Free To Dwell in Darkness by Deborah Crombie Page A

inside, he had a word with the custody sergeant first thing. “I’ve got six witnesses coming in, three male, three female. Put them all in one room, but keep an officer in with them. I don’t want them comparing stories or using their phones. I’ll pull them out one by one.”
    Then he and Callery went up to the CID suite. There was a hum of activity he hadn’t felt before today. The case manager for major incidents, Simon Gikas, had already started a whiteboard with a time line and some of the SOCO photos.
    â€œSidana and Sweeney not back yet?” Kincaid asked.
    â€œOn their way in,” answered Gikas. “They’ve left the rest of the statements for uniform.”
    Gikas and the rest of the team were eyeing Callery with interest.
    â€œThis is DCI Callery from SO15,” Kincaid said. “We’ll be coordinating until we see what sort of incident we have here.”
    â€œDo you think we’ve got some sort of nutter, boss?” Gikas had dark, wavy hair, and his olive skin was indicative of his Greek heritage. The name, of course, afforded the team much amusement, and even though Gikas had explained innumerable times that the “g” was pronounced as an English “y,” to most he was simply known as Geek. It was perfect for a case manager, who needed to be logical, technical, and organized.
    Kincaid sensed a sudden wariness in the room. Homicide considered SO15 the cowboys, the coppers who didn’t have to play by the rules. Nor would his team want to invest too much in a case that might be taken away from them if SO15 decided it was their turf. “Too early to say.” Kincaid’s noncommittal shrug was as much for Callery’s benefit as the team’s.
    He walked over to the whiteboard and examined the photos with as much dispassion as possible, trying to shut out his sensory memory, which was distorted by shock, as well as his worry over his friends. What hadn’t he seen?
    The charred corpse gave him nothing back but the rictus of a grin.
    â€œBoss.” Gikas motioned to one of the monitors. “We’ve pulled some CCTV footage from right around the time of the incident.”
    As Gikas hit Play, Kincaid was very aware of Nick Callery moving in beside him, watching the screen with frowning concentration.
    It took Kincaid a moment to orient himself to the first camera angle. It was south facing, covering the arcade between the Marks & Spencer and the south entrance to the terminal. The time stamp started at five minutes before Melody had made the call to Control.
    The crowd swelled and thinned, swelled and thinned, making Kincaid think of deep sea plants moving in unseen currents. Then some of the passersby slowed and stopped, all turning to face towards the center of the arcade, and Kincaid realized they must be watching Andy and Poppy. A few seconds later, Melody appeared at the edge of the camera view. She just as quickly vanished offscreen, and he assumed she’d moved closer to the band.
    Then he saw Matthew Quinn come out of the Marks & Spencer and join the stream of shoppers and commuters. Even with a woolly hat covering most of his hair, his height made him unmistakable. In gaps in the crowd, Kincaid recognized the others he’d met at the flat.
    The group coalesced in front of the Marks & Sparks, causing the crowd to part around them. There was Iris, and with her were the Asian girl and the bearded young man. Trish Hollingsworth stood beside the ordinary-looking bloke with the glasses and the goatee who had been sitting on the sofa with the girl who’d challenged Quinn. He was carrying a flat case that might have been an artist’s portfolio. The group huddled around him as he opened it, and a moment later they all raised placards.
    The camera caught several of the signs full on. They were printed in clear block lettering, but were obviously not professionally made. SAVE LONDON ’ S TREASURES said one, NO