No Mark Upon Her

go. But tell Gemma we’re looking forward to having her back next week.”
    “Will do,” said Kincaid, and rang off.
    There was a tap on his office door and Cullen came in. “I’ve been on to Henley,” he said, taking the visitor’s chair. “I’ve assigned a family liaison officer to Freddie Atterton, although Atterton had already made the official identification before I could get the FLO to accompany him.
    “I’ve had a word with the press officer and said the usual— deepest regrets, one of our finest officers, putting all our resources towards finding an explanation for DCI Meredith’s tragic death, etc., etc . But they want you in your finest in Henley tomorrow morning for a five-minute stint with the cameras.”
    Kincaid nodded. He didn’t like doing interviews, but it was a necessary, and sometimes useful, part of an investigation. It was a good thing he would get home tonight for a change of clothes. “Anything new from the forensics teams, or this afternoon’s interviews?”
    Shaking his head, Cullen said, “Not yet. What about this Angus Craig business, guv?”
    “I don’t think we can take that any further until I’ve had a word with the chief.” He glanced at his watch. It was almost five. His patience with his chief superintendent was evaporating, but he wasn’t leaving until he’d seen him. “I’m going to stay on a bit, Doug, but you go home. I expect you have boxes to deal with. When are you out of your flat?”
    Cullen grinned. “This weekend. Good thing I don’t have much to pack.”
    “You’d best take advantage of a lull, then. We’ll make an early start for Henley in the morning.”
    After Cullen left, Kincaid shuffled papers with one eye on the clock. He was just about to go knock on the chief’s door when Childs’s secretary rang and summoned him.
    Kincaid entered the chief superintendent’s office without ceremony, and when Childs gestured towards his usual chair, he shook his head.
    “I won’t keep you long, sir.”
    Childs’s usually implacable gaze sharpened. “What’s going on, Duncan? Is there a development?”
    Kincaid had worked under Denis Childs for more than six years, and they’d been on first-name terms for much of that time. Not only did he consider Childs a personal friend, but they were also connected through the house in Notting Hill, which Kincaid and Gemma leased from Denis’s sister. At the moment, however, he wasn’t inclined towards informality.
    “Sir, were you aware that there was some sort of connection between Deputy Assistant Commissioner Angus Craig and Rebecca Meredith?”
    Childs looked startled. “Did Peter Gaskill tell you that?”
    A heavy man, Childs had made an effort to lose weight in the past year, and now his skin seemed to sag on his body, as if it had belonged to someone a size larger. The resulting fleshy folds around Childs’s dark almond-shaped eyes had not made his expression any easier to read, but from his response, Kincaid assumed that he had known something.
    Avoiding an answer that would implicate Sergeant Patterson, he said, “What I’d like to know is why you didn’t tell me. If there was some relationship between Rebecca Meredith and DAC Craig, it seems the fact that Craig lives a mile from where Meredith’s body was found might be relevant. That’s a bit of a coincidence, don’t you think?”
    “Sarcasm doesn’t become you, Duncan. And you’re shooting in the dark, aren’t you?” Childs looked at him speculatively. “You don’t really know anything.” Then he sighed and folded his pudgy hands together on the pristine surface of his large and shiny desk. “But I know you well enough to know that you won’t leave it alone now.”
    “Leave what alone, exactly?”
    “Something that I’d hoped would not become an issue. Something that needs to be handled very delicately. I wouldn’t say that DCI Meredith had a relationship with Craig. But she had made certain . . . allegations . . . regarding Craig’s behavior towards her. I’m sure they have nothing to do with her death, but if they became public knowledge, it could be very ugly for the Met.”
    “Ugly?” Kincaid thought of the sight of Rebecca Meredith’s body. “I can’t think of many things uglier than what looks like the murder of one of our senior officers. I think you’d better tell me exactly what’s going on here, Denis. What sort of allegations are you talking about?”
    Pushing back his chair, Childs said, “Oh,