And Justice There Is None by Deborah Crombie Read Free Book Online Page A

drive.”
    Alex looked wildly from one friend to another. “Oh, Jesus, no!”
    “Alex—” Fern reached out and touched his hand, but he jerked away as if burned. She huddled back into her chair, her eyes filling with tears.
    “But why—How?” Alex whispered.
    “That I don’t know,” answered Otto, but the big man didn’t meet Alex’s eyes and Bryony found herself unexpectedly wondering if he was lying.
    “I don’t believe it. I’m going to see her.”
    “You don’t want to cross paths with Karl just now,” Otto cautioned.
    “Do you think I give a bloody piss about Karl?” Alex snarled.
    Marc came out of his chair in one fluid motion and laid a restraining hand on his shoulder. “I know you’re upset, but try to be reasonable, man—”
    “Reasonable? Why the hell should I be reasonable?” Alex slapped Marc’s hand away. “Just bugger off, all of you.”
    He stormed out of the café, and as the door swung closed behind him, Bryony saw that it had begun to rain.
    T HE SMELL OF DISINFECTANT, LACED WITH THE FAINT BUT UNDISGUISABLE odor of death, made Gemma clench her teeth against rising nausea. Morning sickness and morgues did not make a good combination, but she was certainly not going to announce her discomfort to Kate Ling. Something must have given her away, however, because when Kate glanced up from the postmortem table, she asked, “Are you feeling all right, Gemma?”
    “Late night. Not enough sleep,” Gemma offered in explanation. It was true enough. After leaving the technicians to finish their search of the Arrowood house, she had set up and staffed the incident room, arranging for the correlation of information in a database, and designed the questionnaire that would be used in the house-to-house inquiries begun this morning. Fortunately, they had been able to use Notting Hill Station itself because of the proximity of the crime, rather than having to set up a mobile incident room, an undertaking always beset with problems. She’d put Gerry Franks in charge, which left her free to conduct interviews.
    And she had dealt with the press, refusing to release any details until Dawn Arrowood’s family had been informed of her death. By evening, however, the tabloids would be in full cry, and she needed to make use of them, asking anyone who had seen anything odd in the neighborhood of the crime to come forward.
    Only then had she allowed herself to go home and slip into bed beside Kincaid, where she had lain awake into the small hours of the morning thinking about the momentous decision she had made.
    “Gemma,” said Kate Ling, drawing her attention back to the matter at hand. “Here’s something you might find interesting. Did anyone mention that the victim was about six weeks pregnant?”
    “No.” Gemma thought of the dolls and the Enid Blyton books, saved perhaps for a longed-for child? “Her husband did say she hadn’t been feeling well.”
    “Perhaps he didn’t know?” Kate raised an eyebrow.
    “And if not, why not?” Gemma mused. “Have you come across anything else that might be helpful?”
    “Well, it’s as we thought last night; there’s no evidence of any sort of sexual interference. So it looks like you can rule out sexual motivation for the crime.”
    “What about the chest wound?”
    “A single stab, which penetrated the left lung. From the angle, I’d say it was done last, after she fell to the ground.”
    “Can you tell if the killer was male or female?”
    “Male, I’d say. Or a very tall woman.”
    “Left- or right-handed?”
    “Right.”
    “Any ideas about the weapon?”
    “Something quite sharp and clean-edged. A razor, or possibly a scalpel.”
    “Oh, God. We can’t let the press get hold of that.”
    “No. You’ll have a Jack-the-Ripper panic on your hands, and that you don’t need.” Kate gave her another assessing glance. “You can take off now, if you want. I’ll get the organs off to the lab, and let you know the