Leave the Grave Green

Kincaid watched him for a moment, then shrugged and smiled at Gemma. “Nice lad. Might make a good copper. Has the memory for it.”

“Listen.” Gemma leaned toward him, her voice urgent.

At that moment the two rosy-faced couples, having ordered drinks at the bar, sat down at the next table. They smiled at Gemma and Kincaid in a neighborly fashion, then began a clearly audible conversation among themselves. “Here, David’s left us a bill,” said Kincaid. “Let’s settle up and be on our way.”

Not until they had stepped out into the street again was Gemma able to hiss at him, “That was Tommy Godwin.” Seeing Kincaid’s blank expression, she said, “The man with Connor that night. I’m sure it was Tommy Godwin. That’s what I kept trying to tell you,” she added testily.

They had stopped on the pavement just outside the pub and stood holding their coat collars up around their throats, a defense against the fog that had crept up from the river. “How can you be certain?”

“I’m telling you, it had to be him.” She heard her voice rise in exasperation and made an attempt to level it. “You said yourself that David was observant. His description was too accurate for it to be anyone but Tommy. It’s beyond the bounds of probability.”

“Okay, okay.” Kincaid held up a hand in mock surrender. “But what about the theater? You’ll have to recheck—”

The pub door flew open and David almost catapulted into them. “Oh, sorry. I thought I might catch you. Look—” He stopped, as if his impetus had vanished. Still in shirtsleeves, he folded his arms across his torso and stamped his feet a little. “Look—I had no way of knowing, did I? I thought it was just a bit of argy-bargy. I’d have felt a right prat interfering…”

“Tell us what happened, David,” said Kincaid. “Do you want to go back inside?”

David glanced at the door. “No, they’ll be all right for a bit.” He looked back at them, swallowed and went on. “A few minutes after Mr. Swann and the other bloke left, I came out for a break. Kelly usually stops by for a drink when she gets off work, and I like to keep an eye out for her—a bird on her own at night, you know. It’s not as safe as it used to be.” For a moment he paused, perhaps realizing just whom he was lecturing, and Gemma could feel his embarrassment intensify. “Anyway, I was standing just about where we are now, having a smoke, when I heard a noise by the river.” He pointed down the gently sloping street. “It was clear, not like tonight, and the river’s only a hundred yards or so along.” Again he stopped, as if waiting to be drawn.

“Could you see anything?” Kincaid asked.

“The street lamp reflecting off fair hair, and a slightly smaller, darker figure. I think it must have been Mr. Swann and the other bloke, but I couldn’t swear to it.”

“They were fighting?” Gemma couldn’t keep the disbelief from her voice. She found the idea of Tommy Godwin involved in a physical confrontation almost inconceivable.

“Scuffling. Like kids in a school yard.”

Kincaid glanced at Gemma, his eyebrows raised in surprise. “What happened then, David?”

“I heard Kelly’s car. Loose muffler,” he added in explanation. “You can hear the bloody thing for a mile. I went to meet her, and when we came back, they were gone.” He scanned their faces anxiously. “You don’t think… I never dreamed…”

“David,” said Kincaid, “can you tell us what time this happened?”

He nodded. “Quarter to ten, or near enough.”

“The other man,” put in Gemma, “would you know him if you saw him again?”

She could see the gooseflesh on his arms from the cold, but he stood still, considering. “Well, yes. I suppose I would. Surely, you don’t think he—”

“We might want you to make an identification. Just a matter of routine,” Gemma added soothingly. “Can we reach you here? You’d best give us your home address and telephone as well.” She passed her notebook to him and he scribbled in it, squinting in the orange glow of the street lamps. “You’d better see to your customers,” she said when he’d finished, smiling at him. “We’ll be in touch if we need you.”

When David had gone, she turned to Kincaid. “I know what you’re thinking, but it’s not possible! We know he was in London a few minutes after eleven—”

Kincaid touched his fingers to her shoulder, gently turning her. “Let’s have a look at the river.” As they walked the fog enveloped them, sneaking into their clothes, beading their skin, so that their faces glistened when caught by the light. The pavement ended and their footsteps scrunched on gravel, then they heard the lapping of water against shoreline. “It must be close now,” said Kincaid. “Can you smell it?”

The temperature had dropped noticeably as they neared the water, and Gemma shivered, hugging her coat around her. The darkness before them became denser, blacker, and they stopped, straining their eyes. “What is this place?”

Kincaid shone his pocket torch on the gravel. “You can see the wheel ruts where cars have been parked. Forensic will love this.”