No Mark Upon Her

him a patrician look. He wore an expensively cut navy blazer that Kincaid thought would have made him look right at home at Leander.
    “A bad business,” Gaskill said, returning to his leather executive chair. He seemed even taller sitting down, and Kincaid wondered if he pumped the chair up to its full height for the intimidation factor. “To lose an officer under any circumstances, but murder . . .” He shook his head. “This is dreadful. Are you certain?”
    “Chief Superintendent Childs rang you, then?” Kincaid asked, not feeling it necessary to restate what he knew Childs had already told the man.
    “Yes, right away. He has every confidence in you, Superintendent.”
    Kincaid’s hackles rose. First, Peter Gaskill had distanced himself by not using their names, and now he sounded downright patronizing. Who was he to think Kincaid needed a pat on the back?
    He ignored the comment and smiled, refusing to give Gaskill the satisfaction of seeing he’d nettled him. “I appreciate that, Superintendent.” Gaskill could bloody well hold his breath waiting for the honorific—they were of the same rank. “And I’d appreciate anything you could tell us about DCI Meredith.”
    “DCI Meredith was an exemplary officer. Well respected here in the division.”
    “But was she liked?”
    “Liked?” For the first time, Gaskill looked nonplussed. “Is that really relevant, Superintendent? Senior police officers are not in the business of being liked.”
    It was Kincaid’s turn to be patronizing. “It’s relevant in any murder inquiry, as I’m sure you’re aware. I want to know how Rebecca Meredith got on with her colleagues. Were there any interdepartmental feuds or rivalries?”
    Gaskill was staring at him now. “You can’t seriously be suggesting that Meredith’s death had anything to do with her work here in the division.”
    “I don’t know.” Kincaid shrugged. “I don’t know anything at this point except that it appears that someone turned over Rebecca Meredith’s rowing shell and held her under until she drowned.”
    The only sound in the office was the sharp intake of Gaskill’s breath. With his back to the glass partition, Kincaid could only sense the attention of the occupants of the CID room, but he felt as if someone were boring a hole between his shoulder blades.
    Cullen pushed his glasses up on his nose, and Gaskill looked away from Kincaid’s gaze, breaking the tension of the moment. “That’s terrible, Superintendent,” he said. “Truly terrible. If you’re right, this person must be brought to justice.”
    There it was again, Kincaid thought. The properly expressed sentiments, but beneath that, the undertone of contempt. If you’re right, Gaskill had said.
    “Was she working on anything that might have caused someone to harm her?” Cullen asked. Grudge killings of police officers were not unheard of, and it was a possibility they must consider.
    “A string of teenage knifings on an estate,” Gaskill answered, dismissive. “These kids wouldn’t know where Henley was, much less how to get there, or how to turn over a rowing boat.”
    Cullen wasn’t so easily fobbed off. “What about her rowing? I understand she’d begun leaving work very early since the clocks went back. Was this causing any difficulties with her performance?”
    “Becca assured me that she would continue to manage her caseload.”
    Seeing Cullen’s quick glance, Kincaid knew his partner had caught it, too. Gaskill had slipped and called Becca by her familiar name.
    “And her colleagues here in the unit?” Kincaid asked. “Were they okay with this, too?”
    “You’d have to ask them, Superintendent. I assumed she had come to an understanding with them.”
    “Had she, now?” Kincaid settled a little more comfortably in his chair and straightened his trouser crease before he continued. “Did you know that DCI Meredith was considering training full-time for the Olympics?”
    He saw the flash of hesitation on Gaskill’s face. It was brief, and quickly mastered, but it had been there. The man had been deciding whether or not to lie. Why?
    Gaskill touched the already perfectly aligned stack of papers on his desk. “She’d talked to me about it, yes, but I didn’t think she’d come to a definite decision. She would have had the full support of the force, of course, although we’d have hated to lose her.” Seeming to realize he’d made an unfortunate choice of words, Gaskill added, “I