But Mr. Helms shook his head. "Anthea likes television. I'm not allowed to sit here all the time."
"I should think not," said his wife sharply. "The neighbors would get quite the wrong idea if you did. They'd say I was neglecting you."
Fraser flicked the man a sympathetic glance. "Not to worry," he said. "Did you happen to notice any other visitors?" But Mr. Helms had told him all he could.
"We're on our way now," said Detective Superintendent Cheever on a mobile link to his colleague in the Wiltshire police. "It looks as if he's heading for the Nightingale. Got that? You'll send backup to the clinic. Agreed? We'll only talk to him about the murders after you've charged him on the assaults ... No, Adam Kingsley's on hold at the moment. I'm more interested in hearing what Miles has to say."
THE NIGHTINGALE CLINIC, SALISBURY-2:30 P.M.
Miles stormed through Jinx's open French windows and flung himself into the vacant armchair with the sullen expression of a thwarted five-year-old. "I suppose you've heard what he's done."
"You mean his resignation?"
"Of course I mean his resignation," he said in a mimicking falsetto. "What the hell else would I mean?" He drummed his feet on the ground. "God, I'm so angry. I don't know which of you I'd rather strangle at the moment. You realize you've buggered everything between you."
"No," she said calmly, lighting a cigarette. "I can't say I do realize that. What exactly is buggered, Miles?"
"FOR CHRIST'S SAKE!" he yelled, his eyes narrowing to unattractive slits. "We've lost everything, the house, everything."
She gazed at him through the drifting smoke. "Who's we?" she murmured. "I haven't lost anything. The shares have risen ten points since Adam resigned, which means I've already made a tidy paper profit on my morning's investment alone. I hope you're not going to tell me you sold your shares, Miles. When Adam gave them to us, he said, sell everything else but don't sell these. You should have had more faith in him."
"I had to," he said through gritted teeth. "Fergus, too. We borrowed money on the back of the damn things and the bastard we were in hock to made us sell out to cover the debts."
She shrugged. "More fool you."
He was as tightly strung as a new bow. "Oh Jesus-if you knew how much I hated you. It's all your fault this has happened-'' His voice carried a tremor of despair.
She arched a sardonic eyebrow. "How do you make that out?"
"Russell ... Leo-they were both shits."
"What's that got to do with anything?"
"If you'd picked someone halfway decent-we wouldn't be in mess.
She watched his knuckles turn white as he gripped the arms of the chair. After all, what did she really know about this brother of hers? "You were only sixteen when Russell was murdered," she said slowly. "Betty swore you and Fergus were at the Hall all day."
He stared at her with hot, angry eyes. "What the hell are you talking about?"
"I thought-never mind."
"You thought I did it?" he sneered. "Well, sometimes I wish I had. The old man would have bent over backwards for me after that. I'd have done it for free, too, because I'd have enjoyed doing it. I loathed Russell. He was almost as arrogant and patronizing as you are." He surged out of his chair in one violent movement and trapped her in hers by leaning over and gripping the arms. "It cost Dad a packet to get rid of him, you silly bitch, and another packet to do for Leo and Meg. And now Fergus and I are in the shit because of it. The police are parked all round the Hall, just waiting to arrest him, and the minute they do, Mum, me, and Fergus will be out in the sodding street. We're wiped out-don't you understand? Mum, too-she sold her shares months ago. There's nothing left."
"You've still got your jobs," she said, gazing steadily up at him so that he wouldn't guess how frightened she was.
He threw himself petulantly back into his chair, his anger spent. "God, you're so naive," he said. "John Normans won't keep us on. We're only there because of Dad. You know that. Everybody knows it. Christ, it's not as though either of us is even needed. All I have to do is make sure the site-security contracts are kept up to date. Any moron could do it." He banged his fist against the chair arm. "I get a moron's salary because of it. Do you know what I do? I engage night watchmen and put my signature to the standardized contract that comes off the sodding word processor.
"Then why aren't you doing it now?" she asked him. "Surely this is the time to prove that you're worth keeping."
