"Well done, old thing," said the Colonel approvingly. "Bound to be what it was all about. Some bastard was trying to do away with her. Nothing else makes sense."
"Then why didn't Jinx tell you that?" said Fraser reluctantly. "She wasn't suffering from amnesia then."
"Made a big fuss of Goebbels, you know, after I told her he was the one who alerted us to what was happening. Nearly squashed the poor little bugger."
"Still..." The whole scenario was idiotic, Fraser told himself, but he felt drawn to continue. "Look, you don't put a conscious person in a car and start the ignition in the hopes of them being silly enough to sit there until they die? She'd have to be unconscious."
"She said her head was hurting."
"Then someone must have hit her first. So why didn't she report it to the police?"
There was another silence.
"Because," said Mrs. Clancey stoutly, "she knew the person very well and couldn't believe they had meant to hurt her. No harm had come to her, after all, and Eric went on and on about it being a silly accident. It's human nature to assume the best, you know."
"Or," said Colonel Clancey reflectively, "she had more important things to do than answer police questions. As I said, very independent woman, Jinx. Probably thought she had the situation under control. I mean, who was the telephone call to? Seemed perfectly straightforward at the time, but now-well worth looking into, I'd say."
Fraser made a note. "When did you next see her?"
The old man looked at his wife. "I don't remember seeing her again. The next we knew, the police were banging on our door on the Tuesday, telling us she was in hospital."
Fraser eyed them both thoughtfully. "Your neighbor tried to commit suicide and you didn't check up on her?"
"Suicide wasn't mentioned until the Tuesday," said the Colonel sharply. "Far as we knew, it was a silly accident. Kept an eye out, naturally, but there was nothing untoward happening. Weren't going to make a nuisance of ourselves when the poor girl probably felt like a prize ass."
HARRIS & HENNESSEY, SOHO, LONDON-12:30 P.M.
Josh Hennessey, who, despite his threats on Meg's answering machine to withdraw from the partnership, was still working to keep the business alive, greeted Sergeant Fraser with little enthusiasm. "I've already told you everything I know," he said, ruffling his hair into a crest and staring sourly at the man in front of him.
Fraser explained the purpose of his visit. "If you have a business diary," he suggested, "it might speed things up a little. I need as accurate a timetable of Meg's movements as possible."
With bad grace Hennessey took a book from his desk drawer and rustled through the pages. "Okay, these are Meg's appointments. Monday, May thirty: nothing. It was a bank holiday. Tuesday, May thirty-one: blank. But it's crossed through with a blue pencil, so that means she'll have been working in her office."
"Do you remember her being here, sir?"
"No," said Josh curtly. "It was three weeks ago and Meg and I have worked together for years. How am I supposed to remember one day amongst thousands? In any case, if I was out I wouldn't have known."
"Were you out?"
He glanced at the diary. "According to this I was in Windsor, recruiting."
"Are the blue lines reliable? Would she cross a day through even if she hadn't been in the office?"
"Yes, if it suited her."
"Okay, go on."
"Wednesday, June one: ten o'clock, Bill Riley, Twelve Connaught Street. All-day meeting. Thursday-"
"One moment, sir," Fraser broke in. "Did she keep that appointment?"
"It's crossed through, which, in theory, means it was dealt with." He shrugged. "Okay, yes. Considering the amount of time I've spent since on that one customer, she was probably there until midnight sorting out his personnel problems. Mind you," he admitted grudgingly, "it's keeping us afloat at the moment. Precious little else is."
"Fair enough. Thursday," Fraser prompted.
"Thursday, June two: blank in the morning, meeting with bank manager at three-thirty. Both crossed through."
"Would that be the partnership's bank manager or her personal bank manager?"
"Probably the partnership's. We've been through a rough patch during the recession and Meg has fairly regular meetings with the bastard who holds our loans. Had," he corrected himself bleakly. "I keep forgetting she's dead. Friday, June three: blank but crossed through. Monday-"
"I'm sorry to keep interrupting, sir, but have you any idea what she did over the weekend of the fourth and fifth?''
