Necessary as Blood

Kincaid said, when Gemma rang him from the car and related her conversation.
    ‘The regular receptionist came back from lunch. And I think that‘s all Alia knew. Except she did say she thought this happened two or three weeks before Sandra disappeared.‘
    And she was adamant that it wasn‘t Azad?‘
    ‘I asked her twice. She insisted that Sandra told her the girl had said the; guy was white.‘
    ‘Well, either the; girl lied because she was afraid, or... if she was telling the truth, that makes Lucas Ritchie the obvious candidate,‘ Kincaid said. Although there‘s nothing in the checks we‘ve done to suggest he‘s ever been to Sylhet. And if he killed Naz Malik, he must have been able to teleport, because everyone at his niece‘s birthday party swears he was there the whole time.‘
    ‘Back up a bit.‘ Gemma had been thinking furiously. ‘Granted, Ritchie‘s club seems the perfect vehicle for moving on trafficked girls. But look at “rich white guy‘‘ from the point of view of a girl who came from a village in Sylhet.‘
    ‘Ah.‘ Kincaid was; following her. ‘That broadens the spectrum a bit, doesn‘t it?‘
    ‘Any male with ;a reasonable income would do. A professional, say. I think we should check out the vet, John Truman. Pippa Nightingale says he probably knew Sandra, and might very well have been one of her clients.‘
    ‘You‘re thinking .about the ketamine?‘
    ‘Yes.‘
    ‘Maybe.‘ Kincaid sounded only partially convinced. ‘But if the girls are passed on, there must be a network that enables it, some way that men who like little girls contact on e another, some environment that makes them feel safe. And Ritchie‘s club would be the obvious place where such an environment connected with Sandra Gilles. But I‘ll have to have something a lot more concrete before I can question Ritchie again.‘
    Gemma realized she‘d been hearing traffic sounds in the background. ‘Where are you?‘
    ‘City Road.‘ There was the faintest trace of amusement in Kincaid‘s voice.
    ‘You‘re already going to interview the vet, Truman.‘
    ‘Spot on, Sherlock.‘
    ‘Give me the address,‘ said Gemma. ‘I‘ll meet you there.‘

    The Georgian elegance of the terrace near Hoxton Square was rather marred by the shop at its end advertising ‘cheap booze‘. Gemma had no need to search for the address, as Kincaid and Cullen were already there and waiting for her in their car.
    They got out and came over to her as she parked. ‘That was good timing,‘ Kincaid said, opening her door. He brushed his fingers against her arm as he reached to help her out, a discreetly affectionate gesture. ‘A minute more and we‘d have roasted.‘
    Cullen gave her a smile that just missed being a grimace, letting her know that he was tolerating her presence because he had no choice, and the three of them walked to the door. The only indication that the house was a veterinary surgery was a discreet brass plaque beside the bell bearing Truman‘s name and professional qualification.
    Cullen rang, then held the door for them when the lock clicked open. They entered a hall, its style much grander than Naz and Sandra‘s entrance. But, like the Fournier Street house, there was a central staircase, and a reception room on the right that faced the street.
    The woman at the reception desk — which looked as if it had started life as a Georgian dining table — looked up as they came into the room. Her expression was more puzzled than welcoming. ‘I‘m sorry,‘ she said, ‘but Mr Truman sees clients only by appointment.‘ She was middle-aged and well groomed, if not stylishly so, and her accent was posh enough to make well-to-do urban pioneers in the East End feel at home. Gemma doubted Mr Truman ministered to many puppies and kittens from council estates.
    The chairs and settees were formal, and the walls were hung with gilt-framed, dark-hued oil paintings featuring dogs, with the occasional cat in the shadows. Gemma thought she much preferred the cheap and cheerful posters and cluttered atmosphere of their veterinary clinic in All Saints Road. There was no sign of a Sandra Gilles collage, and she began to wonder if Pippa had been wrong.
    Kincaid had shown the receptionist his warrant card, and she said frostily, ‘I‘m afraid that‘s quite irregular. Mr Truman can‘t see you. He‘s having his lunch, and his afternoon appointment will be here any moment.‘
    ‘His afternoon appointment may have to wait.‘