"You mean the same man who killed my mother might have killed this woman, too?"

"It's possible, although we hope not."

"But how can I help you?" She sounded more bewildered than angry.

"Did you ever hear your mother mention the name Karl Arrowood?"

Eliza shook her head.

"Nor Dawn Arrowood? Or Dawn Smith?"

"No."

"What about Alex Dunn?"

"No. I'm sorry."

"Do you know if your mother had any connections in Notting Hill?"

"Not that I know of specifically, although people do get around in the antiques trade. But Mum never talked about her past. Sometimes I used to imagine that her life started with me."

"What about your dad? Could he help us?"

"I never knew my dad at all."

"His name was Hoffman?"

"That was my stepdad. Greg was okay; he even officially adopted me. But Mum divorced him when I was fifteen. I still see him sometimes. He sends Christmas and birthday cards to the girls."

Kincaid had run a check on Greg Hoffman after Marianne's murder in October. A textiles salesman, he'd been out of the country at the time of his ex-wife's death, and Kincaid had never interviewed him. "Do you know why Greg and your mother broke up?"

"Mum just said she didn't want to be married anymore. I missed him," Eliza added unexpectedly, glancing towards the sound of an escalating row in the kitchen. "I hope my girls never have to be without a dad."

"What do you remember about your childhood? Anything before your mother married Greg Hoffman?"

"We lived in York when I was little. Mum had a small shop there. She only moved back to London after I married and came to Bedford."

"Mummy!" came a cry from the kitchen. "Suki tore my loop!"

"I did not. Sarah made it too big. I was fixing it!"

"Excuse me." Eliza got up with a soft sigh and went to sort out her children.

Kincaid stood and gazed out the window at the river and the park running along beside it. Three swans glided by, unperturbed by human commotion.

"Not making much progress, are we?" Doug Cullen didn't bother to hide his exasperation.

"Too soon to say," Kincaid rejoined. He turned back to Eliza Goddard as she reentered the room. "What about your mother's things, Mrs. Goddard? Did she leave any keepsakes? Or photos?"

"I haven't touched her personal effects." Eliza's eyes sparkled with sudden tears. "I just couldn't, not this time of year. I'm not even sure yet how we're going to get through Christmas… I don't think the girls understand their grandmother isn't coming back. They keep asking what Nana's giving them for Christmas."

"I'm truly sorry, Mrs. Goddard, and sorry to have to dredge all this up again. But if you could bring yourself to go through your mother's things, there might be something that would connect her with this latest murder." He couldn't recall having seen anything connecting Hoffman with either the Arrowoods or Alex Dunn, but he wanted to be absolutely sure he hadn't missed vital evidence.

"There is one thing," Eliza said hesitantly. "My mother always wore a heart-shaped silver locket. But it wasn't in the things you returned to us, and we didn't find it in the shop. I know you told us at the time there was no evidence of burglary, but- Might her killer have taken the locket?"

Melody Talbot sat down across from Gemma's desk and kicked her shoes off, stretching out her legs and examining them with a frown. One of her tights had ripped in the toe and she tugged at it in annoyance. "My feet will never be the same. This is the first time I've got off them in three days."

"Found anything worthwhile?" From the discouraged expression on Melody's face, Gemma had not much hope of the answer. Gerry Franks had been in earlier with an equally discouraging report. He'd pressed her to talk to Karl Arrowood again, but she was determined to wait until she'd spoken to Arrowood's first wife.

"Surely there must have been joggers round St. John's at that time of the evening, but so far we haven't turned up anyone," Melody told her. "And none of the neighbors remember seeing anything out of the ordinary."

"Nor did I," Gemma murmured, but when Melody raised a questioning brow, she shook her head.

Melody winced and wiggled her feet back into her shoes. "Anything from forensics yet?"

"No. It's early days. But try telling the media that." Gemma pushed away the remains of a packaged sandwich and tepid tea. "If Karl Arrowood came home earlier than he said, he could have simply pulled up in the drive and attacked Dawn when she came home." Had she seen one car? Gemma wondered. Or two? But even if she had seen two cars, she might have passed by while Karl was looking for his wife in the house. None of the neighbors had reported a second car in the drive, but they had better double-check. "Why don't you go round the neighbors again, make sure no one saw Karl's Mercedes."

Melody groaned and stood up. "Yes, boss." At the door she turned back. "You might want to talk to the lady next door yourself. She didn't report seeing anything particular, but she's a friendly soul. And she's taken in Dawn Arrowood's cat."

Mrs. Du Ray lived just the other side of the Arrowoods' hedge. The house was semidetached, and Gemma saw that although the paint round the trim and windows was peeling, the garden was neatly tended and the door brass gleamed. Any lack of care must be due to insufficient funds rather than neglect, and lack of funds in this neighborhood was enough to arouse her curiosity.

A neat, gray-haired woman greeted Gemma with a friendly smile. "Can I help you?"

"Mrs. Du Ray? I'm Inspector James from the Metropolitan Police." Gemma bent to stroke Tommy, who purred loudly and butted against her legs.

"I see you two know each other," said Mrs. Du Ray as she led Gemma through the house and into the kitchen. "I'll just put on some tea."

"My constable said you were very hospitable."

"Most people are too busy rushing about these days to take the time. Especially the young mothers chauffeuring their children about. Gymnastics and ballet lessons and piano and martial arts. It's all very well, but when do they have time to be children? But you probably have young children yourself and think I should mind my own business. I admit I'm hopelessly old-fashioned."

"Not at all," Gemma assured her. "And I'm afraid I don't have the luxury of chauffeuring my children around, nor did my parents."

"Quite." Mrs. Du Ray spooned tea leaves into a delicate flowered teapot and covered them with boiling water.

Gemma relaxed in her chair, as Melody must have done before her, glad of the respite. It was a pleasant room, clean and well kept if a bit run-down, like the house's exterior. "Have you lived here long, Mrs. Du Ray?"

"Thirty-five years. My husband bought this house when we were first married. Now that's he's gone, and the children are all grown up and married themselves, I suppose I could set myself up nicely in a little bungalow somewhere if I were to sell. But it's hard to contemplate leaving such familiar surroundings, and so many memories."

Gemma found it difficult to imagine such a settled existence. Had Dawn contemplated living a good portion of her life in the house next door, perhaps raising children there? Through the wide window over the sink she could see its pale stucco walls rising above the hedge.

"Did Mr. Arrowood ask you to look after Tommy?" she asked when Mrs. Du Ray had handed her a teacup of the same delicate china as the pot.

"No. But by yesterday the poor creature was begging at my door, and it was obvious he hadn't been fed. I let him in and picked up some tins of food at the market. I don't know what Dawn fed him, but he doesn't seem fussy." Mrs. Du Ray made a little face as she sipped at her tea. "As for Karl Arrowood, I went round yesterday evening. I didn't want him to think I was taking liberties by caring for his wife's cat. But when I told him, he just shrugged and said, 'Do as you please.' It wasn't that he was rude exactly, just indifferent. I suppose that's understandable under the circumstances."