"It's possible she was drawn to you because of some resemblance, some similarity. Karl saw something of himself in you, obviously, that he didn't find in his acknowledged sons."
"It was the love of antiques. He told me once that he felt a kinship with me, because I recognized the value of beautiful things. He wanted to teach me; every time I came into the shop, he would have something new to show me." Alex frowned. "But if he knew I was his son, why didn't he come forward years ago?"
"Perhaps he lost track of you as a child, and it was only meeting you that triggered some spark of familiarity. He certainly had the resources to go on from there. Or it might have been his disappointment with Sean and Richard that made him search for you, and lo and behold, you were right on his doorstep."
"But if he knew about me- and he must have, if he took my mum to see Jane while she was pregnant with me- why did he let such terrible things happen to my mum? And me, until Jane took me in."
"I don't suppose there's any way you can know that, now," Gemma said softly. "But perhaps he meant to make amends. He left his business to you. I've just found the will. Dawn had hidden it among her things."
"His business? Arrowood Antiques? You're not serious!"
"Absolutely. The document was dated in mid-October, which I believe is about the time he had a huge row with Richard."
"But if he knew about Dawn and me, he'd have changed it, surely. Maybe he never-"
"I told him. The day of Dawn's funeral." Seeing Alex's appalled expression, she added hastily, "We had no choice. We still considered him a major suspect at that point."
"And he- was he terribly angry?"
Thinking back over their graveside interview with Karl, Gemma felt an acute sense of loss, as well as renewed guilt over her failure to prevent Karl's death. "He seemed more shocked than angry," she told Alex. "I remember noticing that he said, 'Oh no, not Alex- It couldn't be Alex,' rather than, 'Not Dawn,' and I thought at the time it was odd."
"He was kind to me… in spite of whatever else he may have done. I wish…"
"If the will is valid, you'll have the legacy he meant for you-"
"A business built on drugs? An inheritance he must have intended to change when he learned about Dawn and me?" Alex sounded aghast.
"Karl had a week between the time he learned about you and Dawn, and his death. And if he made another will, we didn't find it."
A shudder ran through Alex's lanky body. "Do you really think I could bear to profit by their deaths? And in spite of my dishonesty- and Dawn's? No." He shook his head vehemently. "I don't want any part of it."
She spent the first night in a shabby room in Earl's Court, far from Karl's usual haunts. Her money would scarcely stretch to cover a meal or two and a few more nights in similar accommodations, but by the second day that was the least of her worries.
Her body ached as if she had a bad case of flu; she was chilled and burning by turns, shaking and sick- and it was growing worse by the hour. Nothing would help her but a fix. But even if she'd had enough money to make a buy, her only connections were friends of Karl's, and contacting anyone associated with him was a risk she could not take.
She lay on the bed, shivering, as the shadows of the early winter dusk filled the room. The chills grew harder. Drawing her knees up into a fetal curl, she pulled the pillow over her head, but nothing offered relief.
At last, when it was fully dark, she gathered her few things and left the hotel. Too unsteady to walk, too nauseated to risk tube or bus, she hailed a taxi, regardless of the cost.
By the time she reached Notting Hill, it was all she could do to fumble the coins into the driver's hand and climb out onto the pavement. The street looked just as she remembered it- crumbling stucco, peeling paint, uncollected rubbish piled on the stoops- but her heart clenched in a faint spasm of hope. This place held no connection with Karl, no memories of him. And as he'd never known this part of her life, he would have no reason to look for her here.
She climbed the stairs, clinging to the railing and breathing a silent prayer that they would still be here. Where else could she turn?
It was Ronnie who answered her tentative knock. "Angel? What you doing here?"
As he gazed at her in surprise, she took in the changes in him, visible in the lines of his face and the way he held himself. Boyish brashness had matured into a quiet assurance.
"Are you all right?" he asked, his shock turning quickly to concern. "You're trembling-"
"I- I need- I can't-" Words failed her. How could she tell him what she had become?
But he had seen it often enough to know the signs. Gently, he took her hand and pushed up the sleeve of her sweater. "Oh, Jesus Christ." He looked up at her, dark eyes meeting hers. "I should never have let you go, Angel. Did he do this to you?" When she didn't answer, he said, "Never mind that now. I'm going to help you, don't you worry. You just trust me. Everything is going to be all right."
Gemma found Sergeant Franks waiting in her office when she returned from Alex's flat, his blunt face reflecting an odd combination of triumph and hesitation.
"What is it, Sergeant?" she asked, motioning him to a seat.
"Those phone records you were wanting, guv- I've got them. And you were right, Farley did make a number of calls to Dawn Arrowood, and the calls grew more frequent over the last few weeks before her death." Franks shifted in his chair, straightening his back as if it hurt him. "With that in hand, and you being out of the station this morning, I took the liberty of having Mr. Farley brought in, along with his shadow."
"Mr. Kelly?"
Franks nodded. "I told Mr. Farley we had records of his calls to Mrs. Arrowood, and I'm sorry to say his answer to that was as obstructive as ever. So… I practiced a bit of a deception on the man."
Gemma raised a noncommittal eyebrow, and after a moment, Franks went on. "I told him that Mrs. Arrowood had been no fool, and that she had recorded all their conversations, including the one the day before she died, in which he demanded that she say her cat was ill and that she bring it to the surgery."
"But if she didn't really record the calls, how did you know-"
"A good guess, guv. He did ring her that day, I had proof of that. The cat being ill the very next morning seemed a bit too convenient, if you know what I mean."
"So did he deny it?"
"No, funny enough. I suggested that he'd told her to bring money to the surgery, then when she didn't, he arranged to meet her again that evening. That knocked him for a loop. Mr. Kelly couldn't shut him up after that."
"You must have guessed right about the call. I can't imagine anything else putting the fear of God into him."
Franks allowed himself a small smile. "He said two thousand pounds was nothing to her, pin money, and he needed it to pay some debts. But she came to the surgery empty-handed, stalling him. Then when he got angry with her, she told him to go to hell, she'd tell her husband herself and he could do whatever he liked with his photos."
"Did he admit he met her again?"
"No. He says he went for a drink after work, trying to work out what to do, but he decided he'd no choice but to hope she was bluffing. When he heard she'd been killed, he thought she really had told Karl, and that Karl had killed her."