"And after the call?" asked Gemma. "You told the rest of the staff? It seems very quiet round here today." She gestured towards the empty auction area. "Is it on account of Kristin?"

"No. There's no sale on today. Everyone is working on the displays and cataloging things that are upcoming. Although some of the girls were very upset." Mrs. March blew her nose, with signs of returning to her usual briskness. "And then there was Giles, of course. He was completely shattered. Even Mr. Khan insisted that he should go home."

"Giles?"

"Another one of our sales assistants. He and Kristin were…special friends."

Gemma vaguely remembered a pudgy-faced young man watching them as Kristin had led her back to the office. "Were they going out?"

"No…At least I don't think so. But Giles was…fond of her. Very cut up." Mrs. March glanced up, and her expression grew suddenly wary. "Oh, there's Mr. Khan now."

Turning, Gemma saw Amir Khan striding towards them from the corridor that led to his-and Kristin's-office.

"Mrs. March, you should have rung me," he said as he reached them, and Gemma knew they would get nothing more from the receptionist for the moment. "Inspector James." Khan's gaze flicked from Gemma to Kincaid and Cullen. "If you are here about the brooch, I'm afraid that what I said yesterday still stands."

"It's a bit more complicated than that, Mr. Khan. We're here about Kristin Cahill's death, and I should think that might have changed things considerably. Oh, and this is Superintendent Kincaid and Sergeant Cullen. From Scotland Yard."

Khan stared at her with what she could have sworn was genuine astonishment, and Gemma felt a moment's pleasure in seeing this slickly urbane man discomfited.

But he seemed to recover quickly enough, giving her a smile that showed a flash of even white teeth. "Certainly, Kristin's accident was unfortunate, but I don't see-"

"Unfortunate!" Mrs. March rose from her chair. "Mr. Khan, how can you possibly say such a thing?" She was trembling. "The poor girl is dead! I'd call that more than unfortunate!"

"Nonetheless, Mrs. March," Khan sounded more annoyed than placating. "That has nothing to-"

"Actually, we're not here about the Goldshtein brooch," Kincaid interrupted. "At least not directly. We're here because we have reason to believe that Kristin Cahill's death was no accident."

Amir Khan hustled them into his office before Mrs. March had a chance to do anything but sink back into her chair, looking stunned.

Cullen, who had been occupying himself by examining an intricate wooden model of a steamship that was apparently going on the block, followed, unease now added to his aggravation. He hadn't cared for feeling like a piece of furniture while Gemma led the questioning, although he had to admit she had probably got more from the receptionist than he would have if it had been his call. But by rights it should have been his guv'nor in the lead, not Gemma, who had no business here.

And now he was faced with Amir Khan, the sort of man who as a boy would have been his nemesis at school-Anglo-Indian, yes, but the product of money and breeding, with the perfect accent, the perfect clothes, an undoubtedly sharp and sarcastic tongue, and who had probably captained his cricket team. Doug hated him on sight.

"Now you've set the cat among the pigeons," said Khan as soon as he had them sequestered in his office. The space was cramped, and he didn't ask them to sit. A bouquet of long-stemmed pink roses sat on the far desk, some of its buds already drooping. "I don't know what sort of nonsense this is," Khan continued, "but Mrs. March will have it spread round the salesroom in five minutes." He glanced at his watch, which Doug suspected was a real Cartier and not a copy. "Or sooner. I don't appre-"

"Mr. Khan." This time Kincaid took the lead. "This is not nonsense. Someone ran Kristin Cahill down last night, brutally and deliberately. I don't care if it upsets your staff. And as we will be talking to each of them in turn, there's no way you could keep the news from them."

"But surely that's not possible." Khan glanced from Kincaid to Gemma, his certainty wavering. "Why would anyone want to hurt Kristin?"

"We were hoping you might tell us," Kincaid said. "It seems you gave her a bit of a bollocking yesterday, after Inspector James left."

"Bollocking?" Khan gave a grimace of distaste. "I'd hardly say that, even if I were to use such a word."

"Then what would you call it? A row?"

"Certainly not. I merely reminded Kristin that our first priority is our clients' confidentiality, and asked her to be discreet."

"You mean discreet about the Goldshtein brooch?" asked Gemma.

"Discreet as regards giving out information pertaining to any of our buyers or sellers, and that included the seller of the Goldshtein brooch."

"Kristin had been working for you a year, I think? Why would you suddenly feel a need to remind her of something she surely knew quite well?"

Khan leaned against his desk and picked at his perfectly starched shirt cuff, looking less than comfortable for the first time. "Of course, Kristin was well aware of our policy. But this was the first time she was to receive an introductory commission. And to my knowledge, this was the first time she'd ever had someone make a prior claim on an object taken in for auction."

"An introductory commission?" asked Gemma. "I remember you saying Kristin had brought the piece in. What does that mean, exactly?"

"Kristin had an acquaintance with the seller. When one of our staff brings in someone with a piece to auction, the staff member receives a small commission."

"How small?" Kincaid asked sharply.

"Four percent."

"Four percent of how much?"

"The reserve price on the brooch is one hundred twenty thousand pounds. But with the reputation of the designer, and the size of the diamonds, it could go considerably higher."

Cullen heard Gemma give a small whistle under her breath. "So Kristin could have made as much as five or six thousand pounds?" she asked. "Or more?"

"Or nothing," replied Khan. "The brooch might not meet its reserve. That's always the danger when setting a limit."

"When you say Kristin brought in the seller, does that mean she knew him or her personally?" asked Cullen.

"I've no idea. She didn't explain the connection to me, and I didn't ask."

"You keep talking as if the sale of the brooch is still on," said Gemma. "With Kristin's death-"

"Kristin's death doesn't change anything, Inspector. Of course, it's regrettable, but there is certainly no reason we should consider removing an item from the sale because of it."

"But if Kristin had a connection with the seller-"

"It doesn't matter," Khan said with finality. "That association is now meaningless."

"And Kristin's commission?"

Khan shrugged. "A moot point, obviously."

"And that means more profit to the salesroom," put in Cullen, wanting to ruffle this man's smooth exterior.

But Khan merely gave him an amused look down his aquiline nose. "And more for the seller, Sergeant-I'm sorry, I don't remem-"

"Cullen," Doug said sharply.

"Sergeant Cullen, then. You can't seriously think that the seller would have murdered Kristin for the paltry few thousand pounds' difference her commission would have made in his profit?" While Doug was considering the difference that paltry sum would make in his life, Gemma stepped up to Khan and looked him in the eye.

"Possibly not, Mr. Khan. But under the circumstances, you can see that we must interview the seller."

"Then I'd suggest you have a word with Kristin's friends and associates. But as a representative of Harrowby's, I can't give you that information. Our client confidentiality cannot be breached."