She smiled savagely. ‘I’m going to tell you things that I’ve never told a soul in my life. First, I despise your mother. I always have done from the minute she came into our house. She’s a fat drunk with an extraordinarily low IQ. Second, she married my father because she wanted to be a lady, and she had enough cunning to persuade him that, while she could never fill my mother’s shoes, she could at least be a comfortable slipper for him at the end of a long day. He was lonely and he fell for it, but what he actually saddled himself with was a vulgar, money-grabbing tart.’ She held up three fingers. ‘Third, it might not have been so bad if she hadn’t lumbered him with you and Miles. Even your names are an embarrassment. Adam wanted to call you something straightforward, like David or Michael, but Elizabeth wanted something befitting the sons of a rich lady.’
Her voice took on the accent of her stepmother. ‘It has to be something posh, Daddy, and David and Michael are so common.’ She drew an angry breath. ‘Fourth, Adam finds himself father to two of the laziest, most unintelligent, most dishonest sons a man could have. Every gene you have has come to you straight from your mother. You are incapable, both of you, of contributing anything worthwhile to your family. Instead, you are only interested in bringing Adam and me down to your own shabby levels. Fifth, how the hell can you begin to justify stealing off a gardener who works day in day out to fund his very modest house and his very modest car while you, you little bastard’ – she spat at him – ‘swan around in your swank Porsche so that you can pick up any little tart who’s stupid enough to think the Kingsley name means something? Will you explain that to me? Can you explain it to me?’
He stared at her. It was a shock to see his father mirrored in the set of her chin and the fury in her voice, but he had spent years playing on her conscience and, like Miles, he was a master at it. ‘We’ve always known you were a snobbish bitch, Jinx,’ he said idly. ‘What the hell do you suppose it was like for Mum moving into a house with the perfect child already in residence and pictures of her perfect mother all over the walls? She says you were so condescending she wanted to slap you. I wish she had, as a matter of fact. If you’d been treated the way Dad’s treated us, then maybe things would have been better for us all.’
‘He didn’t treat you any differently at the beginning from the way he treated me,’ she said coldly. ‘I can remember the first time he belted you because it was the first time you and Miles were reported for stealing. You were nine years old and Miles was eleven, and you stole money from the till in the village shop. Adam paid over a hundred pounds to Mrs Davies to hush the whole thing up, then took a strap to the pair of you to remind you what would happen if you ever did it again.’ She shook her head. ‘But it didn’t work. You just went on doing it and he went on beating you, and it was me who had to try and calm him down because Betty was always drunk. Do you think I enjoyed any of that?’
He shrugged. ‘I couldn’t care less whether you did or not, and anyway you’re exaggerating. Most of the time you were either at school or bloody Oxford, playing the family genius while Miles and I were being treated like Neanderthals. You should put yourself in our shoes once in a while. You know damn well he’s always hated us. We only took that money from the shop because we thought he might notice us instead of mooning over his precious Jane.’ His mouth took on a sullen cast. ‘You don’t know what it was like. When you were home for the holidays he was only interested in you and what you were doing, and when you were away he used to shut himself in his office with those bloody photographs of your mother.’
She saw that for what it was, the manipulative emotional blackmail of a selfish, twisted mind, but the habits of a lifetime die very hard and, as usual, she foundered on the hard certainty of Adam’s obsession with her mother and herself. ‘But why will you never help yourselves?’ she asked him. ‘Why do you go on doing what you know he hates? Why do you stay there and give him the opportunity to despise you? I just don’t understand that.’
‘Because it’s my home as much as his and I don’t see why he should push me out,’ he said. ‘It’s all right for you. You got Russell’s money. You were lucky.’
She experienced the strange sensation of a door slamming shut on a memory. For the briefest second, she had a glimpse of something remembered but it was as transient as a puff of wind on a summer’s day and the memory was lost. Had they had this conversation before? ‘You have some very warped ideas, Fergus. How can you regard anything to do with Russell’s murder as lucky?’ Why did Russell keep intruding into every conversation? She had banned him from her thoughts for so long, but now she was being forced into thinking about him all the time.
