"That would have been the White Stag, on Church Street?" said Gemma.

Peterson's eyes widened. He hadn't been expecting that. "So happens, yeah. What of it?"

"It was, in fact, your old friend who hit you. Andy Monahan."

"Yeah. That's right. But I wouldn't exactly call him a friend. I should've pressed charges. a.s.sault, that's what it was."

"You and Andy go way back, as I understand it."

Peterson stepped back, definitely wary now. "I knew him a little when we were kids. Snotty-nosed little b.a.s.t.a.r.d, didn't even own a decent pair of shoes, and now he doesn't want to be seen talking to me." Gemma gave a very pointed look round the flat and Peterson flushed. "He had no right to b.l.o.o.d.y hit me."

"Andy didn't remember you too fondly, either, Joe," put in Melody. "And he doesn't even know what you really did to his neighbor, Mrs. Drake."

His face closed. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Oh, but I'm sure you do," said Gemma. "You accused her of a.s.sault, and your father legally persecuted her. He hired a lawyer named Vincent Arnott to file a civil suit against her when the police refused to charge her. Did you happen to see Mr. Arnott in the White Stag on Friday night?"

"I've no idea what you're talking about," Peterson said again, his accent slipping into public school vowels.

Melody held out her phone, showing him Arnott's photo. "Maybe this will refresh your memory."

He looked, shook his head. "Nah. Don't remember him. That was years ago, anyway."

"And you hadn't seen him in the pub before?"

"Not my regular, the White Stag. Bit too smarmy yuppie. I only went in 'cause I saw Andy's picture on the flyer in the window. Thought it would be a laugh."

Kincaid stepped up behind Gemma, and Melody was glad she wasn't on the receiving end of the look he gave Joe Peterson. "You thought Andy would want to have a laugh over your breaking into his neighbor's house and scaring her half to death?"

"That's not what happened." Peterson shifted on the b.a.l.l.s of his feet as he glanced at Kincaid, who suddenly seemed to fill the doorway.

"We know what you said happened. Andy says it's not true."

"Little b.u.t.ter-wouldn't-melt Catholic boy? He's the one had been spying on her for months." Peterson glared at them. "What's this all about, anyway? You've no right to hara.s.s me like this. I haven't done anything."

"Did you see anyone else you recognized in the pub Friday night?" asked Gemma.

"No. I've told you. Look, I've had enough of-"

"Vincent Arnott-the lawyer your father hired-was in the White Stag on Friday night. We found him dead on Sat.u.r.day morning." Gemma waited for this to sink in. Peterson shot another glance at Kincaid. The bruise on his cheekbone stood out starkly now.

"So why should I care?" he said finally. His Adam's apple moved as he swallowed.

"Your old mate Shaun Francis was found dead on Monday morning," said Kincaid. "Bit of a coincidence, you see."

"Shaun? Dead?" Peterson licked his lips. "You're having me on, right?"

"No. I'm sorry." Gemma sounded genuinely sympathetic.

"But-I don't understand. I hadn't seen Shaun in years. What has any of this got to do with me?"

"We think there was someone else in the pub that night. Someone who had very good reason to hate Arnott, and your old friend Shaun, and you. Nadine Drake."

Peterson stared at her, then gave a bark of laughter. "Now I know you're having me on. She must be some kind of a hag by now. And besides, I didn't hang around after-" His hand strayed towards his face.

"What did you do?" asked Kincaid.

"Came home. I was b.l.o.o.d.y p.i.s.sed off. Had a row with my girlfriend." He gestured at the boxes. "b.i.t.c.h."

Melody was beginning to think they should leave Joe Peterson to his fate, but Gemma handed him a card. "Mr. Peterson, we should warn you that you could be a target. Please be aware of this if Nadine Drake should approach you. And call the police."

"I think I could handle her." Peterson's expression made Melody wonder just what he had done to his girlfriend when they'd argued on Friday night.

"I wouldn't be too sure," said Gemma, and Melody knew she was seeing Arnott and Francis, naked and strangled. "You might not recognize her, but I'd stay away from strange women in bars. Oh, and we'll need to have a word with your ex-girlfriend. Routine. If you could give us contact information?"

With bad grace, he scribbled a name and a mobile number on a shred of torn-off pizza box. "She's gone to stay with her sister in Streatham. Don't know the address."

