Kissed a Sad Goodbye

happened.”
    “And did she ring you back?”
    “No. I waited until after midnight, but I had a very early start the next morning for a meeting in Gloucestershire.”
    “Have you anyone who can verify your movements on Friday night, Mr. Finch?”
    “I live alone, Superintendent. There’s no one.” Lewis Finch met Gemma’s eyes. “No one at all.”
     
    * * *
     
    WHEN THEY ARRIVED BACK AT LIMEHOUSE Station, they found Janice Coppin sorting through reports in the incident room, looking as though she’d have liked never to see another piece of paper.
    “Any luck with the house-to-house?” Kincaid asked, perching himself on the edge of the desk Janice had commandeered.
    “Only in the negative sense,” Janice said with a gesture at the paperwork. “No one saw Annabelle Hammond anywhere that night. If she came home again her neighbors didn’t notice, and none of them had much to say about her in any respect. Her neighbors across the little garden, a young German couple, admitted they’d seen her playing croquet with a nice young man, but their English didn’t seem up to a description.”
    “Have someone show them a photo of Reg Mortimer, although I think we can assume it was he.” With a glance at Gemma, Kincaid added, “If Gordon Finch is telling the truth, Annabelle never had him to her flat. And I don’t know that anyone would describe Finch as a ‘nice young man,’ even taking language deficiencies into consideration.”
    “What about the pub, the Ferry House, where Mortimer says he waited for Annabelle?” asked Gemma.
    “That’s the one positive,” said Janice. “From the description we gave him, the barkeep says he knows both Mortimer and Annabelle by sight, and that Mortimer came in alone around ten that evening. He ordered an orange juice, but it was a busy night and the barkeep can’t swear to anything after that.”
    “But his impression was—” Kincaid prompted.
    “His impression was that he stayed until last call.”
    “Could he have killed Annabelle when she came out of the tunnel, dumped her body somewhere, then moved her after the pub closed?”
    “Not likely, unless he killed her in her flat. I can’t see leaving a body anywhere outside in that vicinity. Too risky. But it seems Mortimer had good reason to be jealous.” Kincaid went on to fill Janice in on the afternoon’s interviews.
    “A bit of a tomcat, wasn’t she?” mused Janice when he’d finished. “The question is, did Mortimer know what she was up to?”
    “I’ve been trying to reach him all afternoon.” Kincaid had rung Hammond’s again from his mobile when they’d left Lewis Finch, but the receptionist said Mr. Mortimer hadn’t returned to the office; nor had there been any answer at Mortimer’s home number. “We know he came into the office this morning, so I doubt he’s scarpered. But he’s first on the list for tomorrow, and I’ve left messages for him to ring us.”
    “Oh, that reminds me.” Janice dug among the papers on the desktop until she found a scribbled memo. “You had a message passed on from the Yard. Someone called Ian McClellan is trying to reach you. Says he’s in London and would like to meet with you tonight.”
    “Ian McClellan?”
    “Here’s the number he left. Is it a lead?”
    “A lead?” Kincaid realized he must have sounded idiotic, and shook his head to clear it. He didn’t meet Gemma’s eyes. “No, it’s... personal,” he managed to say, tucking the memo in his pocket.
    What the bloody hell was Ian McClellan doing back here now, and what the bloody hell did he want?
     
    AT THE FLAT, KINCAID CHANGED INTO jeans and tee shirt, then tried ringing Kit in Cambridge. After putting him on hold for a moment, Laura Miller came back on the line and said rather apologetically that Kit didn’t want to come to the phone just then. Kincaid heard the concern in her voice, but merely thanked her and said he’d try again later.
    Looking through the open balcony door as he rang off, he saw Sid perched on the railing, watching the birds in the Major’s garden with quivering interest. He went out and stroked the cat, finding a brief comfort in the fact that, unlike Kit, Sid always forgave him, no matter how badly he’d neglected him.
    In the end, Kincaid chose familiar territory for his meeting with Ian McClellan: the Freemason’s Arms, just across Willow Road from the Heath. The summer sun had begun its long evening slant through the treetops, and Hampstead Heath