‘Leave it out, Jinx. You weren’t that fond of him and you ended up with all the loot.’ But it was said without conviction, because he, like she, had lost the energy to continue an argument that was going nowhere. Where trust had been sacrificed, knowledge was all, and it mattered very little whether thoughts were spoken or unspoken when everyone knew where they stood. Except . . . ‘You’re wrong to slag off poor old Mum,’ he said with a half-hearted show of belligerence. ‘She’s gone out and batted for you, which is more than Dad’s done since you’ve been in here. She’s given the Walladers and the Harrises a pasting for the way Leo and Meg have treated you. She called Sir Anthony “a boil on the bum of society” and Caroline Harris “a tight-arsed bitch”.’
Jinx lowered her head abruptly so that he wouldn’t see the laughter in her eyes.
‘OK, she was drunk,’ said Fergus sulkily, ‘but she meant well. Actually, Miles and me thought it was quite funny.’
So did Jinx . . . She had called Anthony a ‘parasite’ but how much more astute was Betty’s judgement . . .
Romsey Road Police Station, Winchester – 7.30 p.m.
‘You’re going to have to let me talk to Miss Kingsley,’ said Gareth Maddocks, dropping wearily into a chair. ‘Seriously, sir, bar sitting by Miss Harris’s phone and waiting for the damn thing to ring, I can’t see how we’re going to find out where her parents live.’
‘Did you try Sir Anthony again?’
Maddocks nodded. ‘He just keeps bleating Wiltshire at us. All this guff he gave you about what a relief it was when Leo took up with a nice girl like Meg amounts to sweet FA. The only thing she had going for her, as far as I can make out, was that she wasn’t Jane Kingsley. The impression I get is that if Leo had turned up with some old slag from the local pub and announced his intention of marrying her, the Walladers would have jumped for joy.’
‘Can’t say I blame them,’ said the Superintendent dryly. ‘I wouldn’t want Adam Kingsley for an in-law either.’
‘Well, for what it’s worth, his daughter sounds fairly reasonable. She left a message on the answerphone. Nice voice, sense of humour, says she doesn’t bear any grudges and wanted Meg to phone her.’
Frank raised an eyebrow. ‘Have you got it with you?’
The DI reached into his pocket and took out a tape-cassette. ‘We made copies at the Hammersmith nick, then took the original back to the flat.’ He put it on the desk in front of him. ‘Hers is the last message. I’ve listened to it several times now and I’m inclined to agree with Fraser that she has no idea Leo and Meg are dead.’
Cheever fingered the cassette for a moment, then picked it up, swivelled in his chair and pushed it into a tape-deck on the shelf behind him. He sat with bowed head, listening to the recorded messages, only stirring when Jinx’s ended. He pressed Rewind, listened to hers again, then rubbed his jaw thoughtfully as he pressed Stop. ‘She says she can’t remember anything since June the fourth,’ he pointed out.
‘Which tallies with the Fordingbridge report,’ said Maddocks. ‘According to that, the concussion after the accident left her with amnesia.’
‘Agreed, but it doesn’t mean she didn’t know about the deaths. Do you follow what I’m saying? She could have wiped the knowledge from her memory.’ He tapped a finger on the desk. ‘I think it would be extremely foolish to assume anything on
the basis of this one recording.’
‘I’m not arguing with you, sir, but it strikes me this is our best opportunity to question her without raising anyone’s hackles, least of all her father’s.’ He leaned forward. ‘Look, we are simply trying to trace the whereabouts of Miss Harris. Her credit cards have come into the possession of the police after the arrest of a thief, but repeated attempts to contact her at her address in London have failed to produce a response. Hammersmith police, concerned for her welfare, have entered the flat in order to trace her family and friends, only to discover that the flat has been cleared out. The one lead they came up with is Miss Kingsley because she was the only caller who left her telephone number. We have been asked by Hammersmith to interview Miss Kingsley with a view to tracing Miss Harris.’ He spread his hands. ‘Are you going to give me a shot at her on that basis? It’s a legitimate approach.’
The Superintendent steepled his fingers on the desk in front of him and stared the other man down. ‘You do realize I’ll have your hide if you make a mess of it.’
Maddocks grinned. ‘Trust me, sir.’
