They found Kath Warren waiting for them in the first-floor corridor, an anxious expression on her face.

“We’ve just now rung the police,” she said. “I didn’t expect to see you so soon.”

“Why? What’s happened?” Kincaid asked as they followed her back into the office. Kath moved a stack of files from a chair so that they could sit, but neither accepted the offer.

Jason Nesbitt was on the phone, but he quickly rang off and stood up to shake their hands. “It’s Mouse,” he said. “Beverly Brown. She seems to have gone walkabout on us. The girls woke up this morning and came looking for their mummy, so she must have gone out sometime in the night.”

“I thought you had a sign-out system?” Kincaid said with a quick glance at Maura. He wanted to hear what Kath and Jason had to say before he revealed anything.

Kath looked uncomfortable. “We do, but Bev didn’t sign out, and Shawna, the girl on the desk last night, didn’t see her leave.” She sighed. “Shawna’s not always as dependable as she might be. We may have to do away with the telly in the staff room.”

“Why have you waited until now to report her missing? Weren’t you worried about her?” Maura sounded more puzzled than accusing, and Kincaid thought it a giant leap in finesse.

“It’s not the first time this has happened,” Kath said reluctantly. “The last time she managed to sneak back in before she was missed, and we only learned what had happened when the children talked about waking up in the night and missing her. The residents aren’t given the security code, you see – they have to be buzzed in – but sometimes they piggyback on one another. We thought she’d turn up this morning, trying to bluff her way out of it, but…” She looked at the clock.

“What happens if the residents go absent without leave like that?” Kincaid asked.

“We try to give the women every chance, if we can see they’re making an effort, but Bev’s pushed it too far this time. It sets a bad example for the others. I’m afraid she’ll have to go.”

Kincaid caught Maura’s quick glance, and this time he nodded.

“That’s one decision you’ll be spared,” Maura said, watching their faces intently. “Beverly won’t be coming back. She’s dead. Her body was found near here a few hours ago.”

There was an instant’s silence that seemed to stretch, vibrating like a high-tension wire. Kath stared at them, one hand pressed to her mouth. Jason sank to the edge of the desk, his eyes wide.

“You’re sure?” whispered Kath. “You’re sure it’s her?”

“There’s no question,” Kincaid said. “I’m sorry.”

“Oh, shit. The daft little cow.” Jason had tears in eyes now. “Look, it’s all my fault.”

The others all stared at him in surprise.

“She’s a repeater. Mouse.” When Kincaid and Maura looked at him blankly, Jason made an effort to explain. “She can’t stay away from her husband. He’s not a bad bloke, really – has a steady job as an electrician. They only row when she goes back on the drugs, and then he tries to shake some sense into her. After that, she comes in here for a few weeks, then they make it up, and she goes back to him. Until the next time.”

Kath was shaking her head. “But, Jason-”

“I suspected it. I suspected she was seeing him again. But I didn’t say anything because I didn’t want to get her in trouble. And now – he must have-” His mouth twisted with distress.

“Jason.” Kath went to him, touched his arm. “It’s not your fault. You couldn’t have prevented this.”

“We will be interviewing Beverly’s husband,” Kincaid put in, “but I think you might be jumping to conclusions a bit here.” He had their attention now, and there was something interesting in the tableau they presented, Kath’s hand hovering protectively over Jason’s shoulder. “Earlier this morning we identified the body in the warehouse fire as Laura Novak. That makes two women with a connection to this shelter that have died in the last four days. That’s too much of a coincidence for my taste.”

Kath gasped as if she’d taken a body blow. “Oh, my God. Laura. But Laura… Laura hardly knew Bev. Why would – Oh, God,” she said again. “I can’t believe Laura’s dead. I thought she must have gone away somewhere, with her little girl.”

Kincaid noticed that the offering of comfort was one-sided. Jason made no move towards Kath but sat absently loosening the collar of his designer shirt, his face blank with shock.

“We’ll need to get Beverly’s husband’s name and address, as well as any other contact information,” Kincaid began, but Kath interrupted him.

“But then, if Laura’s dead… Where’s Harriet?”

“We don’t know,” Kincaid answered, but he was suddenly distracted. The tab on one of the files Kath had transferred from the chair to the corner of the desk had caught his eye. Clover Howes, it read. It was an odd name. Where had he heard it before?

The skies opened up just as Gemma reached her car, dumping a brief deluge as if providing fitting punctuation to her conversation with Kincaid. She sat, thinking, while the rain pounded roof and windscreen.

She’d been unfair. She knew she’d been unfair; she knew that with this new death, and Harriet still missing, he needed all his focus on the case, but she hadn’t been able to stop herself.

Bloody hell, she was useless. She’d failed the missing six-year-old. She’d failed Harriet Novak. She’d failed Kit today in the hearing. Had she even, a mean little voice whispered in her mind, failed her own unborn child? Everyone said nothing could have prevented her miscarriage, but deep in her heart she’d never quite believed it.

No! She pounded her palms on the steering wheel until they smarted. She’d been down that road before – she certainly wasn’t going that way again. There was too much at stake.

Then she realized the rain was letting up, the shower moving away as quickly as it had come. A few straggling drops splattered against the windscreen as a watery sunlight emerged. When Gemma rolled down the car window, the air smelled so clean and full of promise that she felt ashamed of herself for even such a brief descent into self-pity. She’d always prided herself on her determination; it was time she demonstrated some evidence of it. She wasn’t going to give up, not on Kit, not on Harriet, and it was Harriet who needed her help most urgently.

Frowning, she tried to recall everything that she had learned about Elaine Holland since her first phone call from Winnie. Then she put the car into gear and drove to Ufford Street.

To her astonishment, as she pulled up to the curb in front of Fanny’s house, she saw Winnie wheeling Fanny’s chair down the ramp. They both waved to her as she got out of the car.

“What’s happened?” she asked, hurrying to them. “Is everything all right?”

“We decided it was high time Fanny got out for a bit,” explained Winnie. “We’re going for a drink at the Hope and Anchor.”

“Will you join us?” Fanny smiled, and Gemma realized she did look better. Her eyes were clear, and her face seemed less pinched, as if a constant pain had eased.

“Nothing would suit me better.” Realizing that she’d been dreading entering the close confines of the house, Gemma thought it no wonder Fanny seemed relieved.

They walked companionably down the street, Winnie pushing Fanny’s chair, and when they reached the pub the staff made much fuss over settling them at a table. It was a slow time of the afternoon and the place was empty except for a few solitary patrons with newspapers and a man tinkling idly, softly, at the keys of the upright piano. He segued from bits of Gershwin to Cole Porter to random snatches that Gemma didn’t recognize, and the sound made her feel unaccountably sad.

When they’d got their drinks – Pimm’s for Winnie and Fanny, a half pint of cider for Gemma, who wanted to keep a clear head – she told them everything that had happened since she’d seen them the previous day.