And Justice There Is None

'Next Sunday we'll be having breakfast in our new home. I've arranged the house-moving for Saturday, not that either of us has much to move.'

'Saturday?' She heard the squeak of panic in her own voice.

'It'll be all right, love, I promise. The sooner the better.'

Looking up from the jam-and-cream-cheese puddle he'd made on his plate, Toby asked, 'What new house?'

Kincaid glanced at Gemma, eyebrows raised, and she gave him a nod of assent. 'We're all going to move into a new house together, sport,' he explained to the boy. 'You, your mum, Kit and me. What do you think about that?'

Toby considered this for a moment. 'Will Kit get to bring his dog?'

'Of course Tess can come. The house has a big garden, with a swing.'

'And Sid?' Sid was the black cat Kincaid had inherited from a friend who had died. 'Can he go out in the garden?'

'Sid will love the garden. He might even be able to catch a mouse.'

Toby's small brow creased in a frown. 'What about Holly? Can she come live with us, too?'

'No,' Gemma answered quickly. 'Holly has to stay with her mummy and daddy. But she'll come to visit often.'

'Can I take my trucks?'

'We'll make a special place for them. Do you want to pack them now?'

'Okay,' her son said with great equanimity. Leaving his bagel half finished, he scrambled down from his chair and disappeared into the tiny box room that served as his bedroom. When Gemma peeked in on him a few minutes later, she found him methodically stowing his collection of miniature lorries into his Star Wars backpack.

'What about Kit?' she asked Kincaid as she returned to the table and refilled her mug. 'Have you arranged things with him?'

'Ian will drive him up from Grantchester on Saturday.'

'And you're sure Ian won't change his mind?'

'As sure as one can ever be with Ian McClellan. But he seems to have pretty well burned his bridges this time. He told me he'd already booked his flight to Canada, and that the university has arranged a small apartment for him.'

'As in 'bachelor pad'?'

'So I suspect. Gemma…' Kincaid scrubbed at his fingers with his napkin, avoiding her eyes. 'There's been a development, with your investigation.'

'Dawn Arrowood?' she asked, puzzled.

'In a way, yes. Do you remember the case I was working on a couple of months ago, before we went to Glastonbury? An antiques dealer named Marianne Hoffman was found dead outside her shop in Camden Passage. Her throat had been cut, and she had been stabbed in the chest. When I saw Dawn Arrowood's body-'

'Why didn't you say anything?'

'I wanted to check the details in the files, make sure that I wasn't just manufacturing coincidence.'

'But- you're talking serial killer!'

'I think it's too early to use the term, but I also think the similarities can't be ignored. Especially considering the choice of weapon. And there's something else- it seems to me that the second murder was executed more expertly.'

'As if the killer's skill is improving with practice?' Gemma shook her head. 'I don't buy it, coincidence or not. I think that whoever murdered Dawn had a very personal connection with her.'

'Then maybe we should be looking for a connection between Dawn Arrowood and Marianne Hoffman.'

'We?'

Kincaid seemed to hesitate. 'I'll be working with you and your team.'

'Officially?'

'Yes.'

'You've cleared this with Chief Superintendent Childs? Without discussing it with me first?'

'I'd not have consulted any other officer in charge of the Arrowood case. Did you want to be treated differently?'

Gemma glared at him, furious. 'You're twisting it! You could have at least let me know what you were doing. Is that why you didn't come by last night?'

'No. But you're right, of course. I should have told you before I spoke to the guv'nor. I suppose I was afraid you might not want me messing about on your patch.'

'You're bloody right!' Gemma hissed at him, careful to keep her voice lowered on Toby's account. But Kincaid looked so crushed that she felt some of her anger evaporate. 'It's not that, really. It's that you'd never have done something like that without discussing it with me when we worked together.'

'It would never have come up. I handled this badly, love. I'm sorry.'

She folded her arms across her chest, considering him. It would be nice to work as a team again, but she didn't want to risk damaging her still tenuous authority with her staff. 'What about my team?'

'You'll communicate with them directly. And I'll try not to step on your toes.'

'I still don't like it.'

'Can't you think of me as a bonus? A good resource?'

He always knew when to be diplomatic, she thought grudgingly, but then that was one of the things that made him good at his job. 'All right. I'll hold you to that. First you can tell me everything you remember about that earlier case. And then you can go with me to see Dawn Arrowood's parents.'

***

'Here we are.' Gemma stopped the car in front of a terraced house of dark brick in East Croyden. It was an ordinary neighborhood, a universe away from the elegance of the Arrowoods' house in Notting Hill.

Gemma's face was set as she climbed from the car. Kincaid knew she was dreading this interview, but it was a necessity they couldn't avoid. The street was quiet as he rang the bell, the air filled with the scents of Sunday lunches in the oven.

The man who came to the door was in his fifties, graying, slightly heavyset, and dressed in shirt and tie as if he had just come back from an ordinary Sunday church service.

'Mr. Smith?' asked Gemma, showing her warrant card. 'We'd like to talk with you and your wife, if you feel up to it.'

The man nodded without speaking and led them through into the sitting room, saying, 'Joanie, it's the police.' Sorrow was palpable in the air. A Christmas tree in the corner and a string of cards across the mantel seemed cruelly and inappropriately cheerful.

Dawn's mother rose from the sofa, and Kincaid saw that she had been looking through a photo album. Kincaid could see that until yesterday Joan Smith might have had a shadow of her daughter's beauty; her thinness might have been expressed as elegance. But grief had sucked her dry, left her gaunt and brittle and looking more than her age.

'Have you found him?' she demanded. 'The monster that killed our daughter?'

'No, Mrs. Smith, I'm sorry. I know this must be difficult for you, but we hoped you could tell us a bit about Dawn.' Gemma was at her most gentle, and Kincaid was content to listen, and watch. 'Could we sit down?' Gemma asked, and Mrs. Smith sank obediently back to the sofa, clutching the photo album. Kincaid saw that the crowded room was filled with pictures of Dawn from babyhood on, an adored only child.

'Could you tell us when you last saw your daughter?' Gemma directed the question towards them both, but it was the mother who answered.

'Two weeks ago. She came for Sunday lunch. She didn't often come on a weekend, because he didn't like it, but he was away on some sort of a business trip.'

'Karl didn't like your daughter to visit you?' Gemma clarified, her brow creased in a frown.

'Weren't good enough, were we? Clarence manages a supermarket, and does a good job of it, but that meant