And Justice There Is None (20 page)

“Karl hired Otto?”

“Righto, luv. Not that Karl doesn’t have a few connections of his own, mind you, German relatives that just happened to know the whereabouts of objects liberated during the war. Karl puts two and two together and before you know it, he’s got a nice little import business going.”

“So that’s how Karl got started?”

“Also how he made the acquaintance of some less than savory characters, Russian bigwigs, if you know what I mean. Now young Otto—still a kid, really—having been raked over the coals by everyone from his mum and his dad to his aunt Minnie for consorting with a bad boy like Karl, decides he wants no more to do with this business, and disappears from London for a while.

“But Karl, now, he sees this as an act of desertion, and Karl has a memory like a bloody elephant. So years later, when Otto’s come back to London and set himself up a nice little business, got married and all, Karl finds a way to make Otto work for him again.”

“How?”

“Now, that I couldn’t tell you, luv.” Bernard finished the last of his pint and wiped his lips. “Thirsty work, all that talking.”

Gemma fetched another pint from the bar in record time, sloshing beer as she slid it across the table to him.

“Careful, luv,” he admonished her. “Like spilling gold, that is.”

“You must have some idea what sort of leverage Karl used on Otto,” Gemma prompted him.

“Well, Otto’d gone and made himself vulnerable, hadn’t he?”

“His wife, you mean?”

“A pale little thing, Otto’s wife, always looked a bit sickly. Didn’t surprise me when she snuffed it.”

“You’re saying Karl had something to do with the death of Otto’s wife?”

“Now I wouldn’t go that far,” Bernard answered cagily, tempting Gemma to throttle him with his greasy tie. “Some sort of illness. Heart, I think they said. But I didn’t know the poor mite myself, and I wasn’t exactly in Otto’s personal confidence.”

Gemma glared at him. “I don’t believe you, Bernard, and I definitely don’t buy that you don’t know what happened to Otto’s wife. Why won’t you tell me?”

Bernard put his finger to the side of his nose, looking for a moment like a wizened Saint Nick. “God didn’t miss me when he went to handing out the brains, luv. Now, there’s conversation, and then
there’s stupidity, and I reckon as ’ow I know the difference ’tween the two.”

H
AVING HAD A FEW THINGS TO ATTEND TO AT THE NEW HOUSE
, Kincaid decided to stay in Notting Hill and grab a sandwich in the station canteen. As he sat down, he noticed Sergeant Franks at a nearby table. The man nodded at him, his knowing look verging on a sneer, before getting up and leaving the room.

It was obvious from his behavior that Franks was aware of Kincaid’s personal relationship with Gemma, causing Kincaid to wonder if there was more to Franks’s complaint than she’d let on. But if that were the case, why hadn’t she told him?

He debated whether he should have a word with Superintendent Lamb, an old mate of his from police college, but he was concerned that his interference would only make Gemma’s situation more difficult in the long term—not to mention the fact that Gemma would kill him if she found out.

He felt frustratingly handicapped, not least by his inability to understand Gemma’s emotional swings. There was, for instance, the matter of Cullen’s dinner party. After he’d rung and canceled, she had decided she wanted to go after all and had had him call back and accept.

If he failed to understand her reasoning in this or any other matter, how could he predict what would help her to cope? Walking on a minefield would be easier, he sometimes thought. Then he looked up and saw her standing in the doorway, and knew that she was worth whatever it took.

She smiled at him and came across to his table.

“Have a seat,” he said. “I got you a prawn mayonnaise in case you hadn’t eaten.”

Gemma made a face. “I’ve gone off prawn mayonnaise.”

“I thought that was your favorite.”

“Last week. But I’ll manage, thanks.” She opened the plastic container and nibbled at a corner of the sandwich.

“I take it you survived your encounter unscathed?”

“I rather liked him, actually. Though I would send him out to the
dry cleaners, clothes and all.” She related Bernard’s story while she ate, taking an occasional sip of Kincaid’s cold tea.

“It sounds as though we’ve enough now for a useful conversation with Otto Popov,” Kincaid remarked as she finished.

“And Karl Arrowood?”

“Otto first. The more pieces we can fill in before we tackle Karl, the better. Russian Mafia?” He raised a dubious eyebrow.

