"I can't exactly do footwork."

"You don't need feet." Melody nodded at his computer. "You can log into the case file on HOLMES from here. And-" She frowned, thinking. "What about court records? Could you access Arnott's cases? That seems the most logical place to start."

"You don't want much, do you? And what do I get in return?"

Melody tried to disguise her sigh of relief. "How about beer and pizza, for a start?

Andy pushed himself up and staggered across the garden towards Nadine's door, but the ground seemed to heave beneath him and his feet felt as if they were mired in treacle.

Before he reached the steps, he saw Joe backing out of the kitchen, babbling, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to startle you. I was at Andy's next door and he said-he said I could-I didn't know-"

Andy saw Nadine then, behind Joe. She was clutching a pale blue silk dressing gown together at her neck. Her feet were bare, her hair disheveled, and the hem and skirt of the dressing gown were stained with ugly deep red splotches.

"Get out," she said to Joe. There was no slurring to her voice now. "Get out, or I'll call the police."

"I'm sorry," Joe said again, backing down the steps. "I didn't-"

She saw Andy. "You."

He glanced round, not believing that the cold and unfamiliar voice could be directed at him. But Shaun had disappeared through the gap in the fence.

"No, I didn't tell him-"

"You, Andy? You put this-this little creep, up to this?" She was shaking now, her voice rising in rage and shock. Joe stumbled away, and then he, too, had crossed the garden and slipped through the fence.

"How could you? How could you?" Nadine's eyes never left Andy, and when she spoke again, he wished she had kept shouting. "You, Andy. Of all people. I thought you were my friend."

Turning away, she slammed her door, and an instant later the kitchen lights went out.

Andy stood alone in the dark.

CHAPTER NINETEEN.

The immensity of the crowd destroyed the possibility of evacuating the area around the tower. Anerley Hill, where the tower was most likely to fall, was one solid, seething ma.s.s of people. Mounted and foot police struggled to force the crowd back. Even the fire engines were hemmed in. [ . . . ]

-www.sarahjyoung.com Gemma couldn't remember ever feeling so uncomfortable with Melody. They'd taken Gemma's Escort for their appointment with the headmaster of Norwood College in Dulwich, Gemma hoping that the time in the car would give them an opportunity to reconnect after yesterday afternoon's discussion. So far, however, Melody had been uncharacteristically silent.

It had been late the previous evening before Gemma had had a chance to fill Kincaid in on the case developments, including Melody's revelation about her interview with Nick the ba.s.sist.

"That's a b.u.g.g.e.r," Kincaid had said as they finished the last of the washing up in the kitchen. "Tam rang me this morning, after you talked to Andy. Apparently you put the poor bloke in a panic. What did you do, use thumbscrews?"

"Very funny," she'd said. "I thought I was exceedingly gentle."

"Tam said he was even threatening to back out of playing with the girl, Poppy."

"That's odd. He seemed more annoyed than panicked, but the last thing I asked him about was Caleb Hart. Interesting."

"I must say you got on better with Hart's secretary than I did." He'd flicked the tea towel at her.

"It was my overwhelming charm."

"Evidently. She wasn't susceptible to my pretty face."

She'd glanced at him to see if he was really bothered, but he was concentrating on his drying. He'd been in an odd mood all evening, joking and teasing the children more than usual, and she'd had the feeling that he was avoiding her, although she couldn't imagine why. "Tam wanted me to talk to Andy, see if I could find out what's put the wind up him," he went on. "I said I couldn't agree without speaking to you first."

Gemma thought about it before replying. "Well, I obviously am not going to get anything out of him, and I can't let Melody talk to him. Maybe you'll have better luck. Although I still can't see where it will get us. Maybe the punch-up in the pub was a row over a girlfriend-not the sort of thing he'd have wanted to tell Melody if he was trying to impress her."

"Tomorrow, then, I'll see if I can set something up. But I'll need to make arrangements for Charlotte. I'll just give Betty a ring, shall I?"

Gemma had worried over the conversation the rest of the evening, finally deciding not to share Tam's concern over Andy with Melody. She would wait and see what Duncan learned, and in the meantime, she would move Caleb Hart further up her action list.

Now, as they came into Dulwich, she glanced at the car clock. "We've plenty of time before our appointment. I want to make a stop first."

The address of the community center Caleb Hart's a.s.sistant had given her was on the eastern side of the suburb, and from the outside, at least, the long, low, sixties-style building was not prepossessing.

"The AA meeting?" asked Melody.

Gemma nodded as she looked for a parking spot. "d.a.m.n. Busy place."

