“But… surely that’s not necessary. If she’s just out for a lark or something, she’d be furious.”
“You’re afraid that if she’s all right, she’ll be angry with you? Wouldn’t she understand that you were concerned?” Winnie was beginning to feel there was something very odd here.
“Yes, but… you have to understand. Elaine’s a very private person. She doesn’t like… I don’t think… I think we should wait. After all, she did leave of her own accord,” Fanny added, but she looked even more worried.
“It does seem that way, but-” Winnie stopped, deciding this was not the time to express her own uneasiness. And hadn’t she heard that the police wouldn’t allow a person to be reported missing until twenty-four hours had passed? She needed advice, and suddenly she knew exactly whom to call.
“Look,” she said to Fanny. “Don’t worry. I’ve a much better idea.”
There was no point taking her disappointment out on Duncan, Gemma told herself, regretting her hastiness as soon as she’d hung up the phone. She’d sounded a right cow, and it wasn’t as if she hadn’t had to cancel out of family plans herself, especially in the past few months, but somehow that didn’t make being on the receiving end any easier.
She knew the investigation that had lately consumed so much of her time and energy had disturbed her balance, but that was no excuse for acting the harpy.
A child had gone missing on her patch, a six-year-old girl, and the current slacking of her workload was due not to a resolution, but to the fact that the case had gone cold. Not only was it the first time Gemma had dealt personally with such a case, but as SIO, she felt responsible for her team’s failure.
The parents’ grief and anger had been particularly hard to bear, and she’d not been able to shake off the case outside working hours, something she knew to be essential if one were to survive the job. Her fears for the missing child seemed to have transferred themselves to Toby and Kit, and she found herself worrying whenever they were out of her sight.
Which was all the more reason she should take the boys to Portobello on her own, where she’d have both of them under her nose for the day. She’d promised Kit they’d look for an antique specimen cabinet for his room, and having begun the redecorating project, she didn’t dare falter. They’d already framed sets of nineteenth-century botanical and zoological drawings they’d unearthed at one of the market’s print stalls; she’d painted the walls a strong aqua, and set up bookcases and a desk complete with microscope and dissecting instruments.
Although Kit had seemed thrilled with the idea of focusing his new room around his scientific interests, Gemma hadn’t neglected a concession to adolescent fashion – she’d covered a portion of one wall with cork squares, ready for his growing collection of music posters.
But in spite of Kit’s enthusiastic response to her efforts, she knew that nothing she did could compensate for Duncan’s lack of participation. It shouldn’t matter, she told herself, slamming her desk drawer and pinching her finger in the process. She swore loudly and shook her injured hand, realizing she’d failed to find the pen she’d been rooting for in the drawer when her phone had rung.
There was a knock on her office door and Melody Talbot, the PC who often assisted her, looked in. “You all right, boss?”
“Just a little accident with the drawer,” Gemma said, embarrassed by her outburst. “What’s up?” she added, as Melody seemed inclined to linger.
“It’s the sergeant’s birthday. Some of us were planning to go along to the pub after work, buy him a round or two. Want to come?”
Gemma had worked hard to improve her relationship with Sergeant Talley, who had initially resented her posting. It would certainly be politic to join in the festivities, even if only for a few minutes. Could she juggle things with the children, now that she knew Duncan would be late – if he got home at all? “I’ll try-” she began, when her mobile phone rang again.
Melody gave her a little wave of acknowledgment and slipped out the door.
Assuming it was Duncan ringing her back, Gemma flipped open the phone without checking the ID. “Look, I’m sorry. I was-”
“Gemma?” The voice was female and puzzled. “It’s Winnie. I’ve a favor to ask.”
4
The Borough of Southwark… consisteth of divers streets, ways, and winding lanes, all full of buildings.
As a subsidy to the king, this borough yieldeth about… eight hundred pounds, which is more than any one city in England payeth, except London.
JOHN STOW, 1598
AS SHE HUNCHED her shoulders against the persistent drizzle, Maura Bell grimaced at the stench coming from the damp wool of her coat. Even in the relatively fresh air outside the building, the cloth held the rankness of smoke and a faint scent of corruption. The coat was new, as well, carefully budgeted for, and put on for the first time early that morning. To think she’d been pleased at the drop in temperature, unusual for September, that had allowed her to wear her purchase early. Now, she’d have to send the coat to the dry cleaners as soon as she could change, and God knew if even that would salvage it.
It amazed her to think that there were those, like Farrell and Jake Martinelli, who chose to work fire scenes on a daily basis – but then there were plenty who’d say the same about her choice of profession. Not that there weren’t days when she’d agree with them, and this was certainly looking like one of them.
She’d organized the uniformed constables into search teams for the house-to-house – or rather building-to- building – and was now awaiting the arrival of the warehouse’s construction foreman, one Joe Spender. In a futile effort to keep out the damp, she hitched her collar up, and wished it were possible to organize a crime scene while holding a brolly. That was all she needed, to prance about like Mary bloody Poppins when she had Scotland Yard on her patch.
In retrospect, the day had begun well enough. She’d got into the station early, beating the traffic from her flat on the Isle of Dogs. She liked to drive rather than take the train and the tube; the time cocooned in her car allowed her to sort her thoughts, gear up or unwind, and having the car in the Borough gave her the freedom to follow up case leads without depending on the station motor pool.
First on the rota, she’d been pleased to draw a major case, a suspicious fire with a possible homicide, and when a trace of the building’s ownership had returned a holding company linked with Michael Yarwood, she’d felt a shiver of excitement. Sensitive, yes – Yarwood was an important presence in the Borough – but this was the sort of case that could add rocket fuel to a career.
Then her chief superintendent had called her into his office and told her Michael Yarwood had requested that the Yard be brought in, and she’d been fuming with resentment ever since. Power and influence, that was what it
