Kissed a Sad Goodbye

defensive. Angrily, she added, “And you lied to us.”
    “About what?” He stepped towards her. As Gemma instinctively stepped back, it flashed through her mind that maybe this visit hadn’t been such a wise idea after all. But he merely picked up the packet of cigarettes on the table beside the bed and tapped one free.
    “You told us you didn’t know Annabelle Hammond, and that you didn’t speak to her that night,” she said as Gordon lit the cigarette with a match. The smell of smoke filled the room, sharp and pungent.
    “So?” His offhand delivery might have been more effective if he’d met her eyes. He extinguished the match with a sharp flick of his hand.
    She shook her head in exasperation. “We have the video surveillance tapes. I’ve seen them. Annabelle did stop and speak to you.”
    With the cigarette dangling from his lips, he stooped and lifted the clarinet from its case. “That doesn’t prove anything.”
    But she’d seen the instant’s freeze before he’d masked his reaction with movement. “It proves that you saw her shortly before she died, and that you had a disagreement.” Still holding his instrument, he sat down on the edge of the bed. “It wouldn’t be the first time a complete stranger found my playing offensive. Or my looks. Does that make me a suspect?”
    “What I saw on that video was not a disagreement between strangers,” she replied. “It was an argument between two people who cared enough about each other to be angry. You knew her. Why are you so determined to deny the obvious?”
    Taking a last drag on the cigarette, he crushed it out in a small black and white Wedgwood ashtray. With his gaze on the clarinet, he pressed the keys without lifting it to his lips. She waited in silence, and at last his fingers stilled. He looked up at her. “Because whatever there was between Annabelle and me is no one else’s business.”
    “It is now. This is a murder investigation.”
    “I had nothing to do with her death. And what was between us had nothing to do with her death.”
    “Then doesn’t it matter to you how she died?” Gemma demanded. “Someone killed Annabelle Hammond, and it’s my guess it was someone she knew and trusted.”
    “Why? What makes you say that? Surely it was some... You said she was found in the park.... How was she...” Although in her brief experience Gordon Finch had been sparing with words, it was the first time Gemma had seen him at a loss for them. “We’re not releasing the cause of death just yet, but I will tell you that there was little sign of a struggle, and that she does not appear to have been sexually assaulted.” She hesitated, then added, “And her body seemed to have been rather carefully... arranged.”
    “Arranged?” He stared at her. “Arranged how?”
    She didn’t know if the details would haunt him more than the images conjured up by his imagination, but she knew she’d said too much already and would have to answer to Kincaid for going over the mark. Temporizing, she said, “As if her dignity mattered. She looked very... serene.”
    “Annabelle, serene? That’s an oxymoron.” He stood again, lighting another cigarette.
    “Why? What was she like, then?”
    Frowning, he inhaled until the tip of the cigarette glowed orange-red. “She was... intense. Alive. More so than anyone Fd ever met.” He shook his head. “That sounds absolute rubbish.”
    “No. Go on.”
    He shifted restlessly. “That’s it. That’s all I can tell you.”
    “But—”
    “You don’t understand. I knew how she was with me, but nothing else. Nothing.” Going to the window, he pulled aside the lace panel and looked out. The sounds of the heavy equipment from the construction at the Mudchute DLR Station came clearly on the breeze.
    When he didn’t continue, she said, “Were you...”
    “Lovers?” The word carried an undertone of amusement. “Past tense. I broke things off with her months ago.”
    “ You broke it off with her} ”
    He spun round and took a step towards her. “Is that so hard to believe? Do you think I hadn’t any pride? I’d had enough of games.”
    “What sort of games?”
    “She came to listen to me play, just like you. And one night she came home with me.”
    Gemma felt the flush creeping up her chest and throat. Is that what he’d thought the evening she’d stopped and spoken to him about his dog? She wondered if he’d been more encouraging with Annabelle—not that she’d had Annabelle’s