To Dwell in Darkness (38 page)

“I'll see you later.” Kincaid tousled Kit's hair, and for once Kit let him do it without protesting.

“Dad.” Kit stopped him before he reached the door. “About those kittens—”

“Don't start.” Kincaid smiled as he left him. There was something to be said for persistence.

“You'd better go,” Gemma said when he came back downstairs. “MacKenzie just rang. They're on their way home. I don't think you want to explain Ryan to MacKenzie and the kids.” As they put on their coats and Ryan picked up his pack, she added, “And I'd like my car back someday, by the way.”

“Right.” Kincaid kissed her. “I'm on it.”

“Take care,” she added softly.

“I survived Doug and a boat. On the same day,” Kincaid answered, grinning.

Gemma turned to Ryan and held his eyes for a moment. “And you. You take care, too.”

Ryan nodded. “Thank you.” It was clear he meant for more than the farewell.

Kincaid got out of the car with Doug and Ryan Marsh in front of Doug's house in Putney. He and Ryan faced each other beside the idling Escort.

“You know I would help you if I could,” said Ryan. “I would do it for Paul. And, oh, God, for Wren.” He swayed a little, as if exhaustion and grief were overtaking him. “But I— There are things I can't tell you— There would be . . . consequences . . .”

“Don't worry.” Kincaid told him, clasping his shoulder. “I'll manage. It will be all right.”

When he reached Holborn, both Sidana and Gikas were waiting for him.

“No Sweeney?” Kincaid asked.

“I had a word at the gym,” Sidana answered. “Apparently, there was a triathlon this weekend.”

“He could have said.”

“But he didn't.” A look at Sidana's face told Kincaid that Sweeney had more than likely earned himself a demotion. “It doesn't matter,” she added. “We don't need him.” And that condemnation, Kincaid knew, was far worse.

“I've got the SOCOs you asked for on standby,” said Simon. “As well as a couple of uniformed constables. And your warrant's come through.” He swiveled his computer chair to face Kincaid. “So, are you going to tell us what's going on?”

Kincaid had thought it out in the little time he'd had. He gave them an edited version of events, leaving out anything to do with Ryan Marsh. He included a detailed account of Cam and Matthew's statements from the day before, both about Ariel's abortion and Wren's death. He took credit, a little guiltily, for Doug's findings on Ariel's mother's death. He told them what Ariel had done that morning, and his realization that not a single thing she'd told them could be taken as true.

“She came to your home?” Sidana sounded incensed. “And insinuated herself with your son?”

“I think she must have followed me yesterday, when I took the tube.”

“But why?” asked Simon.

“Trying to find out how much I knew, I think.”

“And power,” said Sidana, with unexpected insight. “She was testing—and demonstrating—her power.”

“Yes,” Kincaid agreed. “I suspect you're right. That, too.”

“So what you're telling us,” said Simon, “is that you think this girl killed her mother, killed her friend, killed her boyfriend,
and
stalked a senior police officer and his family? If any of that is true, we're dealing with a sociopath. A real nutter.”

“I think so, yes.” Kincaid didn't add that she scared the hell out of him.

“You'll never prove the first two,” argued Sidana. “It's all conjecture. And so is most of what you have against her for Paul Cole's murder.”

“And it still doesn't explain what happened to Ryan Marsh,” put in Simon. The glance he gave Kincaid was speculative.

Kincaid ignored it. “Nevertheless,” he said, “I think we have grounds for a warrant. We may not know how she made the switch, or why Paul and not Ryan had the smoke bomb, but if we can find evidence that she camouflaged the grenade or we find Paul Cole's journal, we'll have a good start.”

“I think I'd like to tag along,” said Simon Gikas. “This sounds like it might be an interesting evening.”

A welcoming light shone through the front window of the house in Cartwright Gardens.

Kincaid had the SOCOs and the uniformed officers—whom he'd had arrive in an unmarked car—wait in their vehicles until he signaled them. He, Sidana, and Simon Gikas went to the door.

Stephen Ellis answered their ring, looking much as he had the first time Kincaid and Sidana had visited. The room looked much the same, too, with a gas fire burning and the lamps lit. This evening, however, a glass of red wine had replaced the tea on the end table, and a stack of Sunday papers littered the coffee table.

