Necessary as Blood

number, unfamiliar. ‘Sorry, Mum. I—‘
    ‘I hope I‘m not interrupting?‘
    Gemma started at the sound of the man‘s voice. She hadn‘t heard the cubicle curtain move. Guiltily, she slipped her phone into her bag as she turned. A coat and tie — a consultant then, and a bit sleek and overfed-looking.
    He gave her a perfunctory smile, letting her know that the apology was strictly mechanical, then turned to Vi. ‘Mrs Walters? I‘m Dr Alexander, your anaesthetist. We like to have a little chat before procedures.‘
    ‘An anaesthetist?‘ said Gemma, alarmed. ‘But—‘
    ‘It‘s routine. For the port,‘ Vi told Gemma, but she looked at the consultant a little anxiously.
    ‘Absolutely routine, Mrs Walters. It‘s just to make you comfortable. You‘ll never know you‘ve been under. Now,‘ he added, his tone making it clear that it was time to get down to business, ‘are there any allergies we need to know about?‘
    Vi nodded at Gemma. ‘You go, love. Return your call. I‘ll be fine.‘ But as Gemma gathered her bag and leaned over to kiss her, Vi whispered, ‘But don‘t forget what I said.‘

    *

    Gemma waited until she was outside the hospital annexe to check her message. The voice was male, impatient and recognizably cockney. ‘DI Weller here. Ring me at your earliest convenience.‘ He left the same number she‘d seen on the caller ID.
    This was the man, she remembered, who was supposed to be in Shropshire at a wedding and not to be disturbed. Had Sergeant Singh passed along her message, after all, and now he was ringing to give Gemma a bollocking for wasting his time? In no mood to be trifled with, she found a quiet spot between buildings and punched the ‘Return Call‘ key.
    He picked up on the first ring. ‘Weller.‘
    ‘This is Inspector James. You rang me?‘
    There was a murmur of voices, quickly fading, as if Weller had moved out of range. ‘Look,‘ he said abruptly, ‘I don‘t know what you have to do with this, but we need to have a word. I‘m at Haggerston Park. You know it?‘
    Gemma searched her memory. Haggerston Park had a farm — she‘d been there once, with Toby‘s infant-school class. And it was not far from the London, just to the north in Bethnal Green. ‘Yes, but—‘
    ‘North side. Come in at Audrey Street.‘
    ‘But can‘t you tell me what‘s going on?‘ asked Gemma. ‘Has something—‘ The sudden roar of the air ambulance powering up drowned out her words. She looked up, searching for the helipad, shouting ‘Sorry‘ into the phone. The sound grew louder, then the distinctive dark-orange helicopter rose above a nearby building. The sight gave her a little chill of excitement - odd, she thought, for a person who didn‘t like heights.
    As the helicopter moved away, she saw that she‘d lost her call. It looked as though Weller had hung up on her.

    So DI Weller was not in Shropshire, but in London. Gemma glanced at her watch. Not yet eleven o‘clock. Whatever had brought Weller back from Shropshire at that speed could not be good.
    She put her mobile back in her bag and hurried towards her car. No point in ringing him back, she was only minutes from the park. And if the news was bad, she preferred to hear it in person.
    Once in the car, a quick glance at her A-Z proved that she was even closer to the park than she‘d thought. She drove, trying not to anticipate, trying not to make assumptions, but when she had passed the east side of the park and reached the short dead end that was Audrey Street, the cluster of police vehicles confirmed her fears. This was a major incident, most likely a death.
    She went on along Goldsmith until she could make a U-turn, then found a spot for the car. Walking back to Audrey Street, she held her identification up to the uniformed constable manning the first temporary barrier. ‘Inspector Weller?‘ she asked.
    The constable nodded towards an iron gate at the entrance to a footpath that looked as if it led up into the park. Blue-and-white crime-scene tape stretched across the opening. Behind the tape stood a man Gemma would have picked out without the constable‘s direction.
    Heavyset, rumpled grey suit, grey hair buzzed short. She thought of the Royalty Protection officers she‘d seen in Beigel Bake the evening before — he might have been cut from the same cloth. When she reached him, holding out her ID as she ducked under the tape, she saw that his eyes were grey as well, the colour of flint and about as