No Mark Upon Her

at the window, as if assessing the neighbors. “How many people do you think will remember her car? And Becca? She wasn’t exactly a woman you’d easily overlook. Did you argue at the door?”
    After a long moment, Abbott gave a shrug that was meant to be nonchalant, and Gemma was certain she’d decided it wasn’t worth risking a house-to-house and being shown a liar. “So what if she did? She tried to bully us, if you want to know. Ross told her to sod off. She was always a bitch to him, so I’d say it was no better than she deserved.”
    As if she realized how venomous she’d sounded, Abbott rubbed a hand across her face and said, “Look. I don’t mean I’m not sorry Becca’s dead. I was devastated when I heard. We both were. But it’s nothing to do with us, and I can’t see why you’ve come to me with this in the first place.” She stood. “With Craig dead, none of it matters anymore. And I’ve had enough.”
    As if the assertion of Craig’s death had given her courage, she said, “I told you, I’ve got to pick up my kids. Your time’s up.”
    Gemma’s glance at Melody told her they’d had the same thought. “DCI Abbott,” she said, “how did you know Angus Craig was dead?”
    “M rs. Craig’s dog?” said Kincaid, staring at Imogen Bell. “Bloody hell. I’d forgotten all about the dog. It must have got out somehow during the fire.”
    DC Bell looked confused. “During the fire? The neighbor says he found the dog—it’s a little whippet—running loose around midnight. He rang Mrs. Craig but she didn’t answer, and he said he didn’t want to disturb them by going over so late. He thought he’d just keep the dog until morning and ring Mrs. Craig first thing. But then the smoke and the fire brigade woke him in the night and he was frantic about the Craigs. He’s been trying to speak to someone ever since—”
    “Barney,” interrupted Kincaid. “The dog. The dog is a he, and his name is Barney.” He didn’t know why he felt so relieved that Edie Craig’s dog had survived. But why had the dog been out two hours before the fire? “Midnight? The neighbor said midnight?”
    “Yes, sir. I’m sure of it,” answered Bell.
    Kincaid turned to the fire investigator. “Owen, if Craig set the fire before midnight, could it have taken until two to become fully involved?”
    Owen Morris shook his head. “I’d say very unlikely. There was a flash at the point of origin, and from the amount of accelerant poured round the house, I’d think the surrounding rooms went up pretty quickly. Fire’s a funny thing, though. It can play tricks on you. It’s possible it smoldered for a bit. We’ll know more when things cool off.”
    “Still . . .” Kincaid let the sentence trail off, not sure he wanted to verbalize the unwelcome scenario that had come to him.
    What if Edie Craig had suspected violence was brewing? Angus Craig had made no bones about hating the dog—perhaps she’d feared Barney would be a target. But surely if she’d realized just how bad it was, she’d have got out herself . . . or would she?
    She was a woman, Kincaid suspected, who’d spent the better part of her married life trying to limit the damage her husband caused. But had she known, before Denis Childs’s visit last night, just how much havoc Craig had wreaked, how many lives he’d destroyed? And if not, could she now have lived with the truth?
    She had been a gentle woman and possessed of unexpected grace. He hoped she had not guessed what was coming.
    “Sir,” said Bell, “the neighbor. He’s still waiting at the gate. Should I—”
    Kincaid shook himself back to the present. “Get his name and address. Ask him if he wouldn’t mind keeping the dog until we track down any friends or relatives of Mrs. Craig. And DC Bell, when the SOCOs get here, I want them to check Craig’s car for any trace evidence that matches the scene of Becca Meredith’s murder. If there’s any outerwear left undamaged in the house, I want that checked, too.”
    Bell gaped at him. “You don’t think—” she began, then she collected herself and nodded. “Yes, sir. I’ll just speak to Mr. Wilson—that’s the neighbor.” She left them and walked towards the gate, but not without an uncertain backwards glance.
    The timing of the fire wasn’t the only thing bothering Kincaid. Turning to Owen Morris, he said, “Can you tell if the same accelerant was used here as in Kieran Connolly’s boatshed?”
    “It seems to