A Finer End

“Did you find any evidence that Garnet Todd’s van was involved in Miss Catesby’s accident?”

“A few smudges on the front fender. Could have been caused by a close encounter with a hedge. There was not much vehicular damage to Miss Catesby’s bicycle, mostly scrapes and dings from the pavement. And there was no bleeding from Miss Catesby’s injuries—”

“So no hope of blood on the vehicle,” Kincaid said grimly. “What about fibers?”

“We’re checking now. But”—Greely shrugged—“it’s a snowball’s chance in hell, if you ask me, and we’ve nothing to link the two incidents other than the girl’s story.”

As he wondered if Gemma had managed to coax anything more from Faith, Kincaid realized how easily they, too, had fallen into their old routine.

As anxious as he was about Winnie, Jack felt he must take the time to let Simon Fitzstephen know about Garnet’s death—and not by telephone. Simon and Garnet had been friends too long for an impersonal notice.

At least he could feel sure that he’d left Faith in good hands. Duncan’s Gemma had a quiet authority that inspired confidence, and she had succeeded in calming Faith where he had failed.

So they were colleagues as well as lovers, he thought, wondering how long they’d been together, and if Duncan had finally managed to lay his troubled marriage to rest. Jack had been sorry to hear of Vic’s death the previous spring, but had done nothing more than send Duncan a brief note—such things still struck too close to home.

And now he found himself the apparent custodian of a pregnant young woman who might deliver her child at any moment. The prospect terrified him.

He found Simon on his knees in front of his perennial border, snipping the dead stalks from bloomed-out plants. “Dreary time of year, isn’t it?” Simon rose, wincing, and as he came across the lawn Jack saw that he was limping. “And digging in the dirt may be good for the soul, but it plays hell with my bad knee.”

“Old injury?” Jack asked.

“Climbing accident. Slipped in the scree years ago and tore a few ligaments. Just let me wash up and I’ll put the kettle on.”

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He could tell Greely some of the things he’d begun to suspect about Garnet, but it would only make his motive look stronger.

But there must have been others who had felt as he did about Garnet—there must have been someone who had wanted her dead. And if he could find out who, he might have a hope of saving himself.

Kincaid and Gemma pulled into Jack’s drive just as he was getting out of his Volvo. They found Faith waiting for them in the kitchen, hands on her hips, furious spots of color on her cheeks.

“Something smells good.” Jack wrinkled his nose in appreciation. “We haven’t had a proper meal in—”

Turning on Kincaid, Faith spat, “How could you? You told Nick he should talk to the police, that it would be all right! So he did, and now they think he’s a murderer.”

“Faith, I told him it was the best course, and I still think that’s true. They’ve got Nick’s prints in the house and his bike tracks in the yard. He’d only make things worse for himself by lying.”

“But you’re a policeman. Can’t you tell Greely it’s not true, that Nick wouldn’t—”

“I don’t have any jurisdiction here. I can offer the Inspector my opinion, but I can’t tell him how to run his case.” Kincaid held up his hand before she could interrupt again. “I will tell you that I don’t think he’s got any solid evidence, so right now all he can do is try to get a response from Nick.”

“He thinks I helped. Did you know that?”

“Faith—”

“He said I needed legal advice.”

“Greely came here?”

Faith nodded.

“He interviewed you with no one else present?”

“There was a policewoman with him.”

Kincaid hesitated. It was a sticky situation, as Faith was legally an adult, but Greely could have found a better way to handle it. “If he comes again, tell him that you will only talk to him if Jack, or one of us, is present. If he won’t agree to that, tell him you insist on legal representation. That means he can’t talk to you without your lawyer present. Got that?”

“But I don’t have a lawyer!”

Kincaid turned to Jack. “Is there someone you can call?”

“An old school friend. She’s one of the best solicitors in the county.”

“Why don’t you do that, just alert her to the situation.”

As Jack went to make his phone call, Gemma guided Faith to the pot simmering on the cooker, and in a moment had the girl detailing the ingredients.

Crisis defused temporarily, Kincaid thought with relief, but what sort of idiotic thing had he just done? He had known even as he offered his support that he was placing himself in a precariously biased position. But something about this girl seemed to bring everyone’s protective instincts to the fore. Except DCI Greely’s, it seemed.