Mourn not your Dead

shook his head.
    Accepting a cup from Gemma, Kincaid said, “It’s very late, Mrs. Gilbert, but I want to go over one or two things while they’re clear in your mind.”
    The carriage clock on the mantel began to chime midnight. Claire stared at it, frowning. “It is late, isn’t it? I hadn’t realized.”
    The daughter had been sitting so quietly that Kincaid had almost forgotten her presence, but now she shifted restlessly, drawing his attention. Her clothes made a rustling sound against the sofa’s cream-and-red-striped chintz as she repositioned herself, turning towards Claire and touching her knee. “Mummy, please, you must get some rest,” she said, and from the entreaty in her voice Kincaid guessed that it was not the first time she’d made the request. “You can’t keep on like this.” She looked at Kincaid and added, “Tell her, Superintendent, please. She’ll listen to you.”
    Kincaid examined her more closely. She wore a bulky jumper over a tight black miniskirt, but in spite of the sophistication of her clothes, there was an unfinished quality about her that made Kincaid revise his estimate of her age down to late teens, perhaps even younger. Her face looked pinched with stress, and as he watched she rubbed the back of her hand against her lips as if to stop them quivering. “You’re absolutely right—” He paused, realizing he didn’t know her name.
    Obligingly, she filled it in for him. “I’m Lucy. Lucy Pen-maric. Can’t you—” A muffled yelping came from somewhere nearby and she paused, listening. Kincaid heard the frustration in the sound, as if the dog had given up hoping for a response. ‘That’s Lewis,” she said. “We had to shut him in Alastair’s study to keep him from... you know, getting into things.”
    “A very good idea,” Kincaid said absently as he added what he’d just heard to his assessment of the situation. Her name wasn’t Gilbert, and she referred to the commander as “Alastair.” A stepdaughter, rather than a daughter. He thought of the man he had known and realized what had struck him as odd. Try as he might, he couldn’t quite manage to imagine Gilbert relaxed before the fire, a large (from the sound of it) dog sprawled comfortably at his feet. Nor did this room, with its rich velvets and chintzes and the deep pile of a Persian carpet under their feet, seem a likely habitat for a dog. “I wouldn’t have thought of Commander Gilbert as a dog man,” he ventured. “I’m surprised he allowed a dog in the house.”
    “Alastair made us—”
    “Alastair preferred that we confine Lewis to his kennel,” interrupted Claire, and Lucy looked away, her face losing the brief spark of animation he’d seen when she spoke of the dog. “But under the circumstances ..Claire smiled at them, as if excusing a lapse in manners, then looked around vaguely. “Would you like some tea?”
    “We’re quite all right, Mrs. Gilbert,” he said. Lucy was right: her mother needed rest. Claire’s eyes had the glazed look of impending collapse, and her coherence seemed to fade in and out like a weak radio signal. But even though he knew he couldn’t press her much further, he wanted to ask a few more questions before letting her go. “Mrs. Gilbert, I realize how difficult this must be for you, but if you could just tell us exactly what happened this evening, we can get on with our inquiries.”
    “Lucy and I ran into Guildford for some shopping. She’s studying for her A levels, you see, and needed a book from Waterstones in the shopping center. We poked about a bit in the shops, then walked up the High to Sainsbury’s.” Claire stopped as Lucy stirred beside her, then she looked at Deveney and frowned. “Where’s Darling?”
    Gemma and Kincaid glanced at each other, Kincaid raising a questioning eyebrow. Deveney leaned over and whispered, “The constable who was with them. His name is Darling.” Turning to Claire, he said, “He’s still here, Mrs. Gilbert. He’s just gone to give the other lads a hand for a bit.”
    Tears filled Claire’s eyes and began to run down the sides of her nose, but she made no move to wipe them away.
    “After you’d finished your shopping, Mrs. Gilbert,” Kincaid prompted after a moment, “what did you do then?”
    She seemed to focus on him with an effort. “After? We drove home.”
    Kincaid thought of the quiet lane where they had left their car. “Did anyone see you? A neighbor, perhaps?” Claire shook her