"You little tosser," said Cullen, not disguising his disgust. "How could you? How could you just go off and leave her?"

"I thought she'd be all right," Giles shot back. "And then I'd have to explain what I was doing there. And she-she would think-she would never-"

"Understand," Kincaid finished for him. If it was true, Giles Oliver had been an idiot and a coward, but he was also a witness-at this point their only witness. "The car, Giles. What was it?"

Giles shook his head. "I don't know. I'm not very good with cars."

"You don't know?" Cullen's voice rose in outrage, and the dog lifted his head.

"Okay, let's go back a bit," said Kincaid, attempting to ratchet the tension down. "You said you walked back and forth for a bit. Did you see the car before it pulled away from the curb?"

"I-I don't remember."

"Think, man."

Giles screwed up his face in concentration. "I was on the opposite side of the street. There were cars parked all along. I didn't notice. I'm sorry."

"Let's go at it a different way, then. You're accustomed to looking at things. You saw the car pull out from the curb. You must have had some impression, even if you didn't recognize the make. Was it light colored or dark?"

"Dark," Giles said without hesitation.

"Okay, good. Large or small?"

"It was big. And sort of square."

"A coupe?" Kincaid asked, deliberately leading.

Giles frowned. "No. I remember the back end looked big. It was an SUV, I think. A country sort of car. A Land Rover, maybe."

"Anyone home?" Gemma called out as she let herself in the front door. The dogs came running to her, sniffing her legs and jumping up in excitement as if she'd been gone a week rather than most of the day.

She hadn't stayed long at the hospital. Her mum had been obviously exhausted, and Gemma felt she was doing more harm than good by keeping her from resting.

And she felt guilty for having let her temper get the better of her with her dad, and even worse for having inflicted an emotional outburst on her mother. That was the last thing her mum had needed.

"In here" came Kit's answer from the kitchen. The house was warm from the day's heat and smelled tantalizingly of baking dough and spices. Pizza.

Giving Geordie's ears a last fondle, she followed her nose. Kit stood at the fridge, examining the contents as if he were looking for buried treasure.

"Where is everyone?" Gemma asked.

"I thought we had more milk," Kit said, then shut the fridge door and turned to her. "Wes had to go. Toby's watching a cartoon in the study. I said he could, if he finished his lessons. Duncan rang and said he'd been held up-he tried to ring you but your phone was off."

"Oh, damn." Gemma realized she'd switched her phone off at the hospital and had forgotten to switch it on again. "Did he say why?"

"Just that he'd ring you later. Do you want some pizza?" Kit asked. "It's Pizza Express from the freezer."

"Oh, Kit." This seemed to be Gemma's day for feeling contrite. She had left the children to fend for themselves, and had been so caught up in her own worries that she hadn't even thought to check in. "I am sorry. We expect you to do too much, and you never complain." Impulsively, she went to him and slipped an arm round his shoulders in a hug.

He ducked his head in a way that reminded her of Toby, but smiled. "It's okay," he assured her. "Really. I don't mind."

She let go before he reached complete embarrassment overload, but couldn't resist ruffling his hair.

"Get off," he said, bouncing away from her with a grin. "Toby and I were going to take the dogs for a walk before it got dark. Do you want to come?"

Gemma hesitated, then shook her head. "Um, no, but thanks. I'll think I'll stay here and have a bit of your pizza."

While Kit got the dogs' leads, she fetched Toby from the study, switching off some American cop show on the telly while giving him a hug and as much of a cuddle as he'd allow.

"I was watching that." Her son pulled away from her with a scowl, a sure sign of a five-year-old's temper tantrum brewing.

"You're a bit stroppy today, sport," she said, using Duncan's nickname for him.

"I'm not stroppy," Toby protested. "Whatever it is."

Gemma pretended to think hard. "Obstreperous."

"You're silly, Mummy," said Toby, not mollified. "I'm not that, either." He punched at her with his fist, but she caught him by both wrists.

"Enough of that." And enough of things he shouldn't be watching on the telly, she added to herself. She'd have to speak to Kit about it, as Toby was obviously changing the channel when Kit left the room, but she hated to nag Kit when he made such an effort. It was a case once more of giving Kit more responsibility than he should have to bear, not to mention her falling down on her parenting.

Swinging Toby round, she tickled him until he squealed, then marched him from the room. "You go with Kit to walk the dogs, and when you get back we'll have a special treat. A game."

"Can we play Giant Snakes and Ladders?"

Gemma cursed herself. That was Toby's latest favorite, and required more energy than a marathon, especially when you added barking dogs and a cat interested in anything spread out on the floor. "Of course," she said, hoping that dinner would revive her a bit.

But when the boys and dogs had gone out in a flurry of motion, she decided she wasn't hungry after all, and instead poured herself a glass of white wine from the fridge, popped a CD in the kitchen player, sank into a chair and kicked off her shoes.

Closing her eyes, she tried to shut out the replay of her row with her dad and her worry over her mum. She wiggled her toes and held the wine in her mouth before she swallowed, tasting all the flavors.

After a moment, the music began to do its work. She'd put on Barb Jungr, one of her favorite singers, but it wasn't Jungr's smoky voice that caught her attention now, but the sweet, spare notes of the piano accompaniment.

God, how long had it been since she'd played the piano? She'd canceled lesson after lesson, and without that discipline, had practiced less and less. How had she let something she loved so much slip away from her?

But with the job, and Duncan, and the boys, and the dogs-as if to remind her of his presence, Sid chose that moment to pad into the kitchen and jump up on the table-and the cat, Gemma amended, she seemed to have little time for herself.

And yet, even with more in her life than she could manage well, she still felt the sting of loss, and cataloging the practical difficulties they'd have faced in caring for another child made not a whit of difference.

Pure selfishness, she told herself firmly. And she had been selfish enough lately.

With that reminder, she exchanged her glass for her mobile and rang Erika's number. It was past time she checked on Erika rather than sending Kit as an emissary, and she had questions she needed to ask.

But Erika's number rang on unanswered. Gemma drank a bit more wine, then dialed again, but there was still no reply, not even the answer phone. Although Gemma knew Erika was careless in remembering to switch the machine on, she felt frustrated by her inability to leave a message, and a little uneasy.

She was wondering how she might convince her very independent friend that she should get a mobile phone when her own phone rang. She jumped, sloshing her wine, and answered a little breathlessly.

It was not Erika, however, but Melody Talbot.

"Boss," said Melody, "before you ask, yes, I'm still at the office, but I really am going home.

"But there was something a bit odd. I was looking through those newspapers you asked me to collect for you. Did you know that Erika Rosenthal had a piece in the Guardian the day David Rosenthal was killed?"