Where Memories Lie

by Deborah Crombie

  "Ellen Miller-Scott and Harry Pevensey knew each other? She said she'd never heard of him."

  "I'd guess it was more a case of knowing in the biblical sense than a casual acquaintance," said Melody. "I did some more research. Six months after this photo was taken, Ellen Miller married Stephen Scott, who was tall, blond, and blue eyed. It was a society wedding, and they made a very handsome couple. The next year, Ellen and Stephen's son, Dominic, was born a bit prematurely.

  "I looked up some background on Harry Pevensey as well. His mother was Indian, from Calcutta. Even though she apparently came from a well-connected family, I doubt that would have cut any ice with Ellen Miller's father."

  "So when Ellen got pregnant, he found a more suitable candidate?" Gemma looked back at the photo, saw in the young man's smiling face the dark good looks of Dom Scott. She handed the pages back to Melody and wiped her fingers against her trousers, as if she could erase the imprint of Dom's face from her mind. There was no way Ellen Miller-Scott could not have known whose child she had borne.

  "Boss-"

  "That was the one connection we couldn't make, between Harry and Dom." Gemma swallowed. "Ellen Miller-Scott killed her son's father."

  CHAPTER 22

  It is not merely of some importance but is of fundamental importance that justice should not only be seen to be done, but should manifestly and undoubtedly be seen to be done.

  Lord Hewart, Rex v. Sussex Justices, 9 Nov. 1923 (King's Bench Reports, 1924, Vol. I, p. 259)

  The decoy arrived well before dark. Her name was Wendy Chen, and she was a detective sergeant with whom Gemma had worked when at the Yard. Not only was she as slight in stature as Erika, but Gemma had remembered that she had a flair for amateur dramatics.

  Now, with a white wig and some of Erika's clothes, they would have to hope that in the dark she would pass for Erika.

  Melody had left to liaise with Kincaid and Cullen, and Gemma couldn't blame her for wanting to be in on the action. But even though there was now another police officer in the flat, Gemma had no intention of leaving Erika alone until this was over.

  She had rung Wesley Howard and asked him to take the boys to his mum's for the evening-Kit would object to being assigned a minder, but she didn't feel comfortable leaving them on their own. She had no way of knowing if Ellen Miller-Scott had realized she had a personal connection with Erika, but she was taking no more chances with her family's safety.

  And she had rung the hospital and spoken to the charge nurse, who told her that her mum was resting comfortably and had started instructing the aides in how to care for the patient in the next bed-a sign, Gemma thought, that her mum was feeling at least a bit perkier.

  When she tried to check in with Cyn, her sister's phone went straight to voice mail, and her dad answered neither flat nor bakery. Like Harry Pevensey, her father refused to carry a mobile phone, and his stubbornness irritated Gemma no end. Hanging up, she came in from the garden feeling worried and aggravated in equal parts.

  As Gemma didn't want anyone to go out, just in case Ellen was watching the flat, they made do with a supper of salads and meats that Erika had on hand from the deli. Neither Gemma nor Erika, however, had much appetite.

  As dusk fell, Wendy put on a pair of Erika's trousers and one of the long, colorful jackets Erika favored, then fitted the wig and pulled the thick white hair up into a twist.

  At Gemma's insistence, Erika had drunk her usual before-dinner glass of dry sherry, and now her cheeks were flushed pink against her pale skin. "That's not right," she said, and made Wendy sit at her dressing table while she redid the wig, but after two attempts she dropped the brush in frustration. "It's like a man trying to tie a necktie on someone else. My muscle memory isn't cooperating. And that awful wig doesn't look a thing like my hair," she added, her nose wrinkled in distaste.

  "Let's try movement, then," suggested Wendy, leading her into the sitting room. "That's the most important thing. Walk across the room for me."

  When Erika complied, Gemma saw that she was holding her spine stiffly upright, and moving more slowly than usual. "No, just relax," said Gemma. "Talk to me while you walk. Pretend you're going to the shops."

  "That woman will never fall for this," Erika muttered as she took another few turns around the room. "She doesn't make mistakes."

  "Let me try." Wendy demonstrated, holding her shoulders forward just a bit, changing the angle of her head, and adding a very slight halt to her step. The transformation was amazing.