"Thank you, Mr. Peterson. You've been most helpful." Gemma gave him her most officious smile, and they left him standing in his sitting room, Gemma's card clutched in his fingers.

"Nasty piece of work," Kincaid said when they reached the car. "I think I can see why Andy punched him."

Gemma glanced back at the flat. "Is he really in danger, do you think? I could have patrol keep an eye on him."

Kincaid frowned as he keyed open the car. "I'd concentrate on Drake. The other two were attacked after they'd been to their locals. And they were fairly high-profile figures, lawyers who could be traced easily enough. How would she find Joe Peterson unless she had access to social security rolls?"

Melody could only think of Andy, whose name and gig dates were on flyers at the 12 Bar, and probably other local clubs as well.

"I think I won't ride back with you," she said, her fingers on the handle of the Astra's back door. Gemma and Kincaid turned to stare at her. "I'll get the train from Gipsy Hill into Victoria. Then it's easy enough to get the tube to Putney. That way, the two of you can go straight home, and I can run Gemma by to pick up her car on the way into the station in the morning."

She didn't want to say that she couldn't bear another hour in the back of the car in evening traffic. Or that she had no intention of going straight to Putney. From Victoria, it was just as easy to get the tube to Tottenham Court Road, and the flat in Hanway Place. She was not going home until she'd made certain Andy was all right.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO.

In 1963 Regent Sounds Studio was set up at 4 Denmark Street. With the Rolling Stones recording their first alb.u.m here, the studio took off as the place to be seen to be making music.

-www.covent-garden.co.uk "Do you think Melody is all right?" Kincaid asked Gemma, taking his eyes from the road to glance at her face.

"I don't know. I can't blame her for being worried. You could ring Tam again when we get home, ask him if Andy was playing anywhere tonight and if he could check on him."

He was crossing the Thames at the Albert Bridge, which would always now make him think of the walk he and Gemma had taken along the Chelsea Embankment after they signed the marriage register in the Chelsea Town Hall.

This seemed as good a time as any, and perhaps the setting would serve as a good omen for what he had to say. "Before we get home, there's something I need to tell you, love."

"What?" Gemma's face was a white blur as she turned towards him. "What's happened? The children-my mum-"

"Oh, no, nothing like that. I didn't mean to frighten you. It's good news, actually." He reached over and patted her knee through the thick wool of her coat. "But it is about Charlotte. The thing is . . . I didn't want to say anything until I knew for certain. But I think I've found her a place in a good school. It's Miss Jane's. I spoke to the headmistress this morning and she said Charlotte could start half days next week."

"What?" Gemma said again, sounding completely baffled. "But that school is impossible to get in. How could you possibly-"

"A friend got me an introduction."

"A friend?"

"Someone I know from morning coffee at Kitchen and Pantry. MacKenzie Williams. Her son goes there-he's Charlotte's age-and she put in a word for Charlotte."

When Gemma didn't say anything, he glanced at her again. She was gaping at him. Frowning and gaping. "What?" he asked.

"MacKenzie Williams? Do you have any idea who she is?" Her voice rose in a squeak.

He shrugged. "She's nice. And Charlotte likes Oliver. I thought if she was in the same cla.s.s with someone she felt comfortable with, she might do better."

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Gemma's hair swing as she shook her head. "Oliver. Just Oliver. Like he was any ordinary little boy."

"Isn't he?"

Gemma pushed at the seat belt strap so that she could turn towards him in her seat. "Don't you ever notice the mail-order catalogs I get? The small, pretty one with the clothes for mothers and children?"

"Um, that's the one you put in the bathroom sometimes, right?"

"How can you not know what that is?" She smacked him on the arm, hard enough to hurt. "OLLIE. It's an incredibly successful mail-order company run by Bill Williams, who just happens to live in Notting Hill. OLLIE is named for his son, Oliver. And his wife, MacKenzie, is the catalog's princ.i.p.al model. Didn't you ever ask her what she did?"

"Um, no." He thought of MacKenzie showing up at his door in her grubby clothes, saying she was on her way to a job. A fashion shoot.

"They are very rich and very famous. Everyone wants to be friends with them. And everyone wants their child to go to the same school as their son."

"Really? Miss Jane said they didn't encourage celebrity parents."

