himself in despair over Dawn's death.'
'Dunn didn't disappear until Saturday morning,' Kincaid pointed out. 'If he killed Dawn on Friday night, then returned to the flat, he certainly hasn't left any obvious evidence.'
'We'll get forensic in, just in case. But in the meantime,' Gemma added, 'I'm going to find Fern Adams.'
Gemma combined an information-seeking stop at Otto's Cafe with a belated lunch, served to her by the cheerful Wesley. Kincaid had returned to the Yard to begin background checks on Karl Arrowood's sons.
Otto, Wesley told her as he served her a bowl of steaming lentil soup, was out for the day. He didn't elaborate. Was he regretting his forthrightness when they had spoken before? Gemma wondered.
'Perhaps you can help me,' she said when she'd finished her soup and he'd come to take away her dish. 'Have you seen Fern Adams since she left here on Saturday?'
'No. That's a bit odd, too. She's usually in here every day for a coffee.'
'Nor Alex?' Gemma knew that constables inquiring after Alex would have asked here, but she wanted to hear for herself what Wesley had to say.
Wesley shook his head, his mobile face portraying worry. 'You'd think the man had vanished into a bloody great hole. No one's heard a thing from him. Do you think- He wouldn't- He was that upset…'
'I'd be more concerned if he hadn't left his flat with Fern- we've a witness who saw them. It's Fern I'd like to talk to now. Do you know where I could find her?'
'She lives in Portobello Court. I don't remember the flat number, but I can tell you where it is.' He gave Gemma detailed directions. 'Don't mistake me,' Wesley added, 'Miz Arrowood's murder was a terrible thing, only I didn't know her. But if anything's happened to Alex or Fern… They're like family.'
'Do you have family of your own?'
'My mother.' Wesley's face split in a brilliant smile. 'She lives down Westbourne Park.' Sobering, he added, 'My dad's been gone a few years now. Heart attack.'
'You stay with your mum?'
'Can't afford nothing else, you know what it's like,' answered Wesley with no hint of complaint. 'But even if I could, I'd not want to leave my mum on her own. She's a good woman, my mother.'
Gemma said good-bye and walked thoughtfully back up Portobello Road. Would her children have such care for her when they were grown?
Portobello Court was the first modern block of flats built by the Council after the war, containing such sought- after amenities as indoor plumbing and separate kitchens, and she knew that many flats had been occupied by the same families since the fifties.
Following Wesley's directions, she climbed the stairs to the first floor and knocked on what she hoped was the right door. A door across the corridor opened and an elderly lady peered out at her, shaking her head.
'You looking for that girl? Rings in her nose, and Lord knows where else. Don't know what the world's coming to.'
'Do you know where she is?'
'Been holed up in the flat for days, far as I know. Don't know how she expects to make a living if she doesn't get out and scour the countryside. That's what it takes to turn a profit, you know. My husband was in the trade, had a stall next to her daddy.'
With some assurance that Fern was at home, Gemma turned and knocked again, more loudly, and this time she was rewarded by the sound of shuffling and the click of a latch.
The young woman who gazed out at her did indeed have a ring through her nose, and another through her eyebrow, but her small, pale face was devoid of makeup, and the multihued strands of her hair looked flattened and neglected.
'Miss Adams? I'd like to talk to you about Alex Dunn.'
'What about him?' The sight of Gemma's warrant card had not prompted the woman to open the door wider.
'Do you happen to know where he is?'
'Why should I?'
The door of the flat opposite creaked open an inch.
'Do you think I might come in?' Gemma gave a pointed glance at the obvious eavesdropper.
'Yeah, I suppose. Old cow,' Fern added under her breath, but she stepped back, allowing Gemma into the flat. Boxes and tag-ends of furniture cluttered the space. Gemma could see no rhyme or reason for the arrangement of items- a set of mahogany side chairs faced a wall, a matching settee had its back cozily against the television, side tables stood adrift among lamps and pictures. A glimpse out the glass balcony doors revealed an equally unprepossessing view; large men's underclothing hung out on a makeshift clothesline, and there were a few drooping potted plants.
Gemma gestured at the boxes. 'Are you moving?'
'No. My dad travels- the auction circuit. He brings things home, and so do I. This is about as sorted as we get.' Fern cleared a chair of several old tasseled lampshades, which Gemma took as an invitation to sit.
'Have you been traveling this week?'
'Yeah.' Fern rubbed at a spot on the back of her hand, a liar's gesture. When Gemma didn't speak, she added, 'Estate sales, country markets, you know the sort of thing.'
'What about Alex? Is he traveling as well?'
Fern shrugged with great casualness. 'Dunno. Haven't seen him.'
'But you have seen him since Dawn Arrowood died. The two of you left the arcade together.'
The girl's startled glance met Gemma's, then she looked deliberately away. 'I took him home for a cuppa. He was a bit wobbly and all. Why do you want to know about Alex, anyway?'
'I understand he and Dawn were quite close. She might have told him something that would help us find her killer.'
'You mean, like, if someone had been bothering her?'
'Exactly. Or maybe he noticed someone hanging round her. Or, say if her husband had threatened her, she might have told Alex.' When Fern nodded without comment, Gemma added, 'Would Alex have told you?'
'Not likely. Dawn Arrowood wasn't exactly a topic of discussion between us.'
'Not even on Saturday morning? You must have talked about her murder.'
'He wouldn't believe it at first, when Otto told him. But then he went to her house. It was crawling with coppers and one of the neighbors told him her throat had been cut. After that he was, like, a zombie or something.'
'And after you brought him back here for a cup of tea?'
Fern shrugged again. 'I suppose he went home.'
'You let your good friend go home alone in a terrible state of shock?'
'I offered to stay with him, but he didn't want me.'
Gemma studied her for a moment. 'All right, Fern, that's enough of the games. Alex's landlord saw the two of you leave in Alex's car that morning, with you driving. Where did you go?'
'Don't know what you're on about,' Fern retorted, but Gemma had glimpsed the flash of fear in her eyes.
'Yes, you do. Do you also know that you could face charges for interfering with a police investigation?'
'I don't know where he is!'
'I don't believe that. You left together in Alex's car on Saturday morning, and neither Alex nor his car has been seen since. We've put out a bulletin on his car registration; we
'But he hasn't done anything-'
'Why would he disappear like this, unless he had something to do with Dawn's death?'
'Because he's in danger!' Fern scowled at Gemma, but her lip was trembling.
