he wouldn't speak to her for weeks.
'Oh, he was cruel to her in those days. It was only later I understood it was because he loved her and he didn't dare admit it to himself, much less anyone else. Angel was only seventeen, and Ron was twenty- a great gap at that age. And she was white.'
Intrigued by the story, Gemma asked, 'How did they end up married, then?'
'Ah, that was a good few years later, after Angel had left us… or I should say, we let her go. She met a man- a boy, really, but to us at that age he seemed terribly sophisticated. What was his name? Hans… Kurt? Something like that. We only met him the once, but Ronnie despised him-'
'Karl? Was it Karl?' said Wesley, beating Gemma to it.
'You know, I think it was. But she would never talk about him, even after. That's not the man you were telling me was killed, Wesley?'
'We don't know,' Gemma told her. 'Please go on, Mrs. Howard.'
'Well, as I said, she disappeared with this Karl, and we thought we would never see her again. Then one day five or six years later, she turns up at our door. She was in a bad way, so sick. I'd never seen anybody that sick. She'd left him, and she had nothing, nowhere to go, no one to help her.'
'What was wrong with her?'
Mrs. Howard looked away as if she was ashamed. 'It was the drug. He got her started on it.'
'Heroin?' Wesley sounded as if the idea of anyone his parents' age using heroin astonished him.
'She was so desperate. We took her in- or Ronnie did. I was married to my Colin by then, but we were living here with my parents while we saved up for a flat. But Ronnie had a little place of his own, so he took her there.' Mrs. Howard sat quietly for a moment, her eyes wet with tears. 'I had never seen my brother like that. He was so strong with her, but gentle, even when she fought him. The first few days were terrible. We thought she might die, but she begged us not to call anyone.
'Ronnie never lost patience with her. I think at first he helped her because he felt responsible for what had happened to her, but as she got better he realized how much he loved her. They were married within six months, and little Eliza was born the next year. I think that they were truly happy… but sometimes I would see Angel watching Ronnie and the baby with the strangest look, as if she was afraid someone might snatch them away.'
'And then Ronnie was killed,' Gemma said softly.
'It was December of that year, a miserable night with a cold, blowing rain. He'd worked a wedding, over in Notting Dale, and was on his way home.' Mrs. Howard stopped, folding her hands in her lap.
'It was a hit-and-run,' supplied Wesley, who Gemma was sure knew the story by heart. 'He was wearing a dark overcoat, and the police said the driver must not have seen him. They never found the driver.'
'No. And Angel left us,' continued his mother, 'and took that poor baby with her. She said- Oh, it's all mixed up in my mind now, it's been so long- but there was something about friends who had died in prison- their name was Byatt, I do remember that, oddly enough, because we'd had a friend at school called Byatt- and Angel feeling it was her fault, that she had let it happen when she might have prevented it. They'd had a son, and she felt responsible for him. Then she said that she was terrified for us, that no one was safe around her, and that we must never try to find her.'
CHAPTER NINETEEN
In North Kensington in the nineteenth century, it was left to the Church and charities to help those who fell on hard times and needed more assistance than family or neighbors could provide. As the population grew, a number of religious and philanthropic bodies became established around Portobello Road. Their aim was to help those who were sick, old or suffering the effects of poverty.
– Whetlor and Bartlett,
from
Now we have a connection between the victims,' Kincaid said.
'Karl Arrowood,' agreed Gemma. 'I don't think there can be any doubt. But that still doesn't tell us why three murders were committed, or by whom.'
'If Karl were still alive, we could assume he was after any woman who'd ever crossed him, and put a guard on his ex-wife.'
'And what about Ronnie Thomas?' asked Gemma, ignoring the quip. She looked down at the album she held in her hands, pressed on her by Wesley as they left the flat. Ronnie's nephew had carefully mounted and preserved all his photographs. 'Did Marianne think that Karl had him killed? Was that why she was so afraid?'
Kincaid watched as a motorcyclist roared by them, his face rendered blank and anonymous by his helmet. 'You know how hard those sort of cases are to solve. They would naturally assume it was manslaughter rather than homicide, given no other evidence. Gemma, are you all right?'
The cramp had caught her by surprise, but she kept her voice even as she replied, 'Fine. I just need to get off my feet for a few minutes. And I've got to get back to the station, anyway. I've a meeting with the super, though I've no idea what I should tell him at this point.'
'Let me go back to the Yard and see what I can find out about the couple who went to prison. We've got a name, we can assume that the offense was drug-related, and we have an approximate date- sixty-nine or thereabouts. I'll put Cullen on it. His research skills almost make up for his lack of bedside manner.'
'Ring me?' she asked, suddenly loath to see him go.
'Of course.' He kissed her briefly, a touch of warm lips against her cold cheek, then they went their separate ways.
When Wesley's sisters came in with their children, he made an excuse to leave the flat. While his mum seemed to find the bedlam comforting, he felt an urgent need to sort out his thoughts.
He walked quickly down to Portobello Road, then his feet turned him automatically to the left, towards Elgin Crescent and the cafe.
They were all there: Alex, looking subdued, with new hollows under his cheekbones; Fern, hair sparkling with glitter, green eyes inscrutable; Marc, who sat back, observing, as he usually did; Bryony, animated for Marc's benefit; and even Otto, who appeared to have joined them over the remains of their sandwiches and a pot of coffee.
'Wesley!' called out Otto. 'You see, you cannot stay away, even when you have the day off. Is this a good thing?'
'Sit down, Wes,' urged Bryony. 'You look as if you've seen a ghost.'
They were all gazing at him expectantly.
'It's the oddest thing,' he said reluctantly, then proceeded to tell them about his aunt and uncle, and how he had learned of their unexpected connection with Karl Arrowood.
Kit and Toby had just come back from taking the dogs for a walk down the street. The sun had come out, briefly, and Kit had taken advantage of the warmest part of the day. Once the sun passed its zenith, the afternoon would cool quickly.
The boys had developed a routine for their days together, and Kit had just begun to realize how much he would miss it when his school term started the following week.
After Duncan and Gemma left for work, he made Toby eggs for breakfast, then they took the dogs for a run in the big garden. Before lunch they played indoor games, then after their cheese-and-pickle sandwiches (Toby's