His eyes narrowed. ‘I hate people who say that. Just make sure you get the consent of her doctor before you talk to her. In fact, you can go further, and ask him to be present while you put your questions. I do not want this force accused of bullying a sick young woman.’
‘Do me a favour, sir,’ said Maddocks plaintively, ‘I wouldn’t know how to begin. I like women.’
Frank’s eyebrows beetled into a ferocious frown. It was common knowledge that Maddocks had been the subject of sexual harassment complaints by three different female officers, although, predictably, nothing had come of them. ‘You’ve been warned,’ was all he said.
Canning Road Police Station, Salisbury – 8.00 p.m.
WPC Blake stuffed a photocopy under the nose of the sergeant, as she came in at the end of her shift, and shook it vigorously. ‘Read that, Sarge. It’s a dead ringer for Flossie Hale’s experience. Same MO, same refusal to talk, same injuries.’
He took it in both hands and placed it squarely on his desk. ‘It may come as a surprise to you, Blake, but I have A-one vision. As yet, I do not require documents to be held half an inch from my eyes in order to read them.’ He then scanned the page.
Incident report
Officers attending: PC Hughes and PC Anderson.
23.3.94. Disturbance reported 23.10 at
54 Paradise Avenue.
Woman banging on neighbour’s door and causing a nuisance.
On investigation, woman found to be in need of urgent medical treatment. Severe bruising to the face and lacerations of the rectum.
Name: Samantha Garrison. Known local prostitute. Claimed assailant was her husband but believed to be lying.
Refused to co-operate further.
‘Have you followed this up with Hughes and Anderson?’ he asked.
‘Not yet.’
‘Talk to them tomorrow.’ He spread a broad palm across the sheet. ‘Then have a word with Samantha, assuming you can find her, and keep me posted. Good girl. I think you could be on to something. Let’s see you nail this bastard.’
Blake flushed a rosy-red. At twenty-one, she was still untouched by cynicism, so other people’s approbation mattered.
Nightingale Clinic, Salisbury – 11.30 p.m.
Time had no relevance. An hour spent reading a book passed in a minute. A minute of agony lasted an hour. Only fear was eternal for fear fed itself. Whose fear? Yours? Theirs? Ours? Mine? His? Hers? Everyone’s.
Even the dark was fearful.
Confusion . . . confusion . . . confusion . . .
Forget . . . forget . . . forget . . .
A moment of clarity.
Why am I here? What am I doing?
MEG WAS A WHORE! booms the great voice of reason. My father made me evil.
Chapter Ten
Sunday, 26 June, Wiltshire – 2.10 p.m.
FOR VARIOUS REASONS, DS Sean Fraser was none too happy about accompanying Maddocks to the interview with Jane Kingsley, and he sat in gloomy silence in the passenger seat as the car headed for Salisbury. He had made himself a hostage to fortune by rashly promising his wife and two young daughters that he would take them to the beach at Studland that Sunday, and their tears and recriminations at the cancelled treat lay heavily on his conscience. His gloom was exacerbated by Maddocks’s disgusting cheerfulness at the thought of a possible collar which he chose to express through a tuneless and repetitive rendering of ‘The sun has got his hat on, Hip-hip-hip-Hooray . . .’
‘Give over, Guv,’ he said at last. ‘It’s worse than having a tooth extracted.’
‘You’re a miserable creature, Fraser. What’s eating you, anyway?’
‘It’s a Sunday, Guv, so it’s going to be a waste of time. You realize her entire family will probably be there visiting her, which means we won’t get a look in, not unless we want Kingsley on our backs as well.’
‘Nn-nn.’ Maddocks gave a self-satisfied grunt. ‘I sent Mandy Barry over to chat up the nurses this morning and find out who’s been visiting Jane and when. According to her, Kingsley hasn’t been near his daughter since she was admitted, the stepmother’s been in once and doesn’t look like showing again, and the two brothers came independently and left in sulks. The word is there’s no love lost between any of them, so the chances of them giving up their Sunday for her are non-existent.’
‘You’re round the flaming bend,’ said Fraser angrily, seeing himself cast as co-conspirator in Maddocks’s unorthodox methods. ‘By the book, the Super said. He’ll flip if he finds out you’ve had Mandy sneaking around behind people’s backs.’
