Kissed a Sad Goodbye (17 page)

“No, I’m fine, really,” Teresa protested, but she sank gratefully into a chair, shivering as if she were cold. “It’s just … I’m still not sure I’ve taken it in.”

Gemma sat beside her. “I think Mr. Mortimer said that Annabelle had assumed the running of the business from her father?”

“His wife was very ill, you know. Cancer. Then after she died, he wasn’t well himself for some time. From the shock, I suppose. Otherwise he’d never have given up control to anyone.”

“Could Mr. Hammond not step in again?”

Teresa’s brow creased in a worried frown. “It’s been five years since William was directly involved with the day-to-day running of the business, although he drops in at odd times of the day and night. I think he can’t bear to let it go altogether.”

“Then with his experience—”

“It’s more complicated than that. Annabelle was taking the company in directions William didn’t approve—”

“But if you’ve been successful, surely he’d want to continue as Annabelle intended.”

“No, you don’t understand. To William, it’s tradition that’s important. Even though his great-grandfather began the business as a gamble on the new tea estates in Ceylon, he can’t see that it was risk-taking that put Hammond’s on
its feet in the first place. He wants things done the way they’ve always been—”

“Such as?” Kincaid asked, intrigued.

Sighing, Teresa sat back in her chair. “I don’t know where to start. Tea bags, for one. Until recently, Hammond’s has never sold tea in bags—there’s simply no comparison between our teas and the low-quality blends that are used in most mass-produced tea bags. But Annabelle was convinced that you
could
put fine tea in a bag, and that if you suffered some loss of quality in the processing, you made up for it by introducing consumers to better teas. A taste for tea needs developing, like a taste for wine, and Annabelle was sure we could switch the customer from bags to loose tea eventually.

“It was the same with flavorings. There’s a huge market for flavored teas, especially in the States, but William wouldn’t hear of it. Annabelle convinced the board that most tea drinkers start out with flavored teas and move on to appreciating the tea itself, but I’m not sure William ever really accepted the decision. He—”

There was a click of a latch and the front door swung open. Kincaid could make out nothing but the tall silhouette of a man, but Teresa pushed herself up from her chair. “Mr. Hammond. What are you doing here?”

“Teresa, my dear.” Coming forward, he took her outstretched hand and gave it a pat. “Jo shouldn’t have asked you to do this. It’s the family’s responsibility to look after things here.” He turned to Kincaid and Gemma. “I’m William Hammond. How can I help you?”

Gemma would have recognized Hammond from Annabelle’s photos without the introduction, although his expensive dark suit added an austerity to his courtly good looks. She wondered fleetingly how he could bear the suit in this heat, but his palm felt cool against hers as he shook her hand.

Teresa touched his arm, and when he turned back to her, she said, “Mr. Hammond. I’m so sorry—”

“I know you and Annabelle were very close,” William Hammond answered with what seemed an effort. “She depended on you a great deal. As does Reginald. He came to see me this morning—” He broke off. “This is a terrible thing for us all. My daughter said you had some questions, Superintendent. And unless Teresa can be of further help, I think she’d like to go home.”

“That’s fine.” Kincaid directed his reply to Teresa. “We know how to reach you.”

Teresa hesitated for a moment and then, with a nod at Kincaid and Gemma, left.

“Sit down, please.” Hammond took the chair Teresa had vacated and motioned for them to follow suit.

“I know how difficult this must be for you, Mr. Hammond,” Kincaid said, tugging at the knot on his tie. He’d abandoned his jacket in the car midmorning, and Gemma wagered the tie wouldn’t last much longer. He glanced at her, a signal for her to take over.

“Have you any idea why someone would want to harm your daughter, Mr. Hammond?” She clasped her hands over the notebook she cradled unobtrusively in her lap.

He stared at her, his eyes tearing. “Annabelle was so beautiful. You couldn’t begin to understand unless you knew her. No man could have asked for a more perfect daughter.”

“I’m sure that’s true, Mr. Hammond,” Gemma said gently. “But we think it’s possible Annabelle may have known her killer. Are you aware of any enemies she might have made through the business? Or of any rifts in her personal life?”

“Of course not. That’s an absurd idea. Everyone loved Annabelle.”

