Free No Mark Upon Her by Deborah Crombie

here. I really want to know. Every time I think I’ve got it right, I seem to screw up.”
    Melody sat back, picked up her cutlery again, fiddled with a bit of lettuce on her plate. She met his eyes. “I don’t know,” she said, without her usual assurance. “Surely it depends on the situation.”
    “But you must be able to set some sort of—”
    His phone rang. Why the hell hadn’t he put it on Silent? Grimacing, he started to ignore it, then remembered he was still officially at work.
    “You’d better answer it.” Melody pushed her plate away.
    When he saw the ID, Doug muttered, “Bloody hell.”
    “Somehow,” said Melody, “I think you’re going to owe me an Eton Mess.”
    G emma had spent the hour since Kincaid’s phone call alternately grumbling to herself and trying to jolly the restless and increasingly cranky children in the Escort’s backseat. When her phone rang, she’d been a few minutes behind Kincaid on the M4. Toby and Charlotte had insisted on stopping at the first services on the motorway, although she suspected their demands had more to do with the siren lure of sweets than a need for the toilet.
    “You simply cannot have let Denis Childs talk you into taking a case,” she’d said, trying to keep her voice level when he’d explained his change of plans. “Not today. Not this week.”
    “I’m not taking a case. I’m simply seeing if there is a case. Look, Gem, I’m sorry. But it’s not far out of the way. Kit can go home with you, and I’ll follow on as soon as I’ve got things sorted.” He sounded contrite, reasonable, and persuasive, all of which irritated her more.
    There had been no choice but to agree to meet him, as she couldn’t very well leave Kit cooling his heels at a crime scene. Or a potential crime scene. “And what would he have done if I hadn’t been so conveniently to hand?” she’d muttered when she’d hung up. “Dropped Kit off on the roadside somewhere?”
    “Who’s going to leave Kit on the road, Mummy?” said Toby, and she realized there had been a sudden cessation of the teasing and giggling in the backseat.
    “I want Kit,” chimed in Charlotte, sounding apprehensive. “Where’s Kit?”
    “And you’ll have him soon enough, lovey,” Gemma reassured her. “We’re just going to pick him up in a bit, and have a nice drive.”
    “We’re already having a drive.” This from Toby, as always the logician.
    “Well, a different drive. You’ll see.”
    “What about Daddy, then? Is he going to walk?”
    Gemma had never insisted that Toby call Duncan Dad , but lately he’d been copying Kit and she certainly hadn’t discouraged it. Toby’s dad had run out on them when Toby was a tiny infant, and Duncan had been a part of their lives as long as Toby could remember, so it seemed only natural for him. It had been harder, she supposed, for Kit, who had not known that Duncan was his father until his mother died three years ago.
    At the moment, however, she could think of other, more appropriate monikers for her newly wedded husband, but she kept them to herself. “He’s going to stay with the new car.”
    “I want to ride in the new car,” said Toby, happy to go back to the grievance that had occupied him for the first part of the return journey. “Why did Kit get to?”
    “Because I needed you to be my navigator. And now I need you to watch for the motorway signs. Junction 10.”
    Toby was quite proud of his ability to read the numbers on the motorway signs, and he settled back contentedly enough to watch for their exit, counting to himself in a singsong.
    By the time Gemma reached the junction, however, there was no sound from the back at all, and when she glanced round she saw that both children had fallen asleep. Just brilliant, she thought. They’d wake up when she stopped for Kit, then they’d be fractious the rest of the way to London.
    And poor Kit. He was bound to be disappointed, not only deprived of time alone with his dad but