No Mark Upon Her

medic. Rower. He fixes boats, and he and his dog, a Labrador retriever, were part of the team at the weir.” He studied Freddie. “But then maybe you already know all that.”
    “No. No, I’d no idea. I saw him. I saw him that morning. A tall, dark-haired guy with a black dog.” Freddie shook his head, as if he couldn’t quite take it in. “Is he—you said someone tried to kill him. Is he okay? What happened to him?”
    Kincaid thought that if Freddie were really as surprised as he seemed by the idea of Becca having had a lover, his concern was commendable. “He’s all right except for a gash in the head. But his boatshed isn’t. Someone tried to burn it down and made a pretty good job of it.”
    “And he and Becca . . . I never imagined she’d . . .” Freddie laughed. “That’s stupid, I know. She had more than enough reason to have an affair when we were married. And she certainly had every right to—to sleep with whoever she wanted after we were divorced. But I suppose I thought she would have told me . . .”
    Looking at Freddie, and thinking about his interview with Kieran last night at Tavie’s, Kincaid realized that the two men were physically very similar. Tall, dark-haired, slender, rower’s physique . . . Was that why Becca had been attracted to Kieran? And were there other similar qualities that were less evident? He suspected that she’d been the stronger personality in both relationships, and that she’d liked it that way, consciously or not.
    “Maybe she didn’t want to hurt you,” he suggested. “Or . . .” He thought for a moment, then said, “She told Kieran she didn’t want anyone to know about their relationship because it could be used against her. Do you have any idea what she meant?”
    “Used against her?” Freddie shook his head. “No. She certainly didn’t mean by me.”
    “You wouldn’t have asked her to deed the title of the cottage back to you?”
    “God, no. And even if I had, I gave it to her in the divorce settlement, free and clear. I wouldn’t have had a legal leg to stand on.”
    Freddie’s certainty made Kincaid wonder if he had considered asking her to give the cottage back and then abandoned the idea.
    In favor of murder?
    But Freddie would have to have known that Becca hadn’t changed her will, and given what Kincaid had learned about Becca Meredith, he thought it highly unlikely that she’d shared such details with anyone. Unless, of course, Freddie had just gambled on her not wanting to leave her assets to her mother, and had doubted she’d leave a generous bequest to a stray cats’ home.
    Kincaid considered the man sitting before him—shocked, exhausted, frightened. He’d seen murderers who were all of those things, so it was conceivable that Freddie Atterton had murdered his ex-wife and yet could still display those emotions unfeigned.
    But Kincaid couldn’t quite bring himself to believe it. There were too many things that didn’t add up, and if Freddie had a genuine alibi for last night, it would mean that the attack on Connolly was unrelated to Becca Meredith’s murder. And that, he thought, was beggaring belief.
    W hen the SOCOs had arrived, he’d left Doug to oversee the collection of evidence and the arrangements for towing Freddie’s Audi. Excusing himself, he’d found a quiet space in the old brewery courtyard and rung Detective Constable Imogen Bell.
    “Sir,” she said, “is everything all right?”
    “Fine. Sorry if I was a bit abrupt earlier. DC Bell, have you had any training in family liaison?”
    “Just the basics. Challenging, I thought.”
    “Yes, it can be. So . . . how would you fancy a temporary spot of tea-making and hand-holding?”
    There was a moment of silence. Then Bell said, with the barest hint of amusement, “I take it that is not a gender-biased assignment. Sir.”
    Kincaid grinned. “I am firmly of the opinion that a bloke can make tea and hold hands just as well as any woman, if not better. But in this particular case, I have to admit I think your gender might be to our advantage.”
    He’d remembered that Imogen Bell had reminded him of the photos he’d seen of a younger Becca Meredith. And if Becca Meredith’s taste in men had run to type, he thought it worth seeing if the same held true for her ex-husband.
    Freddie Atterton had all the symptoms of a man badly in need of a confidant. It was the least Kincaid could do to provide one.
    D oug Cullen came out of Freddie Atterton’s flat