No Mark Upon Her

woodworking, but this”—he shook his head—“this is beyond anything I’ve ever seen. Certainly beyond an amateur’s talents. It’s exquisite.”
    “Does anyone still row in wooden shells?” Kincaid asked.
    “Some.” Doug stroked the boat, too, as if he couldn’t resist. “Connoisseurs. And a few people race in them, but probably not at championship level. But this—this you would want to own just because it’s beautiful.” He walked round the shell, studying it. “This isn’t just engineering. It’s art. This is as good a design as I’ve seen in a high-tech carbon-fiber boat—maybe better, although I’m no expert.”
    He looked up, as if suddenly assailed by paranoia. “You can’t leave this boat just sitting out here. Anything could happen to it. And it could be worth a bloody fortune.”
    “A fortune?” Kincaid asked. “That’s a relative term.”
    “Well, a fortune to someone like me,” Doug admitted. “But a boat like this would be pricey even for a top-flight sculler. And if the design is unique”—he shrugged—“who knows?”
    Would someone have killed for a boat like this? Kincaid wondered. Was it possible that the attack on Kieran was connected to this boat, and not to Becca Meredith? Or were the two things related in a way he didn’t see?
    “We’ll have a word with Kieran about it, as soon as possible,” he said. “But first I need to see if forensics have made any progress at the site Kieran pinpointed. And we need to discover how the guy who did this”—he glanced at the burned shed—“got here. You’re right about the boat, though, Doug,” he added thoughtfully. “It needs to be kept safe.”
    “The neighbor’s been very helpful,” said Morris. “And he’s got a little shed. Maybe he could lock it up for Mr. Connolly. I’ll have a word with him when we finish processing the scene.”
    Kincaid nodded. “Good idea.” He turned to Cullen. “Doug, I’ll organize someone to check with the other rowing clubs, if you can go back to Leander. Talk to Milo Jachym and the rest of the staff. See if anyone took a single scull out last night. And ask if anyone saw Freddie Atterton in the club. You’ll fit right in,” he added with a grin. “In the meantime, I’ll be at the incident room. I put off the press this morning but I’ll have to—” Cullen’s phone rang, cutting him off.
    “Sorry, guv,” said Cullen, with a shrug of apology as he pulled the phone from his jacket. He answered, identified himself, shot a glance at Kincaid as he listened. Then, thanking the caller, he hung up.
    “You’re not going to like this,” he told Kincaid. “But the chief will. That was Becca Meredith’s insurance broker, ringing me back. It seems that Freddie Atterton was still the beneficiary on Becca’s life insurance policy. To the tune of five hundred thousand pounds.”
    G emma had reached the kitchen doorway before she turned back. “You’ll be all right?”
    Looking up from the tiny tea set arranged on the kitchen table, Alia gave her a reassuring smile. “We’ll be fine. Don’t worry.”
    The young Asian woman had been Charlotte’s nanny when the child lived in Fournier Street with her parents. Last night, after Kincaid had left for Henley, Gemma had been unable to get the image of Angus Craig out of her mind. She’d wanted to follow up on her idea of asking Melody to check the Project Sapphire files, so she’d rung Alia to see if she could mind Charlotte this morning.
    Alia had been free and had seemed pleased to be asked. Since she’d arrived half an hour ago, she and Charlotte had been having a happy reunion over sips of milk in the teacups. Charlotte had shown no distress over the idea of Gemma’s going out. Toby was visiting a neighbor, and Kit was closeted in his room with the dogs, working, he’d said, on a project he’d been assigned over half-term break. The house, for the moment, seemed weirdly calm.
    Now, studying Alia, Gemma thought that the girl looked slimmer, her hair shinier, her skin clearer. “School going well?” she asked. Alia had set her sights on training as a solicitor, although she had little encouragement from her very traditional Bangladeshi family.
    “It’s good, yeah.” With a delicate brown finger, Alia moved Charlotte’s teacup away from the edge of the table. Gemma could have sworn she was blushing. “Rashid’s been helping me study.”
    “Rashid?” Gemma looked at her in surprise. Surely she didn’t