It was still possible, of course, that one or both of the brothers had hired a professional to commit all three murders, but Doug Cullen's investigation had not turned up a shred of corroborating evidence- and she'd never really thought the idea likely. The nature of the crimes was too personal- too intimate, she was certain- to be the work of a hired killer.

Still, she'd have to send someone to get a guest list from Sylvia Arrowood tomorrow, so that they could check the boys' alibis.

When Kincaid picked her up a moment later for the drive home, she noticed that he avoided passing by St. John's Church. It was thoughtful of him: Even the idea of the bloodstained snow in Karl Arrowood's drive made her feel queasy.

It occurred to her that she hadn't eaten, except for a bite of a muffin brought to her unexpectedly by Gerry Franks, and that might account for her light-headedness.

But the very worst thing about the day became painfully clear to her as they pulled up in front of their house. She hadn't realized how fiercely she'd looked forward to spending this morning with the boys until she'd missed it, an opportunity gone forever.

Kincaid had at least checked in with Kit several times on his mobile, but she hadn't even had the chance to wish Toby a happy Christmas.

"Mummy! Kit's made French toast for breakfast, with sausages, and he's put some in the warming oven for you!" Toby looked like a little elf in his footed red flannelette pajamas, and he was jiggling up and down with excitement. "Wait till you see-"

"I've got tea in the pot, as well," Kit interrupted, giving Toby a warning glance. "Come in the kitchen." As he took her arm, she noticed absently that the dining room doors were closed, but she thought no more about it.

Kit sat her down at the table and served her with a flourish, while Kincaid looked on affectionately, saying he'd had something earlier. Only halfway through her breakfast did she remember they were supposed to go to Hazel's for Christmas dinner. A wave of exhaustion washed over her; she put down her suddenly leaden fork.

"You'll have to go to Hazel's without me," she said, near tears. "I don't think I can manage it."

"Don't worry," Kit told her. "I've arranged everything. They're coming here- Hazel and Tim and Holly- and you don't have to do a thing but sit down and eat. Toby and I have even set the table. I'll show you when you're finished."

Gemma's throat tightened. "Kit, I don't know what to say. You are so thoughtful, and so grown-up. I don't know how I ever got along without you."

The boy flushed with pride, then urged her to finish her breakfast with proprietary zeal. "Are you ready, then?" he asked, with barely contained excitement. "You can bring your tea."

As they reached the dining room, a look passed between Kit and Kincaid, who said casually as he swung open the doors, "Oh, by the way, Father Christmas has been here as well."

She had a brief impression of the table, splendidly set with assorted dishes and glassware, a shining Christmas cracker at each place.

Then the piano filled her vision. A baby grand, its polished ebony surface reflecting every sparkle and gleam from the room. They'd moved the dining table to one side to accommodate the instrument, which had been placed facing the garden doors. "So that you can look outside when you play," Kit explained gravely.

"But what- How did you- and on Christmas-"

"Kit was my partner in crime," Kincaid explained, grinning. "And the piano company was delighted to cooperate in the surprise. Do you like it?"

"Like it? I-" Mesmerized, Gemma sank onto the padded bench. With one finger, she touched middle C, and the single pure tone resonated through the room.

She put her hands over her face and wept.

By unspoken agreement, they had not discussed the case at home over Christmas. But as they drove to the police station the next morning, Kincaid said, as if continuing a recently interrupted conversation, "We can't rule out Alex Dunn altogether, you know. We can't be certain that he didn't attack Karl, then come back to see if he needed to finish the job."

"I think Mrs. Du Ray is a reliable witness," Gemma protested. "If she says he was frightened-"

"I'm not questioning her interpretation, just whether his fright absolves him of murder. You can kill someone in the heat of a struggle and still be horrified by the consequences."

"Yes, of course, but say he did kill Karl- and he's admitted intent and motive- he has an alibi for the time of Dawn's- Bryony!" she exclaimed as they entered the station. "What are you doing here?"

"Hullo, Gemma." Bryony rose from a seat in the reception area. "I hoped I could have a word with you, if I'm not too early. I had to come before the surgery opened."

"No, that's fine. Bryony, this is Superintendent Kincaid, from Scotland Yard."

Bryony shook Kincaid's hand, and Gemma noticed that her right index finger was bandaged. "Is there somewhere we could talk?"

"We'll go in my office."

"How's Geordie?" Bryony asked as Gemma signed her in and led her through the security door.

"A little worn out from the excitement of Christmas, I think. We had two little ones who took it upon themselves to run him ragged in the snow."

In spite of Karl Arrowood's death, it had turned out to be a lovely Christmas. Hazel, in her marvelously organized way, had arrived with a car boot of food ready to reheat in the Aga. They had supped around Kit's festive table with much jollity, and if Gemma fell asleep during the Queen's speech, no one seemed to mind.

Then, before succumbing to bed, Gemma had at last managed a half hour alone with the piano. For that brief time, all that had mattered was the sound of the notes as they followed one another.

"-Boxing Day," Bryony was saying to Kincaid as they reached the conference room. "Do you know, when I was a child, I thought it had to do with fighting? What a fool I felt when I found out that was the day they gave out alms from the church boxes." She sat, twisting her plain, strong hands in her lap.

"What happened to you?" Gemma asked, nodding toward Bryony's injured finger.

"A Yorkshire terrier the owner assured me never bites." Bryony glanced up at them with a crooked smile, which immediately disappeared. "I heard about Karl Arrowood. Have you any idea who did it?"

Obviously, she hadn't heard about their investigation of Gavin Farley- but then it wasn't likely he'd have broadcast his troubles. "We're pursuing some leads," Gemma replied noncommittally. "What is it, Bryony? Has something else happened?"

"I didn't know what I should do. It seems petty and disloyal to come tattling like a schoolgirl, but on the other hand…" She glanced uneasily at Kincaid.

"Go on," urged Gemma. "Superintendent Kincaid is working with me on these cases. Anything you can tell me, you can tell him."

Bryony took a breath, then nodded. "When I was finishing up in the surgery on Monday, I found some photos in Gavin's desk. They were all of Dawn and Alex."

"Dawn and Alex?"

"I'd no idea Gavin knew. Now I wonder if he overheard me mention their relationship to Marc… but even so-"

"Blackmail!" Kincaid exclaimed. "That would explain a good deal. If he was blackmailing her, and she refused to play along any further-"