Kissed a sad goodbye - Deborah Crombie [74]
“I suppose it’s quicker,” said Gemma, but he thought she sounded less than enthusiastic.
As they left the pub and started down Saunders Ness towards the tunnel, she told him about Janice’s interview with George Brent, and the appointment Janice had made for them with Lewis Finch that afternoon.
“I’m impressed with the inspector’s initiative. So there is a connection between Annabelle and Lewis Finch.”
“And between Annabelle and Gordon Finch. Janice found the video footage.”
“You’ve seen it?”
“And I’ve spoken to him. It’s clear from the video that she wanted something from him, and that he refused her. He says he had broken off their relationship, and that she wanted to mend things between them.”
“Then why did he lie?” They’d reached the tunnel entrance, and as they waited for the lift, Kincaid glanced at her. “You had him brought in?”
“I went round to his flat. I thought he might be more cooperative.”
Kincaid frowned. “On your own?”
“That was the idea—a bit less police presence,” she said defensively. “He’s not the sort who responds well to authority.”
“Gemma, for Christ’s sake—the man could very well have murdered Annabelle Hammond. What were you playing at?”
“What was he going to do—bump me off in his flat in broad daylight, after I’d left word at the station where I’d be?” Gemma’s sarcasm echoed the mulish set of her jaw. “That would be daft, and I don’t think we’re dealing with a lunatic. And besides”—she shot him a defiant glance—“I’m still here, aren’t I?”
“That’s beside the point. Just don’t do it again—you might not be so lucky next time. Not to mention the fact that you’ve played hell with protocol.”
“As if you never do,” she muttered.
“Dammit, Gemma, I’m—” He stopped himself. Arguing would only make her more stubborn, he knew, and there was no point turning this into a full-blown row. He’d done enough damage losing his temper the last few days.
The lift doors opened, and as they waited for the disembarking passengers to exit, Kincaid saw that the lift was unusually large and had a uniformed operator. Once inside, he discovered the high-tech counterpart to this rather old-fashioned courtesy: a security camera and monitor, mounted near the ceiling.
They took up positions against the bench in the back as the other passengers crowded in. “If he admitted a relationship with her, I suppose your strategy worked,” he said quietly.
She gave him a wary glance as they continued their descent, as if assessing his change of tone. The camera view shifted from the tunnel to the interior of the lift, and for a moment he saw himself with Gemma beside him. Then the lift sighed to a stop and the doors slid open, disgorging them into the white-tiled dampness of the tunnel.
As they started down the gentle incline, he saw that the condensation from the curving walls had collected into rivulets on the sloping concrete floor. The sounds of voices and footsteps ricocheted eerily round them; from somewhere he heard music. “What exactly did the video show?” he asked. “Did Finch leave with her?”
“It seems Reg Mortimer was telling the truth, at least to a point, about what happened here.” Gemma moved closer to Kincaid, allowing a cyclist walking his bike to pass. Bicycles Strictly Prohibited signs had been plainly posted at the tunnel entrance. “Annabelle stopped and spoke to Gordon Finch, and Mortimer was nowhere to be seen. She seemed to be arguing with Finch, but he didn’t respond. Then she walked away, and a few minutes later he packed up and left.”
“Did he meet her afterwards?”
“He says he went straight home. I’ve asked Janice to send someone round this evening to check with his landlady.”
Glancing at Gemma, he thought she looked pale, but he didn’t know if it was due to the cold light reflecting from the white tiles or the thought of the weight of the river above them.
They walked in silence as they neared the flat stretch of the tunnel, and the echoing music resolved itself into a very bad vocal rendition of “Bad Moon Rising,” accompanied by abysmally played guitar.