The Dark Room

by Minette Walters

  ‘Are you saying she didn’t murder Russell but did murder Leo and Meg?’

  Maddocks nodded. ‘Yes. Look, you’ve read the Met reports. Landy’s murder was a contract killing, carried out by one Jason Phelps on the instructions of Adam Kingsley. There was never anyone else in the frame. All this garbage about Adam not allowing Jane to find the body comes from her, and, dammit, she’s had a hell of a long time to come up with excuses. She says herself that her brothers have always believed her father was responsible, and that’s pretty obvious, frankly, from the way they behave. You don’t grow up normal if you think your father’s a ruthless murderer. And look at the wife. Drunk as a skunk by ten o’clock in the morning according to Fordingbridge. We’re talking major family breakdown here, and the idea that the daughter’s immune from the madness is crazy.’ He paused to collect his thoughts, nodding briefly to Fraser as he entered the room. ‘I think she’s telling us the truth about Russell. At the time of his death, I think she knew nothing about his affair with Meg. I also think she knew nothing about the murder and was genuinely shocked by it. But I’d argue that ten years of living with the knowledge that her father ordered it and got away with it has left her as damaged as she claims her two brothers to be.’

  Nightingale Clinic, Salisbury – 7.15 p.m.

  Sister Gordon was insistent. ‘Doctor’s orders, Jinx. He wants you moved to a room upstairs.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Good grief, girl,’ she said irritably, ‘do you question everything? How would I know? As usual, no one’s bothered to tell me anything.’

  Jinx glanced towards her french windows. ‘I’d rather be in a room I can get out of if I have to.’

  ‘Yes, well, perhaps that’s what’s worrying the doctor,’ said Veronica tartly, who had been putting snippets from the rumour factory together with Alan’s peculiar remark on Monday night and his sudden decision to move Jinx to a room upstairs. ‘I expect he’ll feel safer knowing you’ve only got one exit.’

  Romsey Road Police Station, Winchester – 7.25 p.m.

  ‘There’s a chance she did know about Meg’s affair with Russell at the time of the murder,’ said Fraser slowly. ‘According to Hennessey, she told him about it after she lost her baby but, if you remember, her story was that she found some love letters in her attic a year later.’

  Maddocks put his hands on the Superintendent’s desk and leaned forward belligerently. ‘I’m sure that’s not the only lie she’s told us. I swear to God, sir, she’s leading us all by the nose.’

  ‘Why would Meg Harris give her an alibi?’

  ‘Because she convinced her she was innocent. Dammit, she’s all but convinced you and you hardly know her.’

  ‘Five minutes ago you were arguing she didn’t kill Russell.’

  ‘Five minutes ago there was no evidence she knew about the affair, but you’ll never get a better motive for murder than straightforward jealousy. Dammit, everything else I said stands. Even better if it was precious Jane who got away with Russell’s murder, she could tie the other murders to it and say: “But the Met have proof I wasn’t involved. They know it was my father.”’

  ‘There’s still no evidence she knew about the affair before the event,’ Fraser pointed out. ‘If Hennessey’s telling the truth, then we only have hearsay evidence that she knew about it at the time of her miscarriage, and that was two weeks after the murder.’

  ‘Is there any reason to think he isn’t telling the truth?’ asked the Superintendent.

  Fraser shook his head. ‘No, but I wouldn’t want to rely on him in a witness box. He’s pretty hyped up at the moment, swings from anger against Meg for leaving him in the lurch, through anguish when he remembers she’s dead, to a sort of sullen protection whenever Miss Kingsley’s name is mentioned. I think he thinks Jane is responsible, but I also think he blames Meg for provoking her into it. My guess is he was fond of them both and doesn’t know who to blame.’

  Frank drew a doodle on a pad in front of him. ‘How fond?’

  ‘He’s known them both a long time.’ He consulted his notebook. ‘He was working with Meg at a company called Wellman and Hobbs when Jane was married to Russell.’

  ‘I meant, was he sleeping with either of them?’

  Nightingale Clinic, Salisbury – 7.30 p.m.

  Fergus shouldered his way into Jinx’s new room and stood aggressively over Matthew. ‘I want to speak to my sister,’ he said, jerking his head towards the door.

