The Dark Room

by Minette Walters

  ‘Meg’s dead.’

  There was a silence. ‘I know,’ he said.

  She was shivering with cold and her expression had a curiously vacant look, as if she were waiting for something. ‘Who told you?’

  ‘Simon rang,’ he answered guardedly. ‘They’re both dead, Meg and Leo. How did you know, Jinx? Have you started to remember things?’

  ‘No,’ she said abruptly, ‘I guessed. The police came here asking questions about them. What else did Simon say?’

  ‘Nothing much, only that his mother’s going out of her mind. She wants to know where Leo’s parents live, so he called me.’

  ‘Did you tell him?’

  ‘I said I didn’t know, so he’s trying Dean Jarrett.’

  It was her turn to hold the silence. ‘You know quite well where they live,’ she said at last. ‘I remember telling you myself when Leo and I first got engaged. The wedding will be a nightmare, I said, Surrey gentry versus Hampshire parvenus, with each side trying to score points. And you laughed and asked which part of Surrey the Walladers came from. Downton Court, Ashwell, I told you.’

  ‘I don’t remember.’

  He was lying, she thought. ‘Why didn’t Simon ring me?’

  Another silence.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she said.

  ‘What for?’

  ‘Meg’s death. She was your friend as well as mine.’

  ‘Is that what you called to tell me?’

  Her grip on the telephone was so brittle that her fingers hurt. ‘I wanted to know what people are saying, Josh. Do Meg’s parents think I killed her? Does Simon?’

  ‘What makes you think they were murdered?’ he asked.

  ‘I’m not a bloody fool, Josh.’

  ‘No one’s saying anything,’ he said. ‘Not to me, anyway.’

  She didn’t believe him. ‘Why are you afraid of me?’ she asked, addressing the fear she heard in his voice. ‘Do you think I did it?’

  ‘No, of course I don’t. Look, I have to go. The police are due here any minute, and I’m trying to find out how the business stands with one partner dead. I’ll ring back later when things calm down.’ He cut the line and left her listening to empty silence. Someone else she couldn’t trust? Or someone as scared as she was?

  She replaced the receiver carefully, doubts seething in her tired brain. Was anything he said true? And why was he afraid of her? Because he thought her memory was coming back? She went to lie on the bed and stared at the ceiling, knowing that safety lay in remembering nothing, but knowing, too, that she must eventually remember something. However much her father might want what was locked inside her head to remain there for ever, she knew it was an impossibility. If Alan Protheroe didn’t prise the truth out of her with his sympathetic existentialism, then somebody else would. And they wouldn’t do it kindly either.

  Tears stung her eyelids. Common sense told her it would be suicidal – she dwelt on that thought for a moment – to relay memories that no one believed. For this time there was no Meg to give her an alibi.

  ‘There’s a gentleman to see you, Dr Protheroe,’ said his elderly secretary, popping her head round his office door. ‘A Mr Kennedy. I told him you were busy but he says he’s sure you can find time to talk to him. He’s a solicitor, representing Mr Adam Kingsley.’ She pulled a face. ‘He’s very insistent.’

  Alan finished the notes he was writing. ‘Then you’d better show him in, Hilda,’ he said.

  A small, thin man with spectacles and a pleasant smile entered the room a few seconds later and shook Protheroe firmly by the hand. ‘Good afternoon,’ he said, proffering his card and taking the chair on the other side of the desk. ‘Thank you for seeing me, Dr Protheroe. Did your secretary explain that I’m here as Mr Adam Kingsley’s representative?’

  ‘She said something to that effect,’ agreed Alan, examining the little man, ‘but I can’t imagine why Mr Kingsley feels he needs to send a solicitor.’ Jesus Christ!

  Mr Kennedy smiled. ‘I am instructed to remind you of the assurances you gave my client when you undertook the care of his daughter.’

  Alan frowned. ‘Say again,’ he invited.

