They walked along the track in silence. New headstones were interspersed among the older graves and monuments, but the newer markers were of shiny black marble and lacked the grace of their older counterparts.

"Now the Victorians," Kincaid remarked softly beside her, "they knew how to celebrate death."

Never had Gemma seen so many angels: angels weeping, angels on guard, angels reaching heavenwards. The quiet of the place began to seep into her and she found herself taking a long, deep breath. Nor was the landscape as desolate as she had first thought. The gnarled trees and thickets were alive with birds of every kind, and squirrels ran busily in the long grass. To the right she began to glimpse a building through the trees, a large structure with white, classical columns.

"The Anglican chapel," Kincaid told her. "Although chapel seems a rather meager term for such a grandiose affair. I don't think it's in use."

They approached the cluster of mourners, out of courtesy stopping a few feet away. An ornate coffin rested beside a dark hole in the earth, and at its head a black-robed cleric intoned the burial service. Karl Arrowood stood beside him in a black suit and overcoat, his head bowed, his gold hair glittering with drops of moisture. Dawn's parents stood opposite, as if trying to avoid contact with the widower. Gemma also recognized a softly weeping Natalie Caine, propped up by a stocky, cheerful-faced young man that Gemma assumed must be her husband; the remaining mourners appeared to be friends of Dawn's parents. "No unusual suspects lurking about," Kincaid murmured. "Worse luck."

The priest finished, closing his book. Karl Arrowood stepped forward and laid a single white rose on the coffin. Dawn's mother burst into anguished sobbing and her husband turned her away. Several people stepped up to Karl and shook his hand. With obvious reluctance, Natalie did the same, then gave Gemma a nod of recognition as she and her husband started back towards the cars.

Gemma and Kincaid waited until everyone had paid their respects. Arrowood stood as they approached, his hands in the pockets of his overcoat.

"Mr. Arrowood," said Gemma, "this is Superintendent Kincaid, from Scotland Yard."

"Do I take it this means the Yard has been called in? Perhaps you'll make some progress now in solving my wife's death."

"I'm investigating a different murder, Mr. Arrowood," Kincaid answered. "It took place two months ago, in Camden Passage. A woman named Marianne Hoffman was killed in the same manner as your wife. Did you know her?"

"No," said Arrowood, but he had paled. "Who was she?"

"Mrs. Hoffman sold antique jewelry from her shop in Camden Passage. She lived above the premises. Do you know of any connection your wife might have had with this woman?"

"You say this woman sold jewelry? I bought all Dawn's jewelry for her. She'd have had no reason to frequent a shop like that."

"When we spoke on Saturday, Mr. Arrowood," Gemma said, "and I told you your wife was pregnant when she died, you didn't happen to mention that you'd had a vasectomy prior to your marriage." She saw a small tick at the corner of his mouth, swiftly controlled.

"And why should I have thought such a personal matter was any of your business?"

"Because if you'd learned of the pregnancy, you would naturally have assumed that your wife had a lover. In my book, that makes an extremely strong motive for murder."

"If you are suggesting that I killed Dawn, Inspector, you had better be very careful. I loved my wife, although you seem to find that difficult to believe, and I had no reason to think her unfaithful. These procedures are known to fail, and that is what I naturally assumed."

"And you'd no idea before Mrs. Arrowood's death that she was pregnant?" Gemma asked.

"No. I've told you before. I knew she hadn't been feeling well, but that possibility didn't occur to me at the time, for obvious reasons. But now that I know, I will not entertain the idea that the child was not mine."

His face was set so implacably that Gemma wondered whom he most wanted to convince- them or himself? "Speaking of children, Mr. Arrowood, have you seen your sons lately?"

"My sons? What have my children got to do with this?"

"You told me the other day that you'd made it clear to them not to expect anything from you."

"I was fed up with them begging money for this and that. I never told them specifically- Surely you're not accusing them-"

"Money can be a powerful motivator. If they thought that Dawn's death would assure them of an inheritance-"

"No! That's absurd. I know my sons. They like things to come easily because their mother has spoiled them all their lives, but neither is capable of murder." Arrowood was visibly shaken.

"Nevertheless, our near and dear ones can sometimes surprise us," Kincaid commented.

Narrowing his eyes, Karl Arrowood retorted, "If you mean to intimidate me by badgering my family, Superintendent, it won't work. I'll be in touch with my solicitor as soon as I get back to my office."

"Both your sons are of age, Mr. Arrowood. We don't need your permission to question them. But this is simply a matter of following routine lines of inquiry, and the more cooperative everyone is, the sooner we can move on."

"Are you saying I should encourage my sons to talk to you?"

"Assuming they have nothing to hide, it would make the process easier for everyone."

Arrowood's smile was bitter. "You're assuming I have some influence over my children, Mr. Kincaid. Unfortunately, that's not the case."

"I thought they might be here today," Gemma put in mildly.

"They aren't here because I didn't invite them!" Arrowood snapped at her. "Why should I have given them the opportunity to disrespect Dawn in death as they did in life?"

"Perhaps they regret their behavior-"

"With their mother's constant poison in their ears? Highly unlikely."

"I'm assuming Dawn had nothing to do with the breakup of your marriage." Thirteen years ago, Dawn would have still been at school. "In which case, why did your ex-wife dislike her so much?"

"Because Sylvia is a spiteful bitch," he countered with grim amusement. "Does that answer your question, Inspector?"

Although Gemma felt inclined to agree with his assessment, she didn't say so. "What about your colleagues, Mr. Arrowood? Surely they might have come to support you today?"

"I didn't notify anyone at the shop. I meant this occasion to be private- or as private as possible," he amended with a glance at Dawn's parents and their friends, talking with the priest some distance away.

Gemma was suddenly furious with his callous disregard of the Smiths' feelings. "It's the least you could do for them!" she snapped. "You're not the only one who has suffered a loss."

Arrowood gave her a surprised look, then said slowly, "No, I suppose you're right."

"What do you have against your wife's parents?" Gemma asked. "I understand you've only met them briefly."

His eyes had gone cold again. "The fact that they are utterly and tiresomely middle-class."

"And you blame them for that?" she retorted. "As if it were a matter of choice?"

"Isn't it?" he asked. "Dawn chose to overcome her upbringing. So did I, for that matter," he added quietly, gazing at the nearby headstones as if seeking something familiar. Then he looked back at Gemma with a crooked smile. "If you'll excuse me, I had better pay my respects to my in-laws."

"There is one more thing, Mr. Arrowood," interjected Kincaid. "Do you know an Alex Dunn?"

"Of course I know Alex. I trade with him frequently. What has he to do with anything?"

"According to several sources, your wife was having an affair with him."

If Gemma had wished to see Karl Arrowood lose his infuriatingly tight control, she was now amply rewarded.