‘Russell believed in double standards,’ Jinx said reasonably. ‘If he was capable of cheating the customs, do you not think he was equally capable of cheating his wife?’
‘That’s hardly an answer, you know. Obsession with one woman doesn’t usually lead to philandering with others. Surely the two are mutually exclusive?’
‘It depends what sort of obsession you’re talking about. Russell was far more obsessed with himself than he was with me. I was little better than a trophy that he could show off to his middle-aged friends, the child bride who adored him so much she forsook fortune and fame to marry him. Meg was a different kind of trophy, the one that proved to him he was still sexually active and attractive at forty-plus. But we had no more value to him than the paintings in his collection. He liked owning things.’
He turned round. ‘My problem is I have to take your word for that. Sadly for Russell, the dead can’t speak for themselves.’
‘Is there a reason why you shouldn’t take my word?’ She said it without hostility but there was anger in her eyes. ‘Suddenly you’re a policeman, yet ten minutes ago you only wanted to help.’ She made as if to get up. ‘This is just a professional exercise for you, and I’m hungry, anyway. I want some lunch.’
He refused to be intimidated. ‘Don’t be so childish,’ he said sharply. ‘Healthy scepticism and a wish to help are not mutually exclusive, Jinx. Arguably, the one strengthens the other. Convince the sceptic and you will have a stronger ally for the future. Perhaps if you changed your mind-set vis-à-vis the police in that area, you could shed your paranoia and make a positive attempt to help them find Meg and Leo’s murderer. Or are you as disinclined to do that as you were to have Russell’s murderer named?’
She looked at him with dislike. ‘I’ll phone Colonel Clancey and ask him to post Russell’s diaries and letters to you. I keep them in my bookcase at home. For what it’s worth, the entry on the day we got married went like this: “Felt and looked great. Wore black velvet suit and white satin shirt. Speech afterwards was a triumph of wit and erudition. What a pity there were so few guests to enjoy it.” I interpret that as self-obsession but then, admittedly, I’m an arrogant woman and I was put out that his bride didn’t rate a mention.’
‘Still, I’m surprised you didn’t mention the affair before. It’s a little odd, don’t you think, that Meg should have slept with both Russell and Leo. Was she in the habit of stealing your men friends?’
‘If you want to be strictly accurate about it, I stole them from her. She had a six-month fling with Russell, got bored with him and introduced him to me. She did the same with Leo, told me he was a business acquaintance and said he and I would get on like a house on fire. It was only later that I realized business acquaintance meant lover.’
‘Didn’t it upset you to get her cast-offs?’
‘Everybody’s somebody’s cast-off. In some ways it’s easier if you know your predecessor because then you know you’re not competing with Superwoman.’
He resumed his seat. ‘You’re avoiding the question. Were you upset?’
‘Only in retrospect. Meg was a great deal more attractive than I am and completely careless of other people’s feelings, particularly men’s. She had no qualms about taking up with someone, then dumping him two or three months later for somebody else. The trouble is, I’m less adept at that so I got lumbered with the jerks when it suited her.’
‘But she took up with them again later when that suited her.’ He shook his head in genuine bewilderment. ‘If this is true, Jinx, then I can’t understand why you describe her as the only real friend you’ve ever had.’
‘I’m not doing this very well,’ she said, surprisingly sanguine about his disbelief. ‘You’d have liked Meg.’ She marshalled her thoughts. ‘Look, when I say I got lumbered with them that doesn’t mean I hold her responsible for what happened afterwards. She kept telling me not to marry Russell, said I was mad to tie myself down at twenty-one, but by then it was too late. I couldn’t just abandon him after what Adam had done, and that wasn’t Meg’s fault.’
Alan was highly doubtful that Meg Harris was a woman he would have liked. If Jinx had said one thing that was true, it was her admitted inability to make sensible decisions about her personal life, particularly where her choice of friends was concerned. She appeared to be completely blind to their character flaws, and he wondered if she realized that it was only the egocentric personality that seemed to attract her. Was this because she found it difficult to differentiate between self-centredness and self-confidence? She had so many mixed feelings about her domineering father that it wasn’t surprising she found people impossible to read. ‘I suppose it wasn’t Meg’s fault either that she had an affair with Russell after he was married?’