  "I don't look like that," protested Erika, incensed.

  "Oh, but you do," said Gemma, laughing. "That's very good. It would fool me, at least from a distance."

  "The eye sees what it expects to see," explained Wendy. "Miller-Scott had a chance to watch you last night, Erika, and maybe other times as well, so she'll have a visual imprint. That's all it takes for most people to make a quick identification if you give them the right cues."

  Gemma sobered instantly at the idea that Ellen Miller-Scott might have watched Erika more than once, and nerves began to get the best of her. The time seemed to pass like treacle dripping from a jar, and she had to stop herself checking the clock every other minute. "You'll be all right, won't you?" she whispered to Wendy when Erika had gone into the kitchen. "If she believes you're Erika, she won't hesitate to run you down."

  "I was a gymnast," Wendy assured her. "I can drop and roll like a champ."

  When it grew so dark that Gemma could see her reflection in the garden window, she drew the shade. It would have to be soon, or Ellen wouldn't believe she could lure Erika out.

  Kincaid had rung to tell her they had the unmarked cars in position, two at the bottom of Arundel Gardens-one either side of the Kensington Park Road T-junction, and two at the top end-either side of Ladbroke Grove. They believed Ellen would come down the curve of Landsdowne Road and cross Ladbroke Grove. Her car had been facing down the street when Erika had seen it the previous evening, and that route would give her the best visibility as well as the best chance to get up speed.

  But how, Gemma wondered, did Ellen intend to get Erika out of the house and into the street? She couldn't drive the car up on the pavement, as she had with Harry Pevensey-the cars parked either side of Arundel Gardens would block her access.

  "Erika-" The burr of the phone made them all start, even though they'd been prepared.

  They looked at one another, then Gemma nodded. "Easy now," she whispered to Erika. "And whatever she says, agree."

  "Hello?" Erika clicked the phone on, sounding only a little breathless, as if she'd had to cross the room to answer. "Yes. Yes, it is," she said, then listened intently, and Gemma heard the faint sound of a woman's voice issuing from the handset. "You do?" Erika sounded a little befuddled, and Gemma thought Wendy Chen wasn't the only one with a flair for drama. "But that's-Well, it's rather late, but-Are you sure you won't-Yes, I see." She nodded, as if the caller could see her. "Yes, all right. Five minutes, then. Across the street. Thank you," she added, then disconnected.

  "Of all the bloody nerve," she said, turning to Gemma and sounding not the least bit confused. "She said she worked at Harrowby's and knew something about my brooch, but that if anyone knew she'd spoken with me, she'd get into trouble. She said she'd be waiting in a red Fiat across the street."

  "Is there a red Fiat?" Gemma asked Wendy.

  "Yes. She's scouted."

  The knowledge that Ellen Miller-Scott had been spying on Erika made Gemma felt cold. Had she seen the unmarked cars? "I'll ring Duncan. Wendy, countdown."

  "I'll just make sure my hair's on straight," said Wendy, showing her first sign of tension. "We want to be certain she's in position before I go out."

  Stepping into the conservatory in order to get the best reception on her mobile, Gemma called Kincaid. "She's on her way," she said when he answered. "She said five minutes, and we're down one. She told Erika she'd be waiting in a red Fiat across the street."

  "Right. Tell Sergeant Chen to be careful,
but she has to give her a chance to make the attempt."

  "She knows," said Gemma, but he had already rung off. She looked at her watch. Two minutes.

  Hurrying into the sitting room, she found Wendy emerging from the loo, patting her hair and straightening her long jacket. "Feel like I'm going for a bloody audition," she said.

  "They'll be right behind you." She glanced at her watch once more. "Showtime." Then the absence hit her.

  "Wendy, where's Erika?"

  "She went into the bed-"

  The front door latch snicked.

  "Shit." Gemma felt the blood draining from her face as she met Wendy's eyes. "She's done a bunk-"

  "I'll get her," said Wendy, starting for the door.

  "No." Gemma grabbed her sleeve. "We can't let Ellen see two Erikas. Stay inside."

  Then she dashed for the door. If she could pull Erika back, maybe they'd still have enough on Ellen to prove intent.