"We had a business relationship, Sergeant, as I explained the last time I spoke to you. What she did at weekends was a closed book to me, unless it involved the partnership. Monday, June six: ten o'clock, Bill Riley again. Crossed through. Tuesday-"
"Perhaps it would be easier if I just made a photocopy," said Fraser. "I suspect it's a waste of both our times to go through it like this if there's nothing you can add to the written entries."
Hennessey pushed the book across the desk. "There's nothing. I checked after the last time you lot came, and bar a couple of meetings with Riley and the bank manager's demands for a business plan on the tenth, she seems to have spent most of that week skiving. You're farting about in cloud-cuckoo-land, frankly, if you think there's anything I can tell you."
"You're being very unhelpful, sir," said Fraser mildly. "Do you not want your partner's murderer found?"
Josh reached for a pack of cigarettes at the side of the desk. "I thought I'd kicked this fucking habit until all this happened. Now I'm back with a vengeance." He lit a cigarette and tossed the match into an ashtray, gazing moodily at the twists of smoke that rose from the spent head. "I don't know what I want, Sergeant. Meg was a good friend. Jinx is a good friend. Heads you win, tails I lose."
"Why do you say that?"
"Because I can read," said Josh curtly. "The newspapers are full of it and, unless they're way off beam, you're aiming to arrest Jinx or her father because of the way Russell died."
"Did you know Russell?"
"Not very well. Jinx brought him to the office a couple of times when Meg and I were still with Wellman and Hobbs."
"Did he ever come to see Meg without Jinx?"
Josh shook his head. "Not that I remember."
"Did you know she was having an affair with him?"
Josh drew heavily on his cigarette. "Not at the time. I heard about it afterwards."
"Who told you?"
Josh didn't answer immediately. "I don't remember," he said flatly. "Either Meg or Simon, I should think." He seemed to make up his mind. "It was Meg. She was really cut up about Russell's death, kept bursting into tears for no apparent reason, so I asked her why and she told me."
Fraser didn't believe him. "I think it was Miss Kingsley who told you."
Josh looked at him for a moment. "I don't remember," he said again. "It was a long time ago."
Fraser gave a pleasant smile. "It's not particularly important, but we're trying to tie up a few loose ends. Can you recollect how soon after Russell's death she told you?"
"Look, I haven't said it was Jinx, okay?" Fraser was fascinated by Hennessey's hands, which seemed to have a life of their own, Twitching, plucking, always fidgeting.
"Understood. Can you remember when you first heard about it, sir?"
"I think it was after she lost the baby."
"Thank you," said Fraser easily. "I don't need to keep you much longer. I'd be grateful if we could just run over the last conversation you had with Meg, which I believe was the telephone call to your home on Saturday, June the eleventh. According to what you told us before, she said Leo and Jinx's wedding was off, that she was going to marry him instead, that they were leaving for France on the Tuesday but that she would pop in before then to bring you up to date with office affairs."
"That's right."
Fraser consulted the business diary. "Yet, according to this, she returned to the office on the Friday afternoon following an appointment w
ith the bank manager. So why didn't she tell you then? That's a bit odd, isn't it?"
"Too bloody right, it's odd," he growled. "Damn it, I get this phone call out of the blue saying she's pissing off to France, leaving me to hold the fort till she gets back. I gave her absolute nell and told her I'd swing for her if she didn't get in here and sort her desk out before she left."
"So it was your idea and not hers that she come in on the Monday?"
Josh frowned as he thought back. "Probably. I was damned angry about her leaving me in the lurch without any warning. Who the hell's going to have confidence in a business where one partner buggers off at the drop of a hat? I sank every cent I own into this sodding venture." He shook his head. "Does it make a difference?''
"It might," said Fraser. He paused to think about it. "Perhaps you made her feel guilty enough to keep them hanging around longer than they meant to."
"I don't get it."
