"Must be lovely," Meg said rather wistfully, "all on your own like that."

Kincaid carried his cup to the table and sat down, then unbuttoned his collar and loosened the knot in his tie. "Which one of you," he said, smiling at them companion-ably, "has the key to this flat?"

Meg looked down at the table, twisting her cup in her hands. "I do. Jasmine had me make a copy, in case she couldn't get to the door when I came round."

"Why didn't you mention it before?"

"I didn't think of it." Meg met his eyes, her brow furrowed in entreaty. "Honestly. I was so upset it just never crossed my mind. Does it matter?"

"Tell me again what happened after you left Jasmine last Thursday afternoon."

She thought for a moment, her face relaxing as she remembered. "I walked home. I couldn't stand still, hadn't the patience to wait for the bus. I felt I might burst with the relief of not having to help Jasmine die. It was such a lovely day, do you remember?"

Kincaid nodded but didn't speak, not wanting to risk halting the flow of words.

"Everything seemed so clear and sharp; the lights coming on in the dusk, the crowds hurrying home from work. I felt a part of it all but lifted above it at the same time. I felt I could cope with anything." She looked from Kincaid to Theo, twin spots of color staining her cheeks. "It sounds absurd, doesn't it?"

"Not at all," said Theo quickly. "I know exactly-"

Kincaid interrupted him. "Then what happened, Meg?"

She shoved her hair behind her ear and looked down at her hands. "He was there, at the bedsit, waiting for me."

"Roger?" asked Kincaid. Meg nodded but didn't speak, and after a moment Kincaid prompted her. "And you told him what had happened, didn't you?"

She nodded again, her hair falling across her face, and this time she didn't push it back.

"What did Roger do?" The silence stretched. Theo opened his mouth to speak and Kincaid gave him a quick warning head-shake.

"I thought he'd shout. That's what he does, usually." She rubbed the ball of one thumb against the nail of the other with great concentration.

Kincaid realized the daylight was fading, cut off by the buildings to the west, and the three of them sat illuminated in the pool of light cast by the single lamp.

Meg took a breath and laced her fingers together, as if to stop the compulsive rubbing. She glanced at Theo, then looked at Kincaid as she spoke. "He went silent. I've seen him that way once or twice before, when he was really angry. It doesn't sound much, but it's worse than words. It's almost like-" she frowned as she searched for the right description, "a physical force. A blow."

"He didn't say anything?" Kincaid asked, letting a hint of disbelief creep into his voice.

"Oh, he called me things at first," the corners of her mouth turned down in a grimace, "but it was like his mind wasn't really on it, if you know what I mean."

"Did he leave straight away?"

Meg shook her head. "No. I wanted him to go. All that elation I'd felt on the way home just vanished-like I'd been pricked with a pin. But I knew it was no use asking. It would just make him that much more difficult."

Kincaid remembered the emphatic quality of his wife's silences, and the discomfort of being confined in a small space with someone who used non-communication as a weapon. "You tried to talk to him, didn't you?" he said, pity making him more gentle than he intended. "To please him, to get some response?" She didn't answer, the shamed expression on her face more eloquent than words. After a moment she said, "I just curled up on the bed, finally, closed my eyes and pretended he wasn't there until he went away."

"Where were your keys, Meg?"

Her startled eyes met his. She reached for her handbag and patted it. "Here. Where they always are."

"Did you leave the room any time while Roger was there?"

"No, of course I-" She stopped, frowning. "Well, I did go to the loo."

"Did you go out again that night, or use your keys for any reason?"

"No." The word was a whisper.

"And when did he-"

"Look, Mr. Kincaid," Theo interrupted, "I don't know what you're getting at, but I think you're bullying Miss Bellamy unnecessarily. Don't you think-"

Kincaid held up a hand. "One more question, Theo, that's all." He found himself tempted to treat her as Roger did and take advantage of her conditioned response, but he also knew mat crossing that line would damage his own integrity beyond repair. "Meg, when did Roger come back?"

"Late. After midnight. He made a copy of the front door key, even though I told him that Mrs. Wilson would throw me out if she caught him sneaking in late at night that way."

"Were you asleep?"

She nodded. "It was only when he got in bed that I-" She glanced at Theo and stopped, her quick color rising. "I mean…"

Kincaid thought it was time he let her off the hook. "Theo," he said conversationally, "are you sure you had no idea how Jasmine intended to leave her money? You could use it, couldn't you? Something gives me the impression that the antique business isn't going all that well." A look passed between Theo and Meg that Kincaid could have sworn was conspiratorial. If so, they'd made a quick alliance.

"I'll be honest with you, Mr. Kincaid." Theo leaned forward, forearms on the table. "I've told Margaret that things were pretty desperate. I needed the money, all right. But I didn't intend to tell Jasmine, even after she called last Thursday and said she wanted to see me."

"Very noble of you, I'm sure," Kincaid said, and Theo pressed his lips together at the sarcasm.

"You can believe what you like, Mr. Kincaid. I've no proof of anything. But I loved my sister and I thought she'd suffered over me enough." He looked at his watch, then stood and carried his cup to the sink. "And if I don't go I'll miss my train. You know where to reach me if you want anything further from me, although I can't imagine how I could help you." Leaning across the table, Theo held out a hand to Meg. "Margaret Thanks."

The smile stayed on Meg's face until the door closed behind him.

"The party's over, I guess, Meg." Kincaid rose and took her cup and his own to the sink. She stayed at the table, hands locked tightly in her lap, while he did the washing up and spooned tinned food into Sid's bowl.

He finished his chores and stood studying her downcast face, sensing her reluctance. "You know, I don't see any reason you shouldn't stay here for a bit if you want."

She looked up at him, her expression more tentative than hopeful, as if letting herself want something too badly automatically meant it would be snatched away. "Honestly? Do you think it would be all right? I could look after things-" Her smile vanished as quickly as it had come. "No. He'd find me, and I don't want him here again, in these rooms."

"You wouldn't have to let him in, or let him stay."

She was already snaking her head before he'd finished the sentence. "You don't understand. Until today I'd man-aged to keep him away from here. Nothing would have been the same." She gestured around the room and Kincaid saw it through her eyes, familiar and secure in the lamplight "You don't know Roger. He spoils everything he touches."

Having insisted on walking Meg to her bus, Kincaid stood, hands in pockets against the chill, at the top of Hampstead High Street. This growing sense of responsibility toward Margaret Bellamy might be disastrous if she proved to have been involved in Jasmine's death, yet every time he encountered her, the temptation to act in loco parentis became stronger. He thought suddenly of Gemma and smiled. Although the two women must be near the same age, Gemma never inspired the least bit of parental feeling.

A sliver of moon hung above the fading pink in the western sky. People pushed past, hurrying home to their suppers in the gathering dusk. Kincaid looked east and west along Heath Street at the array of restaurants-Italian, Mexican, Indian, Greek, Thai, Japanese, even Cajun. If one wanted traditional British fare, Hampstead was not the place to be.