Necessary as Blood

Gemma found her pale eyes disconcerting. ‘It wasn‘t that simple. Sandra and I had... a difference of opinion... over the direction her career was taking. I thought she was accepting too many commissions. She should have sold only through exhibitions and galleries — that‘s how you build a reputation.‘ She gestured towards the gallery space. ‘I have two artists here now who may win major prizes. You won‘t find them selling paintings to any Tom, Dick or Harry who wants something pretty for his sitting room.‘
    ‘That‘s a bad thing?‘
    ‘It is if you want to be taken seriously. And it is a business, make no mistake. Sandra thought art was meant to be seen, and that it was up to the viewer to decide the meaning of a piece.‘ From Pippa‘s tone, Sandra might as well have insisted that the world was flat. ‘That silliness I could have dealt with by careful marketing, building a mystique,‘ Pippa went on, ‘but I could only do that by representing her exclusively.‘ She drank more of her tea, although Gemma still found hers too hot to touch.
    ‘But Sandra wouldn‘t agree to that?‘ she said, as neutrally as she could manage.
    ‘No. Sandra could be infuriatingly stubborn. So I told her in that case I couldn‘t represent her at all, thinking it would change her mind. But it didn‘t. And there we were.‘ Pippa hunched over her mug, pushing back the curtain of her long, flaxen hair as it fell over her face. The colour, Gemma saw, went all the way to the roots, and at the parting her scalp was pink. ‘I never meant it to go on,‘ Pippa said. ‘It wasn‘t worth losing a friendship. And now I can‘t take it back.‘
    ‘I‘m sorry,‘ Gemma said. ‘That must be hard. But we don‘t know for certain what happened to Sandra.‘
    ‘No. But I can‘t imagine... and I can‘t bear to think of her learning Naz is dead. Do you — I know you said you weren‘t officially with the police — but do you know what happened? How — how Naz was killed?‘ Knowing that no information about the drugs in Naz‘s system had been released, Gemma couldn‘t enlighten her, although she wondered what Pippa Nightingale‘s reaction would be. Instead, she said, ‘Pippa, when I came in, you already knew about Naz‘s death. Who told you?‘
    Pippa Nightingale looked up, her delicate eyebrows raised, and Gemma had to resist the urge to look away from those strange eyes.
    ‘Why, Lucas of course,‘ she said.

    Ahmed Azad must have more relatives than most people had acquaintances, Cullen thought as he sat wearily back from the computer screen at his desk.
    According to the immigration records Cullen had accessed, Azad had already sponsored nieces, nephews, great-nieces and great-nephews and cousins, with a few second cousins thrown in for good measure. Mohammed Rahman, the missing great-nephew, was only the latest ripple in a years-long flood. And young Mohammed had been working at his uncle‘s restaurant, living in his uncle‘s house, reporting regularly to his contact with the prosecution — and then he was not. Mohammed Rahman‘s blip had simply disappeared from the radar screen.
    Cullen had tried every database he could think of, including missing persons and John Does. Mohammed‘s friends and acquaintances had been questioned by Immigration, but Cullen would have to institute another round.
    Nor had he had much better luck with Lucas Ritchie‘s former employee Kylie Watters. There had been no activity on her National Insurance number, so she wasn‘t drawing benefits, and if she was working, it was off the record. The mobile number Melanie had given them was indeed out of service, having been cancelled for non-payment a few days after she had moved out of Melanie‘s flat.
    Kylie‘s National Insurance number linked back to an address in Essex. He‘d found a phone number through reverse look-up, but there had been no answer. That meant more legwork, as did checking out Lucas Ritchie‘s alibi for the day Naz Malik had been killed. The St John‘s Wood address that Ritchie had given them was listed as belonging to a Matthew Ritchie, and a quick search had revealed that Matthew Ritchie was not a banker, as Kincaid had speculated, but a record-company executive, with two children listed as Lucas and Sarah. So perhaps Ritchie had been telling the truth about the niece‘s birthday party, but learning whether all his time could be accounted for would require a personal visit. And family alibis were always