No Mark Upon Her

she wanted answers from Abbott now.
    “Jenny?” Abbott’s voice was a whisper. “What are you talking about? Jenny was murdered—oh, God. You don’t mean he killed Jenny?”
    “Becca didn’t know about Craig’s connection to Jenny Hart, did she?” asked Gemma. “She missed that one because the case was in the database as an unsolved murder, not as an unsolved rape. If she’d known about Jenny Hart, she wouldn’t have needed you.
    “And that was what she wanted from you, wasn’t it, Chris?” Gemma leaned forward, intent, trying to make a connection with this woman who seemed to have built a fortress round any emotion other than fear. “She wanted you to file a rape charge against Angus Craig.”
    Abbott shook her head, as if she meant to deny it, but when she saw their faces, her shoulders sagged. “Okay, okay,” she said. “That lead Becca said she had—when I got to the station, it was useless. But then she wanted to go for drinks. Becca wanting to do the jolly old-girl thing was odd enough, but Becca the Abstemious wanting to go out for a tipple—that was a real red flag. I went because I wanted to know what she was up to.
    “She suggested a pub on Holland Park Avenue. Not too far away, but out of her station’s orbit. She waited until we’d both had a few drinks before she told me what she really wanted.”
    Abbott raised a finger to her mouth and nibbled at the quick. Her nails were bitten as well. “Bitch,” she said. “I told her to bugger off. I told her that all happened five years ago, and I’ve moved on. I’ve worked hard to get where I am now.” The words spilled out as if she couldn’t stop them. “We’ve got two kids in school, and I’m up for another promotion. Why should I have risked everything so that Angus Craig would get a slap on the wrist—if even that.
    “Look at you, both of you. You know how the system works. You know it would all have been for nothing.”
    Suddenly, her anger seemed to drain away. Shivering, she rubbed at her bare arms and sank down on the arm of the sofa. “But I didn’t—I didn’t know about Jenny.”
    “Did you know her well?” asked Melody.
    “We were on a command course together at Bramshill a few years ago. I liked her. We met up for a drink every now and then. She was funny, and sharp, and never condescending. And she liked being single.” With a strangled laugh, Chris added, “Sometimes I used to wish I had her life.”
    “And you never told Jenny what Angus Craig did to you?”
    Chris shook her head, vehemently. “God, no. I never told anyone. I only made the report that night because one of the constables in my division found me crying and bleeding outside the hotel, and I had to say something. It was the best I could do under the circumstances. Oh—” She caught her breath as realization struck. “Oh, God. If I’d told Jenny, she’d never have gone with him—is that what happened? I know she was killed in her flat. Did she—did she invite him up for a drink?”
    “What about Becca, Chris?” said Gemma. “You’d been friends since university. Did she not count? If you’d told her, she’d never have accepted a lift home from Craig the night he raped her. And now she’s dead, too.”
    “Why should I have told Becca? She wasn’t exactly the shoulder you’d pick to cry on. And besides, I’d never have dreamed she’d be as stupid as I was. Always in control of everything, Becca.”
    Gemma wondered what lay at the root of Abbott’s bitterness, a bitterness so corrosive she couldn’t find a kind word to say about her murdered friend. “So, last Friday night,” she said, “what did Becca do when you told her you wouldn’t cooperate?”
    “She was livid. But then Becca always expected that what she wanted should come first.”
    Gemma had a sudden hunch. She threw it out like bread on the water, to see what it might fetch. “Is that why she came back on Saturday? To try again to convince you?”
    Abbott’s face closed like a shutter. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
    “Oh, come on, Chris.” Gemma knew now that she’d been right, and she wasn’t going to be fobbed off. “Do you want us to ask the neighbors? This is a small street, and I’ve no doubt that everyone knows everyone else’s business.
    “Becca left her car in the city on Friday night after she met you. When she came back into London to pick it up on Saturday afternoon, she drove here, didn’t she?” Gemma glanced