She looked at him for a moment. ‘Not entirely, no. Presumably Russell had some say in it.’ She shrugged. ‘Anyway, they were very discreet. I didn’t find out about it till after he was dead and by then it was water under the bridge.’
‘Who told you?’
‘No one. She wrote him some letters which he’d hidden amongst a stack of old exam papers in the attic at Richmond. They were rather sweet,’ she said, remembering. ‘The sad thing is, I think she really did love him, but she couldn’t bear the thought of being tied to one person. She was terrified of ending up in a country backwater like her mother and being the dutiful wife.’
‘Did you ever talk to her about Russell?’
‘No.’
‘Why not?’
‘I couldn’t see the point.’
‘Did the police know about it?’
‘If they did they never mentioned it.’
‘Why didn’t you mention it?’
‘Because I didn’t find the letters until a year later and by then the case was effectively closed.’ She plucked at her lower lip. ‘I don’t think you realize what it’s like to be part of a murder inquiry. It’s not a very comfortable experience. I’d have needed something much stronger than a couple of faded love letters to make us all go through that terrible mill again.’
He leaned forward. ‘So for the next nine years you pretended nothing had happened and then you learnt about her and Leo and you were afraid history was about to repeat itself.’
She didn’t say anything. Perhaps she realized how thin it all sounded, and how odd her own behaviour must seem in the circumstances.
‘So what did you do, Jinx?’
‘I thought it would be better if no one knew, so when we got back to London, I told Leo to phone his parents and make sure they didn’t say anything until he gave them the go-ahead. I said I needed to speak to my father first.’ She propped her chin in her hands and stared wretchedly at the carpet. ‘But I can’t remember if I spoke to Adam or not, so I don’t know whether—’ She broke off abruptly.
‘You don’t know whether you gave him a reason to have them murdered.’
53 Lansing Road, Salisbury, Wiltshire – 1.15 p.m.
WPC Blake inserted her foot in Flossie Hale’s door and refused to remove it. ‘I’m not going away until you talk to me,’ she said firmly, ‘so you may as well let me in.’
After a second or two the pressure against her foot lessened and the door swung open. Flossie regarded her without enthusiasm from a face rainbow-hued with healing bruises. She clasped an old candlewick dressing gown across her broad chest with a plaster-encased forearm, looking twenty years older than her forty-six years. ‘What do you want?’
‘Just a chat. How are you feeling now?’
‘So-so.’ She gave a wheeze of bitter amusement. ‘Still a bit tender when I sit down, but I’m surviving.’ She led the way into a tiny sitting room stuffed with overlarge furniture. ‘You might as well take a seat,’ she said ungraciously, propping her plump arms on a television set and leaning her weight on it. ‘By rights I should be in my bed, but I can’t say I fancy it much at the moment. I tried to persuade the hospital to keep me in a bit longer but they turfed me out for some old boy with piles.�
� She gazed disconsolately at the young policewoman. ‘I suppose life’s pretty grim for everyone these days.’
Blake nodded. ‘It seems that way. I only ever hear hard-luck stories.’
‘I wouldn’t mind so much if I didn’t pay my taxes. You’re entitled to expect something for all the money you shell out.’
Privately, WPC Blake thought it highly unlikely that Flossie had ever declared an income in her life, but she nodded sympathetically. ‘I agree with you, which is why I’m here. Part of what you should expect in a civilized society is peace of mind and safety, and until we find the man who assaulted you, I’m afraid you won’t have either.’ She ignored the expression of stubborn resistance that settled on Flossie’s face and took her notebook from her handbag. ‘You’re not the only prostitute he’s beaten up. There was another one three months ago and he was just as vicious with her. She says he paid her forty pounds. Was that what he paid you?’
‘It may have been,’ Flossie said grudgingly.
‘She also said she thought he was expecting someone young and attractive and took against her when it turned out she was old enough to be his mother. Was that your experience?’
She shrugged. ‘It may have been,’ she said again.
‘She advertises in telephone boxes and shop windows. I think that’s how you get your customers, too, isn’t it?’