"Why don't you circle and I'll go in," Melody suggested.

"Okay. There's a spot where I can pull over on the double yellows if I stay with the car."

As Gemma eased the Escort into a gap not quite big enough for it, Melody hopped out and walked briskly into the building.

Leaving the engine running, Gemma sat rubbing her cold hands and watching as the center's patrons came and went, mostly women wearing exercise gear under their coats. Didn't any of these women work? she wondered, trying to imagine a lifestyle that allowed morning Pilates cla.s.ses. A few elderly women arrived together, perhaps for bridge or bingo-or power aerobics, for all Gemma knew.

She was glancing at the clock and beginning to worry about their appointment at the school by the time Melody came out.

"Busy indeed," said Melody as she climbed back in the car, bringing with her a blast of frigid air. "Pilates, yoga, meditation. Oh, and a stained-gla.s.s-making cla.s.s. And that's all before the afternoon activities start for older kids."

"And?" Gemma pulled into the flow of traffic, but she'd seen Melody's triumphant grin.

"AA meetings, several times a week, including Friday nights at ten."

"d.a.m.n," Gemma muttered. "Hart's story holds up, then."

"Not necessarily. It just so happens that the very helpful activities director attends the group. When I explained that we were verifying Mr. Hart's statement in the course of an investigation, she said that he did arrive at ten on Friday night. But that, unusually for him, he forgot to turn off his phone. He got a call not long after the meeting began, and left hurriedly."

"He didn't say why?"

"No. Just apologized and excused himself. She said it was before half past the hour."

"Ah. So if we know Arnott was alive around eleven, when he checked into the Belvedere, then Hart doesn't have an alibi for the time of Arnott's death." Had Andy Monahan known that Hart had no alibi for Friday night? Gemma wondered. But, as far as they knew, Andy had not even met Hart until Sat.u.r.day. It seemed that everything they learned complicated things even further.

Their route took them back into West Dulwich, and up the leafy hill between West Norwood Cemetery and Norwood Park. The school itself, so appropriately named, bordered on Norwood Park itself, and was, Gemma realized, just on the edge of Crystal Palace.

This time it was easy to find a parking s.p.a.ce in the clearly marked visitors' area. Gemma looked at the complex of warm-colored brick buildings backed by manicured playing fields, and thought what a far cry the place was from the schools she'd gone to growing up in Leyton.

A few boys wearing blazers and carrying satchels scurried between buildings. She could easily imagine Kit in a place like this, with his poise and elegant looks. He had spent the first part of his childhood as the son of Cambridge dons, in an environment where learning and privilege went hand in hand.

But Toby? The thought made her sigh. Her son would racket around like a ball in a pinball machine. And Charlotte? Where did Charlotte fit?

"Boss?" said Melody. They'd reached the doors to the administration building.

"Sorry. Woolgathering. Did you go to a school like this, Melody?"

"Much more posh, I'm afraid. Although on the students' end, that meant turn-of-the-last-century dormitories with mildewed shared baths and a distinct lack of central heating. One pays for the status, not the luxury of the accommodations. I'd take this place in a heartbeat."

"Would you send your own children to boarding school?"

"That's a bit hypothetical at the moment." Melody gave her a quick glance as she held open the door. "But I honestly don't know. Ten years ago I'd have said no way. Now, I'm not so sure. The life does breed a certain self-reliance. And many girls-and boys-do form lifetime bonds. Unfortunately, I wasn't one of them."

"I wonder," said Gemma, "if Shaun Francis was?"

"May I help you?" asked a comfortably motherly woman at the reception desk.

Gemma produced her identification and explained that they had an appointment with the headmaster.

"Oh, yes." The woman smiled, apparently unfazed by a visit from Met CID. "He's with a pupil at the moment, but I'll let him know you're here."

While she spoke quietly into an intercom, Gemma looked round the reception area. The building had obviously undergone some architectural renovation, and gla.s.s panels in the ceiling gave the s.p.a.ce a light and airy feel.

The door to the headmaster's office opened and a boy about Kit's age came out. He was mixed race and, like the receptionist, gave Gemma and Melody an easy, friendly smile. Considering what Gemma had learned about Shaun Francis, it seemed he would have been the odd one out in this place.

"The headmaster will see you now." The receptionist nodded towards the open door.

"Ooh, called on the carpet," Melody whispered in Gemma's ear, and then they were inside and the man at the desk was rising to greet them.

"I'm Wayne Carstairs." He held out a hand to Gemma. "Inspector James? And-"

"Detective Sergeant Talbot," said Melody as he shook her hand in turn.

