brothers dealt in heroin, it made it more likely that they would have access to the Valium and ketamine that had been used to drug Naz.
But why would they have killed Naz? And how could they have got the drugs into him if he refused to have any contact with them?
She did her best to put the questions aside while spending an hour with her mother at the hospital. But when she could see Vi beginning to tire, she kissed her good-bye and drove to Islington.
When she pulled up, she found Tim sitting on the front steps of the house, drinking a mug of tea and watching Holly play in the front garden of the house next door. The treetops in the communal garden had begun to filter the late-afternoon sun, and Gemma sat down beside Tim gratefully, watching the slightest ripple of breeze through the foliage.
“Too hot to stay in the house,” Tim said. “Too hot to drink tea, really,” he added, inspecting his mug. It had been one of Hazel’s favorites, Gemma remembered, with a pattern of leaves and cherries on a cream background and lettering that spelled out TIME FOR TEA. It looked awkwardly feminine in Tim’s hand. “But it’s that time of day, and too early for beer,” he continued. “Would you like some?”
“Beer, or tea?” Gemma asked, teasing. She thought he looked exhausted. “No, thanks, really. I’ve just had a liter or two of industrial-strength brew at the hospital.”
“How’s your mum?”
“Better. They’re sending her home tomorrow. She’s rather proud of her chemo port-calling herself a bionic woman and showing it off to all and sundry.” She didn’t say that Vi had looked frighteningly frail. Settling more comfortably on the step, she watched the children. Holly’s playmate was a dark-skinned little boy, perhaps a year or two younger, and Holly was giving him intricate instructions that Gemma couldn’t quite hear. “She’s quite the little martinet, isn’t she?”
“Dictator in the making,” Tim agreed with a chuckle, then sobered. “She does have a soft spot beneath all the bossiness, though. Hearing that Charlotte’s dad died upset her, and she’s taking being separated from Hazel very hard.”
Gemma hated to let go of the few minutes of peaceful reprieve, but now that Tim had brought it up, there was no putting it off. “Tim. About Naz. We’ve had the toxicology report. They found very high levels of Valium and a veterinary tranquilizer called ketamine. He-”
“But that’s not possible.” Tim smacked the mug down with a scrape of porcelain against concrete that made Gemma wince. “I’ve told you-Naz wouldn’t touch-”
“They’re not saying he did.” Gemma touched Tim’s knee in reassurance. “The pathologist thinks someone else dosed him.”
“But how-”
“We don’t know. Tim, did Naz ever talk about Sandra’s brothers being involved with drugs?”
“Sandra’s brothers? Could they have done this?” At the sound of her father’s raised voice, Holly looked over from next door, her small face creased in a frown.
“Daddy?” she called, dropping the plastic spade she’d been using as a stick horse and coming towards them.
“It’s all right, love.” Tim took a deep breath and waved her away. “You play with Sami while I talk to Auntie Gemma for a bit longer.”
Holly went back to her playmate obediently, but cast worried glances their way. With the muting of the children’s voices, Gemma noticed how quiet it was in the street. A car swished by in the next road; somewhere a small dog yipped, but even those sounds seemed faded. No birds sang. The evening itself seemed drugged with heat haze, and it was hard to imagine the things that had happened to Naz Malik on an equally tranquil Saturday night.
“Do you think Naz would have gone somewhere with them?” she asked Tim.
“No. Not unless-not unless it had to do with Sandra. But they were cleared of having anything to do with Sandra’s disappearance.”
“So they were,” Gemma mused. “But that doesn’t necessarily mean they didn’t know anything about it. Tim, are you sure that Naz didn’t tell you anything else? I know he was your friend, and I know you don’t want anyone to think badly of him, or of Sandra, but-”
“No.” Tim’s whisper had the force of a shout. “I’ve been racking my brain. We just talked about, I don’t know, ordinary things. Our childhoods. University. Kids. Naz said”-Tim looked away-“Naz said he didn’t know what he would do if he were separated from Charlotte.”
Suddenly, Gemma saw what Hazel had seen so clearly. Tim had needed a confidant as badly as Naz. Someone to sympathize, someone who understood what it was like to have the foundations of your life snatched away.
She asked, knowing she had no right, “Tim, did you tell Naz about Hazel?”
“Of course not,” he said, too quickly. “Well, just that we were separated, obviously, but nothing more.” He picked up his cup again, staring at the dregs of tea as he swirled them, then looked up at her. “Gemma, I’m worried about Hazel. I’ve been ringing since she left here yesterday. She won’t pick up and she won’t return my calls. She only has a mobile, so she should have it with her.” He wrapped his arms round his knees, dangling the mug by its handle. It made him look like a gangly, overgrown boy. “I know if I showed up at her place, she’d be furious-she hasn’t even invited me inside when I’ve dropped Holly off.”
A cooling feather of air touched Gemma’s cheek. The wind was shifting, a milky scum of cloud creeping over the sun. She glanced at her watch-it had gone six, and she was suddenly anxious to be home, although she had spoken to Kit and Toby on her way to Islington. She felt an irrational need to have everyone she loved corralled, like errant ducklings, and she wanted to talk to Duncan. He hadn’t rung her since they’d parted at Alia’s.
“I wouldn’t worry,” she told Tim. “But I’ll ring her, and I’ll tell her to ring you.” Although their friendship had never been physically demonstrative, she leaned over and kissed Tim’s bearded cheek, then stood. “Or else.”
She’d meant to wait to ring Hazel until she reached the house, but the image of Hazel as she’d been on Sunday, gaunt, unwashed, brittle with rage, unnerved her and she couldn’t focus on her driving. Pulling off the Caledonian Road, she stopped the car in a quiet street near the canal.
Although she’d told Tim not to worry, she hadn’t reassured herself. Why hadn’t she called to make sure Hazel was all right? What sort of friend was she?
The thought of Sandra Gilles and Naz Malik leapt unbidden into her mind-the specter of meetings not kept and phones not answered, of things gone terribly wrong.
Switching off the Escort’s engine, she took her phone from her bag and punched in Hazel’s number. A gull cried out over the canal, and as the signal connected, she felt the rumble of trains from nearby Kings Cross, a bone-deep counterpoint to the shrill and persistent ringing of Hazel’s phone.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
– Dennis Severs,
It was an anomaly among the terraced Georgian houses-a high wall, covered with creeping vines and flowers, secured by a heavy wooden gate. Beyond the terrace, the spire of Christ Church seemed to brood over the street, as if reminding its mortal inhabitants not to take life too lightly. A man in skullcap and
Weller pushed the ornate brass bell set into the wall, and from within the compound they heard an answering chime. “Welcome to the seraglio,” Kincaid murmured.
“Closer than you might think,” Weller replied.
The gate opened a crack and a young Asian woman peered out. She took in their suits with a frightened
