In A Dark House

“Fa

“I don’t mind, really.” Absently, Fa

Nor did Gemma. “Elaine told Tony Novak that she was married to a commercial traveler, and that she worked at an estate agent’s here in the Borough.

“She told her coworkers at Guy’s that she grew up in Gloucestershire and only came to London when her parents died, but the girl I spoke with swore that Elaine’s accent was native to the Borough.”

“And she told me that her parents had emigrated from Canada,” said Fa

Gemma realized suddenly that the music had stopped and the piano player was gone. She had never seen his face. For a moment she wondered if she had imagined him, as Elaine had imagined entire lives. Aloud, she mused, “We know the first story was a complete fabrication. Could one of the others have been the truth?”

“What I wonder,” said Wi

“You think that’s the common thread, her parents’ deaths?”

“There’s something else.” Wi

Gemma frowned. “I’m not following you.”

“Maybe Elaine was afraid of Roberta.”

“Elaine was never home when Roberta came during the week,” said Fa

“That settles it, then.” Wi

Wi

It was Kincaid. She found her throat suddenly tight and had to swallow before she answered. “Hey,” she said lightly. “I’m sorry about-”

“Gemma, hang on a second.” She caught the muffled slur of his voice as he spoke to someone else, then he came back on the line. He hadn’t heard her, she realized. He hadn’t heard her at all.

“Gemma, listen,” he said without preamble. “I need your help. Do you still have the list of names you and Doug found in Laura Novak’s house?”

18

“But we never knows wot’s hidden in each other’s hearts; and if we had glass winders there, we’d need keep the shetters up, some on us, I do assure you!”

CHARLES DICKENS

Martin Chuzzlewit

SHE HADN’T THOUGHT of what she would do with the child. She hadn’t thought past wanting to hurt him, to punish him for discarding her without even a thought of apology, as if she had never been more than a convenience.

Nor had she meant to come back to this house ever again. She’d locked it up after her mother’s funeral, set up an account out of her parents’ estate to pay the taxes, so that there’d be no co

But then Tony had betrayed her; she had taken his daughter – oh, so easily – and there had been nowhere else to go. And the house had settled back around her, the smells and sounds fastening into her flesh like little claws, making it more and more difficult to separate the past from the present.

The room drew her – but no, there was another child in the room now, a different little girl who had been bad. Or had she? The confusion made her feel ill. She hadn’t slept, despite the pills she’d taken from Fa

When she tried to close her eyes, she saw the stairwell spi

Or had she?

All she knew for certain was that she had to get out, out of this house, before it devoured her. But where could she go? Not back to Fa

But what of the child? She climbed the stairs and stood outside the door. There was no sound from within. What would she find if she looked inside?

She should open the door, she knew, but the fear swept through her, leaving her trembling and sick. What child would she let out, if she opened the door? Would she ever be free of the little girl who had lived in that room?

At last she turned and retraced her way down the stairs, and as she went out of the house, she locked the door behind her.

Rose wiped her hands against the legs of her jeans for perhaps the hundredth time. Her fingertips had begun to crack from the hours of contact with the dry and dusty paper, and her throat felt parched as sandpaper. She had shifted position from table to floor and back to the table, but her back ached as if she’d been carrying hose all day.

“Want some coffee?” Bill Farrell asked as he set another stack of folders beside her. The initial reserve she’d felt with him had evaporated over the long day, and by now she’d almost forgotten to think of him as a senior officer.

“No, thanks,” she said, looking at the cups littering the room. “If I get any more buzzed I’ll have to run laps round the room while I read these bloody things.” She stared in dismay at the number of boxes yet to examine and tried not to rub the dirt on her fingers into her eyes.

At least the photo brought by Superintendent Kincaid had allowed them to organize their search more efficiently. Farrell had begun by wi

But in the end, it was Rose, rummaging through a fresh box on her own while Farrell had gone for more coffee, who found the file.

“Holy shit,” she whispered, looking from the application photo to the print, then staring back at the file in stu

When Farrell came back into the room, she was standing, waving the folder at him. “You’re not going to believe this. His name is Jimmy Braidwood.”