He replaced the handset and grinned at Fraser. "We've been given the chance to show a bit of initiative, lad, so let's grab it with both hands. And whatever happens I don't want that arrogant jerk of a doctor around. So no by-your-leave on this, okay?" He nodded towards the path round the corner of the building that led onto the terrace. "We'll go this way."
Jinx was sitting in her armchair, watching the local news on the television, and didn't notice the two men approaching. She felt their shadows blot out the sun on the back of her shaven head as they stepped quietly across the threshold of her open French windows, and she guessed immediately who it was. Unhurriedly, she used the remote to switch off the television, and twisted round to look at them. "There's a rule here that visitors seek permission before they impose themselves on patients. I don't think you've done that, have you, Inspector?"
Maddocks strolled in and perched himself on her bed as he'd done before. "No," he said bluntly. "Does that mean you have objections to helping the police?"
"Several," she said, "but I can't imagine it'll make any difference." She smiled coldly. "Not to you anyway." She glanced up at Fraser with a look of inquiry. "It might make a difference to your partner." She examined the younger, pleasanter face closely. "No? Ah well, we can't all have principles, I suppose. It would be a dull, dull world."
"You're very sharp for someone with memory loss," said Maddocks.
"Am I?"
"You know you are."
"I don't," she said. "I'm the first person I've ever met who's suffered from amnesia, so I've no yardstick by which to judge it. However, if you're interested, you don't become a zombie just because a few days of your life are missing." She gave him an amused smile. "I don't suppose you remember every woman you've rogered, Inspector, particularly if you were tanked up when you did it, but it hasn't done you any harm, has it?" She reached for a cigarette. "Or perhaps it has and that's why you accuse me of being sharp."
"Point taken," he said affably.
She flicked the lighter to the cigarette and eyed him through the smoke. "Freud would have enjoyed that," she remarked idly.
He frowned. "What?"
She gave a low laugh. "Your somewhat unfortunate remark following so closely on my description of your rogering habits. Freud would suspect that that's what your lady friends say to you at the moment coitus occurs." She heard Fraser's snort of amusement. "It's not important, Inspector." She tailed off into a long silence.
Maddocks was not amused. "We have a few questions to ask you, Miss Kingsley."
She watched him but didn't say anything.
"About Leo and Meg." He waited. "We understand Dr. Protheroe has told you they're dead."
She nodded.
"It must have been a shock."
She nodded again.
"Well, forgive me for saying this, Miss Kingsley, but the shock didn't last very long, did it? Your fiance and your best friend have been bludgeoned to death with a sledgehammer, their faces smashed in just as your husband's was, and you're sitting here quite calmly, smoking a cigarette, and cracking jokes. It's about the most unconvincing display of grief that I've ever seen."
"I'm sorry, Inspector. Would it make you feel better if 1 did the little womanly thing and wept for you?"
He ignored her. "About as unconvincing, frankly, as this amnesia rubbish."
"I'm sorry?" She compressed her lips into a savage smile. "I'm afraid I've quite forgotten what we're talking about."
Maddocks glanced at Fraser, who was grinning to himself. "We're talking about the deaths of three people, Miss Kingsley, all of whom were closely associated with you and all of whom have been brutally murdered. Russell Landy, Leo Wallader, and Meg Harris. In addition, we are talking about a violent attack on Dr. Protheroe last night which, but for his own quick thinking, would have resulted in a similar bludgeoning to that received by your husband, your fiance, and your best friend. Presumabiy he told you he was attacked with a sledgehammer?" He flung the question at her, watching for a reaction.
"He didn't," she said quietly.
"How do you feel about that?"
"Fine," she said. "1 don't expect Dr. Protheroe to tell me everything."
"Doesn't the fact that a sledgehammer was used worry you just a little, Miss Kingsley?''
"Yes."
"Then tell me now that you find the situation amusing, because I sure as hell don't, and neither do the two heartbroken mothers whose maggot-ridden children were dug out of a ditch last Thursday."
She drew on her cigarette and stared past him. "I'll tell you whatever you like, Inspector," she said with an odd inflection in her voice, "because it won't make any difference." She shifted her gaze back to his. "You will still twist everything I say."
"That's nonsense, Miss Kingsley."
"Experto credite. Trust one who has been through it." She flashed him a faint smile. "You're no different from the last lot. They also wanted to prove my father was a murderer."
TUESDAY, 28TH JUNE, THE NIGHTINGALE CLINIC, SALISBURY-2:30 P.M.
Fraser moved into Jinx's line of vision. He pulled up the second armchair and sat in it, leaning forward, hands clasped between knees, his face less than a meter from hers. Grab the initiative, the Dl had said. And Fraser, at least, was intelligent enough to recognize that they wouldn't get anywhere with intimidation. But then, unlike Maddocks, he didn't feel he had anything to prove, not against women anyway.
