No Mark Upon Her

mean temporarily, of course.”
    He cleared his throat, a deliberate end-of-the-interview signal. “Now, if you don’t mind, Superintendent, I’ve a luncheon appointment. As for DCI Meredith’s team, Sergeant Patterson is out on an interview, but DC Bisik is waiting to speak to you.”
    Kincaid decided to accept the dismissal gracefully. He wanted to know more before he pushed Superintendent Gaskill further. He stood and reached for Gaskill’s hand, giving him no choice but to shake again. “Thanks for your time.”
    Gaskill stood. “You will keep me posted?”
    “Of course.”
    “You’ll find DC Bisik at the desk on your right,” Gaskill said, nodding, then focused his attention on his papers again. Kincaid would have wagered he knew the first page by heart.
    As they stepped into the CID room and the door swung to behind them, Cullen whispered, “Wanker.”
    “In spades,” Kincaid murmured back, turning to look for Becca’s constable. But a young man had risen from a desk to their right and was already coming towards them.
    “I’m Bryan.” He reached out to shake their hands. “DC Bisik. Is she—we’ve heard—is the guv’nor really dead?” He was stocky, with buzz-cut dark hair that set off his pale face, and his apparent distress seemed in marked contrast to his superior’s cool demeanor.
    “I’m sorry, yes,” Kincaid said.
    “Oh, Christ. I can’t believe it. She was just . . .” Bisik swallowed, then motioned them towards the relative quiet of the corridor. “What happened?” he asked when they had followed him out. “Can you say? The rumor mill is going full tilt here.”
    “She was reported missing after she went out rowing on Monday evening and didn’t return. Her body was recovered yesterday. We’re treating her death as a full-scale inquiry.”
    “Oh, right. Okay.” Bisik seemed at a loss. “I can’t believe someone would—I mean, she wasn’t the easiest boss, but you could count on her to be straight with you.” The flick of his eyes towards the inner office said as plainly as words, unlike some .
    “Was everything okay at work?” Kincaid asked.
    Bisik hesitated. “Well, there was a bit of feeling, you know, with her leaving early for her training. She was always on at us about our time clocks, and we—Kelly and me—thought Becca was being a right—” His eyes widened. “God, I can’t believe I said that. I never thought—I didn’t mean . . .”
    “It’s all right.” Kincaid came to his rescue. “It’s the shock. You know as well as we do that the dead don’t suddenly become saints. And I can’t say I blame you for feeling a bit pissed off.” When he saw Bisik visibly relax, he went on. “What about DCI Meredith’s personal life? Do you know if she was having any problems?”
    “No way, man.” Bisik shook his head. “I knew she was divorced a year or two back, but it was more than my life was worth to tread on that territory.”
    “She wasn’t the chatty type, then?”
    “Sphinx doesn’t begin to describe it.” Bisik looked suddenly appalled. “She—I’ve done it again, haven’t I?”
    Kincaid clapped him on the shoulder. “Don’t worry. It’s perfectly natural.” He fished in his pocket. “Here’s my card, if you want to talk, or if you think of anything that might be helpful. And I’m sorry for your loss.” He started to walk away, then casually swung back. “DCI Meredith—did she get on with her guv’nor?” He nodded towards the inner office.
    Bisik’s face went blank. “Not my business to say. Sir.” For a large man, he slipped back into the CID room with surprising speed.
    A s they came out into Shepherd’s Bush Road, Kincaid noticed a woman standing by the railings on the opposite side of the street. She was smoking with rapid little puffs, and she held the cigarette cupped in her hand in a distinctly masculine gesture. When she saw them, she dropped the fag end, grinding it under the ball of her high-heeled shoe, and checked the oncoming traffic before starting towards them.
    She was blond and thin, but not in the toned way of an athlete like Becca Meredith. The skirt of her gray suit pulled across her stomach, and the jacket hung badly on her narrow shoulders.
    As she drew closer, Kincaid saw that her short blond hair was dark at the roots, and that she was a good bit older than she’d appeared from a distance.
    “You’re the blokes from the Yard,” she said, and he thought her accent held a trace of