No Mark Upon Her

their leads again, he walked faster, wondering if Tavie was up, eager now to get back to the little crooked house.
    As he reached the narrower confines of Thames Side, a few pedestrians crossed to the other side of the street to avoid the dogs. It amused Kieran a little—for all their size, Finn and Tosh were big softies—but he might have done the same himself, before he’d had Finn.
    He’d crossed the Henley end of the bridge and turned up Market Place when he saw Freddie Atterton come out of the Red Lion. He picked up his pace, meaning to speak to Atterton, to tell him he’d made some progress with the shed, when he realized Freddie wasn’t alone.
    Another man had come out of the hotel with him, and they appeared to be, if not arguing, at least having a heated discussion.
    Maybe it was just as well if he didn’t interrupt, Kieran decided, although he was going to pass right by them. But something drew his eyes back. What was—
    Then all thought fled Kieran’s mind as Finn leapt forward, nearly tearing the lead from his hand, barking and lunging like a mad thing.

Chapter Twenty-three

Sight begins to go. Darkness envelops me until I can only vaguely sense the dark hull next to us.
The finish line comes.
Then there is nothing. Inky blackness. My eyes have rolled back into my head. My chest heaves, frantically pulling oxygen into my gaping mouth, but I am out of it, collapsed and aware of nothing. [James Livingston]
—David and James Livingston
Blood Over Water

    “S o, what else do you know about Chris Abbott?” Gemma asked Melody as they crossed the Thames at Hammersmith Bridge.
    It had taken them more than half an hour to make a graceful exit from the house. Gemma had insisted that everyone else stay as long as they liked, but even as she gave her parents over-elaborate instructions, she’d felt increasingly worried about Melody’s news.
    While Gemma was dealing with the domestic front, Melody had made phone calls and done some research online. Gemma knew better than to ask her sources.
    Now, as they drove towards Barnes in Gemma’s Escort, heavy clouds had darkened what had begun as a beautiful day, and the Thames looked gray as slate. She beeped her horn impatiently when the driver ahead slowed and almost made her miss the green light at the bridge end.
    Melody gave her a startled glance, but said, “Chris Abbott, DCI, Vice. Works out of West End Central. A career officer out of university like Becca Meredith, both of them highfliers with their Oxford educations.
    “Married, husband works in investment banking. Two kids, both boys, and both down for Eton.”
    Gemma whistled. “On a cop’s salary? Let’s hope the husband has a better income. When did she report the rape?”
    “A little more than five years ago. She was a sergeant then, so she’s had two promotions in a very short time. Rewards, do you think, for keeping her mouth shut?”
    Gemma had been a sergeant five years ago as well. Would her life have taken the same path as Chris Abbott’s if she’d been less lucky the night Angus Craig had driven her home? No matter how often she went over it, she couldn’t be sure what she’d have done. Would she have risked her career and the security of her child in an attempt to see Craig prosecuted?
    “Were there particulars in the rape report?” she asked. If Abbott had had a husband and children at home, it seemed likely that Craig’s usual method of courteously offering his victim a lift would have failed with her, as it had with Gemma.
    “There was a dinner at a hotel in the West End, after a staffing conference,” Melody continued. “Abbott said she was walking to the tube when she was pulled into an alley and assaulted.”
    Gemma frowned. “Then my guess would be that Craig had a room in the hotel. And convinced her to come up for a friendly nightcap, after the conference, when everyone had had a few post-meeting drinks. I wonder, though, about the promotions . . .” Gemma negotiated a roundabout as they entered the outskirts of the very comfortable suburb of Barnes. “Were they a reward, or could Abbott have decided to make the best of a bad deal and indulge in a spot of blackmail? A two-way street.”
    “If Craig and Abbott had reached a stalemate,” Melody continued thoughtfully, “maybe he took out his frustration with her by choosing more and more powerful female officers as victims. Substitutes, if you will. A dangerous game.”
    “Fatal, in the end,” agreed