'Good.' Kate gave him a reassuring smile, but not before he'd glimpsed the flash of concern in her eyes.
Gemma stepped out into the late-morning daylight outside the station, blinking as if emerging from a long, if unwelcome, hibernation. It had stopped snowing during the night, but gray clouds still hovered over the rooftops, and dirty slush filled gutters and pavement.
Shivering as she waited for Kincaid to fetch the car, she thought of the morning's progress, and her spirits sank even lower.
They had kept Alex Dunn at the station until Mrs. Du Ray had been able to come in and make a positive identification, but once that formality was completed, they'd had to send him home with a caution.
The same was true of Gavin Farley, which galled Gemma considerably more. Both his in-laws and his neighbors, the Simmonses, had confirmed his alibi, insisting that Farley had not left their sight for more than five minutes during the time period in which the pathologist estimated Arrowood had been murdered. The Simmonses had also made it clear they didn't care for Farley, so it seemed unlikely that they would be inclined to protect him. Nor had the search team found anything, although with the Christmas slowdown there was no telling how long it would take to get the trace evidence results back from the Home Office lab.
Then, it had fallen to Gemma to inform Karl Arrowood's sons and his ex-wife of his murder. Sean, the younger son, had answered the door at his mother's residence.
'Inspector James!' Wariness replaced his first cheerful response. 'Do come in.'
'I'm afraid I have some very bad news. Your father was killed last night.'
He gaped at her, shock draining the color from his face.
'Sean, do you want to sit down?'
He ignored the suggestion. 'My father
'I'm sorry. There's no mistake. He was found in his drive by a neighbor.'
'You mean… he was killed… like her?'
'The circumstances are quite similar, yes. Would you like me to speak to your mother? Is she here?'
'No. She and Richard have gone out for a bit.' More firmly, he added, 'I'll tell Mum. And Richard.' His face had aged decades in five minutes.
'Is there anyone else we should inform?'
'Not that I know of. Dad's parents have been dead for years. I suppose I can ring his staff. And his business associates.'
'We'll let you know when you can make funeral arrangements. Sean… there is one other thing.' She hesitated, in the face of his obvious grief and shock, but knew she must ask. 'Where were you and Richard yesterday evening?'
'Here,' he answered without rancor. 'Mother gives a monster party every Christmas Eve- a gala, she calls it. Rich and I are expected to dance attendance on all the old dears, without fail. Our mother's wrath is not something to be trifled with. Oh, God,' he groaned, as if it had finally sunk in, 'she's not going to want to hear this.'
'I'm sorry.' Gemma felt as helpless as she always did when faced with the response to sudden death. 'We will be in touch, possibly with a few more questions. But we'll try to intrude as little as possible. And you can ring me if you like.' She left, not envying him the task he faced.
It was still possible, of course, that one or both of the brothers had hired a professional to commit all three murders, but Doug Cullen's investigation had not turned up a shred of corroborating evidence- and she'd never really thought the idea likely. The nature of the crimes was too personal- too intimate, she was certain- to be the work of a hired killer.
Still, she'd have to send someone to get a guest list from Sylvia Arrowood tomorrow, so that they could check the boys' alibis.
When Kincaid picked her up a moment later for the drive home, she noticed that he avoided passing by St. John's Church. It was thoughtful of him: Even the idea of the bloodstained snow in Karl Arrowood's drive made her feel queasy.
It occurred to her that she hadn't eaten, except for a bite of a muffin brought to her unexpectedly by Gerry Franks, and that might account for her light-headedness.
But the very worst thing about the day became painfully clear to her as they pulled up in front of their house. She hadn't realized how fiercely she'd looked forward to spending this morning with the boys until she'd missed it, an opportunity gone forever.
Kincaid had at least checked in with Kit several times on his mobile, but she hadn't even had the chance to wish Toby a happy Christmas.
'Mummy! Kit's made French toast for breakfast, with sausages, and he's put some in the warming oven for you!' Toby looked like a little elf in his footed red flannelette pajamas, and he was jiggling up and down with excitement. 'Wait till you see-'
'I've got tea in the pot, as well,' Kit interrupted, giving Toby a warning glance. 'Come in the kitchen.' As he took her arm, she noticed absently that the dining room doors were closed, but she thought no more about it.
Kit sat her down at the table and served her with a flourish, while Kincaid looked on affectionately, saying he'd had something earlier. Only halfway through her breakfast did she remember they were supposed to go to Hazel's for Christmas dinner. A wave of exhaustion washed over her; she put down her suddenly leaden fork.
'You'll have to go to Hazel's without me,' she said, near tears. 'I don't think I can manage it.'
'Don't worry,' Kit told her. 'I've arranged everything. They're coming here- Hazel and Tim and Holly- and you don't have to do a thing but sit down and eat. Toby and I have even set the table. I'll show you when you're finished.'
Gemma's throat tightened. 'Kit, I don't know what to say. You are so thoughtful, and so grown-up. I don't know how I ever got along without you.'
The boy flushed with pride, then urged her to finish her breakfast with proprietary zeal. 'Are you ready, then?' he asked, with barely contained excitement. 'You can bring your tea.'
As they reached the dining room, a look passed between Kit and Kincaid, who said casually as he swung open the doors, 'Oh, by the way, Father Christmas has been here as well.'
She had a brief impression of the table, splendidly set with assorted dishes and glassware, a shining Christmas cracker at each place.
Then the piano filled her vision. A baby grand, its polished ebony surface reflecting every sparkle and gleam from the room. They'd moved the dining table to one side to accommodate the instrument, which had been placed facing the garden doors. 'So that you can look outside when you play,' Kit explained gravely.
'But what- How did you- and on Christmas-'
'Kit was my partner in crime,' Kincaid explained, grinning. 'And the piano company was delighted to cooperate in the surprise. Do you like it?'
'Like it? I-' Mesmerized, Gemma sank onto the padded bench. With one finger, she touched middle C, and the single pure tone resonated through the room.
She put her hands over her face and wept.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Though most people still gave counties in England as their birthplace, the inhabitants of the road were becoming more diverse as people who had been born overseas came to live in the area. A sample from the same census shows one person originated from Russia, one from Poland, eight from Ireland, one from Belgium…
– Whetlor and Bartlett,
from
