“Oh, Betty, surely they won’t place her with the family. At least not yet.” She knew she was trying to reassure herself.
“Listen, Gemma…” Betty sounded hesitant. “I’ve been worryin’ a good deal. Even sayin’ the judge decides against the family, they may not place her with me. She’s mixed race, and they may feel she’d be better off with a white family. And…truth be told, I’m not gettin’ any younger, and I’m not sure I can give the child the best care in the long term.”
Gemma felt as if she’d been kicked. “Are you saying you don’t want her?”
“No, no, I’m not meanin’ that at all,” Betty said. “I’m just worried. I’d have to think hard about raisin’ up another child-about what’s best for her. She’s special, this girl. She deserves more than I can give her.”
“But, Betty, no one could do more-”
“Just you ring me soon as you hear somethin’,” Betty interrupted, and disconnected.
Gemma stared at the phone, her head reeling. She’d thought that if she could protect Charlotte from her family, the child would be assured of care and a safe future.
But if Betty didn’t take Charlotte…
It wasn’t that Gemma didn’t understand Betty’s concerns. Betty had raised five children of her own, and the responsibility of another child at her age would be daunting.
Still, Gemma shook her head in dismay. She couldn’t bear the thought of Charlotte vanishing into the care system.
When her phone rang again, and she saw from the caller ID that it was Kincaid, she answered a little shakily.
“You all right, love?” he asked.
“I’m fine,” she said, knowing she couldn’t begin to explain, not until she’d had a chance to think it through. “Have they found-”
“I’ve not heard anything yet. But I have a nice surprise for you. I’ve had a call from Narcotics. Meet me at Gail Gilles’s flat in Bethnal Green. Soon as you can.”
Melody had insisted on going with her. “I’m on pins and needles about Alexander,” she’d said. “So I’m not accomplishing anything. And if it’s something about Charlotte, I want to know, too.”
As they drove, Gemma told her about her conversation with Betty.
“Her reservations are understandable,” Melody said. “And she may be right about the placement issues. But you can’t do anything until you know what position the court is going to take, and what’s going on with Gail Gilles. You’re sure Duncan didn’t sound upset?”
“No. I’d almost swear he was laughing.”
But when they rounded the corner into Gail Gilles’s council estate and Gemma saw the police cars, lights flashing, her heart lurched. “What the hell-” she said, climbing out of the car.
Then she spotted Kincaid coming towards them. “What’s going on?” she asked as they met. “Is someone hurt?”
“Well, yes,” he said, his mouth twitching. “Terry Gilles is in hospital. It seems that Kevin and Terry got in a little scuffle with a gang of Bangladeshi kids. Kevin and Terry were moving in on a Bangladeshi estate, trying to sell their wares, and the kids didn’t appreciate it.
“Terry got knifed, and he thought he was dying. A flesh wound in the side, but he bled like a stuck pig. Apparently he was also a little off his head, and felt a great need to confess. He gave the PC who rode in the ambulance with him the full monty, and Kevin didn’t have time to do damage control.” Kincaid broke into a grin. “I don’t think you’ll have to worry about Gail Gilles, or Sandra’s sister or brothers, getting custody of Charlotte any time in the foreseeable future.”
As Gemma watched, two uniformed officers came down the stairs, escorting Gail Gilles, who sported handcuffs along with her pink dressing gown and leopard-print slippers.
Gail, however, was too busy ranting at the officers to notice her observers.
“She knew about the drugs,” said Gemma, although she hadn’t much doubt as to the answer.
“She not only knew, she was holding for the boys. Not just a hefty stash of heroin, but cash. They found twenty thousand pounds, just where Terry said it would be, in a Manolo Blahnik shoe box.
“And according to Terry,” Kincaid went on as Gail was helped, none too gently, into the back of a panda car, “the sister, Donna, was involved in a smaller way. They’re still searching her flat.”
Gemma shook her head, bemused. “If I were Terry, I’d be hoping they wouldn’t put me in a cell with Kevin.”
“Whatever happens to either one of them, it serves them bloody right.” Kincaid’s voice had gone cold, and Gemma knew he was thinking about her encounter with the brothers.
He turned to her and gave her arm a squeeze. “And now you won’t have to worry about Charlotte.”
Before she could answer, his phone rang. He excused himself to take the call, and when he came back all the levity had gone from his face. “They want us in Hoxton,” he said.
The lower floors of the house had been cleared by the scene of crime team, so that Gemma, Melody, and Kincaid were now able to walk downstairs and through the kitchen without wearing sterile gear. Kincaid had told Gemma that Cullen had gone to speak to Lucas Ritchie, but was now on his way to the house as well.
Rashid Kaleem was waiting for them in the garden-a garden that looked quite different from the serene space Gemma had seen the previous morning.
The stone pavers had been levered up all around the fountain and stacked to the sides. The gravel that had lain beneath the stones had been carefully scooped into buckets and tubs.
The forensic excavation team responsible for the current state of chaos had set up lights and worked through the night.
“When they reached what looked like garden lime, they called me,” the pathologist explained. He squatted by the pit, wearing the jeans and black T-shirt that Gemma thought of as his uniform. But his face and arms were streaked with dust, and his urbane charm seemed to have deserted him, although he gave Gemma a quick smile.
“The lads and the photographer have gone for a bit of a break,” Kaleem continued. “And I’ve called in a forensic anthropologist. What comes next is more his province than mine.”
“You’ve found her,” said Gemma. And although it was what she’d expected, what she’d been all too certain of since she’d first looked at the garden, she felt a rush of grief that caught her by surprise. Sandra Gilles would not come home to her daughter.
“Yes, I think so,” answered Kaleem. He rubbed his arm across his forehead, leaving more streaks. “There is an adult female body beneath the layer of lime. The lime slowed decomposition somewhat, but it’s been a warm summer, so…the clothing is pretty well intact, however, and matches the description of the items Sandra Gilles was wearing the day she disappeared. The hair also fits Sandra Gilles’s description-blond and very curly.”
Gemma decided then that she was not going to look. She had seen Naz Malik’s body. She wanted to keep her image of Sandra Gilles, the vibrant woman she’d seen in the photographs in the Fournier Street house, intact-for Charlotte’s sake as well as her own.
“…we will, of course, be matching DNA and dental records,” Kaleem was saying as she dragged her attention back to him. “The victim was buried facedown, and it looks as though she received a blow to the back of the head. There’s what appears to be matted blood in the hair, and a depression in the skull.”
Kincaid stepped forward and looked down. His face was impassive. “He hit her?”
“Looks that way. I’d say when her back was turned. No guess as to the weapon without a proper examination.”
“But-” Gemma tried to work out what had happened. “If she just came to talk to him, why did he take the risk of killing her, rather than just bluffing it out? Surely he could have covered his tracks up to that point-”
There were voices from the kitchen, and two suited forensics techs came out, followed by a photographer, and then Doug Cullen. Gemma noticed that one of the “lads” was female.
Kincaid and Kaleem moved aside so the techs could go back to work. “We’re just going to remove a bit more fill, Doc,” said the woman, who appeared to be in charge. “It seems to be quite soft beneath the body.”
“I talked to the landscapers this morning,” said Cullen. “The woman next door remembered the name on their
