just checked the address. It’s one street from John Truman. And a ten-minute walk from Columbia Road market.”
Gemma saw it all, so clearly now. “What if, when Sandra left Charlotte with Roy that day at the market, she meant to pay a quick call on Alexander? She’d have assumed she’d be back in time to pick Charlotte up and meet Naz for lunch.”
If this were true, she’d been right about Sandra having walked someplace not far from Columbia Road, but she’d focused on the wrong direction, south and east, towards Bethnal Green and Sandra’s family, not north and west, towards Hoxton.
“She meant to be back for an ordinary Sunday lunch with her husband and daughter. Whatever she suspected, she couldn’t have had any idea how dangerous he really was.” Clamping down on the wave of fury that poured through her, Gemma looked at Kincaid and managed to say levelly, “Can we bring him in now?”
Kincaid frowned. “I think we’ll have a patrol car pick up Alexander, on suspicion of Naz Malik’s murder.”
“But we don’t have a direct connection between Alexander and Malik,” protested Doug.
“Sandra is the connection. And there will be others-we just have to find them.”
“Then why don’t we get a team going door-to-door in his road?” Doug argued. “Maybe someone will have seen Naz, or Sandra, going into his house. That way we could serve a warrant, and pick him up at the same time. That would shake him up.”
Kincaid shook his head. “If we start knocking on doors, even in plainclothes, I guarantee you Alexander is going to get wind of it. And if he does, he’s going to get rid of all the evidence he can.”
He stabbed a finger at them for emphasis. “I want more than evidence tying this bastard to Naz Malik’s and Sandra Gilles’s murders. I want him for human trafficking, too, and that means I want his computer, his photos, any little girls’ clothing-all the things he’s likely to have in that house that he could easily wipe or toss.”
Thinking it through, Gemma said, “But if he is connected with Truman, we may have already blown it. Truman may have told him we were asking questions about Naz and Sandra, and the girls.”
Kincaid rubbed a hand over his jaw and paced a few restless steps. “Maybe. But there’s always the possibility that Truman might turn out to be useful. We’ll bring him in, too-threaten to charge him as an accessory to human trafficking. If he really is involved, he’s the sort who might be willing to roll over on Alexander to save his own skin. It’s worth a try, and I want Alexander a lot more than I want Truman, the little tosser.”
He glanced at his watch. “Doug, let’s get a car on its way to Hoxton. And then get a team out. Let’s see if we can find any neighbors at home who might have seen Naz or Sandra.
“Once we get Alexander out of the way, we’ll have another team start going through his rubbish. We can do that without a warrant. It’s Saturday-hopefully he’ll have left something interesting in the outside bins for next week’s collection.”
He went to Gemma and looked down at her, putting a hand on her shoulder. “I’m sorry, love,” he said softly. “It’s not quite what I had in mind for our wedding night. I’ll ring you-”
“The hell you will.” She gave his hand a squeeze and stood up. “Betty, Wesley, could one of you stay and look after the kids?” Turning back to Duncan, she added, “We’ll spend our wedding night together one way or the other. I’m going with you.”
Gemma stood in the corridor outside the interview room at Scotland Yard. Kincaid had gone to deal with the arrival of Alexander’s solicitor, leaving her to stare through the window in the interview room door. She’d recognized Alexander instantly from that brief meeting in the hospital ward.
He looked as sleek and self-satisfied now as he had then, and more annoyed than concerned. And yet this man, she felt quite certain, had callously, remorselessly, snuffed out two lives, and put a child’s future at risk. Charlotte’s future.
How many other lives had he ruined? Children taken from their homes and families, raped, kept prisoner, and then…what? Abandoned like rubbish, castoffs for those who were willing to settle for soiled goods? Or put out on the street, where their only choice would be to earn a living as prostitutes?
When the uniformed officers arrived, Alexander had been hosting a dinner party for three other men, and the sergeant in charge thought he’d caught a glimpse of an Asian girl in the kitchen. He hadn’t been able to go in, but he’d not allowed Alexander to talk to his guests alone before he’d ushered him out of the house and into the panda car.
Alexander had been delivered to the Yard, icily furious and demanding his solicitor.
But Kincaid’s plan to play Truman against Alexander had failed. The team sent to Truman’s house found it dark and shuttered, and although Kincaid had ordered a car to keep an eye on the house in case he returned, Gemma was afraid yesterday’s visit had frightened the vet into doing a runner.
If only they’d realized, yesterday, who the real perpetrator must have been. Now, without Truman’s corroboration, they might have to let Alexander go before they could convince a magistrate to give them a warrant to search his house and car.
Their best hope was the team led by Cullen, knocking on doors in Alexander’s quietly respectable Hoxton Street. Melody had insisted-Gemma thought somewhat to Cullen’s chagrin-on going along.
But it was late, getting on for midnight, and Gemma suspected they’d be more likely to get complaints from the neighbors than cooperation.
She rubbed her ring against the lapel of her jacket to polish it. The band was the only tangible reminder that the afternoon had not been a dream. She’d taken the time to change from her lovely dress into jacket and trousers. She didn’t intend to face Alexander in her wedding finery, and face him she meant to do, no matter how long it took.
But would she have another chance to speak to him without a solicitor present? She looked up and down the corridor. There was no sign of Kincaid returning. Taking a breath, she opened the door and went in.
Miles Alexander sat at the table in his bespoke suit, studying his nails. He looked up at the sound of the door, then raised an eyebrow in an expression of mild interest.
“Haven’t I seen you before?” he asked.
“I met you in hospital,” said Gemma. “My mother had a shunt put in her arm. You were her anesthetist.”
“A ginger-haired woman.” He smiled, as if pleased by his recollection. “Leukemia. Not a good prognosis, I’m afraid.”
The remark was deliberately, casually cruel.
Refusing to let him see that the taunt had hit its mark, Gemma smiled back. “Do you always have such a good bedside manner, Mr. Alexander? Or did you choose your speciality because the patients couldn’t talk back?”
“Oh, aren’t you the wit. I’m sorry, but I’m afraid I don’t remember your name.” Alexander seemed unperturbed. “Nor do I have to speak to you, although you do seem to be conscious.”
“I can’t question you, no. But I can
“Then I’d say you have a rather elevated self-image, and a very active imagination.” Alexander smiled again, but she had seen the glint in his eyes, like the flash of a snake moving in the grass.
It was only then that she realized she’d been harboring the tiniest shred of hope that Sandra Gilles was still alive. She turned and left the room.
A few moments later, she was leaning against the corridor wall, her eyes closed, when she heard footsteps. She opened her eyes and saw Kincaid, alone.
“Where’s Alexander’s lawyer?” asked Gemma.
“Rethinking his strategy, I suspect. He said he needed to make a phone call.”
“Why? What’s happened?”
“Good news for us,” Kincaid answered, but his expression was grim. “Doug and Melody came up trumps. Mr. Alexander’s next-door neighbor came home after an evening out. She’s a single mum, apparently, and was only too happy to talk about the odd goings-on next door.
“She didn’t recall seeing Naz or Sandra. But”-he forestalled her disappointment-“she did tell them that she’d been worried about the young girl she’d seen in the house, sometimes looking out a window, a few times peeking through the open door when Alexander was coming or going.
“Once she stopped Alexander and asked if his little girl might like to play with her own daughter. He told her