  The little man sat back in the chair and crossed his legs. ‘Mr Kingsley is fond of his daughter, Dr Protheroe, and very concerned for her welfare. He asked you to take her in as a convalescent patient because, following the prolonged enquiries he made earlier this year, with a view to his wife becoming a patient at this clinic, he was satisfied that Jane would find the atmosphere here more congenial than the clinical surroundings of a hospital. In particular, he was keen to ensure that Jane would not feel pressured into taking part in any sort of psychiatric therapy that would remind her of her previous unfortunate experiences. To which end he asked you – as a doctor and not a psychiatrist – to take charge of her convalescence and leave her to recover at her own speed and in her own time.’ He smiled his pleasant smile again. ‘Would you agree that that is a fair summary of the faxed letter he sent you on the twentieth of this month?’

  ‘I would, yes.’

  ‘And is it equally fair to say that, in your telephone conversation with my client following receipt of his faxed letter, you made the very precise statement: “You have my assurance that your daughter will not be pressured, Mr Kingsley, and will certainly not be expected to engage in any form of therapy unless she chooses to do so.”’

  ‘I may have said something along those lines, but I can’t vouch for the preciseness of the statement.’

  ‘My client can, Dr Protheroe. He is a cautious man and insists on having tapes made of every conversation that relates to his affairs. That is word for word what you said.’

  Alan shrugged. ‘All right. To my knowledge, those assurances have been honoured.’

  Kennedy removed a folded piece of paper from his pocket and consulted it. ‘You sent my client a faxed letter last night in which you state: “One idea I’d like to discuss is the possibility of a joint session where, under my guidance, you and Jinx can explore any rifts that may have developed between you.” May I ask if Miss Kingsley gave you permission to suggest this to her father? In other words, has she chosen to engage in such an activity?’

  ‘Not yet. I thought it more sensible to seek his agreement first. There seemed little point in putting the idea to Jinx if her father wasn’t prepared to take part.’

  ‘Nevertheless, Dr Protheroe, simply by suggesting a form of therapy, you have gone against my client’s express instructions to leave his daughter to recover at her own speed. It is also clear from other statements in your fax that you have been encouraging Jane to talk about events that Mr Kingsley asked you very specifically not to mention because he felt they would upset her.’ He quoted extracts from the letter: ‘“She finds it difficult to talk about herself.” “I have some problems understanding what compelled her to make an attempt on her life.” “She retains a certain ambivalence following the death of her husband.”’

  Alan shrugged again. ‘I don’t recall your client instructing me to keep his daughter in solitary confinement, Mr Kennedy. Had he done so, I would most certainly not have agreed to take her.’

  ‘You will have to explain those remarks, I’m afraid.’

  ‘Jinx is an intelligent and articulate young woman. She is able and willing to participate in conversations. The only way to stop her talking would be to isolate her from everyone in the clinic. Is that what her father wants?’ His eyes narrowed. ‘To stop her talking?’

  The little man chuckled. ‘About what?’

  ‘I don’t know, Mr Kennedy.’ He balanced his pen between his fingers. ‘But then I’m not the one who’s worried. Your client is.’ Who the hell was pulling the strings here? Adam or Jinx?

  ‘My client’s concerns are entirely related to his daughter’s welfare, Dr Protheroe. He believes firmly that any rehashing of the past will be to Jane’s disadvantage, a point emphasized for him this morning when she threatened him with an injunction over the telephone. He feels, quite re
asonably, that this abrupt return to her previous antagonism is due to your refusal to abide by his wishes.’

  Alan considered that for a moment. ‘Shall we get to the point?’ he suggested. ‘Is Mr Kingsley looking to control every minute of his daughter’s life or does he want excuses not to pay?’

  ‘I am instructed to remind you of the assurances you gave my client when you undertook the care of his daughter.’

  ‘If you’re referring to pressure and unwanted therapy, then there’s no argument between us. Jinx has been subjected to neither.’

  ‘Yet you state in your fax: “She finds it difficult to talk about herself.”’ He looked up. ‘The clear inference is that you have sought to persuade her to do just that.’

  ‘This is absurd,’ said Alan angrily. ‘I wrote to Mr Kingsley because I assumed he had his daughter’s welfare at heart and, as Jinx’s doctor, I believe it to be in her best interests to seek a rapprochement with her father. However, if his only response is to send a solicitor to spout gobbledegook, then obviously she is right and I am wrong. Her father is only interested in manipulating and controlling her, and little good can come from a meeting.’ He squared the papers on his desk. ‘Presumably there’s some sort of implied threat in these repeated instructions of yours. Would you care to tell me what it is?’

