Giles Oliver's rather weak-chinned face lit in a smile. "You don't mind? Most people would rather not. Just let me bring him to you so he won't knock you down."

Kincaid imagined Gemma saying a prayer for her newest Per Una skirt and layered cardigan, but she weathered the onslaught heroically, even to the slurp across her cheek with the longest pink tongue Kincaid had ever seen. Then she gave the dog a last scratch behind his floppy ears and joined Kincaid on the sofa, arranging her skirt demurely over her knees and obviously making an effort not to brush at the wet streaks.

Her exercise in canine bonding had given Kincaid a chance to examine the flat. Although small-the back of the sofa served as a divider between the living and sleeping areas-it didn't share the dilapidated state of the rest of the building. The place was clean and freshly painted-although there was a definite odor of dog-and the few pieces of furniture were of good quality, as was the rich-hued oriental carpet. But the studio's outstanding feature was a solid wall of shelving filled with vinyl LPs. To one side stood a double turntable and mixing station. It was apparent that Giles Oliver had at least one passion other than his dog, and he wondered where Kristin Cahill had figured in the equation.

"I know you," Giles said to Gemma as he settled into a squat, using an arm over the dog's shoulders as a prop. "You came into the salesroom, to talk to Kris. That's why she got a bollocking from Mr. Khan," he added, his tone becoming less friendly.

"I didn't mean to get her into trouble," answered Gemma. "Was he very cross?"

"More than usual. Although he's always harder on Kris than on anyone else. Was." His chin wobbled, giving him a fleeting resemblance to his dog. "Was harder on her."

"Have you any idea why?"

"No. I asked her, as a matter of fact, and she said she'd no idea. I wondered, though, if he, you know…fancied her. And if she'd turned him down…"

"Does Mr. Khan have a reputation for chatting up the female assistants?" asked Kincaid, interested.

"Well, no. But Kristin-I mean how could he not want…" His arm went a bit tighter round the dog, who groaned and slid down into a fawn-and-black mound on the carpet. The poor kid really had been besotted with Kristin Cahill, Kincaid thought with a flash of sympathy, and would not have had a snowball's chance in hell. But that made him all the more viable as a suspect.

Oliver righted himself, left the dog, and perched on the edge of a chair with smooth, curving, burnished wooden arms. Furniture design was not Kincaid's forte, but he guessed the chair was expensive, and original. "He'll be all right now," Oliver said, with a look at the dog. "Once he's out, he's out." As if in answer, Mo began to snore, and his owner looked at Gemma and frowned. "I don't understand. What were you doing at the salesroom yesterday, and why do you want to talk to me about Kristin?"

"Giles," said Gemma, "are you sure it was after I was there that Mr. Khan was upset with her?"

His face darkened. "Well, before…all this…I thought it might have been because of the roses. They came just after you left."

"Mrs. March said someone sent her roses. It wasn't you?"

"Are you kidding?" His laugh was bitter. "I just barely manage to pay the rent on this dump. There's no way I could afford flowers like that."

Priorities, Kincaid thought-Oliver apparently managed fine furniture and collector's vinyl on his pittance quite well.

"Do you know who did send the flowers?" asked Gemma.

Giles shook his head, tight lipped. "No."

Kincaid picked up the questioning, changing tack. "Did Kristin talk to you about the brooch?"

"What brooch?" Giles looked from Kincaid to Gemma.

"The Jakob Goldshtein diamond brooch," Gemma answered.

"Oh, that. She helped Mr. Khan catalog it. That's her job." Giles merely looked puzzled.

"She didn't tell you she was getting a bringing-in fee?"

"Kristin? Where would Kristin come across something like that?"

"We thought you might be able to tell us. That Kristin might have talked to you about it." Gemma leaned forward, inviting him to confide in her.

He colored, an ugly flush that brought out splotches on his neck. "No. She never said anything."

"What about when you called her last night?" asked Kincaid, taking the opportunity to play bad cop. At the sharpness in his voice, the dog raised his head and gave a low rumble, and Kincaid suddenly remembered reading that mastiffs were very protective of their owners.

But Giles Oliver seemed unaware of his dog's distress. "What?" he said, staring at them, but the blotches deepened in color.

"We talked to her mum," said Gemma. "What was it that you wanted Kristin to do?"

"I-I just wanted-I thought she might want someone to talk to about Khan giving her such a hard time."

"You asked her out?"

"No, not out, exactly. I thought she might want to come over. Listen to some records. You know, chill a bit. But-" He looked round the flat, as if seeing it through their eyes. "I should have known, shouldn't I?"

"That she'd say no?"

"She said she was going out," he retorted, as if trying to recover a shred of pride. "Meeting someone. At the Gate. That's why she couldn't come over."

"The Gate in Notting Hill?" Kincaid asked, frowning. The Gate was the nightclub in the basement of the cinema of the same name, a Notting Hill landmark.

"Yeah. I guess. I don't go places like that. Can't afford the drinks, and I'd rather make my own music." He gestured at the records and turntable.

"Did she say who she was meeting?"

"No. Maybe the same guy who sent her the roses. She was on her mobile with someone, after she argued with Mr. Khan."

"Or maybe you're making it all up," Kincaid said slowly. "Maybe when she turned you down, let you know you were a stupid git to even think she would consider going out with you, you decided to get even. You drove over and waited for her to come home, then gunned the car at her. Maybe you just thought you'd teach her a lesson."

"What?" Giles stood, and the dog rose onto his massive haunches, growling. "Are you saying someone ran Kristin down on purpose?"

"You had good reason."

"Me? Why would I do that? I loved her!" He began to laugh, with a hint of hysteria. "And I don't have a bloody fucking car."

"Well, that was a great success," Kincaid said as he eased the Rover back into traffic. He'd rung Cullen as soon as they were back in the car, learning that Giles Oliver not only had no car registered in his name, he had no driving license.

"Sarcasm doesn't become you," Gemma replied mildly. "And it wasn't a waste of time. We know where Kristin went-"

"Or at least where she told Giles she was going."

She glanced at him-his lips were set in a straight line. He didn't like feeling a fool. "You're determined to be difficult," she told him. "We at least have a place to start. And we know that there was a bloke in her life who probably sent her roses. Was that what made Khan angry, or was it me asking her about the brooch? And is Giles right? Did she meet the rose sender when she went out?"

"Or maybe Giles borrowed a neighbor's car, license or not."