Mourn not your Dead

can almost smell the money. Which one is number ten?”
    Walking on a bit, Gemma said, “Here.” It was a deeper shade of yellow, with glossy black trim.
    Peering through a gap in the ground-floor curtains, Kincaid caught a glimpse of a sleek contemporary sitting room, and beyond it a garden. He stood back and let Gemma have a look. “I certainly couldn’t have managed this on a chief inspector’s pay. Somehow I doubt if our friend David invites the lads over for a beer after work—what do you think?”
    Gemma looked up at him. “I’d say it’s time we called in C&D.”
    “My sentiments exactly.”
     
    ONCE BACK AT THE YARD, THEY SETTLED INTO KINCAID’S OFFICE for an afternoon of tedious telephoning. First Kincaid checked in with Guildford CID, and finding Deveney still out on the burglary case, spoke to Will Darling. “Go back over everything with a fine-tooth comb, Will. We’re missing something—I can feel it—and it’s probably as obvious as the nose on your face. The lad in charge of effects made a sloppy call on the commander’s diary—let’s make sure that was the only instance.”
    A call to the chairman of the NHANR—“We call it Nanner, ” the man had cheerfully informed him—confirmed that David Ogilvie had indeed had an appointment with their group after lunch on the day of the commander’s death but revealed that Ogilvie had only stayed half an hour.
    Kincaid raised an eyebrow as he hung up the phone. “So what did he do for the rest of the afternoon? Tell me that,” he demanded as much to himself as to Gemma.
    Next, Gemma rang the Midlands training center and managed to elicit the fact that Ogilvie had not finished his lecture until almost a quarter to ten the previous night. She shook her head as she hung up and relayed the information to Kincaid.
    “He’d have had to fly to make it back to London in time to shoot Jackie,” said Kincaid, “and while he may live above his means, I haven’t seen any evidence of superhuman powers.” He sighed. “Still, that doesn’t rule out the possibility that he might have hired someone to do it. If he’s bent, he’ll have the connections.” He looked at Gemma sitting across the desk, her face lit by the watery, late-afternoon sunlight slanting through the blinds. “Are we chasing our tails, Gemma? If Gilbert found Ogilvie out and threatened to expose him, why the hell would Ogilvie bash his head in his own kitchen, rather than arranging something much less risky?
    “Should we be back in Surrey grilling Brian Genovase like the Spanish Inquisition? But we’ve no hard evidence, and I still just can’t quite see Brian for it.”
    “There’s Jackie,” she said flatly.
    He rubbed his fingers over his cheekbones, stretching the tired muscles around his eyes. “I haven’t forgotten Jackie, love. Let’s take this whole Ogilvie mess to the chief and let him contact Complaints and Discipline. And I don’t think we’d be amiss in mentioning Sergeant Talley, while we’re at it.”
     
    CHIEF SUPERINTENDENT DENIS CHILDS HAVING AGREED THAT the Ogilvie matter was best turned over to C&D, Kincaid followed Gemma back to his office with a feeling of relief. “Let them put the squeeze on Ogilvie, up the pressure a bit. Then we’ll ask him where he was the afternoon Gilbert died.” He unfastened his collar button. “But for now let’s call it a day.”
    Gemma had hung her bag on the coat stand, and it seemed to him that she stood now a little aimlessly, as if she didn’t quite want to go. “We could go down the pub for a drink, if you like,” he said, trying to banish entreaty from his voice.
    She hesitated and his hopes rose, but after a moment she said, “I suppose I’d better not. I’ve spent little enough time with Toby lately as it is. It’s just that I’m not sure I want to be—”
    The phone rang, startling them both. Kincaid jerked the handset out of the cradle, held it to his ear. “Kincaid.”
    Will Darling’s voice came over the line. “You were right, guv, but I don’t know what it means. There was a number penciled on the back of a dry-cleaning ticket crumpled up in Gilbert’s pocket. I kept looking at it, thinking the sequence was wrong for a phone number. Then, bingo, the old lightbulb went on, and I thought It’s a bloody bank account. I checked it against the Gilberts’ joint account at Lloyd’s—no match. Took me all afternoon, but I found the branch bank that uses that number sequence in Dorking,