brass gleamed. Any lack of care must be due to insufficient funds rather than neglect, and lack of funds in this neighborhood was enough to arouse her curiosity.
A neat, gray-haired woman greeted Gemma with a friendly smile. 'Can I help you?'
'Mrs. Du Ray? I'm Inspector James from the Metropolitan Police.' Gemma bent to stroke Tommy, who purred loudly and butted against her legs.
'I see you two know each other,' said Mrs. Du Ray as she led Gemma through the house and into the kitchen. 'I'll just put on some tea.'
'My constable said you were very hospitable.'
'Most people are too busy rushing about these days to take the time. Especially the young mothers chauffeuring their children about. Gymnastics and ballet lessons and piano and martial arts. It's all very well, but when do they have time to be children? But you probably have young children yourself and think I should mind my own business. I admit I'm hopelessly old-fashioned.'
'Not at all,' Gemma assured her. 'And I'm afraid I don't have the luxury of chauffeuring my children around, nor did my parents.'
'Quite.' Mrs. Du Ray spooned tea leaves into a delicate flowered teapot and covered them with boiling water.
Gemma relaxed in her chair, as Melody must have done before her, glad of the respite. It was a pleasant room, clean and well kept if a bit run-down, like the house's exterior. 'Have you lived here long, Mrs. Du Ray?'
'Thirty-five years. My husband bought this house when we were first married. Now that's he's gone, and the children are all grown up and married themselves, I suppose I could set myself up nicely in a little bungalow somewhere if I were to sell. But it's hard to contemplate leaving such familiar surroundings, and so many memories.'
Gemma found it difficult to imagine such a settled existence. Had Dawn contemplated living a good portion of her life in the house next door, perhaps raising children there? Through the wide window over the sink she could see its pale stucco walls rising above the hedge.
'Did Mr. Arrowood ask you to look after Tommy?' she asked when Mrs. Du Ray had handed her a teacup of the same delicate china as the pot.
'No. But by yesterday the poor creature was begging at my door, and it was obvious he hadn't been fed. I let him in and picked up some tins of food at the market. I don't know what Dawn fed him, but he doesn't seem fussy.' Mrs. Du Ray made a little face as she sipped at her tea. 'As for Karl Arrowood, I went round yesterday evening. I didn't want him to think I was taking liberties by caring for his wife's cat. But when I told him, he just shrugged and said, 'Do as you please.' It wasn't that he was rude exactly, just indifferent. I suppose that's understandable under the circumstances.'
'It's kind of you to take in the cat.'
'It's just decent,' rejoined Mrs. Du Ray. She stroked Tommy, who had made himself at home on the dining chair beside her and was industriously washing a paw. 'You'd have done the same.'
'Did you know Dawn well?'
'Perhaps not as well as I should.' At Gemma's questioning look, Mrs. Du Ray went on more slowly. 'Beautiful, young, wealthy… it didn't occur to me that the girl might need friends. But now that I think about it, she spent a good deal of time in that house alone.'
'How could you tell? You can't see their drive from your house, can you, because of the hedge?' As Mrs. Du Ray began to bristle, Gemma added hurriedly, 'I don't mean to imply that you were prying. I'm just wondering what you would notice in the normal course of your day.'
Mrs. Du Ray went back to petting the cat, relaxing again. 'You're right. You can't see the drive from the downstairs windows. But I can see it when I'm working in the front garden, and I can see it from the bedroom windows upstairs. And I did notice, just the way you do, without really thinking much about it.'
'You didn't happen to be upstairs on Friday, a few minutes after six?' But she saw instantly from the woman's face that she was going to be disappointed.
'No, dear, I'm sorry. I don't usually go upstairs that time of day. I was here in the kitchen, preparing my supper. A boiled egg and toast, I remember, as I'd been out to lunch with a friend.'
'And you didn't hear anything?'
'Not a sound. Until the sirens, of course, and then I went out to see what had happened.'
'Did you ever hear them arguing, Karl and Dawn?'
'Oh, no, nothing like that. They seemed the perfect couple, always off to parties and dinners, and she was always dressed to the nines. But surely you don't think that Karl Arrowood had anything to do with Dawn's death? That's just not possible!'
'I know sometimes it's difficult to accept, but that is often-'
'No, no, that's not what I meant. I mean I don't believe Karl is physically capable of such a crime. I know how she died, you see. It's been whispered round the neighborhood.'
'I don't understand.'
'Karl is terrified at the sight of blood. He can't help it, I'm sure. My husband was the same way, from his childhood.'
'How do you know?'
'I cut myself badly in the garden one day- a shard of broken glass had somehow worked its way into the front border- just as Karl and Dawn came home. I must have cried out, because Dawn came over to ask if I was all right, and Karl followed her. I thought the man was going to faint when he saw the blood running down my arm. Went white as a sheet and Dawn had to hold on to him. She took him inside, then ran me to the casualty ward at the hospital. She stayed with me, too, and brought me home again when they'd bandaged me up.'
'That was kind of her. Did she confide in you at all? One tends to, in that sort of situation.'
'No. Nor did she ever. You'd have this lovely conversation, and then later you'd realize you hadn't learned anything about her.'
'That makes her an ideal candidate for sainthood, doesn't it?' reflected Gemma softly.
'You mean it allows people to make her into anything they want? I suppose I may have done that myself. But no. There was something genuine there, I'm sure of it. And it's a great loss to everyone who knew her.' For the first time, Mrs. Du Ray showed a hint of tears.
'Karl Arrowood, faint at the sight of blood? You're joking.' Kincaid glanced at Gemma, then focused his attention once more on the Kensington traffic. He'd dropped Cullen at the Yard before taking the motor pool Rover to pick Gemma up at Notting Hill.
'She was positive,' answered Gemma. 'And it's not the sort of thing you'd mistake.'
'But an elderly lady-'
'Not elderly,' she corrected. 'Older. And sharp as a tack. And although Arrowood does seem an unlikely candidate, I've seen stranger things.'
'If it's true, his phobia didn't prevent him from lifting the body of his dead wife.'
'Shock might account for that. What I wonder is if he could have brought himself to cut her throat, and so decisively. There were no hesitation marks.'
'Maybe he paid someone else to do it,' Kincaid suggested.
'In that case, knowing what he would find, would he have touched her?'
'Has this turned you into an Arrowood apologist? I thought you were dead set on him as Dawn's killer.'
'No,' Gemma answered, a trifle crossly. 'I mean no, I'm not ruling him out. I'm just playing devil's advocate.'
'Well, let's see what the former Mrs. Arrowood has to say about him.' They had reached Lower Sloane Street, a bastion of elegant and expensive red brick town houses, just below Sloane Square. Kincaid whistled under his breath. 'He certainly set her up in style.'
Gemma had rung ahead, suspecting that it might be difficult to pin down Karl's former wife without an appointment. Sylvia Arrowood must have been watching out for them because she opened the door before they rang the bell. She was tawny, slender, and extremely well preserved for a woman he guessed to be in her fifties.