"We really are trying to keep an open mind," he assured her, "but what we find difficult to ignore is the similarity in the method of killing and the fact that the three victims, although separated by ten years, were all known to you. We are not talking about passing acquaintances here, Miss Kingsley, we are talking about the two men who have probably been closest to you during your life and the woman whom your parents described at the time of your accident as your best friend." He smiled ruefully. "Do you see the problem we have? Even to the most impartial observer, your involvement with all three people would appear significant."
She nodded. Jesus wept! Did he think she was a moron? "I understand that. It appears significant to me, too, but for the life of me I can't tell you why. I've gone over it again and again and I keep coming up against the brick wall of Russell's murder." She stubbed out her cigarette to avoid the smoke blowing into his face. "The reason that was never solved is because the London police concentrated on me and my father. We were both ruled out of direct involvement because we both had alibis. I was then ruled out of indirect involvement because there was no obvious reason for me to want Russell dead. My father, on the other hand, had loathed him and made no secret of it, so the police convinced themselves that he'd ordered a contract killing and they abandoned the search for anyone else. But supposing they were wrong? Supposing my father had nothing to do with it, where is the significance then in my knowing all three victims?" She looked earnestly into his face. "Do you understand the point I'm making?"
"I think so. You're saying that if someone else entirely killed Russell, then there may be an unknown link between the murders."
"Yes, and if you make the same mistake the London police made, then that unknown person will get away with it again."
"It's a little hard to accept, Miss Kingsley. We've been sent detailed accounts of the Landy case and there's no hint of a mystery person in the background."
She shook her head vigorously. "There is. I kept telling them about this artist Russell was rude to. He mentioned twice that he'd seen him hanging around the gallery, and he said if he came again he'd report him to the police. Then he was murdered." She spread her hands in a pleading gesture. "I am sure that's the man you should be looking for."
"It was mentioned in the report but the view seems to be that it the man existed at all, he was more likely to be your father's contract killer than a resentful artist. It would be different if you could have supplied the police with a description or a name but, as I understand it, you couldn't give them any information at all."
"Because
I didn't know anything. All I could tell them was what Russell told me. An artist came to the gallery with some bad paintings, Russell told him they were bad, the man became abusive, and Russell ordered him out. He never mentioned it at the time, but he did tell me on two occasions later that he'd noticed a man watching the gallery and he thought it was this same artist." She sighed. "I know it's not much but no one was even remotely interested in following it up. They were all so hooked on my father having done it."
"With reason, don't you think?"
She didn't answer.
"He made no secret of his dislike of your husband."
"Oh, I know all the arguments. I listened to them often enough at the time. My father knew the right contacts in the underworld for a contract killing. He's ruthless, he's tough, he began life as a black marketeer, and he's thought to have made millions through dodgy business practices although no one's been able to prove it. He has the credentials of a home-grown Mafia godfather, with the same blind loyalty to family, for whom the death of a hated son-in-law would be a natural way to solve a problem." She smiled bleakly. "I was even shown a psychological assessment of him, based on facts known to the police, in which he was portrayed as a psychopath with a phenomenal sex drive. This, apparently, was why he visited prostitutes, because as I was the real object of his desire, he was unable to satisfy his animal needs properly."
Fraser waited for a moment. "And you don't think any of that's true?" he prompted.
"I don't know," she said honestly, "but I don't see that it matters. The police squeezed that character assessment for all it was worth, but they still couldn't link Adam with Russell's death. Doesn't that mean Adam probably had nothing to do with it?"
Fraser shook his head reluctantly. "It might mean he paid a great deal of money to put distance between himself and the murder." But he, too, found the black saucer eyes in the white face compelling and he tried to soften the blow a little. "That's not to say I've a closed mind on the matter, Miss Kingsley. It was a botched job for a contract killing. Russell was still alive when you found him, so his murderer was damn lucky to get away with it and so was whoever hired him."
Her tongue moistened her dry lips before, abruptly, she pushed herself back into her chair and clapped her hands over her nose and mouth. "I should have thought about this a long time ago," she said in a muffled voice. "God, I've been a fool." She took her hands away. "My father's a perfectionist in everything he does," she said, "and so are the people he employs. None of them would have dared do a botched job. Adam would have skinned them alive."
Fraser eyed her curiously. "Meaning you think he was capable of ordering Russell's murder, but didn't in fact do it."
"Yes." She leaned forward again. "Look, my father was in London that day, so his alibi always had holes in it. He wouldn't pay to distance himself only to end up being compromised. Plus, as you said, Russell was still alive when I found him and might have survived if I'd got there earlier, but Adam would never employ anyone who was so incompetent that the victim was still conscious an hour after he'd been attacked."
"Perhaps the killer was interrupted?"
"No," she said in excitement. "Don't you see? If Adam had ordered the killing, he would have given instructions for Russell to be killed anywhere but the gallery. He knew I had the only other key, so knew I was the most likely person to find the body, unless somebody happened to go round the back and saw the stockroom window had been smashed." She saw his skepticism. "Oh, please, Sergeant," she begged him, "hear what I'm saying. The police said Adam was so besotted with me that he became pathologically jealous of Russell. But if that were true, he'd have had Russell killed as far away from me as possible, certainly not left alive and bleeding to death where I would probably be the one to find him. The last thing he'd have wanted was for me to have a nervous breakdown and retreat into my shell. Don't you think?"
