Dreaming of the Bones

exposed stomach, and at her movement Kincaid looked up and smiled. ”Finished, love?” he asked, and when she nodded he added, ”You’d think I’d learn not to nitpick. You always beat me.”
    She grinned. ”It’s calculated. Can’t let you get the upper hand too often.” Yawning again, she glanced at her watch. ”Oh, Lord, is that the time? I must go.” She swung her feet to the floor and slid them into her shoes.
    Kincaid put his papers on the coffee table, gently deposited Sid on the floor, and slid over next to Gemma. ”Don’t be daft. Hazel’s not expecting you, and you’ll not get any good mum awards for waking Toby just to carry him home in the middle of the night.” With his right hand he began kneading Gemma’s back, just below the shoulder blades. ”You’ve got knots again.”
    ”Ouch... Mmmm... That’s not fair.” Gemma gave a halfhearted protest as she turned slightly away from him, allowing him better access to the tender spot.
    ”Of course it is.” He scooted a bit closer and moved his hand to the back of her neck. ”You can go first thing in the morning, give Toby his breakfast. And in the meantime—” The telephone rang and Kincaid froze, fingers resting lightly on Gemma’s shoulder. ”Bloody hell.”
    Gemma groaned. ”Oh, no. Not another one, not tonight. Surely someone else can take it.” But she reached for her handbag and made sure her beeper was switched on.
    ”Might as well know the worst, I suppose.” With a sigh Kincaid pushed himself up from the sofa and went to the kitchen. Gemma heard him say brusquely, ”Kincaid,” after he lifted the cordless phone from its cradle, then with puzzled intonation, ”Yes? Hullo?”
    Wrong number, thought Gemma, sinking back into the cushions. But Kincaid came into the sitting room, phone still held to his ear, his brow creased in a frown.
    ”Yes,” he said, then, ”No, that’s quite all right. I was just surprised. It has been a long time,” he added, a touch of irony in his voice. He walked to the balcony door and pulled aside the curtain, looking into the night as he listened. Gemma could see the tension in the line of his back. ”Yes, I’m well, thanks. But I don’t see how I can possibly help you. If it’s a police matter, you should call your local—” He listened once more, the pause longer this time. Gemma sat forwards, a tingle of apprehension running through her body.
    ”All right,” he said finally, giving in to some entreaty. ”Right. Hang on.” Coming back to the coffee table, he picked up his notepad and scribbled something Gemma couldn’t decipher upside down. ”Right. On Sunday, then. Good-bye.” He pressed the disconnect button and stood looking at Gemma, phone in hand as if he didn’t know what to do with it.
    Gemma could contain herself no longer. ”Who was it?” Kincaid raised his eyebrow and gave her a lopsided smile. ”My ex-wife.”

2

    I only know that you may lie
    Day-long and watch the Cambridge sky,
    And, flower-lulled in sleepy grass,
    Hear the cool lapse of hours pass,
    Until the centimes blend and blur
    In Grantchester, in Grantchester...

    RUPERT BROOKE,
    from ”The Old Vicarage, Grantchester ”

    Following Vic’s directions , Kincaid left the Ml I at Junction 12, just before Cambridge , and took the Grantchester Road from the roundabout. The Cambridgeshire sky spread wide before him in a clear light, for the April day had dawned exceptionally mild. He’d tried to persuade Gemma to change her mind and come with him, but she’d been adamant, saying she’d planned to take Toby to her parents. They’d had their Sunday breakfast and tidied up, and she’d kissed him when he’d left her Islington flat, but he felt some discomfort between them. Well, he’d see what Vic wanted—it seemed the least he could do for courtesy’s sake, if nothing else—then that would be that.
    He slowed as the first straggling houses appeared, then soon the road became a neatly tended village street. At the T-junction he turned right, into the High Street as Vic had told him, watching carefully for the house on his left. ”You can’t miss it,” she’d said, a smile in her voice. ”You’ll see.” And almost immediately he did, for it was a higgledy-piggledy tile-roofed house washed in bright Suffolk pink, surrounded by the new growth of roses.
    Kincaid pulled into the graveled area in front of the detached garage, stopped the car, and got out, and it was only then that he realized