“Very noble of you, I’m sure.”
“Yeah.” He grinned at her, and for the first time she was aware of the power of his smile. She suspected he used it like a weapon and dislike surged through her. “Why don’t I see what they have on special tonight?” Kincaid added, then stood and threaded his way to the bar.
“Your superintendent’s quite the charmer,” she said to Cullen.
“He has his moments,” Cullen agreed, as if unaware of her sarcasm. “He’s a good guv’nor, the best I’ve had.”
How like a man, she thought furiously, to defend another male no matter how inexcusable his behavior. “And does he snog all his female officers when he gets them in a car?” she blurted.
“Snog?” Cullen looked at her as if she’d lost her mind. “In a car – oh, you mean Gemma?” Enlightenment dawned in his face. “In my car. Did he really? Good for him.” He gave a whoop of laughter.
“How can you-”
“Look, Inspector – Maura – I’m afraid you’ve got the wrong end of the stick. Duncan’s not Gemma’s boss. She works out of Notting Hill Division, not the Yard. They live together. She was in Southwark today for personal reasons. And I’ve never seen Duncan behave inappropriately with any female officer under his command, if that’s what you’re thinking.”
Maura felt the blood rising in her face. “But – I thought-” Kincaid returned at that moment, balancing three tumblers. She gave Cullen a pleading glance, hoping he wouldn’t mortify her further by repeating her comment.
“This is a lighter Speyside,” Kincaid said as he handed round glasses filled with pale gold liquid. “I thought it might be more to your taste than some of the heavily sherried or peated whiskies.” She had no idea what he was talking about but forced a smile. She opened her bag to reach for a cigarette, then, realizing that neither of them smoked, thought better of it and closed the bag.
Kincaid took a small pitcher of water from the table and added a splash of water to his glass and Cullen’s, but Maura shook her head when he offered it to her. She was a Scot, in case he hadn’t noticed, and the one thing she did know was that Scots drank their whisky neat. “Cheers,” she said, and tipped back her glass for a hearty swallow.
Fire ripped at her throat and knifed down into her chest. A spasm of coughing racked her, and by the time she caught her breath, her eyes were streaming. “For Christ’s sake,” she gasped. “What is this stuff, turps?”
Both Cullen and Kincaid were barely containing their smirks. “It’s cask strength,” Kincaid told her. “I should have explained. The alcohol by volume is well over fifty percent on most of these. Here, have some water.”
This time she accepted the pitcher and added a good dollop before attempting another very small sip. “Have I passed some sort of initiation, then?” she asked, scowling at them.
“With flying colors,” said Cullen. “At least it’s not the Hellfire Club.”
She wasn’t sure whether it was the effects of the whisky or the fact that she didn’t see how she could possibly make a bigger fool of herself than she already had, but Maura felt a pleasant sense of ease spread through her muscles.
“Now.” Kincaid set down his glass and leaned forward. “I had a call from Kate Ling while I was at the bar. She’s scheduled the PM for nine in the morning, at St. Thomas’s. We’re to meet her at the morgue. After that, we’ll at least have something to go on. Maura, you’ve not heard anything new from missing persons?”
“Not as of an hour ago.”
He frowned. “Gemma’s report must not have been processed yet – either that or it didn’t get flagged.”
Cullen looked surprised. “Gemma’s report?”
“I haven’t had a chance to tell you,” Kincaid explained, including Maura with a glance. “And I’m not at all sure it’s relevant. My cousin’s wife is an Anglican priest on a temporary assignment here in Southwark. She rang Gemma today, wanting some advice because one of her parishioners said her flatmate had disappeared overnight. That’s why Gemma was in Southwark. She talked to the woman, convinced her to file a report.”
Cullen gestured excitedly, sloshing a little whisky over the edge of his glass. “But that’s-”
“Gemma also said it looked as if the woman might have decamped voluntarily. It sounds as if she stole out of the house sometime in the night – by which time our victim may already have been dead – and that she might have taken personal items with her, perhaps an overnight bag. Nothing like that has turned up at the scene.” He paused, sipping his drink. “I thought we should wait until we knew a little more about the victim before we pursued it further.”
“What’s the woman’s name?” Maura pulled a notebook from her bag and was surprised to find it took a bit more effort than usual to grip the pen.
“Elaine Holland. Midthirties. White. Lives in Ufford Street and works at Guy’s Hospital.
“Right now, however, I’m more concerned about Michael Yarwood and his foreman. I want to make sure their alibis are solid.”
“I’ve asked Birmingham to send someone to make inquiries at Yarwood’s hotel,” said Maura, glad to have her notes handy. “And I’ve got a DC from our station checking on Spender.”
“What do you know about Yarwood?” Kincaid asked.
She shrugged. “Just what you read in the papers or see on the telly. I’d never met him before today, but I’ve never heard anything dodgy about him, either. Seems to be a pretty straight guy. I think he’s divorced, with a twenty-something daughter. He started up his own fleet of delivery vans when he was just a kid, before he went into politics. I think this warehouse is his first venture into real estate.”
“He didn’t strike me as the sort to go in for insurance fraud,” Kincaid mused, swirling the dregs in his glass. “And I think he was genuinely distressed over the loss of the building, but he was also nervous. I want to know why.”
“You think it was more than knowing the press would be on him like sharks?” asked Cullen.
“Yarwood’s spent his whole career dealing with sharks. That’s what politicians do. My guv’nor – that’s Chief Superintendent Childs,” he explained to Maura, “mentioned rumors that Yarwood’s leases weren’t selling as fast as expected, but both Yarwood and Spender denied it. We need to find out where that’s coming from and whether or not it’s true.”
Cullen looked pleased. “That’s right up my alley. I’ll see what I can dig up on the Internet tonight. Then I can follow up leads tomorrow.”
“And I’ll have a word with Childs. We also need to talk to Yarwood’s insurance agent, if we can track him down on a Saturday.” Turning to Maura, Kincaid added, “And you’ve got the CCTV in hand?”
As was her habit when collecting her thoughts, she started to reach again for a cigarette, then checked herself and sipped at her drink instead. “We should have the tapes collected and scanned by morning. There’s only a view of the front door, though, and even that was a lucky break. The office building across the street recently put in a camera, as they’ve been having some security problems. We’ve also collected tapes from the other cameras in the area, just in case they’ve picked up something suspicious.”
“What about the fires the sub officer mentioned tonight?” Kincaid asked. “Do you know anything about that?”
She frowned, trying to recall snippets of talk she hadn’t given much attention. “I do remember hearing about a couple of fires in the past few months, but I don’t think they were tagged as arson.”
“Nor is this one yet. But my gut tells me that Farrell is certain of it; he’s just not willing to commit himself without evidence. Farrell’s sharp, and if there’s anything to this, I think he’ll ferret it out.” Kincaid glanced at his watch. “Blast. I’d better dash. Toby’ll be in bed, but I’d like to at least say good night to Kit, since our plans for tomorrow are shot to hell.”