  But when Gemma emerged from the flat, she saw Erika just stepping in between the two cars parked in front of the building. And then Erika was in the street, and a dark shape came hurtling down the chute of Arundel Gardens, straight for her.

  Gemma leaped for the pavement, shouting, as the world erupted into a barrage of sound and motion. Erika seemed to bounce back from the Land Rover's front fender, disappearing between the parked vehicles, just as two cars came screeching round from either side of Kensington Park Road, blocking both lanes of traffic.

  The Land Rover braked hard, skidding. As the driver threw the car into reverse and looked back, Gemma saw her face clearly. Ellen. They had been right.

  But two more cars roared round from Ladbroke Grove and pulled up behind the Land Rover. Ellen Miller-Scott was boxed in.

  As Gemma ran down the steps towards Erika, the front doors on the parallel lead cars flew open and four uniformed and armored officers jumped out, shouting, "Armed police!" guns drawn as they crouched behind the shields of their doors.

  Reaching Erika, Gemma knelt, mouth dry with fear for her friend, but Erika was already pulling herself up.

  "Are you-"

  "I'm all right. Just bruised. I-"

  The far-side doors of the rear car sprang open. Cullen emerged from the front, then Melody from the back. They were wearing body armor over their street clothes, and they advanced on the passenger door of the Land Rover, guns drawn.

  Then, just as Kincaid jumped from the rear car's driver's seat, Gemma saw Ellen's blond head disappear from view.

  "Gun!" Cullen shouted. "She's got a gun!"

  Kincaid and Melody froze. Cullen, his eyes not wavering from Ellen Miller-Scott, yelled, "Put your hands up! Let me see your hands!"

  Time seemed to stop between one breath and the next, and Gemma heard the blood pounding in her ears. Then she jerked into action, throwing her arms round Erika, pulling her down and shielding her with her own body, her heart contracting with terror.

  Then Ellen Miller-Scott's blond head reappeared above the seat, slowly, and Doug was shouting, "Open your door! Let me see your hands! Do it now!"

  The driver's door of the Land Rover swung open and Cullen screamed, "Take her! Take her!" to Kincaid.

  Kincaid sprinted to the car, and then Ellen Miller-Scott was tumbling out, her wrists pinned in Kincaid's hand. He spun her round against the car, hard, and patted her down.

  Diving into the passenger side, Cullen emerged holding a small, neat gun. "Bloody bitch!" he said, raising it in the air, and Gemma knew he was feeling the adrenaline dump. "She had a fucking gun! She was fucking going to shoot me!"

  Ellen Miller-Scott turned her head to look back at Kincaid. "You've nothing against me." Even restrained against the Land Rover, her voice was a level drawing-room drawl. "I was defending myself against harassment. My lawyer will be in touch with your commissioner before you can draw breath."

  Struggling out of Gemma's loosened grasp, Erika stood and limped towards Ellen Miller-Scott. Her hair had come free from its twist, falling in a mass of white about her shoulders, and when she raised a pointing finger, she looked like a Fury unleashed.

  "That was your father's gun," she said coldly, clearly. "And you are your father's daughter. I will see you rot in hell."

  CHAPTER 23

  And I'm not saying love will make you happy-above all, I'm not saying that. If anything I tend to believe that it will make you unhappy; either immediately unhappy, as you are impaled by incompatibility; or unhappy later, when the woodworm has quietly been gnawing away for years and the bishop's throne collapses. But you can believe this and still insist that love is our only hope.

  Julian Barnes, A History of the World in 10½ Chapters

  On Friday morning, Gemma arrived at the hospital as soon as visitors were allowed on the ward. For the first time, she managed to catch the consultant as he made his rounds.

  "I want you to tell me the truth," she'd said, taking him aside. "How bad is it?"

  The doctor considered her, as if checking for signs of hysteria, then shrugged. He looked tired, and his skin had the slight gray tinge of someone who slept little and worked too many hours.

  "Leukemia is very serious, of course," he told her. "But your mother seems to be responding to treatment. It's early days yet, and there are other options if the chemotherapy isn't successful."