‘Maybe.’
‘OK, well, I’ve done a bit of leg-work in the last couple of days around the girls who advertise the same way, and, while no one else seems to have suffered in quite the way you and the other woman did, three of them gave me a description of a well-spoken handsome young man who became aggressive during his climax.’ She consulted her notebook. ‘One described him as twisting his hand in her hair and almost pulling it out by the roots. Another said he hit her about the face with her own hairbrush, and the third said he pulled her wig off, then got so angry with her he stuffed it into her mouth. She said he apologized afterwards and paid her an extra ten pounds for her trouble.’ She looked up. ‘All three girls are in their twenties but they all agreed he had a thing about hair and hairbrushes. Does this sound familiar, Flossie?’
She sighed. ‘Seems you’ve been working overtime, love. Go on then, what’s the description?’
Blake read it out. ‘Height, about five feet eleven. Slim, muscular build, with hairs down the centre of his chest. Good-looking, boyish face with dark blonde, slightly curly hair, possibly highlighted at the sides, and blue or grey eyes. No facial hair. One girl suggested he plucked his eyebrows because they were very fine and nicely shaped. Clothing varied between a dark suit and white shirt to Levi’s and white T-shirt. They all described him as clean, well spoken and probably the product of a public school. Is that about right, would you say?’
‘He looked as if butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth, but, God, he was a vicious little brute.’ She touched a hand to her bruises. ‘I’ll tell you something, he couldn’t sustain himself for half a second. All the shouting and yelling and hitting he went in for was his way of pretending he could keep it up. It didn’t occur to me the first time round – I mean, let’s face it, you don’t feel much when you’ve been on the game as long as I have. But the second time around he never even got it in he came so quick. And he didn’t half punish me for that. It wasn’t just that I was old enough to be his mother – though I guess that had something to do with it – mostly it was because he was inadequate.’
‘Is there anything you can add to the description?’
She shook her head. ‘Sorry. He was very good-looking, beautiful really, reminded me a bit of Paul Newman in The Hustler. Not that that’d mean anything to you. You’re too young to remember it.’ She paused for a moment. ‘But there were some odd things he said. “It’s not my fault, my father made me evil.” That was one of them. And then when he was leaving: “I never had to kill a woman before.”’
‘Before what?’
Flossie regarded her morosely. ‘I guess he meant he’d beaten up on lots of girls but that none of them had died.’ She shivered suddenly. ‘Gawd, he was mad, one of them split personalities. Looked like a little angel when he arrived and turned into a zombie with staring great eyes the minute he got a hard on. Bloody miracle he hasn’t killed someone yet, that’s my view.’
Blake agreed with her. ‘Any idea how he got here? Car? Did he walk?’
‘I don’t know. I just wait for the bell to ring and let them in.’ She frowned. ‘Mind, he did have some car keys with him. I remember him fishing them out of his pocket when he left. He had a really nice jacket on, tight fit, padded shoulders, and he pulled his keys out and held them in his palm while he told me to keep my mouth shut.’ She screwed her forehead in concentration. ‘There was a black disc on the key-ring. It was hanging down between his fingers and I remember staring at it because I didn’t want him to think I was staring at him.’ Her eyes gleamed suddenly. ‘It had an eff and an aitch on it in gold lettering, same initials as mine, which is why I noticed them. You know what? I reckon FH are the little sod’s initials!’
Nightingale Clinic, Salisbury, Wiltshire – 1.30 p.m.
There was a tap on the door and Hilda poked her head inside. ‘I’m sorry to bother you, Dr Protheroe, but there’s a Detective Inspector Maddocks and a Detective Sergeant Fraser here. I’ve told them you’re busy but they say it’s too important to wait.’
‘Five minutes,’ said Alan.
The door opened wide before Hilda could answer, and Maddocks pushed past her into the room. ‘It is important, sir, otherwise I wouldn’t insist.’ He stopped when he noticed Jinx. ‘Miss Kingsley.’
Alan frowned angrily. ‘Since when did being a policeman give you the right to barge, uninvited, into a doctor’s consulting room?’
