“I’m not sure anyone ever really knew. One of those freak things that happen sometimes.” He shrugged and drank down half his Guinness. “Quite a hush-hush at the time. Nobody talked about it except in whispers, and it’s still not mentioned to the family, I suppose.”

A draft of cold air stirred Gemma’s hair and swirled around her ankles as the outer door opened. She turned and watched a foursome come in and settle at a corner table, waving a familiar greeting to Tony. “Reservations in half an hour, Tony,” one of the men called. “Same as usual, okay?”

“It’ll be picking up a bit now,” Tony remarked to Gemma as he began mixing their drinks. “Restaurant usually fills up on a Friday night-all the locals out for their weekly bit of fun, minus the kiddies.” Gemma laughed, and when the air blew cool again against her back she didn’t turn in anticipation.

Light fingers brushed her shoulder as Kincaid slid onto the barstool beside her. “Gemma. Propping up the bar without me, I see.”

“Oh, hullo, guv.” She felt the pulse jump in her throat, even though she’d been expecting him.

“And chatting up the locals, I see. Lucky bloke.” He grinned at Tony. “I’ll have a pint of… Brakspear, isn’t it, that’s brewed at Henley?”

“My boss,” Gemma said in explanation to Tony. “Tony, this is Superintendent Duncan Kincaid.”

“Nice to meet you, I’m sure.” Tony gave Gemma a surprised glance as he put a hand out to Kincaid.

Gemma studied Kincaid critically. Tall and slender, brown hair slightly untidy, tie askew and tweed jacket beaded with rain-she supposed he didn’t look like most people’s idea of a proper Scotland Yard superintendent. And he was too young, of course. Superintendents should definitely be older and weightier.

“Tell all,” Kincaid said, when he’d got his pint and Tony had busied himself serving drinks to the customers in the corner.