And Justice There Is None

way. Sometimes we get so attached to one idea that we can't see another under our nose.'

'Superintendent Kincaid's following up something different, sir. Some information pertaining to the first victim, Marianne Hoffman.'

'And you're still convinced these cases are related?'

'I don't discount coincidence, of course. But in this instance, my gut feeling is that there must be a link, if only we could see it.'

Lamb nodded. 'Perhaps. Any more problems with Sergeant Franks, by the way?'

'Not at the moment.' Although she'd had her reasons for asking Franks to lead this morning's interview with Gavin Farley, Franks seemed to have taken it as a personal commendation and had been almost solicitous to her for the remainder of the day. She knew she walked a fine line between gaining his cooperation and compromising her authority, but for the moment it was working.

'And your liaison with Scotland Yard?'

'Fine, sir,' Gemma answered, feeling awkward. She was certain that Lamb was aware of her personal relationship with Kincaid, but he'd never said anything directly.

Lamb smiled, confirming her suspicions. 'I hear congratulations of a sort are in order.' She must have gaped at him, because he added, 'On your move. Duncan and I are old friends. I wish you luck in putting up with him on a regular basis.'

Swallowing, Gemma grabbed at her opportunity. 'There is one other thing, sir. It's just that I'm pregnant. The baby's due in May, but I won't be taking more than minimum leave. And it will in no way-'

'Congratulations! That's wonderful news.' Lamb looked genuinely delighted. 'Although I hate to lose you for even a short while, you take as much time as you need, Gemma. Will I be getting an invitation?'

'An invitation?'

'To the wedding, of course.'

Gemma felt the blood drain from her face, then rush back in like petrol set alight. This was the one response she hadn't expected, and she was utterly unprepared.

'Oh, I'm far too stubborn to make a good candidate for marriage,' she heard herself saying lightly. And besides, she thought, he hasn't asked me.

***

When Gemma sat down in her office to change into her boots, she found that her hands were shaking. So much worry expended, so much dread over confessing her condition, and it had turned out to be no problem at all. Of course it remained to be seen how things at work would develop in the long term, but she had passed the first hurdle.

She felt suddenly exhilarated, and was glad that when Kincaid had rung asking if he should pick her up, she'd said she'd walk home. It wasn't far, and the cold air might clear her head of the giddy rush brought on by relief.

It was dark when she came out of the station, the remaining snow gleaming pale gold in the glow of the sodium lamps. In spots the slush was glazing over; she had better tread carefully.

She'd buttoned the top of her coat and started towards Ladbroke Grove when a voice called softly from the shadows. 'Inspector.'

Surprised, Gemma turned. A small figure wearing a peacoat stepped forward, and in the light she saw that it was Fern Adams. Fern wore a striped Peruvian cap over her spiky hair, and her face was unadorned by jewelry except for the sparkle of a tiny stud in her left nostril.

'Can I speak to you for a minute, Inspector? It's just that I thought…'

Glancing back at the station, Gemma immediately rejected it as intimidating, but it was too cold to stand about chatting on the pavement. She gestured towards the Ladbroke Arms across the street. 'Let's go in the pub, shall we?'

The pub was busy, the noise level reflecting holiday hysteria, but they managed to find a table in the back. When Gemma offered to buy Fern a drink, the girl seconded her request for orange juice.

When Gemma came back from the bar, Fern said, 'I don't drink much,' as if she felt an apology were needed. 'Personal reasons.'

'Nor me,' Gemma said, 'at the moment. Did you want to see me about something in particular?'

'It's Alex. I heard about last night… about Karl Arrowood… and I- There's something I thought you should know. Alex told me about finding the body, and about watching the house beforehand. He told me about taking my knife. And he said that you knew all about it. But there's something he didn't tell you.' Fern glanced up, and before her eyes flicked away Gemma saw that they were green. 'He didn't go home last night after he found Karl, like he said. He came straight to my flat, a little after nine. He had a tiny bit of blood on his finger, where he'd reached out to touch the body, and he scrubbed and scrubbed at it in my sink.'

'Why are you telling me this?'

'Because there was nothing else. Nothing! Because I know that Alex didn't kill Karl. He was so upset- he said he'd never seen anyone he knew dead before… and he said it made him think of Dawn.'

'What time did he leave your flat?'

'After midnight. I made him tea- that's all I had- and eventually he calmed down.'

Fern was leaving something out. 'Then why didn't he tell us he came to you?'

'I don't know. That's why I wanted to talk to you. I think he has some crazy idea of protecting my honor or something. Today he kept muttering about not wanting me to be involved. Unless…' Fern straightened the stack of coasters, then pushed them away. 'Unless he didn't want to admit he'd been with me because it would seem like he'd been disloyal to her memory.'

'Dawn?'

'It was hard enough to measure up to her when she was alive- but now she can never be less than perfect, can she?' Fern asked her bitterly. 'There's no way I can compete with a ghost.'

***

'Okay.' Kit shuffled a stack of small, oblong cards. 'Are you ready for another one? What plant did the monk Gregor Mendel use for his experiments in genetics?'

'That's not fair,' said Gemma from the sink, where she and Kincaid were doing the washing-up from dinner. 'You haven't given us any choices for the answer.'

'That makes it too easy,' protested Kit. 'Just guess.'

Kincaid dried a saucepan with a flourish. 'I don't have to guess. I know the answer. Sweet peas.'

'Oh, majorly unfair,' howled Kit. 'I'm going to find a harder question.'

'What? You want us to guess but you don't want us to get it right?' teased Kincaid. 'Why don't you take Toby upstairs for his bath while we finish up in the kitchen? That way we'll have more story time.'

Toby was under the table, playing with a new tugboat and singing to himself, utterly oblivious to the history of biology going on over his head.

Gemma and Kincaid were taking turns reading to Toby before bed, a practice Gemma had acquired from Kincaid in the time they had known him. It was something her family had not done, so that she enjoyed old books as much as new, and often found herself wishing she'd had the comfort of such a bedtime ritual as a child. She found it touching that since they'd moved into the house, Kit, who of course was allowed to stay up a good deal later, seemed to find some reason to come upstairs just in time to curl up on his bed for the night's offering.

As the boys trooped upstairs after the expected grumbling, Gemma thought about the success of Kit's Christmas gifts. The science questions were an obvious hit; the lead soldiers were proudly arrayed on his desktop, where he could continually rearrange their formations; and although he hadn't said anything directly about the photo of his mother, Gemma noticed that he'd put it on his nightstand.

'I haven't had a chance to tell you what happened today,' she told Kincaid as she hung up the dishcloth. 'I came out to Superintendent Lamb.'

He gave her a quizzical look. 'Came out?'