Kissed a Sad Goodbye

the tape.
    Gemma realized she’d been holding her breath. “That’s all?”
    “There’s no sign of either of them after that, on any of the cameras,” Janice replied as she rewound the video. “But there’s no doubt, is there, that it’s Annabelle Hammond?”
    “So he lied to us.”
    “It’s certainly obvious he knew her.” Janice slid off her desk and switched on the overhead light, then went round to her chair, brushing a speck from her trousers as she sat down.
    That Gordon had known Annabelle came as no surprise to Gemma, but she had not been prepared for the emotional intensity of the eerily silent scene, or for the oddness of seeing Annabelle Hammond come to life. “But did he follow her?” she asked.
    “It didn’t look as though they were making an assignation,” said Janice. “She wanted him to do something, and he seemed to be refusing.”
    Gemma sat slowly down in the visitor’s chair, smoothing her skirt beneath her thighs. She’d pulled the coolest item she could find from her wardrobe this morning—a short, loose, Indian cotton dress. “Maybe she wanted him to meet her, and after she left he changed his mind.”
    “But she was the one who was angry. Why would be kill her ?”
    “We don’t know what they were arguing about. Or what he might have been building up to,” Gemma countered.
    “Even if he met her later, it doesn’t mean he killed her. And what about Mortimer? He says he saw them together— what proof do we have that Mortimer didn’t wait for her?” Janice’s blunt face was set in a stubborn scowl.
    Gemma studied her. “You’re defending him, aren’t you? Gordon Finch, I mean. Why?”
    “I’m not,” Janice said hotly. Then she shrugged and looked embarrassed. “It’s just that I’d admired what he stood for—you know, the Robin Hood sort of thing. Rich man’s son comes back to his roots and supports the working classes. Probably all a load of bollocks, and it’s not as if his father hasn’t done his part for the Island. And speaking of the father,” Janice added, “I’ve come up with something.”
    Gemma thought she detected reluctance. “He cheated on his income tax,” she joked, but Janice didn’t smile. “All right,” said Gemma. “Out with it, then.”
    “You were right about George Brent. I went back to see him last night, and it wasn’t too difficult to get him to ‘remember’ where he’d seen Annabelle Hammond.”
    “With Lewis Finch?”
    “More than once. Coming out of a restaurant sometime in the autumn, then again fairly recently. And he described their behavior as ‘friendly-like.’ ”
    “So it was Lewis Finch on Annabelle’s answering machine,” Gemma mused aloud. “And we have evidence that she had some sort of relationship with his son as well.” She nodded at the videotape.
    “I think we can take for granted that Annabelle Hammond could lift a finger and have any man she wanted—but doesn’t it seem a bit odd that she chose both the Finches?”
    “Coincidence?” Gemma ventured, but she didn’t believe it. “And at this point, we don’t know that she had sex with either of them. Maybe her relationship with Lewis Finch was strictly business, and with Gordon...”
    “Music lessons?” Janice gave her a skeptical look. “All right, let’s just say she slept with them both. Why keep up her engagement to Reg Mortimer, if she was so inclined to sample other merchandise?”
    “Men do it often enough. But if Mortimer knew, it gives him a hell of a motive for killing her.” Gemma thought for a moment, then said decisively, “We’d better get all our ducks in a row before we pursue this any further. The guv will want to see Lewis Finch when he gets back from the solicitor’s.”
    “And in the meantime, I suppose we’d better have Gordon brought in again.” With a grimace, Janice reached for the phone.
    “Wait.” The request had been unpremeditated, and Janice’s startled expression prompted Gemma to back it up. “I know it’s not exactly protocol, but it’s obvious he doesn’t respond well to authority. He’ll just be shouting for his solicitor. Let me go and have a word with him.” She glanced at her watch. “It’s only half-nine. I doubt buskers leave for work very early.”
    Janice stared at her, her hand still poised over the phone; then, with a sigh, she leaned back in her chair. “On your head be it, then.”
     
    LEWIS DID NOT MEET EDWINA BURNE-Jones that day. After he had finished a