Necessary as Blood

Tim, Blakely was the last person to see Sandra Gilles the day she disappeared. I just want to talk to him about Sandra. I don‘t know that he has any direct connection with Naz Malik, so don‘t worry, I‘m not trespassing on your investigation.‘
    ‘That means you‘ve told Duncan?‘ Cullen had said suspiciously.
    ‘No, but I will.‘ Gemma had begun to feel irritated. ‘Just give me the address, Doug. I‘ll sort it out with him later.‘
    But by the time she climbed the stairs at Old Street Tube station and emerged, hot and sweaty, into the street, she was beginning to wonder if this had been such a good idea after all. Then she looked up and saw the ‘Ozone Angel‘, and felt again the odd sense of connection with Sandra that she had experienced that first night. Yes, she needed to do this, and if it stepped on toes, she would just have to deal with the consequences.
    She walked on down Old Street, her stride relaxing into a long, easy swing. As she neared Columbia Road, she turned off into a side street and consulted the address she‘d scribbled on a scrap of paper, then her A-Z. A few more minutes brought her to a cul-de-sac filled with relatively new flats. They seemed more like town houses, Gemma thought as she looked at them more closely, houses with two storeys and sloping red-tiled roofs, set in blocks surrounded by pleasant landscaping.
    Roy Blakely‘s flat was on a corner of one such block. It had a neatly tiled front entrance, and the front door stood open. Gemma peered in as she pushed the bell, but the interior was in shadow and her eyes hadn‘t adjusted from the glare of the sun. She heard the faint sound of a television, then footsteps, and a man entered the hall.
    ‘You from the gas board, darlin‘?‘ he asked, looking at her approvingly. ‘Damn sight better than the last geezer they sent.‘ His accent was decidedly cockney, and he was solidly built, perhaps in his fifties, with muscular shoulders shown off by his white T-shirt. His thick silver hair was cut short, and fine silver down glinted on his bare forearms.
    ‘Mr Blakely?‘ said Gemma.
    ‘In the flesh. What can I do for you?‘
    ‘My name‘s Gemma James, and I‘d like to talk to you about Sandra Gilles.‘
    Roy Blakely‘s friendly face was instantly shuttered. ‘Can‘t help you, darlin‘, and I‘ve got work in me garden. So—‘
    ‘Mr Blakely, wait. I‘m a police officer, but I‘m not here officially. I‘m here because I‘m concerned about Charlotte Malik, Sandra‘s daughter. Did you know that Naz Malik was dead?‘
    ‘I heard from some mates who saw it in the paper, yeah. I‘m sorry about that. But what‘s it to do with me? Or Sandra? Look, I‘ve told the police everything I know about that day a hundred times.‘ He started to swing the door shut.
    Gemma made a last-ditch attempt at persuasion. ‘You knew Sandra well, didn‘t you, Mr Blakely? What would you say if I told you that Sandra‘s mother was petitioning for custody of Charlotte?‘
    ‘Gail?‘ He paused, his hand still resting on the door, and scowled at her. ‘You said you weren‘t here “officially”. What the hell does that mean?‘
    ‘It‘s a long story, Mr Blakely, and it‘s a hot day. If we could just talk somewhere cool...‘ She pushed the damp hair away from her face.
    ‘You criticizing my cockney hospitality, darlin‘? That‘s a right insult, that is,‘ he said, but the scowl was less fierce. ‘All right, then. Come and sit in the garden, and I‘ll make you something to drink.‘
    He pushed the door open wide, and Gemma followed him into a sitting room that was dimmed by the light pouring in from the double glass doors at the back. The doors stood open to an oasis of green, splashed with bright colours. The voices she‘d heard were louder, and she realized it was the radio rather than the telly, playing somewhere else in the house. She recognized a BBC4 presenter, and caught something about gardening.
    Then she stepped out onto a flagged patio shaded by the house, surrounded by raised beds so thick with plants there was not an inch of bare soil. She recognized brilliant orange and yellow roses shaped into trees, a profusion of bee-swarmed lavender in one border, a drift of plumbago in another, and a lemon tree. As for the rest, she was hard-pressed to come up with names. The spicy scent of the lavender tickled her nose.
    Two carved wooden chairs stood to one side, and a long work table against the rear of the house