Kissed a Sad Goodbye

endurance.
    “They’ll do their best not to disrupt things,” Kincaid replied soothingly.
    Gazing at the dust motes swirling in the bars of sunlight that dissected the air, Gemma realized she had become aware of complex layers of scent—the mustiness of old wood and the nearness of water, mixed with the ripe aroma of tea. The sense-tickling smells, the golden light, and the slow movement of the air under the spinning fans made the warehouse suddenly seem a timeless place, and she wondered what other dramas it had witnessed. She turned to Hammond. “I think Teresa said your greatgrandfather started the business? So Hammonds have always been here?”
    “I’ve always seen that as rather a special obligation, carrying on the family tradition. And it meant so much to Annabelle....”
    “What will happen now?” asked Gemma. “Will Jo carry on in Annabelle’s place?”
    “Jo has her own career, and she’s never had much interest in the business.” Hammond met Gemma’s eyes, and the desolation she saw in his made her flinch. “But I doubt it would matter if she had. No one can possibly replace Annabelle.”
     

CHAPTER 7
     
That ‘The Island is not what it was’, is a sentiment with which every Islander over forty would agree... whilst recalling with affectionate regret the days when ‘every door was open’, and ‘everyone knew everyone else'.
Such phrases recall a neighbourliness, and a sense of local identity, both of which have been threatened with destruction by almost everything that has happened on the Isle of Dogs since 1939.
Eve Hostettler. from Memories of
Childhood on the Isle of Dogs, 1870-1970
     
     
     
    Kincaid slid into the car and gingerly touched the steering wheel, then snatched his fingers back. “Bloody hell. I’ll bet you could fry eggs on the dash.”
    They had left William Hammond on his own, with his assurances that he just needed a chance to get his bearings, but to Gemma the weight of grief in the warehouse had felt so tangible that even the scorching heat outside was a relief. “It’s a terrible thing to lose a child, even if they’re grown,” she said as she grappled with a seat-belt buckle that seemed molten. “Do you suppose it’s even harder if that child is as perfect as Annabelle Hammond seems to have been?”
    “She can’t have been all that perfect, or someone wouldn’t have killed her.”
    “Are you saying it was her fault she was murdered?” Gemma retorted, then felt a little embarrassed by her defensiveness.
    “Of course not.” Kincaid glanced at her in surprise. “But let’s look at what we’ve got so far.” Starting the car, he pulled it forward into a patch of shade and let it idle, fan running. “Annabelle Hammond was extremely beautiful, which, you have to admit, usually implies some degree of self-absorption. She was headstrong, even going against her father’s wishes in the running of the family business, which leads to the next point—she apparently had a real passion for her job. Passion makes people dangerous.” Gemma thought of Gordon Finch, wondering if Annabelle’s passion had extended to him. She said, “I suspect she’d got cold feet about marrying Reg Mortimer. Otherwise, why put it off?”
    “We keep coming back to Mortimer, don’t we? Why don’t we stop at the Ferry House, see if we can confirm his movements on Friday night.”
    Realizing with a start that the afternoon had stretched into early evening, she pulled her phone from her handbag. “It’s getting late. I’d better give Hazel a ring first and check on Toby.”
    “Oh, shit.”
    “What?” She looked up in alarm, her finger poised over the keypad.
    “I completely bloody forgot. I promised to take Kit to the station.” He glanced at his watch as he jammed the car into gear. “And there’s no one else.”
    “The Major?” Gemma suggested, but even as she spoke she remembered he didn’t drive.
    “No car. And I’ve imposed upon him enough this weekend as it is. I’ll have to drop you at Limehouse, and get back to Hampstead as quickly as I can.”
    Welcome to the world of the single parent, Gemma thought, but she had the sense to keep it to herself.
     
    KINCAID BERATED HIMSELF AS HE TURNED into the bottom of Carlingford Road. He’d meant to ring during the day and check on Kit, and he’d certainly meant to keep the promise he’d made to him about tonight, but once he’d got involved in the case, his good intentions had come to nought.
    Kit sat on