"Meg made all her phone calls on the Saturday morning," said Fraser slowly. "I wonder if the idea was to make the announcements and then leave for France immediately. Let's face it, she knew better than anyone what had happened to Russell Landy."
"Are you saying they'd still be alive if I hadn't laid a guilt trip on her?" asked Josh harshly.
"I don't know, sir. I think we need some idea of where they were on the Monday before we come to any conclusions. I mean, it's you who put pressure on them to delay their departure." Fraser looked at the other man closely before continuing. "As things stand, I only have your word for it that she and Leo didn't come here as promised."
*19*
WEDNESDAY, 29TH JUNE, 53 LANSING ROAD, SALISBURY - 12:00 P.M.
Flossie Hale examined the newspaper clipping with the Franchise Holdings emblem. "Oh, yes," she said, "no question, that's the key ring all right." Next she turned her attention to the grainy faxed photograph of Miles and Fergus Kingsley in the members' enclosure at Ascot, and after a brief hesitation, planted her finger on a face. "That looks like him, but it's not a very good picture, is it love? I don't recall his hair being as dark as that. The jacket's similar."
"What about the man next to him?' '
She held the page away from her, half closing her eyes, as if looking at an impressionist painting. "The trouble is, you don't look at their faces much, not when they're punching you. You're too scared. Yes," she said with sudden decision, stabbing at Miles again, "that's him all right. Little bastard. I said butter wouldn't melt in his mouth. Who is he then?"
"His name's Miles Kingsley." WPC Blake retrieved the photograph and tucked it into her bag. Samantha Garrison had also picked out Miles, and if neither woman had been quite as decisive as Blake would have liked, she put it down to the poor quality of the photocopy and postponed her niggling concerns over whether or not this could ever result in a successful prosecution. If Flossie had been more cooperative at the start, allowed them in to dust for fingerprints or let them take swabs, they would have something more concrete to work on.
"Well, I don't understand it," the older woman was saying. "How'd you turn what I told you into a blooming photograph of someone with the initials M.K.?"
"Just luck, Flossie. He's a bit of a playboy, this creep. If you're interested, the photograph was faxed through to us from The Tattler. You got done over by one of society's best. His dad's a multimillionaire."
Flossie shook her head. "It makes you wonder what the world's coming to. What's he doing trawling Salisbury for cheap old tarts like me if he can afford the high-class ones in London?"
Blake couldn't answer that.
THE STUDIO, PIMLICO, LONDON-1:00 P.M.
Dean Jarrett was effusively helpful. "Well, of course, dear," he told Fraser, ladling out the charm while sussing him coolly from the corner of his eye. He thought this policeman looked less of a homophobe than most; might even, if the friendly smile was anything to go by, be tolerably sympathetic towards Jinx and her bizarre entourage at the studio. Certainly, he had taken Angelica's pink hair in his stride and appeared unfazed by Dean's flirting. "I can give you a blow-by-blow account of everything Jinx did from Tuesday the thirty-first until Friday the third. But after that, it's a complete no-no, I'm afraid. She was at Hell Hall the next week, and we didn't hear a dicky bird out of her-didn't expect to, of course, because she was on her hols-and then she did a vanishing trick on us. Angelica phoned and phoned on the Monday, when she was supposed to be here, and all she got was Jinx's answering machine."
"That would be the thirteenth of June?"
"It would. And then, on the Tuesday, we heard the awful news that the poor mite was unconscious in hospital somewhere. I suppose you've seen her. Is she all right?"
His face contorted itself into a moue of concern, and Fraser nodded reassuringly, even if he did find the moue less than sincere. "She seems fine, a bit hazy about what happened, but otherwise very alert and very composed."
"Isn't she amazing!" said Dean. "Quite my most favorite lady."
"Yet you haven't been to see her," said Fraser dispassionately, "or not as far as we know. Is there some reason for that?"
