Lawrence, walking ahead to see if a bus was coming, was set upon by five white youths and stabbed to death.
The failure of the Metropolitan Police to properly investigate the crime, or to provide substantial evidence against the perpetrators, who had been identified by witnesses, had caused a huge public outcry. By April of 1994, Stephen Lawrence’s family had initiated a private prosecution against the two initial suspects and three others, and the Met was in turmoil.
Special Branch had been tasked with discovering what evidence the Lawrence family had uncovered. It was feared that more unwelcome revelations about the force’s failure to solve the Lawrence case could lead to widespread civil unrest.
And it was rumored that some of his small group of campaigners had connections with the Lawrence family and might be privy to inside information on the Lawrences’ plans to discredit the police.
The trouble was, the more he listened and learned, the more he liked his group, and the more he agreed with their agenda. And the more he helped out, the more he found himself actually suggesting ideas for leaflets and plans for actions.
Both of which were strictly off the rule book.
Chapter Eleven
Following Clive Glenn’s directions, Gemma and Kerry easily found Mrs. Armitage’s house. They let themselves in through the wood-slatted gate and looked round curiously. The small patio was even more manicured than the communal area and Gemma wondered if she had someone—Glenn perhaps—to help with it, or if she did all the work herself. She knew enough to tell that most of the roses were antique varieties rather than hybrid teas. The roses lined all but the front of the small plot, and in the sun the scent was dizzying. Although there were two teak chairs and a small table on a patch of carefully laid flagstones, it was not a space where Gemma could imagine anyone sitting out with a drink or having a barbecue.
They knocked on what Gemma guessed was the door to a mudroom, but there was no answer. There was no sound of a radio or television, and the room overlooking the garden was shuttered. After a few moments, Kerry shrugged and turned away. “We can go out to the street and round the front, but I don’t think she’s at home.”
“What about giving this Roland bloke a try?” Gemma asked. Marian Gracis had told them that Roland’s last name was Peacock and that he lived in the house just to the north of the gate. “He might have seen something, if someone did try to get in through the gate or over the wall.” Gracis had also told them that Roland Peacock worked from home, so Gemma thought he might be a useful source of information about all of the residents, not just Reagan Keating and the boy who had died.
Kerry gave an irritated glance at her watch. The SOCOs still hadn’t arrived. “We might as well.”
As they walked back towards the gate, they had no trouble recognizing the Sus’ house. The unfinished steel-and-glass extension protruded from the ground floor, completely covering what must once have been the private garden, patio, and toolshed. The thing was a blight on the landscape, and Gemma was certain it was in violation of council building regulations. She could only imagine the horror with which such a thing would be met on their own garden. Why had no one other than Mrs. Armitage complained?
“Good God.” Kerry stopped, gaping. “I’m surprised no one’s murdered them. And how have they managed to get away with it?”
“Bribing someone on the council?” Gemma suggested, only half joking. “I’ll ask MacKenz—” Too late, she remembered that the Williamses were not on Kerry’s list of favorite people at the moment. She was rescued by the ringing of Kerry’s mobile.
Kerry listened, then said to the unfortunate caller, “Another hour? You’re taking the piss. What the hell are they doing, having a ladies’ lunch?” She stomped a few feet up the path, her back to Gemma. “You’ll have to get another constable to relieve the poor sod I’ve had twiddling his thumbs at the scene for half the morning—”
Half the morning was an exaggeration, but still it startled Gemma into looking at her watch. It had gone twelve. She realized she’d never checked in with Brixton, which she should have done no matter Kerry’s assurances that her absence had been cleared. And then she realized that she’d never switched on her mobile’s ringer since she’d muted it at the mortuary. What if Charlotte’s school had tried to reach her, or the boys had needed her?
She pulled her mobile from her bag and checked it. She’d missed a text from Melody, and two calls from Kincaid, but he hadn’t left a message. Her heart skipped. Was there bad news about Denis?
Catching up with Kerry, she tapped her on the shoulder, then mimed making a call. When Kerry nodded, Gemma turned and walked back towards Mrs. Armitage’s house as she dialed Kincaid’s number.
It rang half a dozen times before he picked up, his voice a barely intelligible mumble.
“Where are you?” she said. The road noise from the old Astra was unmistakable. “Are you in the car? I thought you took the tube this morning.”
“I’m on the M6.”
“What? Why?”
“My dad—” His voice faded. Clearing his throat, he went on with a heartiness that sounded forced. “It’s my dad. He’s had a heart problem. I’m on my way to Cheshire.”
Gemma stopped, swayed. It was only the fact that her feet seemed rooted in the gravel that kept her from toppling.
She thought she’d coped with Denis Childs’s injury, with knowing that he might not survive. She’d coped with Gwen Keating’s grief, and with an unexpected sense of familiarity with the murdered girl.
But she suddenly felt that a support had gone from her world, that this was one more thing than she could bear. “Oh, no,” she said. “Not Hugh.”
“Are you okay?” Kerry had finished her call and walked back to Gemma, who stood, her phone still clasped in her hand.
“It’s my father-in-law,” said Gemma. “He’s had some chest pains.”
Kerry looked concerned. “Is he okay?”
“I don’t know. My husband’s on his way there. They—my in-laws—live in Cheshire, in Nantwich.”
“Do you need to go? Of course, I’ll understand if you do,” Kerry added, but without a great deal of conviction.
“No. Not now, at least. Duncan said he’d ring when he got there and knew more.”
“Well, I think we should take a break. Let’s get some lunch—it’ll do you good.” Kerry gave Gemma a slightly awkward pat on the shoulder. “What’s good around here?”
Kitchen and Pantry was close enough.
“Are you sure this is a good idea?” Boatman asked, wincing at the sound of a crying baby as they squeezed by the parked push chairs and the frosty ice-cream case in the café’s entrance.