“I assume that’s what Bernard meant, cagey old devil. And that would go a ways towards explaining why everyone’s so bloody terrified of Karl.”

T
HEY FOUND
O
TTO WIPING DOWN TABLES AFTER THE LAST OF THE
lunchtime customers. He smiled when he saw Gemma, but she noticed that his expression became neutrally wary as she introduced him to Kincaid.

“Otto, this is Superintendent Kincaid from Scotland Yard. He’s working with me on this investigation.”

“Please, sit.” Otto pulled out two chairs for them. “Anything I can do. A coffee on the house?”

“No, we’re fine, really,” Gemma replied. “Could you join us for a moment?”

Otto sat, his bulk balanced with surprising grace on the small chair. “Young Alex is back, have you heard?”

“He came to see me this morning. Apparently, Fern took him to his aunt’s in Sussex for a few days, but she was afraid to tell anyone where he was. Otto, both Alex and Fern have said that you warned them Alex might be in danger from Karl Arrowood. Why did you think that?”

“Karl is a dangerous man. Everyone knows that. One hears stories.”

“I think it’s more than that,” Gemma probed gently. “I think you’ve had personal experience with Karl. First, a long time ago, when you put him in touch with some Russian, um, colleagues. Then, more recently, before your wife died.”

Otto stared at them, his dark eyes unreadable.

“Did you work for Karl in his importing business?”

“Importing, pah!” Otto spat, stung. “He cheats people, Karl Arrowood. That is all he has ever done. I swore I would never again work for such a man!”

“Then you must have had a very good reason for doing so. Did it have something to do with your wife?”

His eyes were like pebbles now, cold and flat. “You will please leave my wife out of this.”

Gemma met his gaze evenly. “You had nothing to do with Karl for what, twenty years? You made a life for yourself, a good business, you married, then all of a sudden you connect again with a man you obviously despise. We
will
find out why, eventually, but I would rather hear it from you.”

Otto stared at Gemma, then at Kincaid, as if assessing them both. At last he said, “I have nothing to hide. For myself I do not care, only for my wife’s name and my daughters’ memories of her. You understand?” When they nodded assurance, he went on. “Karl Arrowood is an evil man. He hated me, merely because when I was a boy I decided I no longer wished to be involved in his … activities. He waited for years, like a spider, until he saw his opportunity. My wife, Katrina, was never strong. She had problems with drugs when she was younger, but she had been better, much better, for a long time. Then after Anna was born, and then Maria, Katrina was depressed, and Karl saw his chance. He made available to her little gifts, and soon she was back to her old ways.

“Of course I did not know at first, and then when I realized what was happening, it was some time before I learned the source. I thought I would kill him, then, but he was too smart for that. Who would take care of Katrina, and the girls, he asked me, if I went to prison? And then he told me that if I didn’t do as he wished, he would cut off Katrina’s supply. He didn’t need me to make his contacts by then, he wanted merely my compliance. And I had no choice. My Katrina was more and more desperate.

“What would have happened eventually, I do not know. But Katrina died, an overdose, and Karl had no more hold over me. Now
do you see why I warned Alex to beware? Karl is ruthless. If he had found out about Alex, he would not have let it go unpunished.”

“Heroin? Arrowood?”

“But of course. His business is the perfect vehicle. He buys antiques for cash, which are then sold legitimately. Even if his profits are only on paper, it doesn’t matter. He has laundered his money.”

“Mr. Popov,” Kincaid leaned forward, “if Karl Arrowood did such a terrible thing to you, to your wife, why didn’t you go to the authorities?”

“My girls know nothing of this, of their mother’s problem. They
will
know nothing.”

“But what if you found a way to make Arrowood suffer as you suffered, and no one need ever know?”

“You mistake me, Mr. Kincaid. First of all, I do not think Karl Arrowood cares enough for any living thing to suffer at its loss. Secondly, I would never harm an innocent such as Dawn Arrowood, never. Although I will not lie to you—If I had the opportunity to kill Karl without my daughters being harmed in any way, I would do it in an instant.”

“Otto,” Gemma said, “you realize we will have to check your alibi for that night. Were you here in the café?”

“On a Friday night? Of course.”

“And Wesley?”