  ‘Now you’re being absurd, Dr Protheroe.’

  ‘This is all beyond me, I’m afraid.’ Alan studied the solicitor with a perplexed frown. ‘I really have no interest in playing games with my patients’ well-being. If Mr Kingsley is seeking excuses not to pay, then I shall discuss the matter with Miss Kingsley herself. I have no doubts at all she will wish to honour the obligations her father entered into on her behalf. Please tell your client that I have strong reservations about his reading of his daughter’s character. She is far less anxious than he appears to be about reliving her past experiences. In addition, I cannot agree with the police presumption that she attempted suicide.’ He leaned forward. ‘You may also tell him that, in my professional opinion, it is Mr Kingsley who represents the greatest threat to Jinx’s peace of mind. There is an ambivalence in her attitude towards him which can only be resolved by a clearing of the air between them, particularly in relation to her husband’s death and to what she perceives as Mr Kingsley’s obsessive and continued need to interfere in her life. However, in the face of his obvious unwillingness to talk to her, a clean break by means of an injunction would seem to be the only alternative.’ He placed his hands flat on the desk and pushed himself to his feet. ‘Good-day, Mr Kennedy. I trust you will have the courtesy to convey my views with the same assiduous detail with which you have just conveyed your client’s.’

  The solicitor beamed as he, too, rose to his feet. ‘No need, Dr Protheroe,’ he murmured, patting his breast pocket. ‘I have it all on tape. I believe I told you that Mr Kingsley insists on having taped records made of every conversation relating to his affairs. I know he will be interested to hear everything you’ve said. Good-day to you.’

  The phone rang on Alan’s desk ten minutes later, and he picked it up with ill humour.

  ‘I’ve a Reverend Simon Harris for you, Dr Protheroe,’ said Hilda. ‘Do you want to speak to him?’

  ‘Not particularly,’ he grunted.

  ‘He says it’s important.’

  ‘He would,’ said Alan sarcastically. ‘It’ll be a red-letter day when someone doesn’t think what they have to say is important.’

  ‘You sound cross,’ said Hilda.

  ‘That’s because I am.’ He sighed. ‘All right, put him through.’

  Simon’s voice came on the line. ‘Dr Protheroe? Do you remember me? I’m a friend of Jinx Kingsley. I came to visit her on Thursday.’

  ‘I remember,’ he said.

  ‘I find myself in a somewhat invidious position,’ said the younger man in a voice that was clearly troubled. He paused briefly. ‘Has Jinx told you that Meg and Leo are dead, Dr Protheroe?’

  Alan raised a hand to his beard and smoothed it automatically. ‘No,’ he said.

  ‘They were murdered, probably on the same day that she tried to kill herself.’

  Alan stared across the room at a print of Albrecht Dürer’s Knight, Death and Devil, and thought how appropriate it was that he should be looking at that. ‘I’m so sorry, Mr Harris. You must be very upset.’

  ‘We’ve not had much time to be upset,’ said Simon apologetically. ‘We had the police here until an hour ago.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ said Alan again. ‘What makes you think Jinx knows?’

  ‘Her assistant told me.’

  ‘You mean Dean Jarrett?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘How does he know?’

  Simon sighed. ‘Apparently the police visited her yesterday and she guessed something was wrong. She rang Dean during the evening and persuaded him to phone the Walladers for confirmation.’ He paused again. ‘She knew before we did, as a matter of fact. My parents weren’t told until ten o’clock last night and only made the formal identification this morning. My mother’s very bitter about it. She’s blaming Jinx for Meg’s death.’

  Alan wondered what else his patient had withheld from him. ‘Why are you telling me this?’ he asked.

