Garden of Lamentations (Duncan Kincaid & Gemma James #17)

Gemma had the feeling Thea knew, or guessed, more than she was saying. And neither Nita Cusick nor Gwen Keating had mentioned hearing from Reagan on Friday night. “Do you know any other friends that she might have been in contact with?”

“We were her best friends,” said Sidney, joining in for the first time. He sounded truculent, as if Reagan hadn’t had any right to other friends. Thea gave him a glance filled with what Gemma would have sworn was dislike. So these three were definitely not the Three Musketeers.

“Is there any chance she left her mobile at the club?” asked Gemma.

“I don’t think so.” Thea frowned. “But I suppose she could have dropped it and not realized. It was mad in there. It always is on the weekend, but on Friday there was an engagement party as well as a birthday party. It was an absolute crush—you couldn’t move for the people. Reagan wanted to go someplace else, but no one was listening,” Thea added, her tone accusing.

Hugo bristled. “Reagan knew what the place was like when we made the plans. She’d been before.”

Gemma guessed that he didn’t like being criticized. She knew Kerry was thinking the same thing when Kerry said, suddenly sharp, “So your girlfriend wasn’t feeling well in a crowded club, and you just let her go home by herself, Hugo? You weren’t worried about her?”

He glared at Kerry. “Why should I have been? She was a grown-up. All she had to do was get the bus up the hill.”

Gemma gaped at him. What charm had Reagan seen in Hugo’s utter self-absorption?

It was Thea who turned on him. “Except she wasn’t okay, was she, Hugo? She died. Died! If you’d gone with her—if any of us had gone with her—she might have been okay.” She looked from Gemma to Kerry. “And you still haven’t told us what happened to her. MacKenzie Williams just told Hugo she’d been found dead in the garden. How did she die? Something terrible happened to her or you two wouldn’t be talking to us. You don’t get two senior detectives doing interviews for a natural death.”

Gemma said merely, “Had you all been to the Cusicks’ house? Even though you say Reagan didn’t encourage visitors there?”

They all nodded, if a little reluctantly. Hugo glanced at Sidney before saying, “We went to pick her up a few times. When she wasn’t quite ready, or Nita was late getting home and she couldn’t leave the kid, she invited us in. And I went over a few times when Nita was out. But it was all very up front and proper,” he added, as if they’d accused him of impropriety.

“Thea?” Gemma asked, turning to her.

“Well, yeah, I’ve been to the house a few times. More than that, I guess, but usually when Nita was out.”

“You’ll have gone in Reagan’s room?”

“Yeah, of course.”

“Did Reagan have a computer?”

Thea nodded. “A nice one, too. She was saving money—that’s one of the reasons she took the job, because it meant not having to pay rent on a flat—but she splashed out on a few things like the computer and her little printer.” She gave Gemma the brands of both.

While Gemma was making notes, Kerry said, “What about the garden? Did you go in, any of you?”

“We had drinks on the patio once or twice,” said Thea. “But the whole place—the house, the patio—was bloody sterile. It was never comfortable. Nita doesn’t even like Reagan cooking in the kitchen.” She didn’t seem to realize she’d used the present tense.

“Hugo?” asked Kerry.

He looked wary. “Yeah, a few times. We walked around. Where was she—” He stopped, swallowing. “You know.”

Instead of answering, Kerry asked, “Did she show you the gate?”

“No.” He frowned. “Why would she? We always went through the house.”

“And you didn’t go there to talk things over with her after she left the club on Friday night?”

“No. I told you. There was nothing to talk about,” Hugo said, his voice rising.

“Okay, okay, calm down.” Kerry smiled, which Gemma didn’t think Hugo would find the least bit reassuring. “We have to ask these things. It’s best if you just answer and get it over with. Where did you go after you left the club on Friday night?”

Hugo glanced at Sidney, then said, “We hung out with some mates at UCL. Student accommodation. We got thoroughly pissed, if you must know.”

“This was all three of you?”

“No, just Sidney and me. Thea had her own thing.”

“Can your mates corroborate this?”

“Well, yeah, I suppose. But I’m not sure how much anyone will remember. Or that they’ll be thrilled to talk to the police.” For the first time, Hugo looked a little frightened. Gemma wondered if there had been drugs involved in his get-together, as well.

“We’ll try not to make them too uncomfortable,” said Kerry, with such sincerity that Gemma had to hide a grin. “Thea, what about you?” Kerry added.

“I went to my boyfriend’s. I’d had enough noise for one night. We stayed in and watched telly.” Unlike Hugo, she seemed relaxed. “I still wish I’d checked on Reagan. Maybe I could have done something . . .”

“You can’t know that,” Gemma told her, although she couldn’t blame her for feeling that way.

“I’ll need all your particulars, and contact information for your friends”—Kerry nodded at Hugo and Sidney—“and your boyfriend,” she added to Thea. “As well as the times you left the club. Did you go together?”

“Yeah,” said Thea. “We all took the tube back to Euston Road, then split up from there.”

“I’ll need each of you to come into Kensington Police Station and make a written statement of everything you’ve told us here.” Before any of them could protest, Kerry added, “I understand if you have lectures or commitments this morning, but I’d like for you to do this today. We don’t want to have to send a panda car for you, now do we?” With that, she drank the last of her latte and signaled for the bill.

When Kerry had paid, she and Gemma took their leave. Before they reached the restaurant door, Gemma looked back. The three heads were bent together over the table, and as she watched, Sidney lightly rested his fingertips on the pocket of Hugo’s blazer. It was an oddly intimate gesture.

They’d reached the street when Thea came running out the arcade doors, calling out to them. “I told them I was late for a class,” she said, glancing back at the arcade. “But I thought you should know. I think Reagan meant to break it off with Hugo. She was seeing someone else.”

“Do you know who?” asked Gemma.

“His name is Edward Miller. He’s a client of Nita Cusick’s.”



Kincaid woke on Tuesday morning feeling a little the worse for wear, as well as stiff from sleeping on Juliet’s sofa, which was a foot too short for him. Juliet was dashing round the house, shouting at the kids to hurry or they’d be late to school, and he couldn’t believe he’d managed to sleep through the chaos.

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