“Yes, he was here. I suppose you will have to ask him, but how can you be sure he is not protecting me?” His brow creased as he considered the matter. “There is always the dishwasher, of course. Although his English is somewhat lacking, he can vouch for us both.”

“Is Wesley here now?”

“No, he has gone to the produce stall to replenish a few things for tonight’s menu, then he will walk the girls home from school. If you go now, perhaps you can catch him before he meets them. And of course, you would not want to give me the chance to fit him up ahead of time.” Although a faint twinkle had returned to Otto’s eyes, Gemma reminded herself that he was a capable man with the most powerful of motives, and that very few alibis were foolproof.

•   •   •

“W
HY DON’T YOU GO BACK TO THE
Y
ARD
?” G
EMMA SUGGESTED AS
she and Kincaid left the café. “Talk to your mates in the drug squad, see if they know anything about this. I’ll find Wesley.”

“Right, then. I’ll ring you if I learn anything. Otherwise I’ll see you tonight.” He lifted his hand in a wave and disappeared round the corner into Kensington Park Road.

Gemma headed the other way, down Portobello, keeping an eye out for Wesley’s dark dreadlocks. She spotted him soon enough, coming out of the fishmonger’s, his arms laden with carrier bags.

“Wesley!”

He crossed the street to join her. “Police ladies have to be doing their own shopping, now?” he asked, grinning.

“I was looking for you.” She fell in beside him. “Wesley, last Friday evening, did Otto leave the café for any reason?”

“On a Friday? No way he would do that. Even early, we have plenty customers. Some regulars, they like their dinners early, before the evening-out business starts.”

“Including Alex?”

“Sometimes he comes early. That night he did.”

“And there’s no way Otto could have slipped out for a few minutes without your noticing?”

Wesley laughed aloud. “Otto, he’s a little hard to miss, ’case you hadn’t noticed. Especially in the kitchen, he be slammin’ and bangin’ and swearin’ at the pots. Gives things more flavor, he says.”

“You’re absolutely certain?”

“ ’Course I’m certain! You’re not thinking Otto trotted out in his apron and murdered Miz Arrowood, then came back to finish off his veal osso bucco? That’s downright daft!”

“No, I admit it’s not very likely.”

“Part of the job, accusing people who have shown you hospitality?”

“That’s unfair, Wesley,” she retorted, stung. “I’m not accusing Otto of anything, just ruling him out. And I don’t like it any better than you do.”

He glanced at her, frowning. “Why all of a sudden you think Otto would have done such a thing?”

“I’m afraid I can’t say. But you could ask him yourself.”

“Like the confessional, is it, conversation with the police?”

“Something like that, yes.”

“That’s good, then,” said Wesley, apparently mollified, and they continued walking in companionable silence.

Suddenly Gemma spotted a few wrapped Christmas trees at one of the flower stalls. “Oh, my gosh! I completely forgot about a tree!”

“A Christmas tree? This be for your new home?”

“Yes. We’re moving in on Saturday.”

“I’ll find you a good tree, if you want, and bring it to you. A big one.” He chuckled. “A black Father Christmas, how you like that?”

P
ORTOBELLO HAD ALWAYS BEEN A ROAD OF MIXED USE, THE ANTIQUES
shops and arcades tucked in among flats and cafés and ordinary businesses. Borough, on the other hand, was an old dockside warehouse district made fashionable by its proximity to the river and, except when the Friday-morning produce market was in session, there was nothing in its dark brick buildings and narrow streets innately friendly to the casual pedestrian. Kincaid and Doug Cullen found the address the Arrowoods had given them easily enough, however: a loft in a converted warehouse.

Charles Dodd was young, balding, with a plain, intelligent face. His black jeans and turtleneck made an interesting counterpoint to the glass-and-greenery airiness of the loft behind him.

“Charles Dodd?” Kincaid presented his warrant card. “I’m Superintendent Kincaid, and this is Sergeant Cullen. Could you spare us a few minutes?”

“What’s this about?” Dodd inquired, but his manner seemed friendly enough. “I’ve just got home from work and I’ve guests
arriving in a few minutes.” As Dodd led them to a pair of matching white sofas, Kincaid noticed that a section of floor had been done in glass blocks that allowed a view of the high-tech kitchen on the lower floor.