The moue vanished abruptly. "Yes, well, unlike the Josh Hennesseys and Simon Harrises of this world, who both tell me they've inflicted themselves on her, I prefer to wait for an invitation. Imagine the awfulness of feeling like death and having well-meaning friends impose themselves on you. Jinx is a very private person. Half the time I think she's completely ignorant of how much we all adore her; the other half I retreat into my little shell because I'm afraid the truth is we bore her rigid." He sighed. "In any case I didn't know where she was for ages. Her brute of a father wouldn't tell me."
"Still, I'm surprised she wasn't worried about the studio."
Dean gave a squeak of distress. "How crushing you are, Sergeant. Don't you feel the poor darling has rather more pressing concerns at the moment than leaving her business in the hands of the second-best photographer in London?"
Fraser's lips twitched. "What did you think of Leo?"
"He was absolutely dire. A real leech, but could Jinx see it? You know what the trouble is, she's blinkered when it comes to a pretty face. Falls for the outside, and forgets that what's underneath is more important. It's her father's fault. He looks like an old vulture and he's always been so damn distant with her that she assumes a pretty face means a pretty personality." He rolled his eyes to heaven. "I hate to say it, because he's a very rude man, but I actually think Adam Kingsley is probably worth ten Leo Walladers. If the number of phone calls he's made checking up on me and Angelica is anything to go by, he cares about Jinx a great deal more than she's ever given him credit for. My God, if we'd thought about letting things slide, which we haven't, he'd have been round here tearing our innards out."
Fraser grinned. "You've met him then?"
"I was introduced the first time he paid one of his terrifying visits," said Dean with a shudder, "as was Angie. But as I'm gay and she's black, it was hardly the social event of the century, washed his hands afterwards in case he'd caught something. On all subsequent visits, he has grunted rudely in our direction and swept through to talk to Jinxy in private."
"Why are his visits terrifying?"
"Because he insists on bringing his tame gorilla with him." Dean rolled his eyes again. "Says he's the chauffeur, but since when did chauffeurs need fifty-four-inch chests? The man is there to make mincemeat of anyone who dares say boo to the boss."
"That's not so unusual these days, you know. A bodyguard-cum-chauffeur. Most millionaires have them. You said Mr. Kingsley's distant, but would you also say he's fond of Jinx?"
"Yes, in a brooding sort of way. He never touches her, just sits and stares at her as though she were a piece of Dresden china. I get the feeling he can't really believe she's his. I mean he's common as muck, after all, and she's such a lady, and the only other two children he had are A-one arseholes." He thought for a moment. " 'Fond' isn't the right word. I think he idolizes her."
"How does she feel about that?"
"Loathes it, but then you have to understand that he's not idolizing Jinx, he's idolizing the person he thinks she is. I mean, you'd have to be mentally deficient to see Jinx as Dresden china. A piece of good solid Staffordshire pottery that bounces when you drop it and retains its integrity through a thousand washes, that's a better analogy."
"Why doesn't Jinx put him straight?"
"She's tried, dear, but there's none so blind as those who will not see. She was going to marry Leo Wallader, for God's sake. What better demonstration could there be of flawed judgment and appalling taste? Not that her father could see it, of course. Leo had blue blood in his veins, so he must have been a cut above the rest of us."
Fraser smiled. "Tell me about Tuesday, May the thirty-first," he invited.
"That was a very busy day. We had a teenage band here all morning who thought they were the bee's-knees. Their record company wanted some publicity shots, and it was like drawing blood from a stone to get them to do anything other than simper into the lens." He thought for a moment. "Okay, in the afternoon we did some location work round Charing Cross station for a television company. Atmospheric stills for a documentary' on homelessness. We clocked off about six, because Jinx wanted to get home in reasonably good time."
"Did she say why?"
He shook his silver head. "But she was in a brilliant mood all day, and when I asked her if we could thank Leo for it, she said: 'In one respect, I suppose you can.' So I said: 'Don't tell me, darling, he's finally come up trumps in the rogering department.' And she said: 'Don't be absurd, Dean, Leo would need to be facedown on a mirror to do that.' And I thought, thank God, she's finally seen the light-but for once I was far too tactful to say it."
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