Gemma changed tack. “How did you feel about her engagement to Reginald Mortimer?”

“Her engagement? What has that to do with this?” Hammond drew his brows together impatiently.

“You approved of the engagement?” Gemma pressed.

“Of course. I’ve known the boy since he was an infant. You couldn’t have found a couple more suited to one another, and his family is of the highest quality. His father, Sir Peter, serves on our board as well as being a personal friend. Peter and Helena have taken this very hard.… They looked on Annabelle as a daughter.”

“Reginald and Annabelle got along well, did they?” Kincaid interposed. “No tiffs or rows?”

“As far as I know, they got on extremely well, and if they had any disagreements, they didn’t share them with me.” With a frown, he added, “I hope you haven’t been upsetting Reginald with these sorts of questions. The poor fellow’s had enough to deal with as it is.”

Kincaid allowed a pause to lengthen before he asked, “Mr. Hammond, in your experience, would you say Reg Mortimer is a truthful person?”

“What do you mean by that?” Blue veins stood out on William Hammond’s hands as he clasped them over his knees. “He’s a fine young man. Peter Mortimer and I have known one another since Oxford, and I have the greatest confidence in father
and
son.”

Confidence enough, wondered Gemma, to marry your daughter off to him, and bring him into your company with no more incentive than friendship? She framed an idea into a question. “You said Sir Peter served on the board. Does that mean he has a financial interest in Hammond’s?”

“Naturally he owns a number of shares. I’m sorry, but I really don’t see the point to this, under the circumstances. And I’ve things to attend to—people will be coming by the house to pay their respects.” Although polite, it was a dismissal as firm as the one he’d given Teresa Robbins.

“Thank you for your time, Mr. Hammond. You’ve been very kind. We won’t trouble you any further at the moment.” Kincaid rose and Gemma followed his cue, uncomfortably aware of her skirt plastered to the backs of her thighs with perspiration. “Our technicians will need to
have a look round, however,” Kincaid added, as if it had just occurred to him. “Perhaps Teresa could arrange that for us?”

“Here? In my building?” William Hammond’s voice faltered. He looked suddenly exhausted, and Gemma thought that for all his appearance of control, he’d reached the limit of his endurance.

“They’ll do their best not to disrupt things,” Kincaid replied soothingly.

Gazing at the dust motes swirling in the bars of sunlight that dissected the air, Gemma realized she had become aware of complex layers of scent—the mustiness of old wood and the nearness of water, mixed with the ripe aroma of tea. The sense-tickling smells, the golden light, and the slow movement of the air under the spinning fans made the warehouse suddenly seem a timeless place, and she wondered what other dramas it had witnessed. She turned to Hammond. “I think Teresa said your great-grandfather started the business? So Hammonds have always been here?”

“I’ve always seen that as rather a special obligation, carrying on the family tradition. And it meant so much to Annabelle.…”

“What will happen now?” asked Gemma. “Will Jo carry on in Annabelle’s place?”

“Jo has her own career, and she’s never had much interest in the business.” Hammond met Gemma’s eyes, and the desolation she saw in his made her flinch. “But I doubt it would matter if she had. No one can possibly replace Annabelle.”

Kincaid slid into the car and gingerly touched the steering wheel, then snatched his fingers back. “Bloody hell. I’ll bet you could fry eggs on the dash.”

They had left William Hammond on his own, with his assurances that he just needed a chance to get his bearings, but to Gemma the weight of grief in the warehouse had felt so tangible that even the scorching heat outside was a relief. “It’s a terrible thing to lose a child, even if they’re grown,” she said as she grappled with a seat-belt buckle that seemed molten. “Do you suppose it’s even harder if that child is as perfect as Annabelle Hammond seems to have been?”

“She can’t have been all that perfect, or someone wouldn’t have killed her.”

“Are you saying it was her fault she was murdered?” Gemma retorted, then felt a little embarrassed by her defensiveness.

“Of course not.” Kincaid glanced at her in surprise. “But let’s look at what we’ve got so far.” Starting the car, he pulled it forward into a patch of shade and let it idle,
fan running. “Annabelle Hammond was extremely beautiful, which, you have to admit, usually implies some degree of self-absorption. She was headstrong, even going against her father’s wishes in the running of the family business, which leads to the next point—she apparently had a real passion for her job. Passion makes people dangerous.”

