And Justice There Is None

Taking his carrier bag and a handful of bills from her own stall, she quickly locked both screens, then shepherded him out into the street and up the hill to the mews where his Passat sat parked in front of his flat. Alex seemed to have given up all resistance; it was only when she'd bundled him into the passenger seat and buckled herself into the driver's that he mumbled, 'Where are we going?'

'Somewhere safe,' Fern assured him. 'Somewhere no one will think to look for you.'

***

The crowd of curious onlookers in front of the Arrowoods' house had grown since earlier that morning. Gemma saw familiar faces- the press was out in force, and the recognition was mutual. A whisper rippled through the gathering and half a dozen reporters surged to the front.

Putting up her umbrella against the persistent drizzle, she held up her free hand against the clamor of questions. 'I'll speak to you at six this evening, in front of Notting Hill-'

'This house belongs to Karl Arrowood, the antiques dealer,' interrupted Tom MacCrimmon from the Daily Star, one of the least reputable tabloids. A woolly-headed man with a red bulbous nose like a Christmas ball, Gemma had found MacCrimmon's aggressiveness to be tempered by a sense of humor. 'Was it someone in the Arrowood family who was killed?'

'The victim's family has yet to be notified, Tom. Please let us do that before you speculate in print- or on camera,' she added, seeing the telltale red eye of another reporter's video camera. 'I promise I'll give you as much as I can this evening.' She turned away and the constable on duty quickly lifted the tape, allowing her inside the sealed perimeter.

Once out of the crowd's hearing range, she spoke to the officer. 'Where's Mr. Arrowood?'

'Waiting for you at the station, as per your request. Sergeant Franks took him in, and was none too gentle about it.'

'What about the forensics team?'

'Just finishing up. Haven't found anything obvious, as far as I know.'

'Right. Just keep an eye on the crowd, will you? I need to know if any one person hangs about too long.'

***

Karl Arrowood had been ushered into Interview Room A, where Gemma suspected he'd worn a path in the floor with his pacing. Fully dressed in a dark suit and tie, clean-shaven, his thick corn-yellow hair neatly brushed, he showed no sign of the shock Gemma had seen last night.

'Inspector, I do not understand why I'm being treated like a common criminal, dragged to the police station and then left to cool my heels in this revolting room.'

'I know our decor leaves a bit to be desired, but do sit down, please, Mr. Arrowood. This won't take long.' Gemma had asked Melody to join them, rather than Franks. She knew Franks would be miffed at the exclusion, but she didn't think his aggressiveness would be helpful at this stage of the interview process.

As she and Melody took their seats, she gestured towards one of the plastic chairs across the table.

'I can't think what I can possibly tell you that we didn't discuss last night-'

'What about your wife's family, Mr. Arrowood? Have you notified them?'

'Yes.' He grimaced and sat reluctantly. 'I'm meeting them at the mortuary this morning. I've told them there was no need, that I could arrange everything, but they insisted.'

'Perhaps they need to feel involved? It does provide closure of a sort. You realize, of course, that the pathologist won't release your wife's body until she's completed her examinations.'

'I've scheduled the funeral for Tuesday, at Kensal Green. Surely that's time enough.'

'Tell me about your wife's family.'

The grimace came again, fainter but unmistakable. 'They live in East Croyden. Name of Smith.'

'Any other children?'

'No.'

'This must be quite difficult for them.'

'I suppose so,' Arrowood said, as if the idea hadn't occurred to him. 'But I don't see-'

'I'll need to talk to them, as well as to Dawn's close friends.'

'What can that possibly have to do with my wife's murder? She just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time, when some psychopath-' He swallowed, losing his composure for the first time.

'That may be the case. But even if your wife's killer had no personal connection with her, he may have been watching her, and someone she knows may have noticed something odd.'

'Watching her?' Arrowood's skin paled beneath his artificial tan.

'It's a possibility we have to consider.'

'My wife… was she sexually assaulted?'

'No. The pathologist found no indication of that.'

Arrowood met Gemma's eyes, looked away. 'Dawn… Do you think she had time to be frightened?'

Gemma thought of the few signs of struggle on the woman's body and answered truthfully, 'I think it must have been very quick.'

'I keep seeing-' Blinking, Arrowood gave a sharp shake of his head, as if discarding an instant of weakness. 'There's no point dwelling on it. It's just that she told me once she thought she would die young. She was always worried about cancer, things like that. But this…'

'Mr. Arrowood, did you know your wife was pregnant?'

'What?'

'The postmortem revealed that your wife was about six weeks pregnant.'

'But that's- No, I'd no idea. I knew she hadn't been well lately, but that possibility never occurred to me…' He seemed to wilt, his body settling into the curvature of the plastic chair.

'I'm very sorry.' Thinking of her own case of prolonged denial, Gemma said, 'Perhaps she hadn't realized herself.'

Karl Arrowood contemplated this for a moment. 'Perhaps not. But I rather hope she knew. She very much wanted a child.'

Gemma thought again of the children's books and dolls, carefully hidden away. 'And you didn't?'

'No. I've two grown sons already that are trouble enough.' His lips had curled in obvious distaste.

Two grown sons who might be counting on their father's money, thought Gemma, and might not have appreciated a young stepmother mucking up their prospects. 'I'll need their names and addresses, please. And their mother? Is she living?'

'Sylvia? There have been times I wished she weren't'- his smile held grim humor- 'but yes, she's living. And living well, I might add, in Chelsea.'

'Did you provide for your sons in a will, Mr. Arrowood? Or did Dawn inherit your estate?'

He glared at her. 'I've poured money down those boys' throats since they were children, with no thanks and less result. Of course I've left the bulk of my estate to Dawn; she was my wife.'

'And your sons knew this?'

'I never particularly discussed it with them. But what you're suggesting is absurd-'

'Absurd or not, these things happen, and we have to explore every possibility. Did Dawn work, Mr. Arrowood?'

'My wife had no need to work.'

How very antiquated of you, thought Gemma, exchanging a glance with Melody, but she asked merely, 'Then what did she do with her days?'

'She had the house to manage. She helped in the shop occasionally. She saw her friends.'

'Any friends in particular, other than Natalie?'

'I didn't keep her social calendar,' Arrowood answered so sharply that Gemma suspected he hadn't a clue what had filled the long hours of his wife's day.

'And yesterday, I believe you said you had just arrived home from a meeting when you found your wife?'

'I'd had drinks at Butler 's Wharf with a European dealer.'