Looking up, Kincaid rubbed at his eyes. "What?"
Cullen had got the warrant first thing that morning, and had been at Harrowby's door when the salesroom opened. Mrs. March had shown him to Khan's office, and Amir Khan had offered him a seat before perusing the paperwork.
Although as immaculately turned out as he had been the previous day, Khan's handsome face looked a bit hollow, as if he was tired, and he was warily polite. Cullen, who had gone in hyped for a protest, found himself a bit disappointed.
"It's all in order," he said when Khan started through the warrant for the third time.
"I'm sure it is, Sergeant Cullen. But it's my nature to be thorough, and I have to protect the interests of our customers. Do you mind if I make a copy for our records?"
"Be my guest," Cullen said, thinking he wished the man would bloody get on with it.
Khan stood and ran the warrant through the copier on top of a file cabinet with what seemed to Cullen agonizing slowness. Then he handed the paper back and opened one of the files, taking out a card. Returning to his desk, he transcribed the information from the card onto a sheet of notepaper and handed it across.
Cullen squinted at his unexpectedly illegible handwriting. "Harry Pevensey? And that's Hanway Place?"
"Yes," said Khan, sounding slightly irritated.
"And you met this Harry Pevensey?"
"Of course." The irritation seemed to be quickly turning to annoyance. "He said he was an actor, although I suspect not a terribly successful one."
"Did you think he came by the brooch legitimately?" Cullen asked, dogged.
"Sergeant Cullen. As I've said before, if we made sure that every client who brought in an item to sell had come by it legitimately, we'd have little business. People tell us what they want to tell us, and we check that information as far as we are able. In a case like this, the item speaks for itself, and it didn't really matter if Mr. Pevensey said he'd found it in a rubbish bin."
"He didn't-"
"A figure of speech, Sergeant. Now, if you don't mind, I have work to do. You can ask Mr. Pevensey yourself."
Smarting at the dismissal, Cullen had taken the information Khan had provided, but numerous attempts at ringing the phone number had not even got a response from an answering machine.
Now he said, "The seller of the brooch, guv. A Mr. Harry Pevensey of Hanway Place, London. No joy with the phone number, so I thought we should go along."
Kincaid glanced at his watch. "This is his home address you've got? Won't he be at work?"
"It's the only address he gave Harrowby's. But he did tell Mr. Khan that he was an actor, so perhaps we can find him at home this time of day." Cullen gestured at Kincaid's unfinished paperwork. "Anything interesting?"
"House to house, accident report, complete postmortem, forensics report on Kristin Cahill's room, and the records from her mobile phone carrier, which confirm that she had multiple calls to and from Dominic Scott, and that she had regular calls from Giles Oliver. Maybe she and Oliver were more friendly than Oliver admitted.
"As for the house to house, no one saw or heard anything, except for the witness who went to the scene and called 999." He leaned back in his chair, ticking things off on his fingers. "Cause of death, bleeding from severe internal injuries, consistent with being hit mid-body by a car traveling at high speed. No trace evidence from the car found on her clothing or body, however.
"Otherwise, Kristin was a normal, healthy young woman. No sign of pregnancy or nonaccident-related injuries. No signs of recent sexual activity or assault. No drugs, and blood alcohol below the legal limit."
"And the CCTV?" Cullen asked.
"The footage shows a dark SUV. Possibly a Land Rover. But the plates are either obscured or missing."
"Definite premeditation, then," said Cullen. "But no one so far had a link with the car?"
"Not unless it's your Mr. Pevensey, and I think we should give him a try before we have a word with Giles Oliver." Kincaid pulled up the knot on his tie and smoothed his hair with his fingers, a maneuver that was only marginally successful. "How did you get on last night, by the way? Gemma said you went with Melody to check out the Gate."
"Dom Scott's story checks out to a point. The barmaid said Kristin met him there. They argued. She had a drink and then left. The barmaid, Eva, thinks he stayed until pub closing, but wouldn't swear to it. She-Eva-also said she'd seen Dom with Kristin before, but she'd also seen him with what she described as some 'dodgy' characters. If she knows more, she wasn't sharing."
"Eva?" Kincaid grinned at him, raising an eyebrow. "Fancied you, did she?"
"I'll give you a note excusing your tardiness," Gemma told Kit. "And if you think you can eat a bit more breakfast, we'll go to Otto's. I'll just go get changed."
Toby had jumped up and down, making the dogs bark, but Kit had stopped her as she turned away. "Gemma, this isn't about Gran, is it?"
"No," she assured him. "I just want to spend some time with you. But I will tell you about my visit with her last night."
They took the car, so that Gemma could drop Kit and then Toby off at school afterwards, but Kit wished they might have walked. After yesterday's heat, the day had cooled to crispness again, the sun was shining in a clear blue sky, and the brightly colored houses in Lansdowne Road looked freshly washed.
When they reached the café in Elgin Crescent, Otto greeted Gemma with a hug and kisses on both cheeks. "Gemma! I thought you were too busy for your old friends."
"Busier than I should be," she agreed. "But I'm taking a bit of time off this morning, and letting the boys play truant." The café was still half full, and Otto, tea towel tucked into his apron, bald head gleaming with perspiration, seemed to be managing on his own.
"Where's Wesley?" Kit asked as they took a table by the window.
"At one of his university classes. He will be in after lunch. And you, Kit, we are honored to see you two days in a row, and yesterday with your lady friend. Now, what can I get for you?"
Gemma gave Kit a curious look, but waited until they had ordered bacon and eggs before she said, "You were here yesterday, Kit?"
He felt himself color, felt stupid because of it, and blushed harder. "It wasn't a girl. I was with Erika. She wanted to go for a walk. So we stopped and had coffee, and a cake that Otto had made. Erika said it reminded her of things she used to eat in Germany."
"Was she all right about-" Gemma glanced at Toby, who was half out of his chair, picking at something on the underside of the table. "With what happened yesterday," she amended, capturing Toby's wrists in one hand. "Stop that, lovey."
"But somebody's left chewing gum, Mummy," he protested.
"Yes, and that was very naughty. They should know better, and you should know better than to touch it." She scooped him off the chair and gave him a pat on the behind. "Now be a good boy and ask Otto if you can wash your hands."
When she looked at Kit again, he frowned. "I don't know," he said. "We-She told me-I didn't know what to say."
"What did Erika tell you, Kit?" Gemma asked, with that look that meant you had her full attention and she wouldn't let it go.
Kit straightened his cutlery. "I'd asked her about her father. About why her father didn't get out of Germany-I know I probably shouldn't have."
He waited for censure, but Gemma frowned and said, "Why didn't her father get out?"
"He-" Kit fought a sudden and ridiculous urge to blink back tears. "He waited, because he didn't want to draw attention to Erika and her husband getting away. But by then it was too late." He swallowed, glad to have got through that bit without a quaver.