Gemma thought of Gordon Finch, wondering if Annabelle’s passion had extended to him. She said, “I suspect she’d got cold feet about marrying Reg Mortimer. Otherwise, why put it off?”

“We keep coming back to Mortimer, don’t we? Why don’t we stop at the Ferry House, see if we can confirm his movements on Friday night.”

Realizing with a start that the afternoon had stretched into early evening, she pulled her phone from her handbag. “It’s getting late. I’d better give Hazel a ring first and check on Toby.”

“Oh, shit.”

“What?” She looked up in alarm, her finger poised over the keypad.

“I completely bloody forgot. I promised to take Kit to the station.” He glanced at his watch as he jammed the car into gear. “And there’s no one else.”

“The Major?” Gemma suggested, but even as she spoke she remembered he didn’t drive.

“No car. And I’ve imposed upon him enough this weekend as it is. I’ll have to drop you at Limehouse, and get back to Hampstead as quickly as I can.”

Welcome to the world of the single parent
, Gemma thought, but she had the sense to keep it to herself.

K
INCAID BERATED HIMSELF AS HE TURNED
into the bottom of Carlingford Road. He’d meant to ring during the day and check on Kit, and he’d certainly meant to keep the promise he’d made to him about tonight, but once he’d got involved in the case, his good intentions had come to nought.

Kit sat on the steps leading to the flat, his arms wrapped round his knees, his bag beside him. He watched, unsmiling, as Kincaid pulled up to the curb, and did not rise to greet him.

Kincaid got out and crossed the street. “I’m sorry, Kit. I got hung up.”

Kit didn’t look at him. “I’ve rung Laura and told her not to meet the train.”

“We’ll get you on the next one, then I’ll let her know when to pick you up.” When Kit didn’t respond, Kincaid jingled his keys impatiently in his pocket and added, “Have you said goodbye to the Major?”

This elicited a scathing glance. “Of course I have. And thanked him. Do you think I was brought up in a barn?”

Kincaid closed his eyes for an instant and took a deep breath, the equivalent of counting to ten. “Well, shall we go, then? The sooner we get you to the station, the sooner you’ll be … back in Cambridge.” He had almost said “home.” But since his mother’s death in April, Kit had been without a real home.

Kit stood, his face averted, and trudged to the car as if his feet were mired in treacle. When Kincaid had stowed the boy’s holdall in the Rover’s boot, he got in beside him, pausing when he put the key in the ignition. “We’ll go on to King’s Cross, then if there’s time before the next train, I’ll take you for something to eat. And you still won’t be very late back.”

“It doesn’t matter now. I’ll have missed Tess’s obedience class,” Kit said stonily, his eyes fixed on some invisible point in the windscreen.

“You didn’t tell me Tess had an obedience class.”

“I never had a chance, did I? I’ve hardly seen you all weekend.”

“Kit. I said I was sorry. But sometimes things come up—”

Swinging round to face him, Kit spat out, “You’re always late.” Red spots flared across his cheekbones and he rubbed the back of a fist across his trembling lower lip.
“You say you’ll do something, then you don’t keep your word. You’re just like my dad.”

Kincaid clenched his hands round the steering wheel. “Give me a chance, will you, Kit? I’ve never done this before. It’s hard enough for me to juggle my job—”

“Then don’t bother.” Kit turned away, his lips clamped tight and his chin thrust up in defiant bravado. “It’s just the same old crap, isn’t it? My dad—”

“Just because I have a commitment to my job doesn’t mean that I don’t care about you. I’m not going to lose interest, and I’m not going anywhere.”

“Dad did. He—”

“Goddamn it, Kit, we’re not talking about Ian, we’re talking about me. And
I’m
your dad.” Kincaid heard his words with horror, but it was too late to recall them.

Kit stared at him. “That’s bollocks. What are you talking about?”

Bloody hell
, Kincaid thought. What had he done? Shaking his head, he said, “I never meant to tell you this way. But I’m certain I’m your father. I thought—”