“Can I help you?” asked Ellis when he'd let them in.

“It's Ariel we need to speak to, Dr. Ellis. Is she at home?” If Ellis said no, Kincaid had decided they would make their excuses, then watch the house until she arrived. He had no intention of tipping her off and giving her a chance to run.

But Ellis said, “Yes, she's here, but I'm afraid she's not feeling too well. Coming down with a cold, poor thing.”

Kincaid bet she was, if she'd stood outside his house for hours in the cold that morning. “I'm sorry, but we really do need to talk to her.”

Ellis went to the door that appeared to lead to the flat's bedrooms and called out. “Ariel! There's someone—”

The door swung open and Ariel said, “I told you I didn't want anyone bothering—” Then she saw the detectives, and just for an instant, she didn't manage to mask the shock and the calculation in her expression.

Then she said, “Oh, it's you,” and gave Kincaid a wavery smile. “I'm so sorry. I'm afraid I've caught a horrid cold. Could we talk another time?” She held a convincing wad of tissues to her nose, and looked frailer than ever in a baggy sweater and a pair of tartan pajama bottoms.

“No, I'm afraid it can't wait. Can you come into the sitting room, please?”

“What's happened?” she said, coming to stand near her father. “Has someone else been hurt? Don't tell me—You've found Ryan?” She sounded innocently hopeful.

“No. No, we haven't.” Kincaid gave a nod to Simon, who stepped outside. “But we've learned some other very interesting things,” he went on.

As Simon came back, followed by the uniformed officers and the SOCOs, Kincaid said formally, “Ariel Ellis, I'm arresting you on suspicion of the murder of Paul Cole. You do not have to say anything. But it may harm your defense if you do not mention when questioned something which you later rely on in court. Anything you do say may be given in evidence.”

Wide-eyed, Ariel looked from Kincaid to her dad, then at the officers who had entered the room. “You're not serious. You can't just come in here—you can't think—”

Simon handed Kincaid the warrant. “We have a warrant to search the premises,” Kincaid continued, passing it to Stephen Ellis. “I think it would be best if you both sat down while the crime scene officers conduct the search.”

“But how could you possibly—” Stephen Ellis looked at the constables who had taken up positions on either side of the door, and sank onto the sofa as if his legs had suddenly refused to support him. “There must be some mistake,” he whispered.

Ariel sat beside him and took his hand. “Daddy, make them stop.” The look she gave her father would have melted a glacier.

“I don't know how, darling.” He peered at the warrant he held in his hand. “Let me just—” Reaching for his reading glasses, Ellis sent the glass of red wine toppling. It struck the hearth and shattered, leaving a splatter of red drops on the floor and tile.

Ariel sprang up. “I'll get—”

“No.” Kincaid motioned her back to the sofa. “Sit.”

“I'll get it,” said Simon, and headed for the kitchen.

Kincaid spoke to the now-familiar crime scene tech. “Scott, start with her bedroom. In particular, we're looking for camouflage paint, stencils that might have been used to label a grenade, and a black, handwritten journal.”

“Right.” Scott and his partner had donned gloves and paper boots, but not their full crime scene suits. As they headed for the door leading to the back of the flat, Kincaid saw Ariel give an involuntary jerk.

Simon returned with a kitchen roll, a whisk broom, and a dustpan. He picked up Ellis's undamaged glasses and handed them to him.

Ariel gave Kincaid another pleading glance. “Can't you just tell me why you're doing this to me?”

“I think we'll save that for the station.” Kincaid couldn't help imagining that look turned on Kit, and her in his house. He realized he was clenching his fists, and that Sidana had seen him doing it.

The SOCOs' voices came sporadically from the bedroom as Simon cleaned up the broken glass and spilled wine. Stephen Ellis read and reread the warrant, looking more and more confused. Ariel, after her initial, instinctive reaction, seemed to draw into herself, huddling on the sofa beside her father.

Kincaid was tempted to look into her bedroom, to see if it revealed anything of the girl's true nature or was more artful camouflage, but he felt that if he took his eyes from her for an instant, she might slip from his grasp.