  Another hesitation. ‘As I said, I find myself in an invidious position. My father, too.’ He cleared his throat. ‘It’s difficult to think straight when you’re shocked – well, I’m sure you know that—’ He broke off abruptly. ‘Sir Anthony Wallader is going to The Times with accusations against Jinx and her father, egged on by my mother. It’s understandable. They’re both very upset, as you can imagine – well, of course we all are.’ He blew his nose. ‘I’ve no idea how much the newspapers are likely to print, but it could be very bad, especially if the tabloids get hold of it. My mother’s not very well – she’s . . . that is . . . Dad and I felt Jinx should be protected from the worst of it – it’s little better than a kangaroo court – and I didn’t know who else to phone. I thought she’d have told you – about their deaths anyway.’ His voice broke with emotion. ‘I’m sorry – I’m so sorry.’

  Alan listened to the quiet tears at the other end of the line. ‘I wouldn’t worry too much,’ he said with a calm he didn’t feel. ‘Jinx is an extraordinarily tough young woman’ – even he hadn’t realized till now just how tough – ‘and I’m confident it’s only a matter of days before her memory returns in full and she’s able to set minds at rest.’ He thought for a moment. ‘Presumably we’re talking about speculation and not fact? If there were any evidence against Miss Kingsley the police would have confronted her by now. Am I right?’

  Simon fought for composure. ‘As far as I understand it, yes, but we’ve been told very little. Sir Anthony’s known since Saturday morning and he said that Leo had been bludgeoned to death . . . The same way Russell Landy was.’

  ‘Does Jinx’s father know Meg and Leo are dead?’

  ‘I don’t think so. Dad and I think their intention is to hit Jinx while she’s vulnerable, but we can’t see justice being done that way.’

  Alan was curious. ‘You’re being very generous to her, Mr Harris.’

  ‘Things aren’t as straightforward as they might seem,’ Simon said tightly. ‘We’re worried about my mother, and we don’t want Jinx’s suicide on our conscience. She’ll be under a lot of pressure when the news breaks and what she’s tried once, it seems likely she could try again.’

  ‘Well, on that score at least I don’t think you need worry,’ said Alan slowly. ‘If I had any doubts at all about her mental equilibrium you’ve just laid them to rest. Thank you for letting me know, Mr Harris.’

  He said goodbye and replaced the receiver with a thoughtful frown. What on earth was going on here? Did Adam Kingsley know? Is that why he’d sent Kennedy? God almighty! Were he and the clinic being dragged into some sort of conspiracy to pervert the course of justice? ‘SHI-IT!’ he roared at Dürer’s Knight, Death and Devil. Why the hell had he agreed to take the bloody woman in?
>
  He sought out Veronica Gordon, the sister in charge. ‘I’ve had it up to here,’ he told her, chopping at his throat. ‘I’m going AWOL for a few hours. If there’s an emergency, get Nigel White to deal with it.’ He thought for a moment. ‘But if it’s an emergency concerning Miss Kingsley, call me on the mobile. No,’ he corrected himself, ‘we’ll go one step further where she’s concerned. I want her checked every half-hour without fail. Got that? A physical check by you or one of the nurses every thirty minutes, and if you’re worried at all, page me. OK?’

  Veronica nodded. ‘Any particular reason?’

  ‘No,’ he growled, ‘just a safety precaution. Her father sent his blasted solicitor over to give me an ear-bashing, and he’s put the wind up me. I don’t want to be sued for negligence if she takes it into her head to do something stupid.’

  ‘She won’t,’ said the woman with confidence.

  ‘Why are you so sure?’

  ‘I’ve watched her. Everyone does exactly what she wants, including you, Alan, and people like that don’t hang up their boots lightly.’

  ‘She’s already had one go.’

  ‘Balls!’ said Veronica with an amiable grin. ‘She may want her Daddy to think she did, but if it had been a serious attempt she’d be dead. My guess is there were a lot of hidden agendas at work when she threw herself out of her car, and a little fatherly sympathy was one of them. Mind you,’ she added thoughtfully, ‘she didn’t research the science of movable objects hitting solid Tarmac very thoroughly. I’m not convinced severe concussion and amnesia were part of the original equation.’

  Alan shrugged. ‘It may not be part of the endgame either. You don’t have to be Einstein to fake amnesia, Veronica.’

  She looked at him in surprise. ‘Are you saying she’s a fraud?’

  ‘Not necessarily,’ he lied. ‘I was merely stating a fact.’

  ‘But why would she bother with anything so elaborate unless she had something to hide?’

  ‘Perhaps she does.’