Mourn not your Dead

was all I could do to fall into bed at night, and afterwards... with Rob... I just didn’t want to talk about it.”
    “I understand.” Jackie’s dark eyes were sympathetic. “But I envy you your baby.”
    “You?” It had never occurred to Gemma that her tough and self-sufficient friend might want a child.
    Jackie laughed. “What? You think I’m too crusty to want to change nappies? But there it is. And I’d never have thought you’d let a baby interfere with your career. Speaking of which”—she punched Gemma lightly on the arm— “who would have thought you’d end up such a big shot, investigating a commander’s murder. Tell me all about it.”
    When Gemma had finished, Jackie sat quietly for a moment, swirling the dregs of her beer in its amber bottle. “Lucky you,” she said at last. “Your guv sounds like a good one.”
    Gemma opened her mouth to protest, then closed it again. That was a can of worms she didn’t dare open.
    “I could tell you some stories about mine that would make your hair stand on end,” Jackie said, then added philosophically, “Oh, well, I made my bed when I decided I wanted to stay on the street.” She finished her beer in one swallow and changed the subject abruptly. “I saw Commander Gilbert at Notting Hill not too long ago—one day last week, I think it was. Can you believe he had a spot on his tie? Must have got caught in the crossfire of a canteen food fight, that’s the only reasonable explanation.”
    They both laughed, then inspired by the mention of such juvenile behavior, settled into a round of “do you remember’s?” that left them giggling and wiping their eyes. “Can you believe how ignorant we were?” Jackie asked finally, blowing her nose in a tissue. “Sometimes I think it’s a wonder we survived.” She studied Gemma for a moment, then added more soberly, “It’s good to see you again, Gemma. You were an important part of my life, and I’ve missed you.”
    Rob hadn’t cared for any of Gemma’s friends, especially those in the force, and after a bit she’d lost the energy to face the inevitable arguments that followed her contacts with them. Nor had he liked her to talk about her life before she met him, and gradually even her memories seemed to fade from disuse. “I seem to have lost bits of my life in the last few years,” she said slowly. “Maybe it’s time I made an effort to find them again.”
    “Come have dinner with us sometime soon, then,” said Jackie. “Susan would love to see you, too. We’ll drink a bottle of wine to our misspent youth—and remember when all we could afford was the worst plonk imaginable.” She stood up and went to the window. “How odd,” she said a little absently, “I’ve just remembered that I thought I saw Commander Gilbert someplace else recently. It must have been the plonk brought it to mind, because I’d just come out of the wine shop in the Portobello Road, and there was Gilbert talking to this West Indian bloke who’s a known informant. At least I thought it was Gilbert, but a lorry came between us then and by the time the light changed, they’d both disappeared.”
    “You didn’t check it out?”
    “You’ve been in CID too long, love,” said Jackie, clearly amused. “Just who was I supposed to ask? Commander Gilbert himself? I know enough to keep my nose out of my elders’ and betters’ business, ta very much. Still”—she turned back to Gemma and smiled—“I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to put in a word or two in certain quarters. I’ll let you know if anything interesting turns up, shall I?”
     
    GEMMA HATED THE ESCALATORS AT THE ANGEL TUBE STATION. She was sure they must be the longest and steepest of any in London, and the prospect of facing that dizzying descent every day had almost deterred her from taking her flat. At least, she told herself as she hugged the rail, going up wasn’t nearly as bad as going down—as long as you didn’t look back.
    A plastic bag wrapped itself around Gemma’s legs as she emerged from the station. Disentangling herself, she saw rubbish blowing all along Islington High Street. A sheet of newspaper clung tenaciously to a nearby lamppost, and a plastic bottle rattled discordantly along the pavement. The rubbish collection had failed again, Gemma thought, frowning in irritation, and she certainly didn’t have time to complain to the council about it.
    The sight of the black man sitting on the bench beside the flower stall