  With that Gemma had to be content for the moment. She waited for her mother to come back from her treatment, then sat with her while she dozed. When Vi woke, Gemma told her a bit about Erika and what had happened the night before, leaving out any mention of how close they had come to disaster. She wasn't ready to think about that quite yet.

  "Will you get a conviction?" asked Vi.

  "It's early days yet," Gemma told her, echoing the doctor. "We've a lot of evidence to sift through."

  "And you want to be there, in the middle of it. Go," Vi scolded. "I don't need you to sit here reading silly magazines to me." She flapped a copy of Hello! at Gemma as if she were shooing a fly.

  "But I want to be with-"

  "Gemma, you're no better at twiddling your thumbs than I am. And I'm not going anywhere. I've stuffing in me yet."

  Gemma laughed. "So you do. Okay, you've convinced me." She stood. "The nurse says I can bring Kit for a visit tomorrow. And Toby's making you a card at school today."

  Patting her hair, Vi said, "I'd better have Cyn make me presentable, if I'm going to have handsome young men visiting."

  But as Gemma bent to kiss her mother's cheek, Vi clasped her hand and held it. "Gemma, it's your dad I worry about. Promise me you'll look after him."

  "Mum." Gemma shook her head. "Don't say things like that. You're going to get-"

  "I know I am," her mum assured her. "It's just-he's got the bakery to run on his own, and with the worry on top of that-And he misses you, Gem, but he won't tell you. I shouldn't say this," she added, lowering her voice, "but you always were his favorite, and that just makes it all the harder for him."

  "I'll go see him," Gemma said. "Tomorrow. I promise."

  ***

  Ellen Miller-Scott had done exactly what they expected, but not even the most high-powered of solicitors had been able to engineer an immediate release for a woman who had attempted a hit-and-run in front of police officers.

  When Gemma arrived at the Yard, Ellen was still "helping the police with their inquiries," which meant that she was sitting in an interview room with Kincaid and Cullen, backed by her solicitor, coolly refusing to answer any questions.

  Rather than join this frustrating and unproductive party, Gemma had Melody escort Erika into the Yard, where Gemma took her detailed statement herself.

  "Was I right about the gun?" Erika asked. "I had seen it in my dreams for more than fifty years."

  "It is a Walther PPK," Gemma told her. "And it dates from the early thirties, when they were very popular in Germany with both police and civilian shooters. And it certainly is not legally registered to Ellen Miller-Scott, nor to her father, so I would say it's a pretty good bet
he brought it back from Germany."

  "But you can't prove it."

  "No," Gemma said, gently. "I wish we could. But we have a warrant to search the Cheyne Walk house this afternoon. We may find other things."

  "Do you think he kept it-David's book-all these years?"

  "If he did," Gemma said, "will you read it?"

  Erika paled, but after a moment said, "Yes. I suppose I must. I owe that much to David. And to the others."

  ***

  They found the pages, tucked into a brown pasteboard file, in the safe in Joss Miller's office. David Rosenthal's name was at the top, and every margin of the thin onionskin paper was covered with tiny black script-it looked as if David had feared he would never find room to put down everything he had to tell.

  In places on the top page, the ink was smeared by small brown teardrops-the unmistakable splatter of blood. Gemma could only guess that David Rosenthal had been holding his manuscript in his hands when Joseph Mueller stabbed him.

  Gemma and Kincaid found other pieces of jewelry in the safe as well, although none as exquisite as Jakob Goldshtein's diamond brooch. When Dominic Scott had needed money, he had gone for the prize.

  Unfortunately, it seemed that Ellen Miller-Scott had been more careful than her father. There was nothing in the house that obviously tied her to the killing of Kristin Cahill or Harry Pevensey. But as the SOCOs began their minute examination, Cullen rang to say that the lab had found blood and tissue matches from both victims on the front of the Land Rover, and that the steering wheel bore only Ellen Miller-Scott's prints.

  "She can say she wiped the wheel after Dom drove the car, to protect him," said Gemma.

  "She could," Kincaid agreed. "And she probably will. But that doesn't mean anyone will believe her. Let's leave them to it," he added, nodding at the techs.

  As they let themselves out into the cool evening, Gemma took a last look back at the house. "Could she have saved him, do you think?"