'I remember I was surprised at first,' Franks said, coloring slightly, 'to find she was white, I mean. In those days it wasn't so common. But she was so distraught I couldn't get a word of sense out of her, had to talk to the sister instead. She- Marianne Thomas- kept saying it was her fault, that she should never have come back, that she should have known
'He?'
'That's what I asked her. But then she stopped crying and went silent as death. After that she just rocked her baby and shook her head, over and over.'
'And you didn't follow up?'
'Nothing to follow up,' Franks said defensively. 'She wasn't the one hurt, after all, and we had nothing else to go on, without her giving us a name, or some reason why someone would have wanted to hurt her husband.'
'You said you talked to the sister- you mean Ron Thomas's sister? Do you remember her name?'
'I've printed you a copy of the file.' Franks gestured to the manila folder on her desk. 'It was Betty Howard, and the address was in Westbourne Park Road, here in Notting Hill.'
Gemma met Kincaid in front of the rather shabby terrace in Westbourne Park Road, just a few yards from the veterinary surgery on All Saint's Road. She had told him about Ronald Thomas's death, and about finding Karl's will.
'So if Dawn told Alex about the will, he had the perfect motive for killing Karl,' Kincaid mused. 'And for killing Dawn, for that matter, because she knew that he knew. Perhaps the paper knife was a blind,' he added, warming to his theme, 'and he intended all along to use a scalpel. Alex is Bryony's friend- he could easily have taken a scalpel from the surgery-'
'But we know he can't have murdered Dawn,' Gemma protested. 'Because of Otto's and Mr. Canfield's evidence. And I'd swear he didn't know about the will. Not to mention the fact that Alex has no connection with Marianne Hoffman.' She looked up at the terraced house before them, its once ornate plasterwork now worn and chipped at the edges. 'It's flat C we want.'
In contrast to the building's deteriorating plaster and stained stucco, the green paint on the front door was fresh, and as they entered the foyer they were met by the aroma of exotic spices. It became clear as they climbed that the scents emanated from the top floor, and Gemma's mouth watered involuntarily.
The occupant of flat C was middle-aged and pleasantly stocky, with abundant graying hair tied up in a bright Caribbean scarf.
'Mrs. Howard?' asked Kincaid. When she nodded in the affirmative, he introduced himself and Gemma, explaining that they wanted to talk to her about her brother.
'Ronnie? After all this time?' She shook her head in consternation, but guided them into her sitting room, gesturing at them to sit as she sank into a large armchair. 'You'll have to excuse me if I don't leave my kitchen for long. I'm cooking a stew- two of my daughters are here visiting.'
As they sat down, footsteps came from the rear of the flat. 'That should be my son,' said Mrs. Howard. 'He can look after-'
Wesley came into the room and stopped dead, staring in astonishment at Gemma.
'Wesley,' said his mother, 'these people are from the police. Can you see to the lunch while I talk to them? Your sisters will be back from the shops soon.'
'Mama, this is the lady I told you about, the one-'
'You made my angels!' exclaimed Gemma. 'It was so kind of you, Mrs. Howard. They're lovely.' At first she had registered merely a jumble of color and shapes in the flat- now she saw that there was a sewing machine and many scraps and bolts of colorful fabrics.
'You didn't know this was my mother?' asked Wesley, looking utterly baffled. 'You didn't come to see me?'
'No, it's something else entirely,' said Gemma. 'We wanted to talk to your mother about your uncle, Ronald Thomas.'
'The stew can wait, Mama.' Wesley moved a bolt of red beaded satin from a chair and sat down. 'I want to hear this, too.'
'Didn't you tell me you had an uncle that was a photographer?' asked Gemma. 'Was it by any chance this uncle?'
'Yeah. He was brilliant, my uncle Ronnie. But what you want to know about him for?'
'It's his wife, actually,' Kincaid explained. 'We thought your mother might be able to tell us something about her background.'
'Angel?' whispered Mrs. Howard. When they looked at her in surprise, she said, 'That's what we called her. It was me started it, when we were kids, and I've wondered since if I cursed her somehow. I never knew anyone whose life was less blessed.'
Gemma glanced at Kincaid, who gave her a barely perceptible nod of encouragement. 'Mrs. Howard, were you aware that your sister-in-law is dead?'
'Oh, no.' Mrs. Howard clutched a hand to her breast. 'Not Angel, too?'
'How did it happen?' asked Wesley. 'Was she ill?'
'She was murdered, two months before Dawn Arrowood,' Gemma replied gently. 'And in the same way. Since Dawn's death, we've been trying to find a connection between the two victims.'
Mrs. Howard stood abruptly. 'You'll excuse me. I have to see to my stew.' She disappeared into the kitchen, and after a moment they heard her sobbing.
Frowning, Wesley told them, 'You have to understand. They were, like, best friends. Sisters, almost. She's said for years that one day Angel would come back.'
'I'm sorry to be the one to tell her about her friend's death. I suppose if they had lost contact, there's no way your mother could have known.'
'I'd better see to her.'
As Wesley joined his mother, Gemma took the opportunity to look round the room, curious as to its use. On closer inspection, she saw that there were rolls of wire framing interspersed among the bolts of fabric.
'She'll be all right,' Wesley said softly as he returned from the kitchen. 'It's just the shock. She's making us some coffee.' Apparently having noticed Gemma's interest in his mother's materials, he added, 'My mother makes costumes for Carnival, did I tell you that? She started back in the seventies when Carnival was a steel band going round the streets with a few kiddies following behind. Now it's big business- she works on the costumes all year.'
Mrs. Howard returned with a tray holding mugs of milky coffee, her eyes red but dry. 'I just can't believe it,' she said as she handed round their drinks. 'I thought I would have felt it if something happened to her- especially something so terrible.'
'Wesley said you were best friends,' prompted Gemma.
'Next-door neighbors. We moved into this building in 1959, straight off the boat from Trinidad. It was mostly Polish around here then and we weren't welcomed, except by Angel. Her parents were furious with her, but after a while they got used to us, and so did everyone else. She made a difference- There were other black families, immigrants like us, who had bottles thrown at their doors, and worse. But Angel told off the crowd that very first day, and after that we never had any serious trouble.
'Then when school began that autumn, we were in the same class, and after that we were like twins…'
'Why did you say she was cursed?' asked Kincaid.
Mrs. Howard shook her head. 'So much death, no one should have to bear, both her parents gone by the time she was seventeen. She nursed her mother through a terrible cancer, right to the end. After Mrs. Wolowski passed, I remember Angel asking my mother if she could live with us. But my mother said no, Angel had to look after her father.
'When her father died a year later, Mama tried to take her in, but Angel refused. She was so stubborn, and her pride had been hurt. And there was Ronnie, criticizing her one minute and paying her no attention the next. I can't say I blame her for turning down my mother's offer, but she had no one else, and not a penny to her name. She took a job in a grocer's and moved into a flea-bitten bedsit. Ronnie was so furious when he saw the place that
