No Mark Upon Her

thought for a moment. “I know he was older—he reminded me of my uncle John. Fair-skinned, hair receding a bit. Slightly stocky build. Not tall. But when the police artist put together features, nothing gelled.”
    “Had you seen him before?”
    “No, I don’t think so.”
    “Would you recognize him if you saw him again? It’s been six months.”
    Ros looked at Melody, then Gemma, her expression anxious now. “I don’t know. But I think so. It’s not the sort of thing you forget.”
    “Okay,” said Melody. “Not to worry. I’m going to show you a photo of a group of men. You tell us if any of them look familiar. It’s that easy.”
    From her bag, she took the photo of Angus Craig in a group of other senior officers, all in evening dress. There was nothing about him, Gemma thought, that stood out. Unless you knew.
    She realized she was holding her breath.
    Taking the photo carefully, Ros studied it, her eyes flicking from one side of the picture to the other. Then she stared straight at it and gave a little gasp.
    “Oh, my God. I can’t believe it. That’s him.” She touched a black-lacquered fingertip to the man who stood dead center in the group. Angus Craig.
    K incaid had returned to the incident room, courtesy of a ride from DC Bell, when he got Gemma’s call.
    “We’ve got him,” she said, her voice vibrating with suppressed excitement.
    He closed his eyes. It was too good to be true. “In writing?”
    “Signed and sworn. Melody took the girl into Notting Hill Station to make her statement. She’s a law student, so she knows what she’s doing. Her name is Rosamond Koether. We explained—Melody explained”—Gemma corrected quickly—“that making a formal identification might cause personal . . . difficulties . . . for her. We suggested that she stay with friends for at least a few days, and not give out her whereabouts. She still insisted on making a statement.”
    “Do you think she could pick him out of an identity lineup?”
    “Without a doubt. Melody showed her the photo of him in a group at the Commissioner’s Ball. She picked him out without any hesitation. Melody’s sent the statement to Doug at the Yard.”
    “Right. Good.” Kincaid struggled to collect himself. He realized he’d believed it was pie-in-the-sky, the idea that a witness could reliably tie Craig to Jenny Hart on the night of her murder.
    Of course, the Crown Prosecution Service wouldn’t consider this girl’s statement sufficient for a murder charge, but a judge should deem it merited a warrant for a DNA test, and that was all they needed.
    If they were right. God help them if they were wrong.
    “Still there, love?” asked Gemma.
    “Oh, yes. Miles away. Sorry.” DC Bell, DC Bean, and DI Singla were all watching him curiously. “I think it’s time to have a word with the guv’nor,” he said to Gemma. “Face-to-face.”
    I mogen Bell caught him up as he was leaving the station for the car.
    He’d merely told the assembled team that he had an urgent lead on another case in London, and that he’d be back with them as soon as possible.
    “Can I walk with you?” asked DC Bell. She’d been unable to conceal her relief when he’d rung from Remenham with the news that Freddie Atterton was all right.
    When she’d picked them up, however, she’d been decidedly frosty with Atterton until he’d apologized nicely for worrying her, and promised to keep his phone turned on in future.
    “Of course,” Kincaid said.
    She fell into step beside him, and with her long legs she had no trouble keeping up. The wind blowing down Greys Road scattered strands of her light brown hair across her face, which she pushed away impatiently. “This case in London—is it connected to this one?”
    He considered prevaricating, but a glance at her intent face made him decide against it. “I don’t know. It’s possible. But I can’t say anything about it until I know more.”
    “It’s a murder, isn’t it? And you have a witness.”
    He looked at her more sharply. “Have you ever considered a career in journalism, DC Bell?”
    “Sorry.” She didn’t sound at all contrite. “It’s just that—does this case affect Mr. Atterton? If it’s on my watch, I think I should know.”
    She was right, Kincaid had to admit. But he couldn’t afford for this lovely young woman to come to Craig’s attention. She had just the sort of confident personality that Craig seemed increasingly driven to crush.
    And he certainly