The Dark Room

by Minette Walters

  ‘Well, it certainly wasn’t Jinx who took a swing at me last night. She’s not big enough or strong enough, and, judging by the build and the height, it was a man.’

  ‘We understand you had a visit from her father’s solicitor yesterday.’

  ‘It wasn’t him either, Inspector. He’s a tiny little chap with dainty feet and hands. I’d have recognized him immediately, ski-mask or no ski-mask.’

  Maddocks smiled. ‘I was thinking more in terms of Mr Kingsley himself. Perhaps you said something to the solicitor that his boss didn’t like?’

  ‘I wouldn’t know. I’ve never met Mr Kingsley so I’ve no idea what he looks like.’ He thought for a moment. ‘In any case, I’m sure it was a young man, and Mr Kingsley’s sixty-six.’

  ‘What about Fergus Kingsley? He’s on your list.’

  Alan nodded. ‘Yes, he was about the right size. So was the waiter who served me at dinner, but my conversations with both were perfectly friendly and I can’t see either of them taking the trouble to hang around the clinic waiting to belt me.’ But was that right? He had run up against Fergus twice now, and neither time had he felt comfortable with him.

  Maddocks saw the sudden thoughtfulness in Protheroe’s expression. ‘Tell me what you and Fergus Kingsley talked about,’ he invited.

  ‘Nothing very much. He was waiting beside my car when I came out. He expressed an interest in buying it, as far as I remember, then asked me to meet his brother. I explained I was in a hurry and suggested we leave it to another time. Then I left.’

  Fraser looked up with a frown. ‘But you weren’t in a hurry, sir. According to the report we’ve seen, you decided to go for a drive and treat yourself to a decent meal because it’s some time since you’ve had an evening off.’

  Alan gave another amiable chuckle. ‘So I made a polite excuse and left. Is that so odd? I’d spent a long time talking to his father’s solicitor, I was hungry and I had promised myself a slap-up meal. At the risk of sounding churlish, I didn’t particularly want to spend another half-hour making small-talk with a total stranger.’

  ‘You’ve never met Miles Kingsley then?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘But both brothers have visited their sister here.’ It was a statement rather than a question and Alan wondered how Maddocks knew.

  ‘As I understand it, Miles came last Wednesday at about nine o’clock when I was off duty. Fergus came on Saturday.’

  ‘So they both know their way around.’ Another statement.

  Alan frowned. ‘Fergus spoke to Jinx in the garden, so presumably he could find his way back to the tree they sat under, and Miles, who saw her in her room, could probably find his way back there. Does that amount to knowing their way around? I wouldn’t have thought so.’

  ‘I was thinking more in terms of the layout of the driveway, sir.’

  ‘Oh, for God’s sake!’ Alan snapped impatiently. ‘Any moron can wait in the bushes near a gate in the hopes of someone driving in. You don’t need to be acquainted with a place to follow a car going at five miles an hour, which is all I was doing because I didn’t want to wake the patients by crunching the gravel.’ He sighed heavily. ‘Look, unless you’ve got something a little more concrete to put to me, I really can’t see the point of continuing. My own view is that you should put your suspicions to Miss Kingsley herself, to her father and to her brothers.’ He nodded towards The Times. ‘In fact, if, as you are implying, there is such a strong link between all three murders, I share Sir Anthony’s and Mrs Harris’s surprise that you haven’t done it already.’

  ‘You’re very defensive of this family, sir. Is there any particular reason for that?’

  ‘Such as?’

  ‘Perhaps you’re more partial to Miss Kingsley than you pretend and perhaps that’s why someone saw fit to attack you with a sledgehammer.’

  Alan smoothed his jaw reflectively. ‘But wouldn’t I have had to have told someone I was partial to her to provoke such a response?’

  ‘Not necessarily, sir. You looked pretty matey to me when you were spouting Greek at each other. Perhaps someone else sussed that your feelings aren’t quite as reserved as you say they are.’

  Alan’s booming laugh brought a responsive twitch from Fraser’s lips. ‘I’m afraid I was teasing you, Inspector, when I said it was all Greek to me.’ He stood up. ‘I am doubtful, ipso facto, whether any conclusion you’ve drawn can be relied upon. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have patients to see.’

  Outside, Maddocks scowled angrily as he reached into the car for the handset. ‘Put me through to Detective Superintendent Cheever,’ he grunted into the mouthpiece, ‘and tell him it’s urgent, girl. DI Maddocks, and I am at the Nightingale Clinic in Salisbury.’ He drummed his fingers impatiently on the roof. ‘Yes, sir. No, look, we’ve run into a spot of bother here. The doctor’s playing hard to get and the whole set-up stinks. He and the girl were having a very cosy little chat when we arrived and our view is he knows a damn sight more than he’s telling. Yeah, Fraser agrees with me.’ He glared at the Sergeant, demanding support. ‘No, I think we should talk to her now. We’re on the spot, she’s seen us and she knows Wallader and Harris are dead. If we leave it any longer she’ll have a solicitor in tow guarding her interests. Matter of fact, I’m amazed her old man hasn’t parked one here already, although maybe he’s set the doctor up as watchdog.’ His eyes gleamed triumphantly. ‘Will do, sir.’ He listened for a moment. ‘Yes, got it. Letters from Landy . . . abortion ’eighty-four . . . Wallader or Landy the father.’

  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, OK?’ He nodded towards the path round the corner of the building that led on to 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 enquiry. ‘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 lapsed into 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 fiancé 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 I 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 fiancé and your best friend. Presumably 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. ‘I 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 him. ‘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.’

  Chapter Seventeen

  Tuesday, 28 June, Nightingale Clinic, Salisbury – 2.30 p.m.

  FRASER MOVED INTO Jinx’s line of vision. He pulled forward the second armchair and sat in it, hands clasped between knees, his face less than a metre from hers. Grab the initiative, the DI 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, if 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 for 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 h
is 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 stock-room window had been smashed.’ She saw his scepticism. ‘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?’