It wasn't long before Scott came back into the room, bearing a decorated shoe box in his gloved hands. It looked to Kincaid as if it was hand painted. There were birds and flowers and swirling vines. It would have looked quite sweet if one hadn't noticed the grotesque little faces half hidden in the foliage.

Scott removed the lid. “Under the bed. Not the best of hiding places. Is this what you were looking for, sir?”

Inside the box was a black journal, and something else that rattled. Kincaid pulled nitrile gloves from his coat pocket and gingerly picked up the journal. The pages were filled with black ink in the crabbed writing he recognized as Paul Cole's, and near the back a page had been ripped out.

Beneath it were two necklaces. One had a broken silver chain, and on it, a small brown enameled bird—a wren. Its clasp was broken.

The other chain was fine gold, and from it hung a green jewel, oval faceted. An emerald, perhaps? The clasp was intact. He held it up to get a better look.

Stephen Ellis came off the sofa like a shot. “Where did you get that?” He reached to take it from Kincaid and the constables stepped forward. Ellis let his hands drop to his sides. “That was my wife's. Where did you get it?”

“I think you should ask your daughter, Dr. Ellis.”

“It was Andrea's mother's, handed down from her mother. Andrea was never without it. It wasn't found on her body after the crash. I looked everywhere for it—I even went back and searched the crash site myself. I thought one of the medics, or even one of the police officers, must have taken it.” He turned at last to his daughter. “Ariel, how did you—”

Ariel had drawn herself into an even smaller ball. “Daddy, I—I found it. I wanted something to remind me of her. I knew you wouldn't let me keep it.”

“Found it where?” Ellis was staring at his daughter as if utterly perplexed. “The chain isn't broken. Nor the clasp.”

“I found it in the grass. While they were working on Mum. It was broken, but I—I had it repaired.”

“It was dark, Ariel. How did you find it in the grass?” When she didn't answer, Stephen Ellis shook his head in disbelief. “I remember. You argued with your mum that day. You wanted to wear the pendant to a party, and she said no. You were so angry. That was when she decided to take you to your aunt's.” He looked back at the pendant. Light caught the emerald, sparking green fire.

His face was pale as chalk as he turned back to his daughter. “You took it. You took it from your mother's body. How could you?”

“I only wanted—”

“You had to have taken it before the medics came.” Ellis stared at her in horror. “What else did you do, Ariel? What else?”

For a moment, Kincaid thought Ellis might lunge for her, and Simon and Sidana stepped forward, seeming to sense the violence in the air as well.

Then Ellis staggered a little and Simon reached out to steady him.

Ariel began to cry in ragged sobs. “Daddy, I only wanted something of hers. She loved it more than me.”

But Stephen Ellis looked at his daughter as if he'd never seen her before, and he didn't respond as they helped her into her coat and escorted her to the waiting car.

Ariel Ellis continued to weep. But as she was led past Kincaid, she whispered, so low that he had to lean forward to hear, “You'll be sorry.” It was an uncanny echo of the words in Paul's journal, but there was a viciousness in Ariel's whisper that made Kincaid's blood run cold.

He stopped her with a hand on her sleeve and said just as quietly, “No.
You'll
be sorry. And don't you ever come near my family again.”

St. Pancras International today is a new totality. The heroic age of nineteenth-century engineering and twenty-first-century technology have been brought together and coexist happily. There is no station like St. Pancras International.

—Alastair Lansley, Stuart Durant, Alan Dyke, Bernard Gambrill, Roderick Shelton,
The Transformation of St. Pancras Station
, 2008

The following Sunday they managed a proper Sunday lunch at Gemma and Duncan's. They'd squeezed nine round the dining room table, by dint of bringing in extra chairs from the kitchen.

Erika had come, as promised, to see the kittens, and Gemma had invited Betty, Wesley, and Bryony as well.

Wesley and Kit had done the Yorkshire puddings, and Gemma was proud as punch that she'd managed a perfect roast in the Aga. The weather had changed yesterday, and for the first time in what seemed like months, they had done their shopping at Portobello Market. There were tulips on the table, and fresh vegetables to go with the roast. Gemma's Clarice Cliff teapot, brought out for the occasion, was waiting in the kitchen, but now Gemma was serving chilled Prosecco to the adults, with half a glass for Kit, and some fizzy apple juice for Toby and Charlotte.