No Mark Upon Her

came into the room, he saw that Charlotte was fast asleep. The covers were drawn up to her nose, but one small hand was free, stretched towards the bright blue hair bow on the bedside table.
    He sat on the edge of the bed and smoothed her hair back from her forehead. She didn’t stir. Carefully he leaned down and kissed the corner of her eyebrow, conscious of the stubble on his jaw, then tucked her hand beneath the duvet.
    He was glad he’d come home.
    Tiptoeing out, he checked on both boys, pleased to find that Toby was doing nothing more destructive than building a railway track on their floor.
    Kit was, at least ostensibly, reading, but as Kincaid came in, he saw the boy slip his phone under his pillow.
    Gemma was right, Kincaid realized, but dealing with the combined issues of the phone use and Kit’s relationship with his cousin would have to wait a bit longer. He had other things to settle at the moment.
    When he came back downstairs after speaking to the boys, Gemma had put out a plate for him with the pizza slices, and had poured him a glass of red wine. She’d opened the bottle of Bordeaux he’d been saving.
    Tess, Kit’s terrier, had been upstairs, curled on the foot of Kit’s bed, but Geordie had stayed in the kitchen with Gemma. Now he settled on the floor, resting his head on Kincaid’s foot with a sigh. Sid kept watch on them from the far chair, his eyes on the pizza. The cat was an incorrigible food thief.
    Gemma was drinking tea and had a stack of papers beside her cup. When he started to reach for them, she stopped his hand with hers. “Eat first.”
    Obediently, he ate a slice of pizza, his favorite, and drank half a glass of the wine. But he had no appetite, and the wine he’d been anticipating as a special treat left an acrid taste in his mouth.
    He thought of the fire burning invitingly in the sitting room. But here they were in the kitchen, which was where all their important conversations seemed to take place. Was it the same in other families? he wondered. He had an instant’s intense longing for his parents’ kitchen in Cheshire, where everything momentous in his family had been discussed. And where he and Juliet, as children, had inevitably felt safe.
    But he felt no security tonight, even here. He pushed his plate away and reached for the papers, and this time Gemma didn’t stop him.
    She watched him as he read, and when he looked up, her expression was somber. “It was him, wasn’t it?”
    He nodded. “I think so.”
    “He was escalating, wasn’t he? Taking on more powerful women, becoming more violent. He took a big risk with Becca Meredith, and he got away with it. That must have made him feel invincible.” She reached across the table and touched the papers. “Do you think this woman—Jenny Hart—do you think she told him she wouldn’t be blackmailed into silence?”
    Picking up the pages again, he glanced at the crime-scene photos. The coffee table in Jenny Hart’s sitting room had been overturned. There was broken glass on the floor, as well as scattered magazines and newspapers. “Not just that,” he said. “She fought, hard.” He looked up at Gemma. “The other women—did they report injuries, bruising, any throttling?”
    “Bruising, yes,” said Gemma. “One victim had a shattered cheekbone.”
    Kincaid thought of Angus Craig’s powerful arms and shoulders. When he raped, Craig had used surprise, strength, and intimidation, probably in that order. But with Jenny Hart, perhaps he’d been past caring about the intimidation part of the equation. Perhaps his need for violence had passed the point of no return.
    Kincaid guessed that up until Jenny Hart, Craig’s rapes had been crimes of opportunity, although he must have gone to functions and pubs hoping he would find a suitable target.
    Had Hart been different? Had he known where she drank, and when she was likely to be there? Had he intended murder when he’d met Jenny Hart in the pub that night?
    If so, Becca Meredith’s murder seemed a small and rather cautiously executed action. Why had he not surprised her in her home, if he knew she lived alone?
    Kincaid answered his own question. Because Craig had known what he was dealing with in Becca Meredith, and he would have known that she wouldn’t be taken defenseless again.
    But what Kincaid still didn’t understand was why Craig had chosen to kill Becca Meredith now, rather than a year ago when she’d first threatened to expose him.
    What the