No Mark Upon Her

mean Rashid Kaleem?
    “You know, the pathologist guy,” said Alia, confirming it. “He says he knows you. He’s been helping out at the health clinic, since . . .” Her voice faded.
    Alia had idolized Charlotte’s parents, Naz and Sandra, and had volunteered alongside Sandra at the East End health clinic that served neighborhood Asian women. Gemma realized that she was the one who’d told Rashid about the clinic—how like him to step in without a fuss and lend a hand. And to offer mentoring to this young woman who had lost Naz and Sandra’s support.
    But Alia was young and impressionable, and one look at Rashid Kaleem was enough to make older and wiser women swoon. She hoped he wouldn’t unwittingly break the girl’s heart.
    “Oh, super. That’s great,” she said, realizing that Alia was looking disappointed.
    “Lia, I want lorries,” said Charlotte, coming to Gemma’s rescue. She rolled one of Toby’s toy vans across the table. “Can lorries have tea?”
    Sitting on the kitchen chair beside Alia, she swung her little trainer-clad feet high above the floor. One of the hair slides Gemma had clipped so carefully in her hair that morning had come undone, and there seemed to be a streak of mud—or at least Gemma hoped it was mud—across the front of her T-shirt. So much for her visions of a girly-girl, Gemma thought . . . not that she’d have had much idea what to do with one.
    “Lorries drink petrol,” Alia explained, “but maybe just this once they could have tea.” She shot Gemma a meaningful glance and mouthed, “Go.”
    “Right.” Gemma adjusted the strap of her handbag on her shoulder. “You have my mobile—”
    “Of course I do.” Alia rolled her eyes.
    “Okay.” Gemma gave in. “I’ll see you then.” With an effort, she resisted the urge to give Charlotte one last hug. She was trying to discourage clinginess, she reminded herself, not foster it. She took a deep breath, and with a jaunty wave, headed for the door before she could change her mind about going.
    Once outside, though, the bright day seemed to welcome her, and she suddenly felt bracingly, exhilaratingly independent. She stretched her legs into a welcome adult pace. Turning into Lansdowne Road, she decided to make a quick detour on her way to the station.
    Ten minutes later, she walked into Notting Hill Police Station, armed with two lattes from the Starbucks on Holland Park Avenue. Melody had brought her coffee often enough—it was time she returned the favor.
    “Inspector!” The desk sergeant, a grizzled Scot called Jonnie who had been a fixture at Notting Hill since long before Gemma’s time, beamed at her as if she were long-lost kin. “You’re a sight for sore eyes. I thought you weren’t due back until Monday.”
    “I’m not,” Gemma explained. “I’ve just dropped in for a chat with Melody.” She raised the cardboard cups in demonstration.
    “How’s the new addition to the family?” he asked. “Have you got a picture?”
    “More than one, actually,” Gemma answered with a smile. She set the coffees on the reception counter and took out her phone.
    When she pulled up photos of Charlotte, the sergeant scrolled through them with admiring exclamations. “What a lovely wee lass,” he said, returning her phone. “I think you’ll be missing her when you come back to work.”
    “Yes, but I miss this place, too. It will be good to—”
    “Boss?” Melody came through the door into the lobby. “Somebody said you were here.”
    “Police station ESP,” said Gemma, grinning. “I’ve never understood how that works. The psychic grapevine.” Now she felt truly at home.
    “Oh, coffee. Brilliant. Ta very much.” Melody took the hot cup and led the way into the station proper. “I’ve commandeered the Sapphire office for a bit. Mike and Ginny are both testifying in court.”
    As they walked through the corridor, Gemma felt the station settle round her. The faint odor of chip fat from the canteen, the rise and fall of voices punctuated by the occasional muffled laugh, the click of keyboards and the ringing of phones—all seemed as familiar to her as her own heartbeat. “What about the super?” she asked.
    “Divisional meeting. He’ll be sorry to have missed you—not that you won’t see him soon enough. And be back in your own office,” Melody added, sounding pleased.
    Gemma hesitated. “Um, Melody, I’m just as glad he’s out, to tell the truth.” She’d always had a good