"Of course I did not know at first, and then when I realized what was happening, it was some time before I learned the source. I thought I would kill him, then, but he was too smart for that. Who would take care of Katrina, and the girls, he asked me, if I went to prison? And then he told me that if I didn't do as he wished, he would cut off Katrina's supply. He didn't need me to make his contacts by then, he wanted merely my compliance. And I had no choice. My Katrina was more and more desperate.

"What would have happened eventually, I do not know. But Katrina died, an overdose, and Karl had no more hold over me. Now do you see why I warned Alex to beware? Karl is ruthless. If he had found out about Alex, he would not have let it go unpunished."

"Heroin? Arrowood?"

"But of course. His business is the perfect vehicle. He buys antiques for cash, which are then sold legitimately. Even if his profits are only on paper, it doesn't matter. He has laundered his money."

"Mr. Popov," Kincaid leaned forward, "if Karl Arrowood did such a terrible thing to you, to your wife, why didn't you go to the authorities?"

"My girls know nothing of this, of their mother's problem. They will know nothing."

"But what if you found a way to make Arrowood suffer as you suffered, and no one need ever know?"

"You mistake me, Mr. Kincaid. First of all, I do not think Karl Arrowood cares enough for any living thing to suffer at its loss. Secondly, I would never harm an innocent such as Dawn Arrowood, never. Although I will not lie to you- If I had the opportunity to kill Karl without my daughters being harmed in any way, I would do it in an instant."

"Otto," Gemma said, "you realize we will have to check your alibi for that night. Were you here in the café?"

"On a Friday night? Of course."

"And Wesley?"

"Yes, he was here. I suppose you will have to ask him, but how can you be sure he is not protecting me?" His brow creased as he considered the matter. "There is always the dishwasher, of course. Although his English is somewhat lacking, he can vouch for us both."

"Is Wesley here now?"

"No, he has gone to the produce stall to replenish a few things for tonight's menu, then he will walk the girls home from school. If you go now, perhaps you can catch him before he meets them. And of course, you would not want to give me the chance to fit him up ahead of time." Although a faint twinkle had returned to Otto's eyes, Gemma reminded herself that he was a capable man with the most powerful of motives, and that very few alibis were foolproof.

"Why don't you go back to the Yard?" Gemma suggested as she and Kincaid left the café. "Talk to your mates in the drug squad, see if they know anything about this. I'll find Wesley."

"Right, then. I'll ring you if I learn anything. Otherwise I'll see you tonight." He lifted his hand in a wave and disappeared round the corner into Kensington Park Road.

Gemma headed the other way, down Portobello, keeping an eye out for Wesley's dark dreadlocks. She spotted him soon enough, coming out of the fishmonger's, his arms laden with carrier bags.

"Wesley!"

He crossed the street to join her. "Police ladies have to be doing their own shopping, now?" he asked, grinning.

"I was looking for you." She fell in beside him. "Wesley, last Friday evening, did Otto leave the café for any reason?"

"On a Friday? No way he would do that. Even early, we have plenty customers. Some regulars, they like their dinners early, before the evening-out business starts."

"Including Alex?"

"Sometimes he comes early. That night he did."

"And there's no way Otto could have slipped out for a few minutes without your noticing?"

Wesley laughed aloud. "Otto, he's a little hard to miss, 'case you hadn't noticed. Especially in the kitchen, he be slammin' and bangin' and swearin' at the pots. Gives things more flavor, he says."

"You're absolutely certain?"

" 'Course I'm certain! You're not thinking Otto trotted out in his apron and murdered Miz Arrowood, then came back to finish off his veal osso bucco? That's downright daft!"

"No, I admit it's not very likely."

"Part of the job, accusing people who have shown you hospitality?"

"That's unfair, Wesley," she retorted, stung. "I'm not accusing Otto of anything, just ruling him out. And I don't like it any better than you do."

He glanced at her, frowning. "Why all of a sudden you think Otto would have done such a thing?"

"I'm afraid I can't say. But you could ask him yourself."

"Like the confessional, is it, conversation with the police?"

"Something like that, yes."

"That's good, then," said Wesley, apparently mollified, and they continued walking in companionable silence.

Suddenly Gemma spotted a few wrapped Christmas trees at one of the flower stalls. "Oh, my gosh! I completely forgot about a tree!"

"A Christmas tree? This be for your new home?"

"Yes. We're moving in on Saturday."

"I'll find you a good tree, if you want, and bring it to you. A big one." He chuckled. "A black Father Christmas, how you like that?"

CHAPTER NINE

Portobello had always been a road of mixed use, the antiques shops and arcades tucked in among flats and cafés and ordinary businesses. Borough, on the other hand, was an old dockside warehouse district made fashionable by its proximity to the river and, except when the Friday-morning produce market was in session, there was nothing in its dark brick buildings and narrow streets innately friendly to the casual pedestrian. Kincaid and Doug Cullen found the address the Arrowoods had given them easily enough, however: a loft in a converted warehouse.

Charles Dodd was young, balding, with a plain, intelligent face. His black jeans and turtleneck made an interesting counterpoint to the glass-and-greenery airiness of the loft behind him.

"Charles Dodd?" Kincaid presented his warrant card. "I'm Superintendent Kincaid, and this is Sergeant Cullen. Could you spare us a few minutes?"

"What's this about?" Dodd inquired, but his manner seemed friendly enough. "I've just got home from work and I've guests arriving in a few minutes." As Dodd led them to a pair of matching white sofas, Kincaid noticed that a section of floor had been done in glass blocks that allowed a view of the high-tech kitchen on the lower floor.

"This won't take long," he assured Dodd. "Terrific flat you've got here. Good for entertaining, is it?"

"As a matter of fact, it is, and cooking's my stress relief from work."

"Last Friday evening, I understand you gave a drinks party here?"

"I did, yes. All perfectly legal, I assure you. Nothing served but wine."

"And Sean and Richard Arrowood were among your guests?"

"Those wankers?" Astonishment warred with amusement in Dodd's face. "What are they supposed to have done?"

"Their stepmother was murdered on Friday evening," said Cullen. "We need to ascertain the whereabouts of anyone who had a connection with the victim."

"You can't seriously think those two had anything to do with their stepmother's death? I read about it in the paper, a dreadful thing. But Sean and Richard couldn't slaughter a chicken between them if it meant the difference between eating and starving to death." Dodd lit a cigarette. "Oh, Sean's not so bad, really- or he wouldn't be if you could keep him away from his mother and his brother- but Richard's a parasite."