Matthew shook his head in exasperation. "You're no psychologist. are you? It's the tool of his trade, Doc, and the rule is, you carry the tools with you just in case. Look at the Yorkshire Ripper-he carried his hammer and chisel with him wherever he went. You should study a bit. This guy's an organized nutter, and your average organized nutter doesn't go out unprepared."
"Except we're not talking about a serial killer."
"You reckon? Three murders look like a series to me."
"Come on, Matthew, there was ten years between them, two of the victims were men and one was a woman, and all three victims were linked to Jinx Kingsley. That's not a typical pattern for serial killing."
"Not yet maybe," said Matthew, "but I'd say his control's really slipping now, wouldn't you? There were nine years between Jeffrey Dahmer's first and second murders, then in the next four years he committed another fifteen. Will you still be saying this guy isn't a serial killer when the next poor sod gets bludgeoned to death?" He saw Alan's skepticism. "Anyway, who's to say what he's been doing between then and now? I'll lay money on the fact that he's found some other way to work out aggressions. You should talk to my dad. He's represented creeps like this at trial. They're bloody clever and bloody manipulative, and I'll tell you this for free-if I were Jinx, I'd have amnesia too."
"All she has to do is give his name."
"Which means it'll be her word against his. Get real, Doc. She's the number one suspect, so it stands to reason she's going to try and throw suspicion on someone else. That's the name of the game as far as the police are concerned. She needs proof, and my guess is, there is none. I'd say she's desperately buying time at the moment until she can remember something that will nail the bastard."
"She couldn't be any worse off than she is now."
Matthew flicked his butt onto the drive. "You're forgetting she's been through this once with Russell. She already knows what happens when no one's convicted of a crime. The victim's nearest and dearest live with the guilt forever and tear each other apart in the process. Suspicion's an evil thing, Doc. I know. I've been there. My old man's accused me of some terrible things in the past, not because he knows I've done something, but because he's afraid I've done it."
"So has she told you who it is?"
"There'd be no point. What could a junky do? It's her father she needs to tell. He's the only guy with the clout to sort this bastard out once and for all."
Alan frowned at him. "You haven't suggested that to her, have you?"
"Jesus Christ! Do me a favor!"
"You have to act in good faith, Matthew, and that usually means acting within the law."
Matthew grinned. "I know what good faith is, Doc."
But did he?
The Nightingale employed two gardeners, who were packing up for the evening and who both agreed there had been a sledgehammer in the toolsheds prior to the assault on the doctor. "I used it myself a week or two back," said one, "when I was replacing the fencing posts near the bottom gate."
"Do you remember where you put it when you'd finished?" asked Alan.
He nodded towards the younger man. "Tom here took it back on the trailer, same as always."
Alan turned to the lad. "Do you remember which shed you put it in?"
There was a moment's awkward silence. "I didn't put it nowhere," said Tom, shuffling feet that were too big for him. "I borrowed it out to my dad to do some building work back home. There weren't no harm. We've only used it here once in six months, and Dad's looking after it like it were his own."
ROMSEY ROAD POLICE STATION, WINCHESTER-7:15 P.M.
Frank Cheever found the note from his secretary when he returned to his office later that evening, following a fruitless trip to Salisbury after his bird had already flown. "We couldn't hold him," said Blake. "And if you're interested, the solicitor gave us another photograph as he was leaving." She handed it over. "I think it was meant for you and not for us. He said to remind anyone who was interested that it takes a minimum of five hours to drive from here to Redcar, and another five hours to drive back again."
The Superintendent looked at a picture of Miles and Fergus, laying bets on a racecourse. The time was 3:10 p.m; the date was the the thirteenth and the venue, according to a handwritten piece on the back, was Redcar in Cleveland. "How did Adam Kingsley know Meg and Leo were murdered on the thirteenth?" he grunted suspiciously. "We don't know for sure ourselves when they died."
"Because the thirteenth was the day his daughter faked her car crash," said Maddocks impatiently.
Dr. Protheroe phoned, said the note. The sledgehammer found at the Nightingale Clinic on Tuesday is not the one Harry Elphick saw before the assault. Dr. Protheroe has interviewed the gardeners and has established that the clinic's hammer has been on loan to a Mr. G. Stack for the last two weeks and is still in his possession. Address: 43 Clonmore Avenue, Salisbury. He suggests this rules Miss Kingsley out of suspicion as far as the attack on himself is concerned and further suggests thai you test the sledgehammer in your possession for Leo's and Meg's blood. If it proves positive, he believes this will absolve Miss Kingsley of their murders. There is no way (he asked me to underline "no" twice!) she could have brought the murder weapon with her to the Nightingale, as she was semiconscious when she arrived by ambulance and has not left the premises since. Dr. Protheroe insisted on the following PS: Why am I expected to do DI Maddocks's work for him? I am tempted to say that had the matter been left to the Salisbury police, the above facts would have been unearthed yesterday afternoon.
Frank tossed the note to Maddocks. "Well?" he demanded.
Maddocks read it with a frown. "Not my fault, sir. I can only pursue one line of inquiry at a time."
"Meaning what precisely?"
"Meaning that you never gave me the chance to follow up. The weapon was handed over to us yesterday afternoon, sir, and I've been chauffcuring you all today. Anyway, Bob Clarke's already given it a clean bill of health. There's no blood on it, only paint."
"Well, it's a pity you didn't establish ownership yesterday afternoon," said Frank sharply. "It might have saved us today's wasted exercise."
"Hardly, sir," said Maddocks with careful emphasis. "You'd have been even more inclined to pursue Miles Kingsley if you knew the hammer had come in from outside." He looked at the note again. "I'd like to know what set Dr. Protheroe asking questions of the gardeners. He was listening when Elphick told me he'd seen the sledgehammer before, and believe me, it didn't occur to him any more than it did to me or Fraser that the old boy had got it wrong." He put the paper on the desk. "What's the betting the girl put him up to it after you and I left this afternoon?''
"What are you suggesting now? Some sort of conspiracy theory?"
"I'm just commenting on the way we're being drip-fed information that seems to suit a certain party."
Frank folded himself into his chair and reached for the telephone. "Find out if DS Fraser's back and send him down to my office," he said into the mouthpiece. "Thank you." He leaned back to look at Maddocks. "Go on," he invited.
The DI shrugged. "It's gut instinct. She's our murderer. You see, I've always wondered how I'd do it if I ever wanted to get rid of someone. The received wisdom is, you keep it simple, engineer a reasonable alibi, and deny everything, but she couldn't do that because of Russell's murder. The police were bound to draw parallels, and whatever method she used to do away with Leo and Meg, she would still be in the firing line." He stroked his jaw. "So she's done what I would have done. She's made herself the obvious suspect by tying Leo's and Meg's murders to Russell's ten years ago, and my guess is, she's just waiting for the right moment to prove beyond a shadow of a doubt that the alibi Meg Harris gave her then is rock-solid. Which will leave us floundering because we've busted a gut to tie the three murders together."
"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, damn it, 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."
THE NIGHTINGALE CLINIC-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 rumor 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-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 Meg she was innocent. Damn it, 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. Damn it, 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," Eraser 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?"
THE NIGHTINGALE CLINIC-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."
"Okay. 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 to his feet. "I knew you'd be okay about it."
"It won't be forever, 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 learned to trust each other. That's pretty sad, really. I mean, if you can't trust family, who the hell can you trust, Jinx?"
*22*
WEDNESDAY, 29TH 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. Accordi
ng 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 rerun 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."
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