Kissed a Sad Goodbye

house. Reg reported her missing because she didn’t come home last night.”
    “But surely they’ve just had a tiff of some sort—”
    “That’s what I thought when he phoned me this afternoon. But the police found her body. I know. I saw it.”
    “No...” The muscles in William’s face began to sag with shock, like modeling clay held too close to a flame. He shook his head rigidly. “There must be some mistake, Jo. Annabelle can’t be dead. Not Annabelle...”
    Not Annabelle. Never your precious Annabelle. “Daddy, I’m so sorry.” As she squeezed her father’s hands, she felt the enormity of it overwhelm her. Annabelle had always been there, to love and to hate. However would she manage without her?
     

CHAPTER 5
     
Isle of Dogs, the intended site [of the West India Docks], was then a lonely, boggy waste used for the pasturing of cattle. It was said to have only two inhabitants: one drove the cattle off the marshes and the other operated the ferry to Greenwich.
Theo Barker, from Dockland
     
     
     
    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