grip. Abbott’s husband, a tall man with thinning hair and a heavy face that fell just short of handsome, rested his arm on his wife’s shoulders in a gesture that seemed to Gemma more possessive than protective.
As for the two children, the older boy was dark-haired and resembled his father, while the smaller son was gingery-fair.
The dark blue Oxford oar mounted above the photos seemed disproportionately large, as if it were intended to dwarf the family.
Melody, who was not easily intimidated by rank, money, or pretentious furniture, smiled and gestured at the photos. “Nice family. And I see your husband was an Oxford Blue,” she added, nodding at the oar. “You must be very proud. Do you mind if we sit?”
“I do, actually. I told you I didn’t have much time. Why don’t you tell me exactly what it is that you want?” Abbott gave a quick glance at the front door.
“I take it your husband’s not at home?” asked Melody.
“No. He had to go out.” Abbott frowned at them. “Not that it’s any of your business. Aren’t you a bit off your patch, detectives? And on a Saturday afternoon?” She’d taken the lead, another error, thought Gemma, that spoke of nerves.
“This couldn’t wait,” said Melody.
Abbott cast another anxious glance towards the door, and Gemma wondered if she was expecting her husband—and if that was worrying her as much as their presence.
Abbott switched her gaze to Gemma. “Are you the silent partner, then, DI—it was James, wasn’t it?”
Gemma had no doubt that Abbott remembered her name. She was fishing, wondering what a DI was doing at her door. Mistake number three, in Gemma’s book.
Melody answered her. “I’m with the Sapphire unit, Detective Abbott. Your name has come up in the course of our inquiries. DI James is pursuing a linked matter.”
“Sapphire? Linked?” It was a moment before Abbott controlled the panic on her face. “I’m not working on anything related to a Sapphire investigation.”
Melody gave Gemma the slightest nod, but it was signal enough.
“DCI Abbott,” said Gemma, “I believe you were an old friend of Rebecca Meredith’s?”
“Becca? Oh, yes. We were friends at uni, and we were at police college together. I still can’t believe she’s gone.” The regret sounded rehearsed, as if she had been prepared for the question, but she didn’t say the most obvious thing—that she had seen Becca Meredith just a few days before she died.
Putting on her most sympathetic expression, Gemma said, “Then it must have been a great comfort that you saw her so recently.”
Abbott’s eyes widened with an involuntary ripple of shock, making it clear she hadn’t expected them to know that particular bit of information. “I—yes,” she said, then went on in a rush. “Yes, yes, it was. Last Friday. Becca rang and asked me to come to her station. She said she’d run across some information she thought might be helpful to a Vice investigation.”
“But that was just a pretext, wasn’t it?” asked Melody. She pulled some papers from her bag—papers Gemma suspected had nothing to do with the investigation—but it was an effective tactic. “DCI Abbott,” Melody continued, scanning a page as if her memory needed refreshing, “five years ago, you filed a sexual assault report after a police function in the West End. And although you said you couldn’t name your assailant, you had a rape test done, and the results of that test went on file.
“A year ago, the same thing happened to Becca Meredith. When it occurred to her that other female police officers might have been victims as well, she started searching through the records. She found several officers who had reported rapes by unknown assailants. But only one of them happened to be a woman she knew, and an old friend. You.”
Melody paused for a beat, to let it sink in. Then she said, “And she knew that you knew who your assailant was, as did she.”
Abbott was shaking her head before Melody finished. “That’s absolute bollocks. I’ve no idea what you’re talking about. I think it’s time you—”
“DCI Abbott. Please don’t take us for fools.” Gemma’s words stopped Abbott in mid-protest. When Gemma had her full attention, she went on. “It was Angus Craig. You and Becca Meredith were both raped by Deputy Assistant Commissioner Craig, who then threatened you in order to procure your silence. Don’t waste our time by denying it.”
Abbott’s prominent collarbones rose sharply with the intake of her breath. “You can’t prove that. And he’s dead. I heard he was dead.”
Abbott hadn’t denied it. Masking the rush of exhilaration that came with knowing she and Melody had been right, Gemma said levelly, “That hasn’t yet been confirmed. But what matters to me is that we have his DNA, and that it will match your semen sample and Becca Meredith’s sample. And it will match DCI Jenny Hart’s.”
She was stretching the truth a bit, but they would have Craig’s DNA soon enough, and she wanted answers from Abbott now.
“Jenny?” Abbott’s voice was a whisper. “What are you talking about? Jenny was murdered—oh, God. You don’t mean he
“Becca didn’t know about Craig’s connection to Jenny Hart, did she?” asked Gemma. “She missed that one because the case was in the database as an unsolved murder, not as an unsolved rape. If she’d known about Jenny Hart, she wouldn’t have needed you.
“And that was what she wanted from you, wasn’t it, Chris?” Gemma leaned forward, intent, trying to make a connection with this woman who seemed to have built a fortress round any emotion other than fear. “She wanted you to file a rape charge against Angus Craig.”
Abbott shook her head, as if she meant to deny it, but when she saw their faces, her shoulders sagged. “Okay, okay,” she said. “That lead Becca said she had—when I got to the station, it was useless. But then she wanted to go for drinks. Becca wanting to do the jolly old-girl thing was odd enough, but Becca the Abstemious wanting to go out for a tipple—that was a real red flag. I went because I wanted to know what she was up to.
“She suggested a pub on Holland Park Avenue. Not too far away, but out of her station’s orbit. She waited until we’d both had a few drinks before she told me what she really wanted.”
Abbott raised a finger to her mouth and nibbled at the quick. Her nails were bitten as well. “Bitch,” she said. “I told her to bugger off. I told her that all happened five years ago, and I’ve moved on. I’ve worked hard to get where I am now.” The words spilled out as if she couldn’t stop them. “We’ve got two kids in school, and I’m up for another promotion. Why should I have risked everything so that Angus Craig would get a slap on the wrist—if even that.
“Look at you, both of you. You know how the system works. You know it would all have been for nothing.”
Suddenly, her anger seemed to drain away. Shivering, she rubbed at her bare arms and sank down on the arm of the sofa. “But I didn’t—I didn’t know about Jenny.”
“Did you know her well?” asked Melody.
“We were on a command course together at Bramshill a few years ago. I liked her. We met up for a drink every now and then. She was funny, and sharp, and never condescending. And she liked being single.” With a strangled laugh, Chris added, “Sometimes I used to wish I had her life.”
“And you never told Jenny what Angus Craig did to you?”
Chris shook her head, vehemently. “God, no. I never told anyone. I only made the report that night because one of the constables in my division found me crying and bleeding outside the hotel, and I had to say something. It was the best I could do under the circumstances. Oh—” She caught her breath as realization struck. “Oh, God. If I’d told Jenny, she’d never have gone with him—is that what happened? I know she was killed in her flat. Did she—did she invite him up for a drink?”
“What about Becca, Chris?” said Gemma. “You’d been friends since university. Did she not count? If you’d told her, she’d never have accepted a lift home from Craig the night he raped her. And now she’s dead, too.”
“Why should I have told Becca? She wasn’t exactly the shoulder you’d pick to cry on. And besides, I’d never have dreamed she’d be as stupid as I was. Always in control of everything, Becca.”
Gemma wondered what lay at the root of Abbott’s bitterness, a bitterness so corrosive she couldn’t find a kind word to say about her murdered friend. “So, last Friday night,” she said, “what did Becca do when you told her
