"That's the blessing of being a grandparent- or so I've heard."

She gazed out the window a moment, then turned back to him. "There's something else. Now that Mum's gone, my father is all I have left. Do you think you could find him for me?"

By late afternoon, Gemma would have been happy to murder Gavin Farley herself. The veterinarian had obviously taken his solicitor's advice to keep his mouth shut, stating flatly that he knew nothing about Dawn Arrowood's affair with Alex Dunn, nor had he ever taken photos of either of them. Not even Sergeant Franks's natural belligerence in the interview room had goaded him into any further response.

She finished writing up another discouragingly noncommittal release for the press- though fat lot of good her discretion would do. The headline of the latest edition of the Daily Star glared at her from her desktop: Slasher Strikes Again- Is There a New Ripper Abroad?

The other papers had followed suit, if slightly more sedately, and the station switchboard had rung nonstop all morning with calls from citizens concerned about their personal safety.

Melody Talbot came into her office, collapsing into a chair with a groan.

"Any luck?" Gemma asked, although the expression on Melody's face told her it was a faint hope. "Did you find the photos?"

"Not a trace. All we turned up was a bit of ash floating in the toilet. We interviewed Farley on Christmas Eve- if he'd got the wind up, he could have come in anytime on Christmas Day to destroy the evidence."

"Bloody sodding hell!" snapped Gemma, unable to contain her frustration. "The bastard!"

"Now what, boss?"

"What about Christmas Eve, then?"

"It took me all afternoon to track down Farley's neighbors. But in the meantime, I had a good natter up and down the street."

"And?"

"The upshot is, you couldn't find more reliable witnesses. Simmons is a banker; Mrs. Simmons belongs to every parents' organization imaginable. The neighbor across the street told me that the only reason the Simmonses put up with the Farleys' social invitations is that Mrs. Simmons wants to stay on good terms with Mrs. Farley, because their kids share rides to school and sports. So that's pretty well that. What about your end?"

"Now I go and give the super a progress report. But I'm not giving up on this. Get the surgery's phone records. If Farley was blackmailing Dawn, he had to have communicated with her somehow."

Superintendent Lamb listened impassively while she recited the day's events.

"What about the area where the scalpel was found?" he asked when she'd finished. "Have you had a forensics team in?"

"Yes, sir. They've gone over the rubbish bin and anything else he might have touched in the immediate vicinity. So far no prints have matched anyone involved in our inquiries. We've also had a team questioning anyone who lives nearby, and we've put out a notice asking for help from anyone who might have been passing."

"We've got to turn up something, Gemma." He nodded at the newspapers spread out on his desk. "Not to mention I've had the commissioner on the phone. Arrowood's friends have been complaining loudly about our failure to prevent his death- and I can't say I blame them."

"I know, sir." It took an effort of will, as well as clenched teeth, to stop Gemma venting her frustration. The super didn't care how hard they'd tried; he wanted results. She realized suddenly that this was the first time she'd had to assume responsibility for failure in a difficult case without Kincaid as a buffer.

"I'm not criticizing your work," Lamb added with uncomfortable proximity to her thoughts. "But perhaps you need to put the pieces back in the box, shake them up and dump them out again, to see if they settle a different way. Sometimes we get so attached to one idea that we can't see another under our nose."

"Superintendent Kincaid's following up something different, sir. Some information pertaining to the first victim, Marianne Hoffman."

"And you're still convinced these cases are related?"

"I don't discount coincidence, of course. But in this instance, my gut feeling is that there must be a link, if only we could see it."

Lamb nodded. "Perhaps. Any more problems with Sergeant Franks, by the way?"

"Not at the moment." Although she'd had her reasons for asking Franks to lead this morning's interview with Gavin Farley, Franks seemed to have taken it as a personal commendation and had been almost solicitous to her for the remainder of the day. She knew she walked a fine line between gaining his cooperation and compromising her authority, but for the moment it was working.

"And your liaison with Scotland Yard?"

"Fine, sir," Gemma answered, feeling awkward. She was certain that Lamb was aware of her personal relationship with Kincaid, but he'd never said anything directly.

Lamb smiled, confirming her suspicions. "I hear congratulations of a sort are in order." She must have gaped at him, because he added, "On your move. Duncan and I are old friends. I wish you luck in putting up with him on a regular basis."

Swallowing, Gemma grabbed at her opportunity. "There is one other thing, sir. It's just that I'm pregnant. The baby's due in May, but I won't be taking more than minimum leave. And it will in no way-"

"Congratulations! That's wonderful news." Lamb looked genuinely delighted. "Although I hate to lose you for even a short while, you take as much time as you need, Gemma. Will I be getting an invitation?"

"An invitation?"

"To the wedding, of course."

Gemma felt the blood drain from her face, then rush back in like petrol set alight. This was the one response she hadn't expected, and she was utterly unprepared.

"Oh, I'm far too stubborn to make a good candidate for marriage," she heard herself saying lightly. And besides, she thought, he hasn't asked me.

When Gemma sat down in her office to change into her boots, she found that her hands were shaking. So much worry expended, so much dread over confessing her condition, and it had turned out to be no problem at all. Of course it remained to be seen how things at work would develop in the long term, but she had passed the first hurdle.

She felt suddenly exhilarated, and was glad that when Kincaid had rung asking if he should pick her up, she'd said she'd walk home. It wasn't far, and the cold air might clear her head of the giddy rush brought on by relief.

It was dark when she came out of the station, the remaining snow gleaming pale gold in the glow of the sodium lamps. In spots the slush was glazing over; she had better tread carefully.

She'd buttoned the top of her coat and started towards Ladbroke Grove when a voice called softly from the shadows. "Inspector."

Surprised, Gemma turned. A small figure wearing a peacoat stepped forward, and in the light she saw that it was Fern Adams. Fern wore a striped Peruvian cap over her spiky hair, and her face was unadorned by jewelry except for the sparkle of a tiny stud in her left nostril.

"Can I speak to you for a minute, Inspector? It's just that I thought…"

Glancing back at the station, Gemma immediately rejected it as intimidating, but it was too cold to stand about chatting on the pavement. She gestured towards the Ladbroke Arms across the street. "Let's go in the pub, shall we?"

The pub was busy, the noise level reflecting holiday hysteria, but they managed to find a table in the back. When Gemma offered to buy Fern a drink, the girl seconded her request for orange juice.