“I’ve missed you,” he said, slipping an arm round her shoulders and giving her a squeeze. “How’s Hazel?”
“Holding up fairly well, under the circumstances.
Have you talked to Tim again?”
“I’ve been ringing him since I got on the train this morning, and I’ve sent Cullen by the house. He’s not answering the door or the phone. I’ve spoken to his mum; they haven’t heard from him since they picked Holly up last night.”
“What the hell is he playing at?” said Gemma, and he felt her shoulders tense under his arm. “We’ll have to speak to Ross, then, as little as I like it.” She shook her head. “I keep thinking of all the times we’ve spent together, the four of us. Tim’s our friend—”
“All the more reason the matter should be out of our hands,” Kincaid told her, more firmly than he felt. “Let the Met—”
“Do you think he’s all right?” Gemma stopped and turned to face him, impeding the flow of pedestrians along the pavement. “You don’t think— I still have a key to the house— I should have gone back— What if—”
“Gemma, you can’t be in two places at once. I’m sure Tim’s fine.” Kincaid didn’t voice the fears he’d been trying to pass off since the previous night. “But we can suggest to the man here that he have the Met send along a couple of uniforms, a welfare call, if they can’t get CID
there right away. Now, where do we find this dragon of a chief inspector?”
“The police station is just past the car park. We can put your bag up first.” They reached the car park a few yards farther along, and she led him to the sleek-looking red Honda and unlocked the boot. Earlier, she’d taken time to extend the car hire.
Kincaid tossed his bag in, then hesitated before closing the boot. With a glance at Gemma, he unzipped the holdall and pulled out a sheet of paper. “Toby sent you this,” he said, handing it to her. “He worked on it all weekend.”
It was the much-embellished crayon drawing Toby had begun on Friday, depicting Gemma and Hazel on the train. He had since added frisking lambs, red long-horned cows, a blue river, and in the background, purple mountains with snowy caps.
“He wasn’t too far off the mark, was he?” Kincaid said, gesturing at the peaks of the Cairngorms, clearly visible through the open space beyond the car park.
With a sudden glint of tears, Gemma folded the drawing and tucked it carefully in her handbag. “Sorry,” she said, sniffing. “You know how I hate maudlin mums. It’s just that with everything else that’s happened—”
“I know.” Kincaid decided he had better take his chance. “Listen, Gemma. There is something I need to tell you— No, it’s all right, the kids are fine,” he added hastily, seeing the panic flare in her eyes. “It’s just that I’ve had a letter from Kit’s grandmother.”
“Eugenia?”
“None other. She’s sent a copy to Ian as well, saying she’s suing for custody. She’s alleging that Kit’s not being cared for properly.”
Gemma gaped at him. “You’re not serious.”
“I am, unfortunately.”
“Well, that should be simple enough to deal with. It’s past time you had a paternity test—”
“Simple, yes, except that Kit refuses to do it. Look, we can’t talk about this just now. But I thought you should know.”
“Why doesn’t Kit want to be tested?”
“I don’t know. He won’t talk to me.”
“I can’t believe you didn’t tell me this,” Gemma said, her voice rising. “You were avoiding me over the weekend, weren’t you?” she added. “You didn’t want to tell me.”
“Am I so transparent?” He snapped the boot shut, try-
ing to make light of it. “I didn’t want to spoil your weekend.”
“Spoil my weekend?” She faced him, hands on her hips, her eyes bright with anger. “You can’t keep things from me. Not for my own good. Not for any reason.”
“Gemma, I only wanted—”
“No.” Her voice shook. “Not if we’re in this together—
a family. You have to promise me.”
“But—”
“It’s the crack in the ice, Duncan. Don’t you see? It could happen to us, what’s happened to Hazel and Tim, and that’s how it starts. A little deception, a little something kept back. It could happen to us,” she repeated.
And he did see. She was right—he should have told her. It was a learned habit, sharing, and one at which he had not had much practice. He had been on his own for too many years, but before that, he should have learned his lesson with Vic. “No, it won’t,” he said, and ignoring the stares of passersby, drew her to him. “We won’t let it.”
“Inspector James.” The fair-haired sergeant was on duty again. He smiled at her in recognition, then glanced curiously at Kincaid.
“This is Superintendent Kincaid, from Scotland Yard,”
said Gemma. “We need to see Chief Inspector Ross.”
“He’s out, I’m afraid. If you’ll just—”
“But it’s urgent. If you’ll tell him—”
“He really is out, ma’am,” the sergeant said, apologetically. “He’s in Inverness, at the hospital.”
Of course, Ross would be attending the postmortem, Gemma realized, and she felt a moment’s thankfulness that it wasn’t she performing that duty. “What about Sergeant Munro?”
“With the chief inspector.”
“Can you give the chief inspector a message, then?”
She passed the sergeant her card. “Ask him to ring me on my mobile, as soon as he can. I have some information for him.”
“Is it something I can help you with?” offered the sergeant, his very blue eyes alert and speculative.
Gemma hesitated before replying. “No. I think I’d better talk to Chief Inspector Ross. But ta just the same.”
She flashed him a grateful smile.
When she and Kincaid reached the street again, he grinned wickedly at her. “The man fancies you.”
“What—the sergeant? Bollocks!”
“Plain as day. Unless that’s what they call community policing up here.”
Gemma gave him her most severe look. She knew he was deliberately trying to charm her, to smooth over the difficulty between them, but she was flattered nonethe-less. “It’s too bad my feminine charms didn’t impress Chief Inspector Ross.”
“Shall we wait for him?” Kincaid asked as he reached the car. “I must say I’m looking forward to meeting the man who could resist you.”
“No.” As she slid behind the wheel, Gemma debated bringing up Kit again but decided it would be better to wait until they had some uninterrupted time.
Now she needed to bring Kincaid up-to-date on what she had learned about Alison Grant and her unwelcome suitor. They could pay a call on Callum MacGillivray on the way to the B&B. “No, we can’t afford to put ourselves at Chief Inspector Ross’s convenience. We’ve other fish to fry.”
In spite of the fact that he wore nothing but a kilt and boots, at close quarters Callum MacGillivray was not as
romantic a figure as Gemma had imagined from her glimpse of him on Saturday night.
At the sound of their car bumping down the track to MacGillivray’s Stables, he had come out of the barn and stood watching them, pitchfork in hand. When they got out and approached him, she found he smelled, quite literally, of horseshit. Nor did he seem particularly pleased to see them.
“If ye want to make a booking, ye’ll have to talk to my aunt, and she’s away the noo,” he said curtly. But in spite of the less-than-welcoming statement, he peered curiously at Gemma, as if trying to place her.
Gemma caught a glimpse of Kincaid’s amused expression and knew he would tease her about making another conquest. Making an effort to ignore him, Gemma focused on Callum MacGillivray and found herself staring at his bare chest. Although not a heavily built man, he was well muscled, and his fair skin gleamed with sweat.