His anger flared again. "You stupid, patronizing BITCH!" he screamed. "IT'S OVER! Dad's made sure you're okay, because you're his fucking darling, but he's dropped all the rest of us in it. Can't you get that into your thick skull?"
She blew a stream of smoke towards the ceiling and watched the patterns it made in the draft from the open windows. "How do you know Adam had Russell killed?" she asked quietly.
"Who else could have done it?"
"Me," she suggested.
Miles looked amused. "Little Miss Perfect. Come off it, Jinxy, you haven't got the guts."
"And you think Adam has?''
He shrugged. "I know he has."
"How?"
"Because he's bloody vicious, that's how. Look at the way he treats me and Fergus."
She formed her lips into an approximation of a smile. "I want proof, Miles, not impressions. Can you prove Adam had Russell killed?"
"I can prove he wanted him killed. He said afterwards that Russell had got what was coming to him. Your precious husband was shafting your best friend. Dad hated him for it."
"What did he say when he heard about Leo and Meg?" Even to Jinx her voice sounded strangely remote.
Miles shrugged again. "That he hoped your memory loss was permanent; then he shut himself in his office and called his solicitor. He's paranoid about you starting to remember things, so we reckon you saw something you shouldn't have done."
She stared at the opposite wall. "You said it cost him a packet. How much exactly?"
"A lot."
"How much, Miles?"
"I don't know," he said sulkily. "All I know is it comes damned expensive."
She shifted her gaze lazily to look at him. "You don't know anything, do you? You're talking about what you wish Adam had done, not what he actually did. I suppose it makes you feel better to think of your father as a murderer." She laughed suddenly. "You know, I really feel quite sorry for you. Presumably you've spent the last ten years justifying all your shabby little deceits against Adam's guilt, so how the hell are you going to cope when it turns out he's whiter than white?" A movement at the windows caught her eye, and as she looked inquiringly towards the two uniformed policemen blocking the light, there was a peremptory knock on the door behind her. She frowned as WPC Blake walked in uninvited. "Can I help you?" Jinx said politely, looking beyond her to Superintendent Cheever, Maddocks, and Alan Protheroe, who were standing in the open doorway.
Blake glanced at her briefly before transferring her attention to the brother. "Miles Kingsley?" she asked.
He nodded.
She proffered her warrant card. "WPC Blake, Wiltshire police. Miles Kingsley, I have reason to believe you can assist us in our inquiries into the grievous bodily harm and indecent assault of Mrs. Flossie Hale on the evening of the twenty-second of June last at number fifty-three, Lansing Road, Salisbury-"
"What the hell are you talking about?" he broke in angrily. "Who the fuck's Mrs. Flossie Hale? I've never heard of the bitch."
*20*
WEDNESDAY, 29TH JUNE, THE NIGHTINGALE CLINIC, SALISBURY-2:45 P.M.
Little Lord Fauntleroy, Blake thought, was a good description of Miles Kingsley, with his clean-cut face and his wide-spaced blue eyes. They weren't the sort of looks that attracted her-she preferred her men rougher and tougher-but she could imagine Flossie finding them appealing. "She's a prostitute, Mr. Kingsley. She was brutally attacked on the evening of the twenty-second. She has identified you as her assailant, as has Mrs. Samantha Garrison, another prostitute, who suffered a similar assault o
n March the twenty-third."
He frowned angrily. "They're lying. I've never been to a prostitute in my life." He rounded on Jinx. "What the hell's going on? Is this something Dad's set up?"
"Don't be an oaf," she snapped. She looked at the policewoman. "How could they identify him? Did the assailant give a name?"
Blake ignored her. "I think it would be better if we discussed the whole matter at the police station. Mr. Kingsley, I am requesting you to accompany me-"
"Look, you sour-faced cow," said Miles, surging aggressively to his feet, "I don't know what your game is-"
"Sit down, Miles," hissed Jinx through gritted teeth, grabbing his arm and forcing him into his chair again, "and keep your mouth shut." She took a deep breath. "You say you have reason to believe my brother can assist you, so please will you explain what those reasons are, in particular how both women came to identify their attacker as my brother."
