Necessary as Blood

had been warned off interviewing him again by powers higher than Kincaid‘s guv‘nor.
    ‘What I would like to know,‘ Kincaid continued, ‘is what Gemma‘s up to. Melody was a bit cryptic when she rang. Something about the vet on the list...‘ He scanned the page again. ‘Truman, John. RCVS. Look him up, why don‘t you?‘
    Cullen did an Internet search and read off an address. ‘I would guess it‘s this one, in Hoxton. You‘re thinking a vet would have had access to ketamine? But did he have any connection with Naz Malik?‘
    ‘Worth talking to him.‘
    The staff at Bethnal Green were keeping a phone line available for calls from the public responding to the notice that had been set up at the entrance to Haggerston Park. But as no new information had come in, there had been little else for them to do, and Kincaid had returned to the Yard. He was still thoroughly blocked from pursuing the one lead into Naz Malik‘s murder that had looked most promising: Kevin and Tarry Gilles.
    Now, he grabbed his jacket, adding, ‘We‘ve got eff-all else to get on with, and this case is getting colder by the minute.‘

    Gemma‘s first response on seeing Alia‘s furtive entrance into the clinic was that the girl was in some kind of trouble. Needing contraceptives or, worse, pregnant. She didn‘t like to think how Alia‘s father would respond to either alternative, but she was certainly going to have a word with the girl and see if she could help.
    Slipping her phone back into her bag, she walked the few yards to the clinic and pushed the entry buzzer. But much to her surprise, when she entered the small reception area, she found Alia not in the waiting area, but sitting behind the reception desk.
    Alia! You work here?‘
    ‘Miss — it‘s Miss James, isn‘t it?‘ Alia looked pleased to see her, then alarmed. ‘Is Charlotte okay? How did you — what are you doing here?‘ She dropped her voice, even though there was no one else in the room. ‘My parents didn‘t—‘
    ‘No, no, don‘t worry. Charlotte‘s fine, and I haven‘t spoken with your parents. I was just in the street and I happened to see you. Do your parents not know you work here?‘
    ‘I volunteer,‘ Alia said, defensively. ‘I don‘t work for pay. But no, they don‘t know. My dad, he‘d go ballistic, like.‘
    ‘Then why do you do it?‘
    ‘Because it‘s important. And because she did.‘
    Following Alia‘s glance, Gemma turned and saw two of Sandra‘s collages on the wall above the slightly tatty sofa and magazine table in the waiting area. They were smaller works, but beautifully textured and coloured, and in this room they looked like peacocks among sparrows.
    ‘Sandra donated her collages?‘ she asked.
    ‘Not just that. She worked here, too. She was really good at getting the women to talk to her. They trusted her, like. She said they needed a voice, didn‘t she?‘
    Voice and faces, thought Gemma. She studied the collages. One conveyed hints of shops in a tumble-down street, their windows filled with multicoloured bolts of cloth. Women in fluttering sari silks and head-scarves clustered in the doorways like bright jewels. In the background rose the now-familiar shape of the Gherkin, 30 St Mary Axe, and a building like a shard of glass.
    The other collage was darker, the feel more Georgian, the women‘s clothing suggested by bits of silk and lace, and all seemed to be engaged in some kind of manual labour. One scrubbed a doorstep, one hung up scraps of washing, one — glimpsed through a loft window — worked at a loom. And integrated throughout the piece were bits of paper covered with ink-blotted script and scraps of old, yellowed maps.
    Gazing at Alia, she asked, ‘What do they mean, these pictures?‘
    ‘She didn‘t like to say. She said the point was that the piece would tell you a story, same as it did her, but you would hear it in your own way. For every person it was different.‘
    Hearing the quaver in Alia‘s voice, Gemma turned. The girl‘s eyes were red. ‘You miss her, don‘t you?‘ she said gently.
    ‘I thought she‘d come back, see. She said I could do anything, be anything, and I believed it. But now‘ — she shook her head — ‘it‘s not true, is it, or she wouldn‘t never have left.‘
    Alia looked as if she had lost weight since Gemma had last seen her, less than two weeks ago, and there were dark hollows under her eyes.
    Gemma played a hunch. She sat down in the chair across from the