She hesitated, then the words boiled out in a rush. "The super called me in today. Gerry Franks complained to him that I'd been too soft on Karl Arrowood."

"Surely Lamb didn't take him seriously?"

"Not really. But he told me my management skills could use some improvement."

"So what did you do?"

She took another glass from the kitchen shelf. "At first I was going to rip Franks to shreds, but then I decided that wasn't the most helpful tack. I told him he was welcome to get off the case, but that he was a valuable asset and I'd rather we tried to work together, and that I hadn't meant to exclude him from portions of the investigation."

"Very diplomatic of you." Kincaid raised a quizzical eyebrow. "Was it true?"

"Oh, I suppose the super's right," she admitted, grimacing. "Franks is a good officer, especially with detail- he has that sort of bulldog mentality, worries at things until he gets them right. I should've managed the situation better."

"It sounds as though you've made a good start at improving things," Kincaid had said reassuringly, and thus, harmony had been more or less restored.

Now, lying awake in the predawn darkness, she found herself thinking of her ex-husband, Rob, who would have seen her confidence as an opportunity to tell her just how he would have handled things. Kincaid's supportiveness, she realized, was rare, and a trait to be appreciated- so why the hell couldn't she bring herself to tell him so?

Three hours later, hunched over her desk at the station, she'd pored over every note, every communication from the incident room, every file, wondering what she could possibly have missed. Exhausted, she groaned and dropped her head in her hands.

At the soft rap on her door, she looked up, blinking. It was Melody, carrying two coffee cups and a bag that smelled suspiciously of fresh carrot muffins.

"Latte, again? And breakfast? You must be the coffee fairy, Melody. Or coffee angel, I should say."

A blush stained Melody's plump cheeks. "I get off the tube at Notting Hill Gate. So it's no trouble to pop into the Starbucks on my way here. I know how much you like it, boss, and it seemed, especially today… I mean, I heard about Sergeant Franks talking to the super, and I think it's bloody unfair."

"Thanks. But I suppose he had a point. We don't seem to be making much progress, do we? Here, sit down, eat your muffin."

Melody sat obediently and peeled the paper wrapper from her breakfast. "Remember you asked me if I knew why Otto Popov was so certain Arrowood was guilty? Well, I went round the pubs last night, some of the more fringy ones, if you know what I mean."

"Not dressed like that?" Gemma gestured at Melody's neat skirt and jacket.

"Not on my life. I wore my leather trousers- you'd never have recognized me."

"I take it you weren't looking for a date?"

Melody grinned. "Well, I did chat up some okay-looking blokes. But I got a name, in the end, someone who might know something about Popov. A little Cockney named Bernard. I found him in a pub near the flyover, and after a couple of pints he agreed to have a chat with you, for the price of a pint and some readies."

Gemma's interest quickened. "When? Where?"

"Lunchtime today, in the Ladbroke Arms. Said he wanted to meet someplace no one would notice him. But, as Bernard has a face like a monkey and smells like he hasn't bathed for years, I don't think he'll be exactly inconspicuous."

Gemma tensed when the phone on her desk rang, fearing a repeat of yesterday's summons to the superintendent's office. But it was the officer on duty in reception. "There's a young man to see you, Inspector. Says his name is Alex Dunn."

"Dunn?" Gemma repeated, before swiftly collecting herself. "Right. Put him in an interview room. I'll be down in a second." Hanging up, she said to Melody, "Come with me. I'll need backup on this."

Alex Dunn rose as they entered the room, holding his hand out as if it were an ordinary social occasion. He was about Gemma's age, good-looking in a tidy sort of way, and on first impression it seemed to Gemma that his was not the sort of appeal likely to make a woman risk a marriage.

When she had introduced herself and Melody, she switched on the recorder and gestured for him to sit again.

"Is that necessary?" he asked, with a shocked glance at the recorder. His ready confidence seemed to ebb a little.

"Oh, I think so," Gemma replied evenly. "We've been looking everywhere for you for five days. That tends to make us feel a bit official."

"I didn't know. Honestly. I was down at my aunt's in Sussex- a friend drove me there on Saturday- and it never occurred to me that anyone wanted to talk to me. I wasn't…" His voice trailed off. "Myself," he concluded.

"How could you not realize that the police would want to question you? Your mistress was murdered-"

"She was not my mistress! I mean- I suppose technically she was- but I never thought of it that way. That makes it sound- makes her sound- cheap."

"Well, however you thought of it," Gemma kept her tone tart, "you were still the person closest to her, barring her husband. Did Dawn talk about him?"

"She never talked about Karl. I think, when she was with me, that she liked to pretend Karl didn't exist. If I pressed her about it, I mean about leaving him, she would just… withdraw. Shake her head and get this closed look."

"Did she ever give you the impression that she was afraid of her husband?"

"No. And she would have told me," he insisted, but he sounded less than certain.

"And she never told you that Karl suspected she was having an affair?"

"No."

"Did you see Dawn on the day she died?"

"No. I rang her mobile from a phone box several times. But she didn't answer."

"From a phone box? Isn't that a bit cloak-and-dagger for a woman who wasn't worried about her husband?"

Alex colored. "It was to ensure my number never showed up on her itemized calls."

"Very cautious of her," commented Melody.

"Dawn was… thorough. About everything. That's just the sort of person she was."

Gemma thought of Dawn Arrowood's careful blotting out of her background, of her family, and of her neat and characterless bedroom. "Did Dawn ever talk about herself, where she came from, that sort of thing?" she asked, curious.

"Yeah, she did. Clapham, or Croyden, something like that. Her father ran a supermarket."

"He still does," Gemma murmured, but she saw that Alex didn't understand. "Go on. What else?"

"Oh, the silly things you do as a kid. Sneaking cigarettes, kisses on the playground, that sort of thing. And she talked about her friend Natalie, and how she always wanted a family like that, big and noisy and busy." He frowned. "But I don't think it would have suited her, somehow."

"Did she mention any friends other than Natalie?"

"No. There didn't seem to be anyone other than Karl's business associates. And me."

"Did she talk about wanting children?"

"Only once. When we'd- when she'd had a bit too much wine. She cried. Then, when I tried to comfort her, she got angry. Said I didn't understand, that Karl would never let her have children. I said- Well, you can guess what I said. But it was no use. And she was always very careful about that, too."

"Birth control?" When he nodded, Gemma added, "Apparently not careful enough."

"What do you mean?"

"You didn't know? She didn't tell you?"

"Tell me what?" His voice rose. "You're not saying-"

"She was pregnant. The doctor had confirmed it that afternoon."

Dunn's eyes were dilated with shock, his face the hue of parchment. "But… I don't… How could she not tell me?"