"Or vice versa. And I'll take that as a compliment. Do you want to come to Harrowby's with us?"
Considering, Gemma shook her head. "Thanks, but no. I think I'll go back to Lucan Place for a bit."
"You never told me what you were doing there."
"No." A little reluctantly, Gemma said, "I discovered that Erika's husband was murdered, and I feel an idiot for not having known."
"Erika never told you?" Kincaid looked as surprised as Gemma had felt.
"I'd no idea. It happened in 1952. So far I don't see any possible connection with the brooch or our murders, but I haven't finished reading the case file. So I think I'll go back to Lucan Place for a bit before I go to see Mum, and leave you and Doug to the charms of the handsome Mr. Khan."
Standing, she leaned over and touched her cheek to his, feeling sun-warmed skin and the slight friction of beginning stubble. "I'll see you tonight."
Mrs. March greeted Kincaid and Cullen with a smile of pleasure, as if they'd become old friends. It was a part of her job, making the regular clients feel welcome, and it came naturally to her. "It's Mr. Kincaid, isn't it? Is there any news…" Then her face fell, as the thought of the reason for their presence overcame her instinctual response.
"No. But we wondered if we might have a word with Mr. Khan." A quick glance into the main arena of the salesroom revealed an auction in progress, and as Kincaid focused on the large overhead television, he saw that it was jewelry being sold. The seats were full, and the bidding seemed to be quite brisk.
"Is this the Art Deco jewelry?" In his concentration on Kristin Cahill's death, he hadn't realized the sale was coming up so soon.
"Yes, but if it's the Goldshtein brooch you're concerned about, Mr. Khan removed it from the sale this morning. After you came," she added, with a disapproving glance at Doug, as if he were personally responsible for upsetting their routine. "Mr. Khan felt that since the house had been forced to compromise the seller's privacy, he couldn't in good conscience offer the item without checking with the seller, and I understand that he was not able to get in touch."
No, not unless he had the ability to commune with ghosts, Kincaid thought, but he quelled any comment. He wanted to be the one to tell Khan that Harry Pevensey was dead. That was the only way he could attempt to gauge Khan's reaction. "Could you tell Mr. Khan we'd like to see him?" he asked.
"Oh, but you can't." Mrs. March again gave Cullen an accusing look. "He left at lunchtime. Said he wasn't feeling well, although I really can't imagine that. Mr. Khan is never ill."
"How very coincidental," Cullen muttered, but Kincaid smiled and said, "Do you have a home address for him?"
Mrs. March drew herself up, all her earlier bonhomie gone. "I can't give you that. Not without speaking to one of the directors."
"Then I suggest you make a phone call, Mrs. March. You can tell your director that we will get the address-it's just a matter of how much inconvenience it causes the firm."
"It's most irregular." Mrs. March gave an offended sniff, but began thumbing through a phone list. Kincaid didn't like bullying her, but he suspected that delaying tactics had already cost one life.
A dazzle of color caught his eye from the television screen in the main room. Focusing, he saw that the piece was a bracelet, a wide band set in a glittering chevron pattern made up of red, green, and blue stones, all appearing seductively larger than life. Such baubles had inspired envy and greed at the very least, he thought. What would people have been willing to do for the diamond brooch Gemma had described?
"And in the meantime," he added, "I'd very much like to see the Goldshtein brooch."
It was Giles Oliver who led them back to Khan's office. He was less red faced and puffy eyed than when Kincaid and Gemma had seen him at his flat the previous day, but not much more attractive. Mrs. March had fetched him from one of the phone stations on the auction floor, and he looked none too pleased.
"I see you felt well enough to come back to work," said Kincaid as the auctioneer's voice faded behind them.
"Can't afford to lose my job." Oliver unlocked the office with a key from a key ring Mrs. March had given him. "It's not as if I can take off whenever I bloody well please."
"Like Mr. Khan."
Oliver gave Kincaid a resentful glance. "And he locked the office, so that every time I need a document, I have to get the key. Damn nuisance, and for what? Daft, if you ask me."
"Do you not usually keep it locked?"
"No. But usually he or I or Kris-" He stopped, looking stricken, clutching the keys in his fist. "Christ. I just can't-I keep thinking she'll walk in the room, or that I hear her voice."
"I expect it will get easier." Kincaid's sympathy was genuine, and Oliver's posture relaxed a little.
"I don't know. I'm not sure I can stay on here, after what's happened. And it was bad enough without Khan going round like a simmering volcano after you served that warrant this morning." He nodded at Cullen, who looked as if he'd just received a compliment.
Kincaid sat on the edge of a desk and crossed his ankles, deliberately inviting Oliver's confidence, while Cullen leaned against a file cabinet, doing his best to look unobtrusive. "He was upset, then?" Kincaid asked.
"Maybe I should have said 'gliding round like a glacier,'" said Oliver. "He was icy, the way he gets when he's about to give someone a royal bollocking."
"Like the one he gave Kristin the day she was killed?"
"Yeah. Well, I suppose…" Giles Oliver fiddled with the keys, looking suddenly uncomfortable. Did he know more about that argument than he had admitted?
"You said Mr. Khan always had it in for Kristin. Had it grown worse lately?"
An instant's calculation flickered in Oliver's eyes, then he shrugged and said, "Look, I've never been one to get anyone into trouble…but he had been harder on her the last few weeks."
Kincaid waited, but Oliver was looking uncertain now. The kid knew something he wanted to give up, but apparently wasn't prepared to do it easily. Did he feel guilty, Kincaid wondered, or did he just enjoy the drama? Either way, he was willing to play along. "You were Kristin's closest friend here, weren't you?"
"Yeah, you could say that. I mean she talked to the girls, but not the way she talked to me."
"So she confided in you. Did she tell you what was going on with Mr. Khan? Was there something between them?"
"Kristin and him?" Oliver looked shocked. "No way. She couldn't stand him. Especially after-" He paused again, pushing out his lower lip.
"Come on, Giles," Kincaid said, knowing he wouldn't stop now. "After what?"
The keys jingled in Oliver's hand as he said in a rush, "She caught him. Khan. Copying papers. I don't know what they were, but Kristin did, and she wouldn't tell me. Khan was furious with her, and after that he'd use any excuse to tear into her. She thought he was trying to get her fired."
It was after five by the time Gemma emerged from the police station, blinking like a mole forced out of its burrow in daylight. She was tired and grimy, and her head hurt from squinting at papers in inadequate light. Slowly, she walked up Lucan Place towards the Brompton Road, musing over what she had learned.
Gavin Hoxley had been a good copper. He had followed every lead meticulously, and had documented his results with a thoroughness that Gemma respected. But his every avenue had led to a dead end, and as she read she had begun to feel his frustration as if it were her own.