Blake frowned. "I'm not obliged to explain anything, other than to say we have a positive identification of the man two women say attacked them. We would like him to answer some questions on the matter and to that end we are asking him to accompany us to the police station. Do you have a problem with that, Miss Kingsley, bearing in mind the assaults were serious enough to put both women into hospital?"
"Yes," she said curtly, "I think Miles should refuse to go with you. You obviously have nothing more concrete than this inexplicable identification or you'd have come with an arrest warrant." She glanced at Maddocks. "My guess is, you're trying to pick us off one by one to answer questions on Meg's and Leo's murders. I'm even doubtful if these prostitutes exist."
Miles sneered. "That's the stuff, Jinxy. Give 'em hell."
The young policewoman eyed him curiously for a moment, then addressed herself to his sister. "I'm Wiltshire police, Miss Kingsley, and I've spent the last week investigating the attack on Flossie Hale. She's forty-six years old. She sustained severe injuries to her head, face, and arms, and, but for her own courage in getting herself to hospital, would have died in her bed. She has identified your brother as the man who injured her. I will admit that the publicity surrounding the death of your fiance and your best friend led indirectly to her identification of him, but that's as far as the connection goes. I am not interested in you or your relationship with the Hampshire police. I am merely interested in preventing any more women suffering as Flossie did."
"Okay," said Miles cockily, leaning back in his chair and stretching his legs in front of him, "then arrest me. You won't get me any other way. Have you any idea what sort of fuss my father's likely to kick up about this? Sacking will be the least of your worries once his solicitor gets onto it."
Jinx pressed fingers to her throbbing head. "Shut up, Miles."
"No, I bloody well won't," he snapped, whipping round to look at her. "You bug me, Jinx, you really do. You can say anything you like because you're so fucking clever, but not stupid Miles. He's got to sit here with his mouth shut." He slammed his fist into his palm. "Jesus, I wasn't even in Salisbury on the twenty-second and I can prove it."
"You visited your sister here at nine o'clock last Wednesday night, Mr. Kingsley," said Maddocks bluntly, "last Wednesday being the twenty-second of June, and the Nightingale Clinic being in Salisbury. Both your sister and the staff on duty will testify to that. Mrs. Hale was attacked at eight-fifteen, which would have given you plenty of time to sort yourself out before you presented yourself here."
His face took on a pinched look. "Okay, so I forgot. It's no big deal. I drove straight here from Fordingbridge. My mother and brother will swear I was at Hellingdon Hall till eight-thirty."
Blake looked at Jinx. "Is that what he told you when he got here?"
She didn't answer.
Miles darted her a frightened glance. "Tell them I told you."
"How can I? I don't remember you saying it."
"The black nurse said it when she brought me in. 'Here's your brother from Fordingbridge.' You must remember that."
"I don't." She could only remember him saying he'd been gambling that night. But had he?
"Oh, shit, Jinxy," he begged, "you've got to help me. I swear to God I never hurt anyone." He reached out a hand and clutched at her arm. "Please, Jinx, help me."
Meg is a whore ... Please ... please ... please ... help me, Jinx ... such fear ... oh, God, such terrible fear ... "I'll talk to Adam and ask him to send Kennedy out," she said shakily. "Just don't say anything else till he gets there. Can you do that, Miles?"
He nodded and stood up. "As long as you don't let me down."
Blake put a firm hand on his arm and steered him towards the windows. "This way, Mr. Kingsley. We've a car waiting outside."
"What about my Porsche?"
She held out her hand. "If you'll give me your keys, I'll have one of these officers drive it for you." She nodded towards the two Salisbury policemen. "He can follow along behind us."
Miles fished them out of his pocket and thrust them into her palm with bad grace. She looked at the fob, a black disc with gold lettering, then led him away.
With shaking hands, Jinx reached for her cigarette packet off the arm of her chair, then retreated to the dressing table and its firm, supportive edge. She looked briefly towards Alan Protheroe, who was leaning against the wall by the door, then turned her attention to Frank Cheever. "I recognize you from the television," she told him, lighting a cigarette with difficulty. "You gave a press conference the other day, but I'm afraid I can't remember your name."
