CHAPTER 5
When Kincaid’s alarm blared, he was sleeping with his pillow over his head. It was already full daylight at six o’clock, and when he emerged from his cocoon, the air from the open window smelled fresh and clean. That made him a bit less reluctant to roll out of bed, though it didn’t quite compensate for having to get up at such an ungodly hour on a summer Sunday morning. The postmortem on Annabelle Hammond was scheduled for eight o’clock, and he’d arranged last night to meet Gemma at the Yard beforehand and go together from there.
Although he showered and shaved as quietly as he could, when he tiptoed into the sitting room on his way to the door, Kit stirred and opened his eyes.
“What time is it?” Kit asked sleepily, propping himself up on his elbow. “Did you just get home?”
“It’s half past six in the morning, and I’ve been home but I have to go out again.” Kincaid bent down to stroke Sid, who had abandoned Kit and was rubbing madly about his ankles, purring. “I was going to leave you a note.”
Kit threw off the blanket and sat up. “Can I go with you?”
“Sorry, sport. It’s work.”
“But it’s Sunday.”
Kincaid sighed. “I know. But that doesn’t matter when there’s a case on.”
“It’s a murder, isn’t it?” Kit stared at him, wide awake now.
Pushing Sid gently out of the way, Kincaid sat on the edge of the coffee table.
Before he could answer, Kit continued, “You could take me with you. I’d wait in the car. I wouldn’t be any trouble.”
Kincaid thought of the body that would be laid out on the stainless steel mortuary table, and of what would happen to it. “Kit, I can’t. It’s just not on, and I have no idea how long I’ll be.”
“But I have to get the train back to Cambridge tonight.” Kit’s blue eyes widened in alarm. “I’ve got school tomorrow; it’s exam week. And there’s Tess—”
“I’ll get you to the train, don’t worry. And in the meantime, why don’t you take the Major up on his offer. I think you’d like Kew.” Kincaid glanced at his watch. “I’m sorry, sport, but I’ve got to—”
“There’s nothing for breakfast.” Kit’s mouth was set in the stubborn line Kincaid had begun to recognize as his way of coping with disappointment.
“I know,” Kincaid said with a rueful smile. “I’d planned we’d do the shopping together.” He thought for a moment. “I’ve an idea.” Removing his wallet, he peeled off a few notes. “There’s a good cafe round the corner on Rosslyn Hill. Why don’t you treat the Major to a proper breakfast. There’s enough for the tube and your admission to the gardens, as well.” He tucked his wallet back into his pocket, then hesitated a moment, not knowing how to make Kit understand that he wasn’t abandoning him by choice.
“I’ll see you tonight,” Kincaid said finally, and as he let himself out of the flat, it occurred to him that perhaps his justification wouldn’t hold water, because he had, after all, chosen the job.
“MILE END AT EIGHT O’CLOCK ON a Sunday morning,” muttered Gemma as they made their way down into the bowels of the hospital. “Just where I wanted to be.” She hated the smell of disinfectant and the underlying, cloying smell of illness.
To distract herself, she thought of the music store she’d seen as she walked to the Angel tube station this morning. It had been closed, of course, but she’d crossed Pentonville Road and peered in the windows. Maybe tomorrow she’d have a chance to buy the music books Wendy had recommended, and at next Saturday’s lesson—assuming this case allowed her to go—she would actually start playing the piano.
Last night, after putting Toby to bed, she’d dimmed the lights and poured a glass of white wine from the open bottle in the fridge. Then she’d stood, hesitating, looking out into the twilit garden. As much as she valued her all too infrequent opportunities for solitude, she’d felt itchy, unable to settle; she wondered if a few minutes’ quiet chat with Hazel would help her erase Annabelle Hammond’s image from her mind.
As she’d quietly let herself out of the flat and made her way across the garden, she blessed the chance that had led her to the Cavendishes. Hazel had not only offered to care for Toby, along with her own daughter, while Gemma worked, but she’d become a much-valued friend as well. In many ways, Gemma felt closer to Hazel than she did to her own sister, for she’d learned blood was no guarantee of sympathy or common interest.
