The only sound in the office was the sharp intake of Gaskill’s breath. With his back to the glass partition, Kincaid could only sense the attention of the occupants of the CID room, but he felt as if someone were boring a hole between his shoulder blades.
Cullen pushed his glasses up on his nose, and Gaskill looked away from Kincaid’s gaze, breaking the tension of the moment. “That’s terrible, Superintendent,” he said. “Truly terrible. If you’re right, this person must be brought to justice.”
There it was again, Kincaid thought. The properly expressed sentiments, but beneath that, the undertone of contempt.
“Was she working on anything that might have caused someone to harm her?” Cullen asked. Grudge killings of police officers were not unheard of, and it was a possibility they must consider.
“A string of teenage knifings on an estate,” Gaskill answered, dismissive. “These kids wouldn’t know where Henley was, much less how to get there, or how to turn over a rowing boat.”
Cullen wasn’t so easily fobbed off. “What about her rowing? I understand she’d begun leaving work very early since the clocks went back. Was this causing any difficulties with her performance?”
“Becca assured me that she would continue to manage her caseload.”
Seeing Cullen’s quick glance, Kincaid knew his partner had caught it, too. Gaskill had slipped and called Becca by her familiar name.
“And her colleagues here in the unit?” Kincaid asked. “Were they okay with this, too?”
“You’d have to ask them, Superintendent. I assumed she had come to an understanding with them.”
“Had she, now?” Kincaid settled a little more comfortably in his chair and straightened his trouser crease before he continued. “Did you know that DCI Meredith was considering training full-time for the Olympics?”
He saw the flash of hesitation on Gaskill’s face. It was brief, and quickly mastered, but it had been there. The man had been deciding whether or not to lie. Why?
Gaskill touched the already perfectly aligned stack of papers on his desk. “She’d talked to me about it, yes, but I didn’t think she’d come to a definite decision. She would have had the full support of the force, of course, although we’d have hated to lose her.” Seeming to realize he’d made an unfortunate choice of words, Gaskill added, “I mean temporarily, of course.”
He cleared his throat, a deliberate end-of-the-interview signal. “Now, if you don’t mind, Superintendent, I’ve a luncheon appointment. As for DCI Meredith’s team, Sergeant Patterson is out on an interview, but DC Bisik is waiting to speak to you.”
Kincaid decided to accept the dismissal gracefully. He wanted to know more before he pushed Superintendent Gaskill further. He stood and reached for Gaskill’s hand, giving him no choice but to shake again. “Thanks for your time.”
Gaskill stood. “You will keep me posted?”
“Of course.”
“You’ll find DC Bisik at the desk on your right,” Gaskill said, nodding, then focused his attention on his papers again. Kincaid would have wagered he knew the first page by heart.
As they stepped into the CID room and the door swung to behind them, Cullen whispered, “Wanker.”
“In spades,” Kincaid murmured back, turning to look for Becca’s constable. But a young man had risen from a desk to their right and was already coming towards them.
“I’m Bryan.” He reached out to shake their hands. “DC Bisik. Is she—we’ve heard—is the guv’nor really dead?” He was stocky, with buzz-cut dark hair that set off his pale face, and his apparent distress seemed in marked contrast to his superior’s cool demeanor.
“I’m sorry, yes,” Kincaid said.
“Oh, Christ. I can’t believe it. She was just . . .” Bisik swallowed, then motioned them towards the relative quiet of the corridor. “What happened?” he asked when they had followed him out. “Can you say? The rumor mill is going full tilt here.”
“She was reported missing after she went out rowing on Monday evening and didn’t return. Her body was recovered yesterday. We’re treating her death as a full-scale inquiry.”
“Oh, right. Okay.” Bisik seemed at a loss. “I can’t believe someone would—I mean, she wasn’t the easiest boss, but you could count on her to be straight with you.” The flick of his eyes towards the inner office said as plainly as words,
“Was everything okay at work?” Kincaid asked.
Bisik hesitated. “Well, there was a bit of feeling, you know, with her leaving early for her training. She was always on at us about our time clocks, and we—Kelly and me—thought Becca was being a right—” His eyes widened. “God, I can’t believe I said that. I never thought—I didn’t mean . . .”
“It’s all right.” Kincaid came to his rescue. “It’s the shock. You know as well as we do that the dead don’t suddenly become saints. And I can’t say I blame you for feeling a bit pissed off.” When he saw Bisik visibly relax, he went on. “What about DCI Meredith’s personal life? Do you know if she was having any problems?”
“No way, man.” Bisik shook his head. “I knew she was divorced a year or two back, but it was more than my life was worth to tread on that territory.”
“She wasn’t the chatty type, then?”
“Sphinx doesn’t begin to describe it.” Bisik looked suddenly appalled. “She—I’ve done it again, haven’t I?”
Kincaid clapped him on the shoulder. “Don’t worry. It’s perfectly natural.” He fished in his pocket. “Here’s my card, if you want to talk, or if you think of anything that might be helpful. And I’m sorry for your loss.” He started to walk away, then casually swung back. “DCI Meredith—did she get on with her guv’nor?” He nodded towards the inner office.
Bisik’s face went blank. “Not my business to say. Sir.” For a large man, he slipped back into the CID room with surprising speed.
As they came out into Shepherd’s Bush Road, Kincaid noticed a woman standing by the railings on the opposite side of the street. She was smoking with rapid little puffs, and she held the cigarette cupped in her hand in a distinctly masculine gesture. When she saw them, she dropped the fag end, grinding it under the ball of her high-heeled shoe, and checked the oncoming traffic before starting towards them.
She was blond and thin, but not in the toned way of an athlete like Becca Meredith. The skirt of her gray suit pulled across her stomach, and the jacket hung badly on her narrow shoulders.
As she drew closer, Kincaid saw that her short blond hair was dark at the roots, and that she was a good bit older than she’d appeared from a distance.
“You’re the blokes from the Yard,” she said, and he thought her accent held a trace of Essex. “I’m Patterson. Kelly Patterson, Becca’s sergeant.” Her light blue eyes were red-rimmed, her nose pink, as if she’d been crying.
“Kincaid,” he agreed, nodding. “And this is Sergeant Cullen.”
“Bryan says it’s official, then, about Becca. A murder inquiry.”
“News travels fast.”
She gave him a crooked smile. “Bry’s a wizard with a text. We call him magic fingers. She—” Patterson’s lips tightened for a moment, then she went on. “It drove Becca crazy. And she said I was worse. She threatened to bin both our phones.”
“But she didn’t.”
“No. Although I’d not have put it past her, if she was annoyed enough. Look.” Patterson fixed him with a pale blue stare, then glanced at Cullen as if to make certain he was paying attention. “I know you’re not supposed to speak ill of the dead and all that crap, but I’m going to say it anyway. Becca could be a right bitch.
“But she was an honest bitch, and if she said something, or told you to do something, there was usually a good reason for it. Look,” she said again, glancing at the door of the station and then up towards the windows before she continued. “If anyone asks, I never talked to you. I’ve a four-year-old and a six-year-old at home, and I don’t need to be sticking my nose in. But Becca deserved better than this. And if His Highness upstairs didn’t tell you about Angus Craig, he’s bloody well lying.”
When Kincaid had tried to get more out of Kelly Patterson, she’d shaken her head, and like her partner, had quickly put a closed door between them.
“Angus Craig?” said Doug when they’d reached the Astra. “Would that be Deputy Assistant Commissioner
