No Mark Upon Her

lads said to tell you that they’ll go over the car as soon as possible.”
    “Thanks, detective. Good work.” Kincaid paused, realizing he needed to be circumspect. “DC Bell, could you ask Mr. Atterton which evening last week he met the gentleman in the bar?”
    “Um, right, sir.” There was a muffled murmur of conversation, then Bell came back clearly on the line. “He says he thinks it was Thursday.” He could hear curiosity in her voice, but he thanked her without further comment and rang off.
    “Thursday,” Kincaid repeated in answer to Doug’s querying look.
    Wincing as he nibbled on a piece of smoked haddock, Doug whistled through his teeth, then said, “Hotter than blazes.” He took a sip of water. Thoughtfully, he added, “It could have been coincidence, I suppose, Craig running into Freddie.”
    “Could have been, yes,” Kincaid agreed. “And maybe it was just coincidence that Becca Meredith’s behavior altered the next day. But I’d like you to go back to West London Station. Have a word with Becca’s colleagues. See if you can find out what was different about Friday.”
    “And what are you going to be doing?” Doug asked, giving him a suspicious glance.
    “Something I don’t want you involved with.” Kincaid contemplated his untouched lunch. He’d suddenly lost his appetite. “I’m going to have a talk with Angus Craig.”
    Doug’s eyes widened. His fork hovered halfway to his mouth. “The guv’nor is not going to like that.”
    That was an understatement, Kincaid thought.
    He had pushed the envelope often enough in his career, or flown under the radar, knowing that Childs would give him considerable leeway if he solved a case. But he didn’t remember ever having gone against the express wishes of his commanding officer.
    He’d told Chief Superintendent Childs that he didn’t approve of the way Becca Meredith’s allegations against Craig had been handled. He’d said he thought Craig was a viable suspect.
    And he had been warned off.
    He drank more of his tea, not caring that it had gone stone cold. It served to wet his suddenly dry mouth.
    If he had any sense, he would walk away from this case now. Let someone else take it over. Let Freddie Atterton, a man he believed to be innocent, be made a convenient scapegoat. And let the whole dirty business of Angus Craig using his authority to prey on women—women like Gemma and Becca Meredith and God knew how many others—be swept under the rug.
    “Well, no, I suspect he’s not going to like it,” he said slowly to Doug. “But I don’t intend to tell him just yet.”

Chapter Sixteen

I steel myself to launch the twenty biggest strokes of my life and from the first stroke I can feel the surge of power as all of us commit our full strength. [James Livingston]
—David and James Livingston
Blood Over Water

    B y the time Doug Cullen made his connection in Twyford and took the train from there into Paddington, it was getting on towards mid-afternoon.
    He took the tube to Shepherd’s Bush. From there, it was a good walk to West London Station, but Doug didn’t mind it. The day was still fine, and after seeing the rowers at Leander that morning, Doug had come to the uncomfortable realization that he had a lot of shaping up to do if he was going to be fit enough to get back in a single scull.
    Both the train journey and the walk had given him time to think as well, and he’d worked out a strategy. He certainly wasn’t going to attempt to chat up Superintendent Peter Gaskill—in fact, he wanted to avoid Gaskill if at all possible.
    Their initial conversation with Sergeant Kelly Patterson had made him think she was not likely to be more forthcoming, so that left the DC, Bryan Bisik.
    When he reached the station, he asked the desk sergeant to ring up for Bisik, and a few minutes later the detective constable came down. Bisik looked worried, and a little the worse for wear. His pale face was pasty, the skin beneath his eyes slightly reddened and puffy, and his gelled dark hair bore flakes of dandruff.
    “Sergeant Cullen,” he said. “Have there been any—any developments?”
    “You could say that,” Cullen replied. “Some of them quite interesting.”
    “I’m sorry, but the super’s not in.”
    “It’s you I wanted to talk to, actually. Is there somewhere we could have a chat?”
    Bisik gave a wary glance towards the desk sergeant. “I don’t know what I could tell you that we didn’t go over the other