  Matthew leaned forward to stub out his cigarette in the ashtray on the coffee table. ‘I assumed the whole point of your being given another room was to stop aggressive visitors barging in,’ he told her. ‘I’ll bet it was that old fool Elphick who told him where you are.’

  ‘You heard me,’ said Fergus. ‘On your bike.’

  Matthew ignored him. ‘Is he dangerous, or are you happy to speak to him in private?’

  ‘I think I’m safe enough on my own.’

  ‘I’ll be down the corridor. A good scream should fetch me back.’ He raised his skinny frame off the bed and squared up to Fergus. ‘I hope you’re going to behave like a gentleman, Mr Kingsley.’

  ‘Piss off,’ said Fergus.

  Matthew smiled gently before bringing his knee up with the speed of an express train into the young man’s crotch and pushing him backwards against the wall. ‘Never judge a book by its cover,’ he murmured. He cocked a finger at Jinx. ‘Sorry, but your brother’s a creep. I’ll see you around.’

  Jinx waited till he’d gone, then looked down on the slumped, defeated shoulders of her baby brother. ‘Where’s Miles?’ she asked him.

  ‘Outside in the car,’ he said tearfully. ‘Dad gave him a hell of a beating then threw us out.’

  ‘What about Betty?’

  ‘She’s in the car as well,’ he said shamefacedly. ‘Look, I know it’s a lot to ask, but we need a place to stay. We’ve pooled our petrol in one car, and we’ve enough to get to Richmond. Miles and Mum said you’d never agree but, well . . .’ He flushed. ‘Well, I said you might and it was worth a try.’

  She let him stew in his own discomfort for several seconds. ‘I’ll crucify you all if you do a damn thing in that house I don’t like,’ she said crossly. ‘That means no mess, no gambling, no drugs, no drunkenness, and you bend over backwards to be nice to the Clanceys. Do you understand?’

  He nodded. ‘We’ll need a key.’

  ‘Try saying: Thank you, Jinx, you’re a sodding brick. We owe you one.’

  ‘Thank you, Jinx, you’re a sodding brick. We owe you one.’ He smiled sheepishly. ‘We’ll still need a key.’

  ‘The Clanceys have one. I’ll phone them and ask them to give it to you when you arrive. There’s probably enough food in the freezer to keep you going till I get back.’ She glared at him. ‘And you’re not to run up phone bills. And you’re not to tell Adam where you are. I won’t have my house turned into a war-zone. Got that?’

  ‘Sure.’ He rose. ‘I knew you’d be OK about it.’

  ‘It won’t be for ever, Fergus.’

  ‘I know. Hey, we’ll take care of the house, I promise. I’ll make sure Miles and Mum behave. And no phone calls. We’ll lie low till you get back.’

  She nodded.

  He paused by the door. ‘To be honest with you, I wasn’t really sure you’d say yes. You’re not so different from Dad, you know. I guess you were right the other day. You got the good genes and we got the bad ones.’ He checked himself in case she changed her mind. ‘But, look, I’m grateful. You won’t regret this, honestly.’

  She smiled suddenly. ‘I know I won’t. I’d have had far more to regret if you hadn’t asked me, Fergus. I was really afraid this afternoon that I was never going to see any of you again.’

  He looked surprised. ‘Why?’

  ‘I didn’t think you’d bother with me if Adam chucked you out.’

  ‘That’s what we thought about you,’ he said. ‘I guess we never learnt to trust each other. That’s pretty sad, really.
I mean, if you can’t trust family, who the hell can you trust, Jinx?’

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Wednesday, 29 June, Romsey Road Police Station, Winchester – 10.00 p.m.

  SUPERINTENDENT CHEEVER GAVE a small shake of his head as he replaced the receiver. ‘They’ve tailed Fergus’s Porsche, containing Fergus, Mrs Kingsley and Miles, from the Nightingale Clinic to Jane’s house in Richmond,’ he told Maddocks and Fraser. ‘The old boy next door has just let them in, switched on the lights and left. They’ve got several suitcases between them, and as many boxes stuffed with bits and pieces as they could cram into the Porsche. According to the tail, they look like staying for the duration.’ He tapped his pen thoughtfully against his teeth. ‘That’s interesting, don’t you think?’

  Maddocks prowled irritably towards the window. ‘It’s all over the news that Kingsley Senior’s about to lose Hellingdon Hall, so I guess he’s told the three of them to bugger off. She’s given them a roof over their heads. What’s so odd about that? She’s their sister.’