‘Who’s going to tell him?’ said Maddocks carelessly. ‘I’d be even more round the bend if I went in cold.’ He swung the car on to the main road and accelerated up the hill. ‘Look, lad, you’ve got to find some backbone from somewhere. You’ll never get anywhere in this business if you can’t act on your own initiative occasionally.’ He broke into his tuneless dirge again.
Fraser turned away to gaze out of the passenger window. What really riled him about Maddocks was that the bastard was more often right than he was wrong. Initiative in Maddocks’s vocabulary meant taking shortcuts and using methods that wouldn’t stand scrutiny for a minute under the Police and Criminal Evidence Act, but he got away with it because, in his own terminology, ‘he could smell guilt’. Privately, Fraser put this down to the fact that the Inspector was as ethically bankrupt as the people he arrested – he had heard more than one whisper that Maddocks had taken bribes in the past – but this raised troubling questions about the effectiveness of policemen and, as Fraser was a thoughtful man, the whole issue worried him. For there was an intrinsic absurdity about forcing the police to follow every rule, when criminal behaviour, which was dedicated to rule-breaking, remained unchanged.
Nightingale Clinic, Salisbury – 2.30 p.m.
Alan Protheroe listened to what the two detectives had to say with a frown creasing his amiable face. ‘Presumably there’s more to this than meets the eye,’ he suggested. ‘If the Hammersmith police only wanted the address of Miss Harris’s parents, why didn’t they telephone Miss Kingsley and ask her for it?’
‘Because, in the message she left on Harris’s answerphone, she refers to this clinic as a nutters’ hospital,’ said Maddocks easily, ‘and, as I’m sure you know, there are rules governing the police in the way they question the mentally disturbed. So, before they approached her direct, Hammersmith asked us to find out why she was here, and we discovered very quickly from our colleagues in Fordingbridge that she had been admitted following a suicide attempt after her fiancé deserted her for Miss Harris. We have no desire to upset her unnecessarily, so it was felt that any questions should be asked by plainclothes policemen.’
Alan took exception to his references to ‘nutters’ and ‘the mentally disturbed’. More, he took exception to Maddocks himself, disliking the man’s over-powering personality which thrust into
the room like a bad smell. ‘Why didn’t you ring me?’ he said suspiciously. ‘I would have been happy to ask the questions for you.’
Maddocks spread his hands in a gesture of surrender. ‘All right, I’ll be honest with you, sir. The problem is not Miss Kingsley but Miss Kingsley’s father. The orders from above are very clear. Do not give Adam Kingsley any excuse to sue the Hampshire police for alleged insensitivity towards his sick daughter. We haven’t a clue what her reaction will be to questions about the woman who seduced her fiancé. For all we know, the mere mention of Meg Harris’s name will have her climbing the walls, and we have enough difficulty paying our policemen without squandering the budget on court battles with a tetchy millionaire who’s already worried about his daughter’s state of mind.’ He turned his hands palms down. ‘And with good reason, it would seem. By her own admission, she’s in a nutters’ hospital and she’s shit-scared she’s going round the bend. Her words, sir, not mine.’
Fraser had to admire Maddocks’s psychology. Whatever Protheroe’s suspicions about their motives for being there, he was side-tracked into defending his clinic and his patient. ‘I would prefer it, Inspector, if you ceased referring to the Nightingale Clinic as a nutters’ hospital,’ he said tartly. ‘Jinx has a healthy cynicism about everything, coupled with a dry sense of humour. She was clearly joking. I have no concerns at all about her mental equilibrium. Nor, I am sure, has she. She has limited loss of memory following her accident, but is otherwise mentally acute.’
‘Well, that’s a relief,’ said Maddocks. ‘It’ll be all right for us to talk to her then?’
‘Assuming she agrees, then, yes, I see no reason why not.’ He stood up and led the way to the door, noticing with interest that Sergeant Fraser appeared to find Detective Inspector Maddocks as uncongenial as he did. The body language spoke volumes, principally in the younger man’s attempts to keep daylight between himself and his superior. He took them down the corridor. ‘I think it would be better if I remained during the interview,’ he said, tapping on the door of number twelve.
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