"Maybe she meant to. But she never had the chance. Or maybe it wasn't your baby; maybe it was Karl's. His vasectomy could have failed; that's what he claims, after all. Or maybe it was someone else's altogether-"

His face bleached whiter still, and Gemma feared she might have pushed him too far.

But he shoved back his chair, shaking with rage, and stabbed a finger at her. "She wasn't seeing anyone else. You make her sound like a slag, and it's not true! If I know anything about her, it's that she loved me. She would have left him, we would have worked something out-"

"Okay, point taken. Sit back down, Alex, please. Constable, could you get Mr. Dunn some water?"

He obeyed her, reluctantly, and when he was seated again and had sipped at the water Melody brought him, Gemma said, "Look, I'm sorry. Let's start over. Why don't you tell me about last Friday. Were you supposed to see Dawn that day?"

"No. We'd met the day before, but she'd said she had a doctor's appointment on Friday- a routine checkup- and that she was meeting Natalie for tea. And I was planning to visit my aunt, as well as getting ready for Saturday market, so… If I'd insisted she come by the flat, maybe-" He looked stricken.

"Then you'd be assuming her murder was happenstance, and we don't believe that. I believe that whoever waited for Dawn that day would have waited longer, or come back another time." As Gemma spoke, she realized how strongly she meant it.

"But- if it was Karl- And if she had left-"

"Karl might have changed his mind? From what I know of the man, that seems unlikely. And we've no proof that he killed his wife. It seems to me that you and your friends- particularly Otto- have made an awfully big assumption."

"But- Otto said- Otto was sure that it was Karl. I didn't want to believe him-"

"It always comes back to Otto, doesn't it?" Gemma glanced at Melody. "Alex, what else did Otto say?"

His stare was defiant. "Otto said Karl would kill me, too, if he found out. But that's crap, isn't it?"

"Is that why you went to Sussex?"

"It was Fern's idea. She meant well, but I feel a fool now for going along with it. As I said, I wasn't myself."

"Do you know how your friend Otto comes to know so much about Karl Arrowood? Has he told you?"

"Otto doesn't talk about himself much. But he's lived in the neighborhood a long time, knows a lot of people."

"You don't know anything about Otto's dead wife?"

"Dead?" Alex looked puzzled. "No. I just assumed they were divorced or something, I mean, you never know these days, do you?"

"Do you know someone called Marianne Hoffman?"

"Never heard of her. Why? Is she a friend of Otto's?"

Was it possible, Gemma wondered, that Otto could be the link between the Arrowoods and Hoffman? The café owner knew many people in the trade, as Alex had pointed out. And he was a powerful man, skilled, she assumed, as were most cooks, with a knife.

"Let's go back to Friday. You were getting ready for Saturday market. What does that entail?"

"Setting things out in my stall in the arcade, arranging, pricing. I'd been to an estate sale in Sussex, near my aunt's, so I had a good deal of new stock."

"And then?"

"I went back to the flat. I'd had a good day, and I wanted to celebrate, so I went to Otto's for an early dinner."

"What time was this?"

"About half past six, I think. I really wasn't paying attention."

"Was Otto at the café when you arrived?"

"He served me himself."

"Everything as usual?"

"Of course. Except…" Dunn hesitated, then went on. "We had a little disagreement. I wouldn't exactly call it an argument."

"About what?"

"He warned me about Karl. I'd found a lovely piece of porcelain I thought I might sell him, and Otto said not to take Karl for a fool. I didn't realize until then, you see, that everyone knew about Dawn." He crumpled the paper cup Melody had given him in his fingers. "How could I possibly have been so flaming stupid?"

Kincaid listened as Gemma related her interview with Alex Dunn. He'd picked her up at Notting Hill for a quick run into the City, where they had appointments with Karl Arrowood's sons. Kincaid had debated surprising them, but decided there was no point in risking possible inconvenience to himself and Gemma. He had no doubt the boys' mother would have got the wind up them already.

He had arranged to meet the elder son, Richard, in a well-known Fleet Street pub at eleven o'clock, and the younger, Sean, in the same place at half past.

They had no trouble finding a table, as the pub was just gearing up for its lunchtime business. When Richard Arrowood walked in the door at the stroke of eleven, they recognized him instantly, a pale and less substantial copy of his father.

"Mr. Arrowood," Kincaid called out.

"What is this about?" Arrowood asked as he sat down, adjusting his perfectly creased trouser leg at the knee. "I don't have much time."

"You are surely aware that your stepmother has been murdered? Brutally, I might add."

"So? What has that to do with me?"

"Did you know Dawn well?" Gemma asked pleasantly, but Kincaid saw the tick in her jaw that meant she was clenching her teeth.

"My father had us round for drinks a few times when they were first married, and once for a meal. She didn't cook, of course, just had something brought in." From the contempt in Richard Arrowood's voice, she might have served them fish and chips.

"And your mother cooks, I take it?" Gemma's smile was vicious.

"My mother has nothing to do with this," Arrowood retorted.

"I wonder," Kincaid interposed. "Is there a particular reason why you disliked your stepmother so much? I understood that your mother and father had been divorced for several years before he married Dawn."

"That didn't make her any less of a money-grubbing bitch," said Arrowood, sniffing, and Kincaid revised his estimate of the young man's character. Not only was Richard Arrowood arrogant, rude, and unpleasant, he was astoundingly stupid.

"I would have thought your father had enough to go round."

"Not once the fair Dawnie got her paws on it. I had some debts." The young man's cheeks flushed with remembered anger. "You know, the sort of thing anyone starting out in the City encounters. But Father wouldn't lift a finger. He said helping me would threaten Dawn's security."

"Does one encounter debts, Mr. Arrowood? I always rather thought one acquired them." Kincaid watched him realize he'd been insulted, and bridle.

"Look here, you can't speak to me this way-"

"I can, you know. May I remind you that this is a murder inquiry, and that you may be under suspicion?"

"Suspicion? But that's absurd." His bravado seemed to evaporate suddenly. "I haven't seen Dawn in ages-"

"Would you mind telling us where you were last Friday evening?"

"Friday? I- I was at a drinks party. A bloke from work had several of us round to his flat in Borough Market. My brother was there, too."

"What time was this party?"

"We went straight from work. Half-five, maybe."

"And how long did you stay?"

"Until a group of us went out to dinner. Around eight, I suppose."

"And you were there all the time?"

"Of course I was bloody there! Look, you can't-"

"We'll need your friend's name and address. And of course we'll confirm this with your brother."

Richard looked from Gemma to Kincaid. His forehead was damp with sweat, and he sniffed again, brushing the back of his hand across his nose. "I don't think you can speak to me like this without a solicitor," he said, but without much conviction.

"You are, of course, entitled to a solicitor at any time, Mr. Arrowood. But this is just a friendly conversation, a routine inquiry, and I don't think you'd want it to look as though you'd something to hide. Just a bit of advice."