  ‘I said interesting, not odd,’ snapped Frank, pulling off his bow-tie and slapping it on the desk. He unbuttoned his shirt collar and ran his finger round the inside. ‘Obviously Jane’s family doesn’t share your low opinion of her. Would you move into her house, believing what you do about her?’

  ‘Miles and Fergus lived under their father’s roof long enough, believing he was a killer. Same difference, wouldn’t you say?’

  ‘No.’ Frank jabbed his finger angrily at the air. ‘There’s no comparison. If Kingsley’s responsible, then he’s kept a healthy distance between himself and the killings. If the daughter’s responsible, then she’s done them herself and she’s bordering on the insane. So I repeat, would you move into her house if you had doubts about her?’

  Fraser cleared his throat. ‘Look, sir, with the best will in the world this isn’t getting us anywhere. The truth is we need more evidence or it’ll be a re-run of the Rachel Nickell murder inquiry, or the Russell Landy one, if it comes to that.’

  ‘Jesus, Fraser,’ said Maddocks, rounding on him furiously. ‘How the hell did you pass your sodding sergeant’s exams?’ He raised his hands to Heaven. ‘More evidence, he says. Where do you expect us to find it, for Christ’s sake? We’ve put everything under the microscope – Ardingly Woods, Leo’s possessions, Leo’s house, his cars, his garage, Meg’s possessions, her flat, her car, Jane Kingsley’s car. Zilch. Zero. Nothing. We’ve got a heel mark on a bank which may or may not have been made by a woman’s shoe, and we might be able to argue that, because Miss Kingsley’s clothes were disposed of by the hospital after the accident, some of the blood on them might have been Leo’s and Meg’s.’ He paused to draw breath. ‘It’s not much, I agree, but what we have in abundance is circumstantial evidence pointing in one direction, and one direction only. Towards the woman who had both motive and opportunity. I say we go with that and persuade her to talk.’

  ‘Explain why the blood on her clothes failed to get into her car,’ said Frank. ‘Bob Clarke’s team have taken it apart and there’s not a spot in there, not even her own.’

  ‘She was wearing a jacket when she was found. She put that on over her bloodstained clothes when she got into the car.’

  ‘That’s fantasy, not evidence. Explain how the sledgehammer got to the Nightingale Clinic on Monday night.’

  ‘It was a set-up, courtesy of her father. Get me off the hook, Daddy, and Daddy obliges. Fake attack on Dr Protheroe with pristine sledgehammer and finger points to an outsider being involved.’

  Frank jerked his chin at Fraser. ‘Your turn,’ he said curtly.

  They’d been round this circle a hundred times already and, with a sigh, Fraser set out on it again. ‘OK, the DI reckons she’s manipulating events because she’s guilty. I think she’s manipulating them because she’s innocent and scared. I’m guessing Leo left her on the night of Monday, May the thirtieth, to move in with Meg and I’m also guessing that she didn’t give a shit about losing him. What concerned her was how her father was going to react. I think she was terrified of him because she shared her brother’s view that he’d had Russell murdered. But no one could prove it, so she did her best to keep her distance from him and cut him out of her life. All she achieved in the process was to ratchet up his rather peculiar obsession with her. Dean Jarrett describes Adam as sitting staring at her as though he couldn’t believe she was really his. My guess is, she became so paranoid about it that she persuaded Leo and Meg to leave for an indefinite stay in France in case her father reacted badly to the news of Leo’s desertion.’

  Frank drew a Cupid on the pad in front of him and stabbed an arrow through its heart. ‘Except that the ideal time for them to go was June the fourth, the day she went down to stay at the Hall. Why wait till the following weekend?’

  ‘Because they didn’t share her paranoia. Look, as far as they were concerned, Russell was killed by a burglar.’ He glanced at Maddocks, saw his sardonic smile. ‘We’re talking about two very egocentric personalities here, and that’s on the word of their own families. Self, self, self, in other words. Leo thought principally in terms of money and possessions; Meg thought principally in terms of money and sexual gratification. Do you seriously believe either of them would dwell on the death of Miss Kingsley’s husband? Meg was probably upset for a while but, as I recollect, her diary recorded her going to bed with a complete stranger less than a month later, and there’s no evidence Leo even knew Russell. Frankly, if they ever thought about him at all, it was almost certainly in terms of a burglary gone wrong.’