Gemma realized she'd been expecting a tweedy-elbowed academic. But Wayne Carstairs, a fair, broad-shouldered man in his late forties or early fifties, looked more like a rugby player than a headmaster, and his accent was closer to her own than it was to Melody's.

He gestured them into chairs, then took his own. "I understand you're here about a former student, Shaun Francis." He tapped a file on his desk. "I've pulled his records for you."

"Thank you for seeing us, Mr. Carstairs," said Gemma. "As I said over the phone, Shaun Francis has died in unexplained circ.u.mstances."

"I was sorry to hear that." Carstairs did not sound particularly sorry. "I've seen the papers. I would certainly call murder 'unfortunate.' But I'm not sure how his old school records can help you. It's been more than a decade since he left Norwood."

"Did you know Shaun Francis, Mr. Carstairs?"

"I remember him, yes," Carstairs said, with apparent reluctance.

"Sometimes, when there's no obvious motive in the present, it helps us to look at the victim's history. And his sister mentioned a particular incident, something that happened when Shaun was in perhaps year seven. Do you recall it? It was the beginning of the autumn term, and involved another student here."

"Ah. Well." Carstairs frowned. "You won't find anything in his academic records about that. I wasn't headmaster then, you understand. I was the physics master, and had been here only two years."

"But you do remember the incident," Gemma prompted when he didn't go on.

Carstairs shuffled some papers on his desktop, obviously debating, then said with a slight sigh, "You have to understand that Norwood College was not then what it is now. We were known, not for our academic excellence, but as the school for boys who weren't quite gifted or diligent enough to get into the other college, but whose parents had money and social ambitions."

Gemma a.s.sumed he meant Dulwich College, the school's ill.u.s.trious neighbor. "What you mean is that you got some bad apples, and I'd a.s.sume that Shaun Francis was one of them."

"I taught him. And I would say 'bad apple' was a considerable understatement. Shaun Francis was as nasty a piece of work as I've seen in all my years of teaching. No apologies for speaking ill of the dead. But in this case, he wasn't responsible for what happened-at least not directly."

Gemma waited.

"There was another new teacher who had joined the staff the previous term, taking over the upper school French cla.s.ses for a teacher who had retired suddenly," Carstairs continued after a moment. "Her name was Nadine Drake and she was a young widow." His expression had softened as he said her name.

"A young female teacher in a boys' school?" Melody looked askance.

"Not the best idea," admitted Carstairs. "Nadine Drake was not only young but very attractive. But she had a certain . . . reserve about her. She kept discipline in her cla.s.ses, and she didn't encourage familiarity with the students. Nor did she make friends with other members of staff, which I think may have been to her detriment in the end." He paused, then went on with a grimace of distaste. "Not long after term started, whispers began going round the school that Mrs. Drake had had . . . inappropriate . . . relations with one of the boys. When the story reached the head, he questioned the boy, who said that over summer hols, Mrs. Drake had invited him into her home, where she had undressed in front of him and asked him to touch her. This, of course, set him up admirably with the other lads."

"Did you believe it?" asked Gemma.

"Not for a moment. I thought the entire story was preposterous, and that the rumor had been started by Shaun Francis."

"Why would Shaun have done something like that?"

"Because he was the sort of boy who held grudges. I can only a.s.sume he'd taken against Mrs. Drake for some reason, and that what happened to his friend was collateral damage."

"What happened to his friend?" repeated Melody, sounding puzzled. "Was he sent down?"

"Oh, no, but it might have gone better for him if he had been. It was Mrs. Drake who paid the price."

After the night in the garden, it took Andy two days to get up the courage to ring Nadine's bell. He'd been too ashamed to face her, and yet he knew he couldn't go on without telling her that he was sorry, that none of what had happened had been his idea, whether she believed him or not.

He rang and rang again. But there was no answer, that day or the next or the next, although her car was parked in front of the flat.

He watched, then, hoping to see her coming or going, and rang her bell at regular intervals, but there was no sound or movement in the flat. She didn't leave or return on her usual schedule-had Shaun and Joe been telling the truth about the French lessons? And did she really teach at their school? Why had she never told him what she did? He didn't know what to think, except that he had lost the only real friend he had ever known.

If she went out at all, it must have been during the times he walked his mum to and from work. His worry for Nadine grew until he felt ill with it, but there was no one he could talk to or ask for help.

Nor did he see Joe or Shaun. They seemed to have disappeared as mysteriously as they had appeared that hot day in the park, and he didn't know their last names or where they lived. What he would have done if he'd found them he didn't know, only that he wanted to hurt them, to somehow make them pay.