‘I apologize, sir,’ said Maddocks, ‘but we’ve already waited fifteen minutes and we do need to talk to you rather urgently.’
Jinx stood up. ‘It’s all right, Dr Protheroe. I’ll come back later.’
‘I’d rather you stayed,’ he said, looking up at her with a clear message in his dark eyes. ‘I can’t help feeling this is very poor psychology.’
‘For whom?’ she asked him, with a mischievous glint in her eye. ‘Illi intus aut illi extra?’
He dredged through his Latin for a translation. The insiders or the outsiders, he decided. ‘Oh, illi extra, of course,’ he said with a barely perceptible nod towards Maddocks. ‘Caput odiosus iam maximus est.’ His odious head is already maximum size, was what he hoped he’d said.
Jinx smiled at him. ‘If you recognize that, Dr Protheroe, then I don’t think it’s poor psychology at all. It means you hold the advantage. In any case, I really am starving so, with apologies for desertion, I think I’ll go and find myself some lunch.’ She gave him a brief nod then slipped past Fraser and Hilda, who were standing irresolutely by the door.
‘All right, Hilda, thank you very much.’ He gestured towards the sofa. ‘Sit down, gentlemen.’
‘May I ask what Miss Kingsley said to you?’ enquired Maddocks as he took a seat.
‘I’ve no idea, I’m afraid,’ said Alan amiably. ‘It was all Greek to me.’
‘You answered her, sir.’
‘I can run that stuff off by the yard,’ he said. ‘Vos mensa puellarum dixerunt habebat nunc nemo conduxit. I haven’t a clue what it means but it always sounds intelligent. What can I do for you?’
Maddocks, silently admitting defeat, eyed The Times which was folded neatly on the coffee table. ‘Presumably you’ve read that?’
‘I have.’
‘So you know that Mr Leo Wallader and Miss Meg Harris are dead.’
‘Yes.’
Maddocks watched his face closely. ‘Does Miss Kingsley know?’
Alan nodded. ‘I told her after I read it.’
‘What was her reaction, sir?’
He stared the Inspector down. ‘She was very shocked.’
‘Did you also tell her that the man who attacked you last night was w
ielding a sledgehammer?’
Alan thought about that. ‘I can’t remember,’ he said honestly. ‘I mentioned the disturbance to all my patients this morning, but I really can’t recall whether I gave precise details or not.’ He eyed Maddocks with curiosity. ‘Why?’ he asked. ‘Do you see a connection between the assault on me and the deaths of Mr Wallader and Miss Harris?’
Maddocks shrugged. ‘We certainly find it interesting that Miss Kingsley and a sledgehammer appear to be the only common factors between three murders and a vicious assault,’ he said bluntly.
‘The third murder being Miss Kingsley’s first husband.’
‘Yes.’
‘Well, I’m afraid I don’t follow your logic. Let’s say, purely for the purposes of argument, that there is a connection between the murder of Russell Landy and the murder of Mr Wallader, and that the connection is Miss Kingsley’s attachment to both men. Marriage in the first instance and marriage plans in the second. And let’s go on to say – again purely for the purposes of argument – that because Mr Wallader changed his mind and decided to marry Miss Harris instead, someone decided she also had to die. How does the assault on me fit into this hypothetical scenario? I have known Miss Kingsley as a conscious and functioning individual for a week. We have a doctor/patient relationship. I am neither married to her, nor engaged to marry her. I have not slept with her, nor do I have plans to sleep with her. I know none of her friends and she knows none of mine. She is a paying guest under my roof who is free to leave whenever she chooses.’ His eyes narrowed in speculation. ‘Have I missed something that makes this spurious connection even halfway believable?’
‘Yes, sir,’ said Maddocks evenly. ‘Coincidence. It’s not something that we, as policemen, can readily ignore. Our experience shows that where there’s smoke there’s fire.’ He smiled slightly. ‘Or, to put it another way, where there’s Miss Kingsley there’s also a sledgehammer.’
‘Are you suggesting she wields the damn thing herself?’
‘I’m not suggesting anything at this stage, sir. I am merely drawing your attention to the coincidence. You would be foolish to pretend it doesn’t exist.’
The Dark Room Page 24