"Arrowood? I thought we were talking about Otto."

"I'll be getting to that. Where's yer patience, luv? As I were saying, along comes Karl Arrowood. Now he's a few years older than Otto, an up-and-coming boyo with a finger in more than one pie, and he figures that Otto's Russian relatives maybe have some connections he needs, so he hires him."

"Karl hired Otto?"

"Righto, luv. Not that Karl doesn't have a few connections of his own, mind you, German relatives that just happened to know the whereabouts of objects liberated during the war. Karl puts two and two together and before you know it, he's got a nice little import business going."

"So that's how Karl got started?"

"Also how he made the acquaintance of some less than savory characters, Russian bigwigs, if you know what I mean. Now young Otto- still a kid, really- having been raked over the coals by everyone from his mum and his dad to his aunt Minnie for consorting with a bad boy like Karl, decides he wants no more to do with this business, and disappears from London for a while.

"But Karl, now, he sees this as an act of desertion, and Karl has a memory like a bloody elephant. So years later, when Otto's come back to London and set himself up a nice little business, got married and all, Karl finds a way to make Otto work for him again."

"How?"

"Now, that I couldn't tell you, luv." Bernard finished the last of his pint and wiped his lips. "Thirsty work, all that talking."

Gemma fetched another pint from the bar in record time, sloshing beer as she slid it across the table to him.

"Careful, luv," he admonished her. "Like spilling gold, that is."

"You must have some idea what sort of leverage Karl used on Otto," Gemma prompted him.

"Well, Otto'd gone and made himself vulnerable, hadn't he?"

"His wife, you mean?"

"A pale little thing, Otto's wife, always looked a bit sickly. Didn't surprise me when she snuffed it."

"You're saying Karl had something to do with the death of Otto's wife?"

"Now I wouldn't go that far," Bernard answered cagily, tempting Gemma to throttle him with his greasy tie. "Some sort of illness. Heart, I think they said. But I didn't know the poor mite myself, and I wasn't exactly in Otto's personal confidence."

Gemma glared at him. "I don't believe you, Bernard, and I definitely don't buy that you don't know what happened to Otto's wife. Why won't you tell me?"

Bernard put his finger to the side of his nose, looking for a moment like a wizened Saint Nick. "God didn't miss me when he went to handing out the brains, luv. Now, there's conversation, and then there's stupidity, and I reckon as 'ow I know the difference 'tween the two."

Having had a few things to attend to at the new house, Kincaid decided to stay in Notting Hill and grab a sandwich in the station canteen. As he sat down, he noticed Sergeant Franks at a nearby table. The man nodded at him, his knowing look verging on a sneer, before getting up and leaving the room.

It was obvious from his behavior that Franks was aware of Kincaid's personal relationship with Gemma, causing Kincaid to wonder if there was more to Franks's complaint than she'd let on. But if that were the case, why hadn't she told him?

He debated whether he should have a word with Superintendent Lamb, an old mate of his from police college, but he was concerned that his interference would only make Gemma's situation more difficult in the long term- not to mention the fact that Gemma would kill him if she found out.

He felt frustratingly handicapped, not least by his inability to understand Gemma's emotional swings. There was, for instance, the matter of Cullen's dinner party. After he'd rung and canceled, she had decided she wanted to go after all and had had him call back and accept.

If he failed to understand her reasoning in this or any other matter, how could he predict what would help her to cope? Walking on a minefield would be easier, he sometimes thought. Then he looked up and saw her standing in the doorway, and knew that she was worth whatever it took.

She smiled at him and came across to his table.

"Have a seat," he said. "I got you a prawn mayonnaise in case you hadn't eaten."

Gemma made a face. "I've gone off prawn mayonnaise."

"I thought that was your favorite."

"Last week. But I'll manage, thanks." She opened the plastic container and nibbled at a corner of the sandwich.

"I take it you survived your encounter unscathed?"

"I rather liked him, actually. Though I would send him out to the dry cleaners, clothes and all." She related Bernard's story while she ate, taking an occasional sip of Kincaid's cold tea.

"It sounds as though we've enough now for a useful conversation with Otto Popov," Kincaid remarked as she finished.

"And Karl Arrowood?"

"Otto first. The more pieces we can fill in before we tackle Karl, the better. Russian Mafia?" He raised a dubious eyebrow.

"I assume that's what Bernard meant, cagey old devil. And that would go a ways towards explaining why everyone's so bloody terrified of Karl."

They found Otto wiping down tables after the last of the lunchtime customers. He smiled when he saw Gemma, but she noticed that his expression became neutrally wary as she introduced him to Kincaid.

"Otto, this is Superintendent Kincaid from Scotland Yard. He's working with me on this investigation."

"Please, sit." Otto pulled out two chairs for them. "Anything I can do. A coffee on the house?"

"No, we're fine, really," Gemma replied. "Could you join us for a moment?"

Otto sat, his bulk balanced with surprising grace on the small chair. "Young Alex is back, have you heard?"

"He came to see me this morning. Apparently, Fern took him to his aunt's in Sussex for a few days, but she was afraid to tell anyone where he was. Otto, both Alex and Fern have said that you warned them Alex might be in danger from Karl Arrowood. Why did you think that?"

"Karl is a dangerous man. Everyone knows that. One hears stories."

"I think it's more than that," Gemma probed gently. "I think you've had personal experience with Karl. First, a long time ago, when you put him in touch with some Russian, um, colleagues. Then, more recently, before your wife died."

Otto stared at them, his dark eyes unreadable.

"Did you work for Karl in his importing business?"

"Importing, pah!" Otto spat, stung. "He cheats people, Karl Arrowood. That is all he has ever done. I swore I would never again work for such a man!"

"Then you must have had a very good reason for doing so. Did it have something to do with your wife?"

His eyes were like pebbles now, cold and flat. "You will please leave my wife out of this."

Gemma met his gaze evenly. "You had nothing to do with Karl for what, twenty years? You made a life for yourself, a good business, you married, then all of a sudden you connect again with a man you obviously despise. We will find out why, eventually, but I would rather hear it from you."

Otto stared at Gemma, then at Kincaid, as if assessing them both. At last he said, "I have nothing to hide. For myself I do not care, only for my wife's name and my daughters' memories of her. You understand?" When they nodded assurance, he went on. "Karl Arrowood is an evil man. He hated me, merely because when I was a boy I decided I no longer wished to be involved in his… activities. He waited for years, like a spider, until he saw his opportunity. My wife, Katrina, was never strong. She had problems with drugs when she was younger, but she had been better, much better, for a long time. Then after Anna was born, and then Maria, Katrina was depressed, and Karl saw his chance. He made available to her little gifts, and soon she was back to her old ways.