Fraser was impressed with this argument. "Did you make that point to the London police?"
"How could I? I've only just thought of it. Look," she said again, "I know it seems odd, but when something that awful happens to you, you block it out as soon as you can or you go mad. Before my breakdown I never had time to think it through properly, there was the police, the funeral, the miscarriage-" She faltered slightly. "And then when I came out of hospital, I made up my mind to shut it away and never, never get it out again. It's only since my accident that it's started to come back. The nightmares, seeing Russell on the floor, the blood-" She faltered again but this time didn't go on.
Maddocks had listened to the exchange with growing skepticism but he spoke gently enough. "The police weren't wedded to a contract killer, Miss Kingsley. They always recognized that your father might have wielded the sledgehammer himself. Let's say he went to the gallery, and he and Russell had a row. Do you think he'd care then whether you found the body or not? He'd be saving his own skin, and hightailing it out as fast as he could."
Jinx turned to look at him. "You can't expect to have it both ways, Inspector. If Adam is the organized criminal you all claim him to be, then he would have arranged for the mess to be cleared up. And he wouldn't have left Russell alive." She pressed her palm to her temple. "He doesn't make mistakes, Inspector."
"He beat a Negro half to death," said Maddocks idly, "who went on to become your uncle. Perhaps that was another mistake. Perhaps he'd meant to kill him, too."
Jinx dropped her hand into her lap and clasped it tightly over the other. She was feeling extremely unwell but knew Maddocks would exploit it if she said anything. She concentrated on Fraser, willing him to respond.
"Let's say you're right, Miss Kingsley," the Sergeant said after a moment, "and that there's another link between the three murders. Have you any idea what-or who-it might be?"
"The only one I can think of is Meg," she told him gravely. "She was as close to Russell and Leo as I was."
Maddocks stirred again. "Closer," he said bluntly. "According to some letters and diaries found in Leo's house, your friend Meg Harris was having an affair with your husband at the time of his death and also jumped in and out of bed regularly with your fiance. One of them, and it's clear from entries in her diary that she didn't know which, was the father of a child she aborted shortly after Landy was murdered."
There was a brief silence before color flared in Jinx's cheeks. "No wonder she was so upset when I lost my baby," she said slowly.
Maddocks frowned. "You don't seem very surprised about the affair."
"I knew about that," she said, "but I didn't know she'd had an abortion. Poor Meg. She must have felt guilty if she thought hers had been Russell's child as well."
"So this is something else you withheld from the London police?"
She held his gaze for a moment. "How could I tell them something I didn't know? It was long after Russell was dead that I found out about the affair."
"Ah," he murmured, "I think I could have predicted that. Did Miss Harris tell you?"
"No." She repeated what she'd told Alan Protheroe about the letters in the attic and her reluctance to reopen old wounds. "But perhaps if I had said something, Meg and Leo would still be alive," she finished bleakly. "It's so much easier to be wise after the event."
"Yes," said Maddocks thoughtfully. "Things do seem to take a very long time to germinate in your mind, don't they? Who else knew about this affair?"
"I don't think anyone did. I told you, they were very discreet."
"Did you tell your father about it?"
"When I found out, you mean?" He nodded. "There was no point."
"Anybody else?"
She shook her head. "Only Dr. Protheroe. I told him this morning."
Maddocks nodded. "Did you and Miss Harris ever discuss Landy's murder?"
"Once or twice, before I went into hospital," she said unevenly. "We discussed it before, but never afterwards."
"Did she say who she thought might have done it?"
She rested her cheek against her hand and tried to picture scen
es in her mind. "It's so long ago," she said, "and neither of us was very inclined to dwell on it, but I think she went along with the initial police view because that was the only one that was reported in the papers. A robbery that went wrong. As far as I know, that's what most people still believe."
"So she never knew that both you and your father were under suspicion?"
She pretended to think about that. Everyone knew, you bastard ... every damn friend I ever had knew. Why the hell do you think I've been so fucking lonely for the last ten years... "I had to supply the police with a list of our friends, most of whom were Russell's, but Meg was on it as a friend of mine, and I do remember her telling me that the police were asking about the relationship between Russell and Adam." She frowned suddenly. ' 'You know, I remember now. She did make one rather odd comment. She said: "They will keep asking for information but I'm sure it's better to let sleeping dogs lie. There's been so much pain caused already.' "
"What did she mean by that?"
"At the time, I probably thought she was talking about Russell and Adam's relationship, saying she couldn't see the need to supply any more details. But now I think she might have been referring to her affair with Russell. I know the police dug very hard for evidence of something like that on the principle he might have been killed by a jealous husband." She paused for a moment. "But she knew I didn't know about the affair, so perhaps she didn't want to hurt me unnecessarily by revealing it to the police."
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