"Detective Superintendent Cheever," he told her.
She glanced at Maddocks. "Then you're here to talk about Leo and Meg?" Frank nodded.
"And you think Miles might have done it, because of what happened to these wretched women?"
"It's a possibility."
She nodded. "In your shoes, I'd probably say the same."
"And if the roles were reversed and I were in your shoes, what would I say then?"
She stared at him rather strangely for a moment. "I think you'd be too busy stifling the screams inside your head to say anything at all."
Frank watched her. "Are you well enough to talk to us, Miss Kingsley?"
"Yes."
"You don't have to," said Alan sharply. "I'm sure the Superintendent will give you time to recover."
That amused her. "They kept telling me that when Russell died. It meant I could have ten minutes to compose myself before they started in again." She took a pull on her cigarette. "The trouble is, you never recover from something like that, so ten minutes is just time wasted, and as I need to phone my father, I'd rather get this over and done with as quickly as possible."
"Please," said Frank, gesturing towards the telephone. "We'll go outside while you do it."
She shook her head. "I'd rather wait till you've gone."
"Why?" asked Maddocks. "The sooner your brother has a solicitor with him the better, wouldn't you say?"
"Oddly enough, Inspector, I'd like to work out what I'm going to say first. My father will be devastated to hear his son's been accused of a brutal sex attack. Wouldn't yours? Or is that something he's come to expect from you?" She turned abruptly to the Superintendent again. "Miles didn't kill Russell, so if the same person went on to kill Leo and Meg, then it wasn't Miles."
"Do you mind if we sit down?" he asked.
"Be my guest."
The two policemen moved across to the chairs, but Alan remained where he was. "Why are you so sure he didn't kill Russell?"
She thought deeply for several seconds before she answered, and then she did so elliptically. "It's rather ironic, really, considering I've just told him to keep quiet until he has a solicitor present. You see, I'm not convinced solicitors always give good advice. I consulted one after Russell was murdered," she told them, "because it became clear to me that I was at the top of the list of suspects. He persuaded me to be very circumspect in how I answered police questions. Do not volunteer information, keep all your answers to the minimum, avoid sp
eculation, and tell them only what you know to be true." She sighed. "But I think now I'd have done better to say everything that was in my mind, because all I achieved was to raise the level of suspicion against my father." She fell silent.
"That's hardly an answer to my question, Miss Kingsley."
She stared at the floor, taking quick, nervous drags at the cigarette. "We were talking about Russell's death before you came in," she said suddenly. "Miles told me he's always believed my father was responsible, which means he and Fergus could indulge in petty deceit after petty deceit without a second thought. Nicking twenty quid off the gardener or forging their mother's checks counts for nothing against the enormity of murder." She looked up. "But what Miles believes-indeed, what anyone believes- is confined by his own prejudices, and in this instance it is very important that you understand how desperate my brother has always been to feel superior to his father."
"Does he have proof of your father's complicity in your husband's murder?"
"No, of course he doesn't, because Adam wasn't involved."
"But presumably you can't prove that any more than your brother can prove he was." He smiled without hostility. "Truth is a disturbingly elusive phenomenon. All I, as a policeman, can do is accumulate the available facts and weigh them in the balance. In the end, I hope, truth carries weight."
"Then why do so many policemen only hear what they want to hear?"
"Because we're human and, as you said yourself, belief is confined by prejudice." He gestured towards Maddocks. "But I think we're both professional enough to stay objective about what you tell us, so I hope that gives you the confidence to speak out."
She drew on her cigarette and gazed steadily at Maddocks. "Would you agree with that, Inspector?"
"Certainly," he said, "but you're asking for miracles if you expect us to take everything you say on trust. For example, explain this to me. How come you never resorted to petty theft as a way of getting back at your father? Surely I'm right in thinking you, too, have always believed he was guilty of Landy's murder? What was your revenge, Miss Kingsley?''
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