"That she'd say no?"
"She said she was going out," he retorted, as if trying to recover a shred of pride. "Meeting someone. At the Gate. That's why she couldn't come over."
"The Gate in Notting Hill?" Kincaid asked, frowning. The Gate was the nightclub in the basement of the cinema of the same name, a Notting Hill landmark.
"Yeah. I guess. I don't go places like that. Can't afford the drinks, and I'd rather make my own music." He gestured at the records and turntable.
"Did she say who she was meeting?"
"No. Maybe the same guy who sent her the roses. She was on her mobile with someone, after she argued with Mr. Khan."
"Or maybe you're making it all up," Kincaid said slowly. "Maybe when she turned you down, let you know you were a stupid git to even think she would consider going out with you, you decided to get even. You drove over and waited for her to come home, then gunned the car at her. Maybe you just thought you'd teach her a lesson."
"What?" Giles stood, and the dog rose onto his massive haunches, growling. "Are you saying someone ran Kristin down on purpose?"
"You had good reason."
"Me? Why would I do that? I loved her!" He began to laugh, with a hint of hysteria. "And I don't have a bloody fucking car."
CHAPTER 11
It was after Germany had occupied Austria in March 1938, and the dreadful events of Kristallnacht on 9 November 1938, when 269 synagogues, 1,000 Jewish shops and dwellings were burned and 30,000 arrests made, that emigration escalated. Thousands of Jews were thrown into concentration camps, and there were desperate attempts to flee. By the end of 1938 there were 38,000 German and Austrian Jewish refugees in Britain, and by 1940 about 73,000…
– Dr. Gerry Black, Jewish London: An Illustrated History
"Well, that was a great success," Kincaid said as he eased the Rover back into traffic. He'd rung Cullen as soon as they were back in the car, learning that Giles Oliver not only had no car registered in his name, he had no driving license.
"Sarcasm doesn't become you," Gemma replied mildly. "And it wasn't a waste of time. We know where Kristin went-"
"Or at least where she told Giles she was going."
She glanced at him-his lips were set in a straight line. He didn't like feeling a fool. "You're determined to be difficult," she told him. "We at least have a place to start. And we know that there was a bloke in her life who probably sent her roses. Was that what made Khan angry, or was it me asking her about the brooch? And is Giles right? Did she meet the rose sender when she went out?"
"Or maybe Giles borrowed a neighbor's car, license or not."
"Do you really see Giles Oliver running someone down?"
"Vehicular homicide doesn't require getting up close and personal. Although I have to admit I can't see him asking for someone's keys, much less hot-wiring the neighbor's Volvo." His mouth relaxed, quirking into a smile. "Now if it had been accidental assault by dog…"
"I can't blame Kristin for resisting the dog and DJ combo," Gemma said, but the thought made Kristin seem very real. Sobering, Gemma wondered what would have happened if Kristin had accepted Giles's invitation. Would Giles and Mo have seen her home and kept her safe, at least for that night? "We'll have to check with his neighbors. Someone might have seen something, however unlikely."
"Where do you want to go, love?" Kincaid asked as they reached the King's Road again. "We seem to be at a momentary standstill. I can drop you at the Yard, if you want to get the tube to the hospital."
Gemma realized that for the last hour she'd hardly given her mum a thought, and with the prick of guilt all her worries came rushing back, both for her mum and for Erika. Glancing at her watch, she saw that Kit would just be getting home from school. An idea struck her and she said, "Let me make a quick call."
She caught Kit just as he was coming into the house, spoke to him, and was ringing off when Melody beeped in, her voice filled with cat-in-the-cream satisfaction.
"You'll never guess what I found out, boss."
Kit felt rather pleased. He liked Gemma's thinking that he could be helpful, and he wanted to talk to Erika again. He was curious about what had happened to her family, but felt he had put his foot in it a bit yesterday. He would have to bring it up more tactfully. Nor was he quite sure how to talk to Erika about the girl Gemma said had been killed, but he supposed he would think of something.
And, unlike yesterday, this time he had the opportunity to get out of his school clothes. Today was even warmer, so he swapped blazer and tie for jeans and T-shirt, let the dogs out into the garden for a quick pee and gave them biscuits, then set off down Lansdowne Road. When a gaggle of uniformed schoolgirls passed him and gave him the eye, giggling, he grinned at them with an unaccustomed sense of power and quickened his step.
When he rang the bell in Arundel Gardens, Erika answered immediately, and she didn't seem at all surprised to see him.
"I've made lemonade," she said. "Real lemonade, the way we used to make it in the summers in Germany when I was a child, not the fizzy stuff from a bottle."
"Did Gemma ring you?" he asked, following her into the flat.
"She's fussing over me. And sending you to fuss by proxy," Erika answered, but she didn't sound displeased. "Anyone would think I was an old biddy, although I've never been sure just what a biddy is. It sounds rather unpleasant.
"It's cooler inside today than out," she added as they reached the kitchen.
She had put two tall glasses on a tray, along with a clear glass jug in which floated a few ice cubes and slices of lemon. When she poured Kit a glass he drank it down thirstily, finding he liked the tartness. He slid into a seat at the small table, and at Erika's nod, poured himself another glass.
Erika sat across from him, but barely touched her own drink. He saw now that in spite of her chatter, she looked tired, and bright spots of color burned in her cheeks.
"I'm sorry about the girl who was killed," he said, finding it suddenly easy. "And I'm sorry for what I said about your father yesterday. It wasn't fair of me."
"No." She shrugged aside his apology. "It was what happened that wasn't fair. Nothing was fair then, but you were right, you know. We should never have let my father talk us into letting him stay behind. But he was a stubborn man, and he convinced himself that if he carried on as usual and pretended we had gone to visit relatives in Tilsit, then there was less likely to be an alert for us.
"Not that the Nazis were averse to letting Jews out of the country at that point, mind you, but David was a troublemaker, and they might have thought he would stir up antagonism against the regime if he reached a country where he could speak freely."
"But once you got out-couldn't your dad-"
Shaking her head, Erika said, "It was 1939. By the time we were settled in London, Germany invaded Poland. After that, we lost all communication, although we tried, everyone tried. But even the news broadcasts were censored by the Nazis, and we could only guess, and listen to the tales told by those who came after us. It was only after the war, when records began to become available, that I learned my father lost his business not long after we left, and then our home. He was taken to a work camp-that was what they called them, then."
"Sachsenhausen?"