"How did you- That's a purely internal matter."

"You're not accusing Miss Poole, are you?" asked Gemma sharply.

"I- No! She was merely negligent, but I don't see why it's any of your business."

"If some unauthorized person came into your clinic and stole your property, Mr. Farley, it should have been reported to the police," said Kincaid. "Was there by any chance a scalpel among the items missing?"

Gavin Farley's mouth dropped open. "Yes, but- I- You can't think-" He gaped at them, fishlike, his pupils dilating into black orbs.

At that moment there was a knock on the door, and a constable brought in a man in a neat pinstriped suit.

"Miles!" Farley exclaimed, shooting from his chair and clasping the man's hand fervently.

"Hullo, Gavin." The solicitor disengaged his hand and turned to the two detectives. "I'm Miles Kelly, Mr. Farley's solicitor." He was in his mid-thirties, Kincaid guessed, dark-haired, with a strong face. In spite of his suit and crisp white shirt- the obligatory solicitor's badge- the dark blue shadow on his chin revealed that he hadn't taken the time to shave. "What seems to be the problem here?"

"I take it Mr. Farley has made you aware of our investigations," Gemma answered, "and of his involvement with the woman who was murdered just over a week ago-"

"She was my client, for God's sake!" Farley interrupted. "I keep telling you-"

"Gavin, calm down." Kelly turned back to Gemma. "Inspector, he rang me yesterday to say you were having his house searched. As all the documents were in order, I told him that cooperation was the only appropriate response."

"Very wise of you, Mr. Kelly," Kincaid said. "And he followed your instructions. The problem is that there was another murder, hours ago, and we'd like to ascertain Mr. Farley's whereabouts during the time in question."

"Another murder?" Farley's voice seeped out in a whisper. "Where- Who-"

"Karl Arrowood," Gemma informed him tersely. "Are you sure you never met Dawn's husband, Mr. Farley?"

"No. Never. I wouldn't have known the man if I'd passed him in the street."

"Then why should you mind telling us where you were last evening?"

"I- It's a violation of my privacy. Why should I tell you, if I had nothing to do with this? You can't just go about-"

"Gavin," interrupted Miles Kelly, "don't be difficult. Tell them what they want to know, and then we can all go home."

Farley stared at his solicitor as if he might protest, then gave a shrug of acquiescence. "I was at home. All evening. With my wife, and my mother- and father-in-law. Our next-door neighbors stopped in for a drink as well."

"What time did your in-laws arrive?" asked Gemma.

"Around half-past six. My wife always has them for Christmas Eve dinner, then on Christmas day we go to my parents' in Henley."

"And they left when?"

"About half-past nine, I believe. I didn't know there was any reason to make note of the time."

Gemma ignored his sarcasm. "And you didn't leave your house at all in the interim? Not even to go to your shop?"

"No."

"Mr. Farley, if this is the truth, you could have saved us all a good deal of time and trouble by telling us so in the first place. And you could have let your solicitor stay in his bed on Christmas Day."

"We've got confirmation from the wife," Gemma told Kincaid, looking at the report Gerry Franks had just sent up. "For whatever that's worth. Sergeant Franks has a team lined up to question the in-laws and the neighbors as soon as it's a civilized hour."

"Daybreak?" That would not be long in coming- it was almost five now.

"Right. The initial search of the house and shop, and of Farley's car, haven't revealed anything obvious. Of course, we won't know for certain until forensics has had a chance to go over things again."

They were holding Farley temporarily, pending confirmation of his alibi, but they wouldn't be able to keep him for long without something concrete.

"What about Alex Dunn?" asked Kincaid.

"Downstairs, in another interview room. They roused him out of an apparently sound sleep, and there was no visible evidence in his house or his car. They did find a silver-handled paper knife," she added, "in his coat pocket. It's apparently quite sharp, but there was no sign of its having been used. It's gone to forensics." Standing, she gathered her notebook.

"Gemma, before we go downstairs… Why don't you let me take the postmortem? You look exhausted. And it's a good division of labor."

"You just want some time alone with Kate Ling," she retorted, only half teasing. But she was too tired to feel really jealous, and besides- there was no point in their both going to the morgue, and she could be more useful directing things here. "Okay," she agreed. "That's at what- eight? I'm going to stop at the loo before we begin with Alex."

Duncan was right again, she thought as she examined herself in the mirror of the ladies' toilet. She did look exhausted, and she wasn't sure how long her reserves would hold out. This pregnancy was sapping more energy than she'd bargained for, even into the second trimester.

Turning sideways, she saw that, even in jeans and sweater, the bulge was becoming obvious. And only then did she realize that in daydreaming about the nursery the previous evening, she'd finally, truly, accepted this baby on a personal level- now she must do it on a professional one.

When Superintendent Lamb came back on Boxing Day, she would tell him first thing. As if the child had somehow sensed her resolution, she felt the faintest flutter of movement in her abdomen.

"I did go to the churchyard," Alex said immediately. He looked ghastly- pale, with dark hollows under his eyes, and his once-glossy hair unwashed. "I don't know what I was thinking- I suppose I wasn't thinking, really."

"There was a silver knife in your coat," Gemma told him. "Did you take it with you deliberately?"

"I- Yes. It's Fern's. I took it from her stall on Saturday. I should say that I stole it, shouldn't I? Except that I meant to return it."

"Why did you take the knife?"

"I thought I might kill Arrowood with it."

Gemma and Kincaid stared at him as the tape recorder whirred in the sudden silence. "And did you?" asked Gemma, recovering. "Did you kill Karl Arrowood with it?"

"No." Alex met their eyes, looked away. "I- I didn't have the nerve, in the end. I watched the house for two nights, waiting for him to come out. I felt I had to confront him, tell him who I was, what she'd meant to me. And then… then I was going to put it in the lap of the gods. That sounds absurd now, but it seemed to make sense at the time. I hadn't really imagined myself… hurting him, you know? I mean, I never even got into a fight at school, so what did I think I was going to do?"

"What happened last night?" Gemma prompted.

"I got to the house a little after eight. His Mercedes was in the drive, so I hid in the trees by the church and waited. I hadn't counted on the cold, and the snow. After a while, my hands and feet went numb, and my vision started doing funny things. I'd think the light was on inside the car, and then I'd think I'd imagined it.

"But he didn't come out of the house, and finally I crossed the street to see if I was right about the light. I can't tell you why it seemed so important to me at the time, to see if I was imagining things. And then when I reached the car and saw that the dome lamp really was on, I thought I saw something on the pavement in front of the car-" Alex rubbed the back of his hand against his brow and took a ragged breath.

"Was he dead?" asked Gemma.