind one of the crates. “Bottoms up.”
He sat beside Kit and took a healthy swig, then passed the bottle on. Kit tipped the bottle up, compressing his lips so that only a little liquid trickled into his mouth. It was foul, like drinking petrol, and it was all he could do to not spit it out.
“No cheating,” Leo said. “That’s expensive vodka, not mouth-wash. Drink it down.” When Kit forced down another sip, he took the bottle back and drank again. “I might have had something more to your liking if Lally hadn’t gone and lost my stash.”
“Lally couldn’t help it.” The liquor burned all the way to Kit’s stomach, and made him feel reckless. “Her mother hasn’t let her near their house.”
“Defending her again?” Leo’s voice was cold. Kit knew he’d made a mistake, but he stared back at the other boy, refusing to back down.
“She does the damsel in distress well,” Leo went on, as if musing aloud. “Good old Peter certainly fell for it. But she wasn’t so innocent, was she?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Kit answered, although he was afraid he did.
“She’s a slut,” said Leo, suddenly harsh. “And worse than that, a careless slut. She should never have left condoms in her backpack where I would find them.”
“But weren’t they for—I thought you and Lally—”
“It wasn’t like that!” Leo shouted, the anger that had been sim-mering beneath the surface of his offhand manner suddenly boiling over. He stood, pacing in the cramped space, and Kit began to feel really frightened.
