pulled her hair up on top of her head, and sat with her arms wrapped round her knees, exposing the slender line of her neck and the curve of her back. In the candlelight, her skin looked pale as alabaster. “Are the kids in bed?” she asked.
“I’ve read to Toby, and Kit’s curled up with a book he says Erika gave him.” He’d helped Kit arrange the last of his birds’ eggs and bits of stone and bone in his display case, and had promised to try to figure out some way to light it. “The cabinet’s great, by the way. He seems pleased.”
“He’s had a good day, I think, between that and Erika. He’s quite impressed now with her being a famous historian, with oodles of published papers.”
“Do I care?” She flashed a smile at him, then said, “Duncan, do you suppose we’ll be an embarrassment to him one day?”
“What? You think he’ll be apologizing for ‘my parents the plods,’ as he’s accepting his Cambridge degree? Let’s hope he has the opportunity,” he added, sobering as he thought of Eugenia’s custody suit.
“Duncan, this case… you won’t let anything keep you from making the hearing on Monday…”
“Of course not. I’ve discussed it with Doug. He’ll cover for me if necessary.” He took off his watch and began rolling up his shirtsleeves. “Shall I do your back?”
“Please.”
He took her nylon bath scrubby and lathered it with soap. “If I get the DNA results from Konnie tomorrow, we’ll at least be able to narrow things down from there. Maybe then we’ll be able to make some real progress.”
Cullen had taken the samples they’d collected from Chloe Yarwood’s flat back to the station, and had sent them off to the lab immediately, flagged for Konrad Mueller’s immediate attention.
Kincaid had updated Gemma on Michael Yarwood’s identification of the girl in the CCTV image as his daughter, and she’d shared the results of her interview at Guy’s Hospital with him. While interested in what she’d learned, he’d decided there was no point in trying to trace Elaine’s phantom boyfriend until they had the results of the DNA tests, and that copying her photo for the team could wait until the next morning. He had, however, set Cullen the immediate task of trying to find Nigel Trevelyan, the man who had been with Chloe Yarwood on the night of the fire.
Kneeling by the tub, he began soaping Gemma’s neck, working his way down to her shoulders with a circular motion. When he had lather the consistency of shaving cream, he dropped the nylon ball in the tub and began massaging her shoulders and back with his hands.
“Um… can I hire you on a permanent basis?” Gemma asked, leaning into the pressure.
“Depends on the benefits. I’m open to offers.” Her skin slipped like satin under his fingers. He began to think about the possibilities of the bath rug, and whether or not the boys were well and truly down for the night.
“Gemma-”
She turned suddenly, splashing him. “I’ve just remembered. You never told me what happened before you came to Fanny’s house, when you were at the shelter.”
Sighing, he sat back on his heels. He knew her well enough to realize she wouldn’t be sidetracked until her curiosity had been satisfied. He told her about Tony Novak accusing the shelter of helping his wife and daughter disappear. Earlier in the evening he’d heard from Maura Bell, who’d said they’d had no luck finding either Novak or his wife. There was no one at the Park Street address Kath Warren had given him for Laura Novak, and although they’d found an address on Borough High Street for a Dr. Antony Novak, there was no answer there, either.
“There’s a missing child?” said Gemma, a note of alarm in her voice.
“We don’t know that for sure,” he answered reasonably. “It’s more than likely that the wife has taken off with the daughter, if they’re really even missing at all.”
“If that were the case, wouldn’t she have asked for Kath Warren’s help?” Gemma sloshed water on her shoulders, rinsing off the suds.
“Maybe Kath wasn’t telling me the truth.”
“Why would she lie, if there’s nothing illegal about helping someone relocate?”
“All right, then,” Kincaid said, a little aggravated over the mood obviously lost for the moment. “Maybe Laura Novak didn’t trust Kath Warren not to tell Tony? Or Tony not to find out on his own? After all, Tony has had access to the shelter, and possibly to the shelter’s records.”
“How old is the little girl?”
Kincaid searched his memory for details. “I think Kath said she was ten.”
“How long have they been missing?”
“I don’t know. He buggered off before I had a chance to ask him.”
Gemma leaned back into the curve of the tub, her expression thoughtful. “What were you talking about when Novak ran off?”
He frowned. “Kath was saying she hadn’t seen the wife and daughter, and then she introduced me-”
“By rank?”
“Yes. And then you called, and when I turned round from answering the phone, he was gone. Maybe he thought I was going to nick him for assaulting Kath.”
“Or maybe he’d done something he didn’t want to tell the police.”
“If he’d hurt his wife or his daughter, why would he have been accusing Kath of abducting them?” Kincaid argued.
“At this point, you don’t know what sort of a nutter this guy is,” Gemma countered. “You’ve got to talk to him again. And make every effort to find his wife and daughter. What if-”
“Gemma-” He stopped himself telling her he knew perfectly well how to run an investigation, because he was beginning to have a niggling doubt as to whether he’d given Tony Novak’s missing wife enough weight. “Look, I’ll look into it myself in the morning, starting with Laura Novak’s house. If she’s not there, I’ll canvas the neighbors-”
“I’m going with you.” Gemma sat up and reached for a towel.
“Gemma, that’s not necessary-”
“You need Cullen and Bell for other things. And I want to come.”
He moved out of her way as she pulled the plug and got out of the tub. Her face was flushed pink from the heat, and set in the stubborn expression he knew well.
“Gemma,” he said slowly, “it’s not your fault you haven’t found the little girl that’s missing.”
She put her foot up on the edge of the tub and gave great attention to drying her toes. “I know that,” she said, but she didn’t meet his eyes.
He watched her in silence, knowing there was nothing he could say that would convince her, any more than he would be able to convince himself if it had happened on his watch.
She had been all right until the light started to fade.
The woman who had brought her to the house had come twice during the day, locking the door when she left each time. The first time, that morning, she’d brought Harriet breakfast on a tray – a bowl of instant oatmeal and some dried fruit. She hadn’t spoken at first, and it was only when Harriet saw she meant to put the tray down and leave that she’d got up the courage to speak.
“Why have you brought me here?” she asked, still huddled under her blanket. “Where’s my dad?”
“Your father wants you to stay here for a few days,” the woman said, turning back from the door.
“My dad wouldn’t leave me in this place.”
“No? Maybe your father has a little surprise planned for you.”
“Let me talk to him,” Harriet begged.
“He’s not here right now. But you’d better do what he wants.” The woman reached for the doorknob again.
“My mum.” Harriet stood up, the blanket still wrapped round her shoulders. “My mum will be worried about me. She’ll find me.”
“I don’t think so.” The woman smiled, and Harriet felt cold in the pit of her stomach.
“Wait, please,” said Harriet in desperation. “I have to use the toilet.”
“Use the pail.” The woman gestured towards the old tin pail Harriet had noticed against one wall.
