Mourn not your Dead

“I see we trained you very well at Notting Hill, Sergeant.” Gemma started to speak, but he held up his hand. “Oh, yes, I remember you,” he said, and his grin grew wolfishly wide. “You were quite determined to get on, and it seems that you have. Now what can I do for you, since you’ve been so obliging? Will you be wanting to go through the things in the commander’s office?”
    “I’d like to ask you some questions first.” Having succeeded in retrieving her pen and notebook, Gemma flipped to a new page and headed it with determination. “Had you noticed anything different about the commander’s behavior recently?”
    Ogilvie swiveled his chair towards the window a little and appeared to give the matter serious thought. After a moment, he shook his head. “No, I can’t say that I did, but then I knew Alastair for many years and I could never have guessed what he was feeling at any given time. He was a very private person.”
    “Any difficulties at work? Could someone have threatened him?”
    “You mean some villain threatening to do for the copper as nicked ’im? I do believe you’ve been watching the telly, Sergeant.” Ogilvie gave a bark of amusement and Gemma flushed, but before she could retort, he said, “As you are aware, Gilbert had little to do with day-to-day operational policing. And as he was always better at administration than tactics, I dare say it suited him.” He stood up with a swift grace that increased Gemma’s impression of his fitness. “I’ll take you—”
    “Chief Inspector.” Gemma didn’t budge from her chair. “Tell me about the commander’s last day, please. Did he do anything out of the ordinary?”
    Rather than sit again, Ogilvie went to the window and fiddled absently with the lever on the blinds. “As far as I can remember he was in and out of departmental meetings all day. The usual drill.”
    “It was only two days ago, Chief Inspector,” Gemma said softly.
    He turned back to her, hands in his trouser pockets, and smiled. “Perhaps I’m getting old, Sergeant. And I had no reason to pay particular attention to the commander’s movements that day. Have a word with the department secretary, why don’t you? And I know Alastair kept a desk diary. He liked to know where he stood.” As he came around the desk and opened his door, he said, “I’ll just get you started.”
    Gemma smiled and thanked him, all the while aware of a distinct feeling that she’d been led a merry dance.
     
    ALASTAIR GILBERT’S OFFICE FURNISHINGS BEFITTED A COMMANDER. Good quality carpeting covered the floor, and the furniture was the impressive sort only senior officers could requisition. A heavy bookcase against one wall held volumes of philosophy and military history as well as police manuals, but other than that Gemma found the room devoid of personality. Of course, she hadn’t really expected Gilbert to accumulate the flotsam that cluttered most people’s work spaces, but the order of this room was not even marred by family photographs. With a sigh she settled down to work.
     
    NOT UNTIL HER STOMACH GROWLED DID SHE REALIZE SHE’D missed lunch by several hours. She replaced the papers in the last file and levered herself up from the floor, her joints stiff and aching. Her fingertips felt dry and grimy from handling so many pieces of paper, but her search had yielded absolutely nothing of interest. Gilbert’s meticulous appointment book merely outlined a day that sounded as dull as she felt at that moment.
    He had started his last morning with a senior officers’ briefing, then taken care of his correspondence. Before lunch he’d met with a representative from the local council and after lunch with officials from local pressure groups and the Crown Prosecution Service. There was no reference to an after-work meeting, nor had there been any notation for the evening before.
    Stretching and smothering a yawn, Gemma conceded for the first time that Kincaid might have a point in not wanting further promotion. She retrieved her handbag from beneath the desk and went to find the loo.
    Feeling better once she’d washed her hands and splashed water on her face, she emerged from the building to find the sun miraculously still shining. She stood still and tilted her face up, soaking in the faint warmth obliviously until the door flew open and someone bumped her from behind. “Sorry,” she said automatically, taking in an impression of a stocky female body in a blue