  He went on. ‘The only one haunted by the wretched man’s death was his widow, but even she got over it eventually. Sure, she’s kept herself to herself rather more than most, but she’s made an independent life, refused any help from her father, who she suspects is a murderer, and she’s come out on top at the end of it. Then the nightmare starts all over again. She embarks on another attempt at marriage, only to find that Leo’s no different from Russell and that she’s making another mistake.’ It was his turn to smile maliciously at thrice-married Maddocks. ‘Which isn’t so unusual in all conscience. People tend to be attracted by the same type every time. What is unusual is that her first marriage ended in murder instead of divorce, and Meg was involved with both men.’

  ‘So she goes ape-shit and kills for a second time,’ said Maddocks.

  ‘You still haven’t explained why they didn’t leave on the fourth,’ Cheever reminded him wearily.

  ‘Because they couldn’t go until the eleventh, sir. Meg had a business to keep afloat and Leo had investments to look after. The eleventh was the earliest day they could leave.’

  ‘You’re guessing again.’

  ‘Yes, but it makes sense. Look, Jane is privately convinced her father had her husband killed, probably because the police profile persuaded her. She may even suspect he knew about the affair with Meg, which would have given him a motive. But when she tries to convince Meg and Leo, they’re highly sceptical. However, they feel guilty enough about their own affair to humour her. They agree to keep the whole thing under wraps until they can leave for France – and that probably suits them anyway, because they know they’ll be castigated when the news leaks out. Meanwhile, Jane has to face the week in Hampshire with her family. If she doesn’t go, questions will be asked. If she does, she has to pretend the wedding’s still on. So she pretends. She returns to London on the Friday for the mythical row when Leo tells her he’s going to marry Meg, all three make their phone calls on the Saturday morning and Meg and Leo scarper.’ He paused. ‘That was the plan, anyway.’

  ‘Then Josh Hennessey persuades Meg she’s being a first-class bitch and they delay their departure till the Monday,’ Frank said, driving another arrow through his Cupid’s heart. ‘Which brings Jane scurrying round on the Saturday night, asking them why the hell they’re still there.’

  ‘It’s as plausible as the Guv’s scenario, sir.’

  ‘What about the busin
ess in her garage on Sunday?’ demanded Maddocks. ‘How does that fit in?’

  ‘How does it fit in with your scenario?’ countered Fraser.

  ‘It was a fake, like the second one. The more attempts she made, the more protective her father would become.’

  ‘With respect, Guv, that’s bullshit,’ snapped Fraser. ‘Like Colonel Clancey said, if she wanted people to believe it was suicide, then she’d have wept all over him and his wife. Plus, she’s done her damnedest to persuade us since that she’s not the suicidal type. It doesn’t add up. And another thing. You keep harping on about this protection her father’s supposed to be giving her. Well, where the hell is it? He’s not been near her. He’s far more interested in salvaging his precious business.’

  ‘He’s paying four hundred quid a day to a corrupt quack to let her pretend she’s an amnesiac. I tell you, if we could get her in here for questioning, she’d spew the lot before you could say Jack Robinson.’

  Frank listened to this heated exchange with ill temper. ‘I’m going home,’ he said abruptly. ‘We’ll pack it in and sleep on it.’ He started to lift his jacket off the back of his chair, then paused. ‘Why did she tell Fordingbridge that the last thing she remembered was saying goodbye to Leo on the fourth of June if he wasn’t even in her house?’ he demanded of Fraser. ‘And don’t tell me she was manipulating events when she was semi-conscious, because I’ll hit you from here to Salisbury and back if you even try.’

  ‘No, sir, I’m not.’ He glared at Maddocks, who was smirking. ‘Look, there’s no question she was concussed and there’s no question, either, that she thought the accident happened on the fourth. I’m sure, to that extent, her amnesia was genuine. It may still be, for all I know. But I’ve done a bit of reading, and I’m guessing that story’s what’s called confabulation. In other words, she made it up. It was the story she was going to tell her father when she saw him on the fourth, the one she probably rehearsed all the way down in the car and then delivered convincingly. Leo’s fine. I kissed him goodbye over breakfast. He sends his regards. The fact that it wasn’t true is neither here nor there. It remained in her memory as something that happened because she knew that’s what she had to say to her father when she saw him.’