Leave the Grave Green

Gemma turned to him, clamping down on her chattering teeth. “How could Tommy have done it? Even if he’d choked Connor and dumped him in the boot of his car, he would have to have driven like a demon to be in London before eleven o’clock. He couldn’t possibly have driven to Hambleden and carried Con’s body all that way.”

“But,” Kincaid began reasonably, “he could have left the body in the boot, driven to London to establish an alibi, and dumped the body later.”

“That doesn’t make sense. Why go to the theater, the one place that would connect him with the Ashertons, and through them, with Connor? And if he wanted to establish an alibi, why not sign in with the porter? It was only chance that Alison Douglas saw him in Gerald’s dressing room, and Gerald certainly hasn’t mentioned it.” Having forgotten the cold and damp in the heat of her argument, Gemma drew breath for her final salvo. “And even if the rest of it were true, how could he possibly have carried Con’s body from the Hambleden carpark to the lock?”

Kincaid smiled his most infuriating smile, the one that meant he found her vehemence amusing. “Well, I guess we had better ask him, hadn’t we?”

CHAPTER

11

Alison Douglas protested when Gemma rang her early the next day. “But, Sergeant, how can I possibly ask the ushers to come in this morning when they worked last night? And some of them have other jobs or school.”

“Do the best you can. The alternative is having them down to the Yard, which I doubt most of them would be too keen on.” Gemma tried to keep the irritation out of her voice. A restless night and a drive back to London in the thick of the commuter traffic had left her feeling shirty, but that was no excuse for taking it out on Alison. And it was not the most reasonable of requests, after all. “I’ll be there before noon,” she told Alison, ringing off.

Replacing the receiver in its cradle, she surveyed with distaste the paperwork swamping Kincaid’s desk. She felt none of her usual satisfaction in having appropriated his office, but rather the same discomfort that had kept her awake into the wee hours. Something had been different about Kincaid last night—at first she had only been aware of a rather feverish quality to his behavior, but as she tossed and turned through the night she came to the conclusion that his responses to her had altered as well. Had she only imagined the easy companionship of the previous evening in London? He had sought her out. Had his delight in her flat and evident enjoyment of her company caused her to drop her barriers a dangerous notch too far?

She shrugged and rubbed her eyes, trying to massage away the fatigue, but she couldn’t erase the fleeting thought that the change in Kincaid’s manner had something to do with his visit to Julia Swann.

In the end, Alison managed to bring in four of the ushers, and they sat cramped together on folding chairs in her office, looking disgruntled but curious.

Gemma introduced herself, adding, “I’ll try not to keep you any longer than necessary. Do any of you know Tommy Godwin, the Wardrobe Manager? Tall, thin, fairish man, very well dressed?” Looking at them, she wasn’t hopeful that sartorial elegance had a place in their vocabularies. The three young men were neat but ordinary, and the girl had managed what Gemma recognized as low-budget dressing with a bit of flair. “I want to know if anyone saw him last Thursday evening.” The young men glanced sideways at one another from blank faces. Behind them Alison stood with arms crossed, leaning lightly against the wall, and Gemma saw her mouth open slightly in surprise.

Shaking her head slightly at Alison, Gemma waited, letting the silence stretch.

Finally, the girl spoke. “I did, miss.” Her voice held a trace of West Indian cadence, probably acquired from parents or other family members who were first-generation immigrants, thought Gemma.

Letting out the breath she’d been unconsciously holding, Gemma said, “Did you? You’re sure it was Thursday evening, now? Pelleas and Melisande

, right?” She hadn’t really expected such a positive result, still didn’t quite trust it.

“Yes, miss.” The girl smiled as if she found Gemma’s doubt amusing. “I see all the productions—I can tell which is which.”

“Good. I’m glad one of us can.” Gemma smiled, silently kicking herself for sounding patronizing. “What’s your name?”

“Patricia, miss. I’m a design student—I’m interested in costumes, so sometimes I help out a bit with Wardrobe. That’s how I know Mr. Godwin.”

“Can you tell me about Thursday evening?”

The girl glanced round at Alison as if seeking permission from the nearest authority. “Go ahead, Patricia, tell the Sergeant. I’m sure it’s quite all right,” responded Alison.

“Mr. Godwin came into the lobby from the street doors. Usually I stand just inside the auditorium and listen to the performance, but I’d just come back from the Ladies’ and was crossing the lobby myself. I called out to him, but he didn’t hear me.”