"They have to beat celebrity parents off with a stick." Gemma started to laugh. "It's because you didn't know. You liked MacKenzie Williams for herself. And the headmistress must have known you had no idea who MacKenzie was, or that the school was one of the juiciest plums in Notting Hill."

"I told you MacKenzie was nice." He was a little affronted. "And she goes out of her way to be kind to Charlotte. So, have I made a complete fool of myself?"

"No, love. Or only in the nicest possible way." She patted his arm this time, but when he glanced at her, she was frowning. "But this school has got to be b.l.o.o.d.y expensive," she said. "It's all very well to get Charlotte in, but how on earth are we going to afford it?"

"Ah, well." Kincaid cleared his throat. "When I saw Louise on Sat.u.r.day, we had a talk. The Fournier Street house has sold. She told me to look for a better place for Charlotte, and the estate should be able to cover the fees."

"And you didn't tell me this, either?"

"You were on a case, and I didn't want to distract you when I didn't know anything for cer-"

She was shaking her head, and when she spoke there was no mistaking her seriousness. "Don't you keep secrets from me, Duncan. Not for any reason, including for my own good. You don't have the right to decide that. And for all your good intentions, I've missed out on this. Did you not think I would want to see the school and meet with the head? That I would want to worry and antic.i.p.ate along with you?"

"I'm sorry," he said. "It all happened very quickly."

"Charlotte-" Gemma said after a moment. "Did she-" There was the slightest quaver in her voice. "Did she like the school?"

"She loved it. She visited Oliver's cla.s.s. And she can't wait to tell you all about it when you get home." He felt on firmer ground now. "If it helps, we're encouraged to go with her to her cla.s.s the first few days, to help her settle in."

"Oh, G.o.d. The b.l.o.o.d.y case." Gemma rubbed her hands against her cheeks, looking stricken. "I don't know if I'll be able to get away. Although if something doesn't break soon, the super may replace me as SIO."

Kincaid sighed. As much as he hated to add to her worries, he knew there wouldn't be a better time to tell her about Louise. If he kept it from her now it would be unforgivable. "There's something else, love," he said.

Melody heard the music as she came round the corner into Hanway Place. Guitar, coming from Andy's flat. It was loud, even with the windows closed. He was playing an electric, with the amp volume turned up high. The haunting melody teased at the edges of her memory, but she couldn't quite place it.

Her knees felt weak. He was here. He was safe.

The relief that washed through her was followed just as quickly by a flash of anger over the fact that he'd refused to answer her calls. She pressed hard on the flat bell, let up, pressed again. When there was no answering buzz, she took out her phone and typed in a text message: I KNOW YOU'RE THERE. OPEN THE b.l.o.o.d.y DOOR.

After a moment, the music stopped. The downstairs door buzzer sounded and Melody pushed it open. She climbed the stairs, but when she reached the first floor, Andy wasn't waiting for her in the hallway. The flat door was ajar, however, so, taking a breath, she brushed her knuckles against it in a cursory knock and walked in.

He sat on the folded futon, the Strat on his knees. From the s.p.a.ce beside his thigh, Bert, the marmalade cat, glared at her balefully.

"What were you playing?" asked Melody, which was not at all what she'd intended to say. Her anger had evaporated as quickly as it had come. "I liked it."

"Just something I was working on with Poppy."

Searching for someplace to sit, she pulled up a low stool near one of the amps and perched on it. "Why didn't you tell me about Nadine?"

"I couldn't." Andy plucked two strings and the guitar emitted a discordant jangle. "I thought I'd gone mad. Hallucinating."

"Because you'd seen Joe?"

"You've talked to Duncan." It was a statement.

She nodded, waiting.

Slowly, Andy went on. "Because of Joe, and then, on Sunday-I thought it might have been because I was with you."

"Me? Why ever-"

"You'll think it's stupid." Andy glanced up at her, then looked back at the guitar and ran his hand along the neck. "Because I was happy with you, that night," he said so softly that she wasn't quite sure she'd heard him correctly. "And I hadn't felt that way since-Never mind. I told you it was daft."

Melody wrapped her arms round her knees to keep from reaching out to touch him. "I don't think it's daft at all," she said. "What you thought, I mean. But what you saw wasn't crazy, either."

"What are you talking about?"

"Andy, what time was it when you thought you saw Nadine in the Twelve Bar?"