And Justice There Is None

painting would stay with her long after she had lost touch with all who had known her by that name.

CHAPTER FOUR

Opinions vary as to the start of the antiques trade in Portobello Road. One theory is that when the Caledonian Market, well known in prewar days as the place to buy a secondhand wardrobe or bedstead, closed in 1948, some of the displaced antique stalls set up in Portobello Road.

– Whetlor and Bartlett,

from Portobello

Gemma checked the address of Dawn Arrowood's friend in the A to Zed she kept in her car, locating the flat near the South Ken tube station. Near enough that she thought she would drive there unannounced, and informal enough to justify her going alone.

The rain began to slacken as she pulled away from the station, and it seemed natural to her that she should drive down the hill and stop for a moment in front of the house on St. John's Gardens.

It looked larger than she remembered from the previous eve-ning. More solid and prosperous. She thought of her parents' flat over the bakery, the cheap digs she had shared with a friend in her first days on the force, the tatty semidetached in Leyton she had bought with Rob, and now her tiny garage flat. Doubt flooded through her. Was she up to this house, with the expectations and commitment it represented?

Then she thought of her friend Erika Rosenthal's home a few blocks away, and of the sense of contentment and homecoming she'd experienced in those rooms. It came to her that with this house she was being offered a chance to create that life for herself; she would be a fool to pass it by.

She closed her eyes, gathering herself for her next task, and in that instant she had a vision. Distant and silent, as if viewed through the opposite end of a telescope: They were all together in the house, she and Kincaid, the boys, and a child whose face she could not see. The image vanished as abruptly as a bubble popping, but the sense of home and family stayed with her like a half-remembered dream.

***

Natalie Caine lived in a garden flat in Onslow Gardens. It was a chic address and the flat's entrance reflected it: shining paint and polished brass, flanked by perfect topiaries set in large Italian pots. The sound of a television came faintly from within. Gemma lifted the knocker and rapped lightly.

A woman opened the door so quickly that Gemma decided she must have been expecting someone else. Tall, slightly heavyset, with pale olive skin and a mass of frizzy dark hair pulled back with an oversized clip, she looked as if she had been crying. 'Oh,' she said, her brow creasing as she studied Gemma. 'I thought you were someone come about the telly. But you're not, are you?'

'No, I'm afraid not.' Gemma slipped her identification from her jacket pocket. 'My name's Gemma James. Are you Natalie Caine?' When the woman nodded, Gemma continued, 'I wondered if I might have a word with you about your friend Dawn Arrowood.'

Natalie's face crumpled in a sob. She gestured Gemma into the flat, shaking her head in apology. 'Sorry. I've been blubbing like a baby all morning. I just can't believe it's true.'

Gemma sat opposite her in the sitting room. The velvet-cushioned Victorian love seat and chairs seemed incongruous with the sisal carpet and rattan blinds, but the effect was pleasing, if a little untidy- not unlike its owner. In one corner, a television gave out sound but no picture. 'That's why I was trying to get the telly fixed,' Natalie explained. 'I thought I might see something on the news.'

'Did someone ring you about Dawn?' Gemma asked.

'My mum, this morning. She heard from Dawn's mum. Poor Joanie… And Dawn was an only. Not like me.' Natalie attempted a wavering smile. 'When we were kiddies, Dawn always wanted to be at our house because she liked the hubbub, and I always wanted to be at hers because it was quiet.'

'You've known each other a long time, then.'

'Since grammar school. As much as Dawn wanted to get shut of anything to do with Croyden, she kept in touch with me. Even though we weren't exactly in her social league. I mean, Chris and I have done all right, but Dawn's husband wouldn't have given us the time of day.'

'Did they get on all right, Dawn and her husband?'

Natalie looked uncomfortable. 'Well, I don't want to be one to tell tales.'

A sure sign that she only needed a bit of gentle encouragement, thought Gemma. 'He's much older, isn't he? That must have caused some problems.'

Natalie snorted. 'Trophy wife might have been invented for Dawn. But she couldn't see it at first. It was so romantic. All this 'I vill take you away from thees sordid life' stuff.'

Gemma suppressed a smile. 'Did you tell her what you thought?'

'Even with your best friend, you can only go so far… But now I wish… I don't know. Maybe I could have done something, changed things somehow.'

'Why? Do you think her husband might have had something to do with her death?'

'Oh, no! I didn't mean that. It's just that, if she hadn't been married to Karl, Dawn wouldn't have been where she was, would she? And it wouldn't have happened.'

'The-wrong-place-at-the-wrong-time theory,' Gemma muttered, as much to herself as to Natalie. 'So you can't think of any personal reason why someone would have wanted to harm Dawn?'

'Oh, no. She was… lovely. Luminous. You'd have to have known her.' Natalie looked as if she might break down again.

Gently, Gemma probed, 'Did you know your friend was pregnant?'

Natalie hesitated a moment, then shrugged. 'I suppose there's no need to keep secrets now, is there? She wasn't sure until yesterday. She had an appointment with her doctor before we met for tea.'

'How did she feel about that? About being pregnant?'

Again, Gemma sensed hesitation, then Natalie said slowly, 'She was pleased about the baby, I think…'

'But?'

'She didn't know how Karl would react. He'd told her from the beginning he didn't want children.'

'That seems a bit unfair. Surely he'd have accepted the situation. And he'd not have had much choice, unless she was willing to have an abortion?'

'Well, it's a bit more complicated than that.' Natalie's olive skin colored. 'He'd had a vasectomy- at least that's what he told Dawn.'

The missing ingredient, thought Gemma. A lover. Now they were getting somewhere. 'So Dawn was seeing someone else. Was this a casual affair, or something more serious?'

'She wouldn't have just, you know, gone off with anyone.' Natalie spoke defensively. 'I think she loved him. But she said there was no hope for them, because Karl would never let her go.'

'How could he have stopped her?'

'That's what I said. Why couldn't she just walk out, file for divorce? But she said it was more complicated than that. And then I told her not to be so bloody materialistic, that she could do without Karl's money. She was pretty- more than pretty- she was smart, capable. She could make it on her own. I even told her I'd help her get her job back; we both worked for the BBC before she married Karl, and I'm still there. I could just kick myself now for being so hard on her! I didn't know I'd never get to see her again.'

'Was she angry?'

'No. That would have been easier. But she just shook her head and kept saying that I didn't understand, that there were things I didn't know. She looked almost… frightened. You don't think… when you asked did I think Karl