Necessary as Blood

front of the detached house in the leafy square, rather than turning into the side road and parking in front of the garage that had been her flat. Last night, in a hurry to get home, she had handed Tim the keys at the door. She hadn‘t actually been in the house since Hazel had moved out. Although they had kept up with Tim, he had come to them, or they had occasionally met him out for a drink or a meal.
    Then, to her surprise, she saw Hazel‘s car parked in front as well, and after yesterday‘s tensions she wasn‘t sure if her friend‘s presence would be a help or a hindrance.
    Weller found a spot nearby and got out of the BMW, closing the door as carefully as if it had been the newest model. He looked tired, and she realized he must have driven back from Shropshire that morning. Perhaps his rumpled look was more circumstantial than habitual.
    When he reached her, he nodded back at his car, and she felt embarrassed that he‘d seen her studying it. ‘Putting two kids through uni doesn‘t leave much for upgrading the old wheels,‘ he said, as if in apology. ‘And besides, they don‘t make the Beamers the way they used to. I‘ve got quite fond of the old girl.‘ He looked up at the house. ‘This your friend‘s? Not bad digs.‘
    ‘He‘s a therapist,‘ said Gemma. ‘Well, they both are, Tim and his wife, Hazel, but they‘re separated and Tim‘s kept the house. They share custody of their daughter, and it looks as if Hazel‘s here, too.‘ The explanation seemed awkward, but she didn‘t want to have to make it in front of Hazel and Tim.
    ‘He kept the house?‘ Weller gave her a curious look, but followed her up the walk without further comment. Gemma rang the bell, aware of his large presence beside her, aware of the sweat trickling down her neck, and the sound of her own breathing. No one answered, and there was no sound from within the house. Gemma rang again, and waited. After a moment she said, ‘Let‘s try the garden. They must be here unless they‘ve gone to the park.‘
    As she led Weller back into the street, an older-model Ford drew up and pulled into the kerb. The driver seemed to check the house number against a note, then spotted Gemma and Weller. ‘CID?‘ she called out briskly as she opened the door and got out.
    Weller introduced himself, then Gemma.
    ‘I‘m Janice Silverman.‘ She pumped their hands with the same cheerful energy. ‘Social services.‘ She was, Gemma guessed, in her forties, with short, wavy, greying hair, and even in the August midday heat she wore a serviceable but lint-specked black sweater and skirt.
    ‘Didn‘t expect you so quickly,‘ said Weller, sounding genuinely impressed.
    ‘I‘m super-social-worker. Changed in a phone booth.‘ She gave them an unexpectedly impish smile. ‘Seriously, I was in the neighbourhood, just leaving a council estate in Holloway, so thought I wouldn‘t keep you waiting. What‘s the situation here?‘
    ‘Father found this morning. Suspicious death. Mother missing for the last several months.‘ Weller pulled at his collar, the sun glinting off the stubble on his chin. He nodded at the house. ‘Friend of the father. Kept the child last night when the dad didn‘t come home.‘
    ‘And the child‘ — Silverman glanced down at her notebook — ‘a little girl? She‘s two? Has anyone spoken to her yet?‘
    ‘She‘s almost three,‘ said Gemma. ‘And no, she‘s not been told anything.‘
    ‘Best let me handle it.‘ Silverman sighed, and some of her vitality seemed to dissipate. ‘Mother disappeared, you say?‘ She shook her head. ‘That seems particularly hard under the circumstances. Still‘ — the briskness came back in force — best get it over with.‘
    ‘No one‘s answering the door,‘ Gemma explained, and as she led them round the side of the house they heard children‘s voices coming from the garden.
    Her flat looked just the same, except that the black garage door was shiny with new paint. Tim must have been busy with DIY, she thought. But when she glanced in the windows by the garden gate, she saw the familiar furnishings, the black half-moon table next to the tiny kitchen, the modern steel-and-leather chaise she and Duncan used to call the torture lounger, the neatly made bed with its bookcase headboard. It seemed that only the fresh flowers Hazel had always left for her were missing, and the untidy flotsam of Toby‘s books and toys. She felt eerily out of sync, as if her life had