The Dark Room

by Minette Walters

  Fraser glanced towards her husband, thinking that if his mobility was as poor as it appeared to be, then the chances of them not being there were fairly remote. ‘Perhaps you had family come to visit?’ he suggested. ‘Does that jog any memories? Meg wouldn’t have been at work on the Monday.’

  She shook her head. ‘Every day’s the same. Week days, weekends, holidays. Nothing varies very much. Now, if you could tell me what was on the television, that would help me.’

  Fraser tried a different tack. ‘It’s a fair bet that Leo was here during the nights of Friday, May the twenty-seventh, possibly Monday, the thirtieth, and very probably Tuesday, the thirty-first. In fact, he may well have been in residence for the rest of that week and the week after. Does that help at all? In other words, did you notice him around more than usual? Before when I spoke to you, you said there was a lot of coming and going shortly before they left for France.’

  ‘Well, I certainly noticed he was in and out rather more often than normal, but as to whether he was living with her . . .’ She shook her head. ‘Dates don’t mean anything to me, Sergeant. And how on earth would I know if Leo stayed on a particular night? Frankly, Meg’s love-life was of no interest to either of us, and why would it be? We’ve enough troubles of our own.’

  Fraser nodded sympathetically. ‘Leo had two very distinctive Mercedes convertibles, one black with beige leather upholstery, and the other white with burgundy seats. We think one or other would have been parked outside whenever he was there. Do you remember seeing either of them at any point in the two weeks before they left for the holiday in France?’

  She gave her girlish squeal again. ‘I wouldn’t know a Mercedes from a Jaguar,’ she said, ‘and I never notice cars, full stop, unless they’re blocking my way. Dreadful invention.’

  Fraser gave a quiet sigh of frustration. Mrs Helms’s epitaph of a few days previously – she never gave us any trouble – came back to haunt him afresh. What a pity, he was thinking, because if she had, then Mrs Helms might have taken a little more notice of her. He looked disconsolately towards her husband. ‘Perhaps Mr Helms saw something?’ he suggested.

  She shook her head vigorously. ‘Wouldn’t notice a double-decker bus if it was parked in his lap,’ she said sotto voce. ‘Best not to bother him, really. It makes him anxious if he’s bothered.’

  But Fraser persisted, if only to reassure himself that he had left no stone unturned. ‘Can you help me, Mr Helms? It is important or I wouldn’t press the point. We have two unsolved murders, and we need to establish why and when they happened.’

  The thin face turned towards him and regarded him without expression for several seconds. ‘Which day was the second?’

  ‘Of June?’

  The other nodded.

  Fraser consulted his diary. ‘It was a Thursday.’

  ‘I had a hospital appointment on the second. I came home by ambulance and the driver noticed the Mercedes. He said: “That’s a new one, not seen that here before,” and I told him it belonged to downstairs and had been there two or three days.’

  Fraser leaned forward. ‘On and off or permanently?’

  ‘It was there each night,’ he managed with difficulty, ‘but not always during the day.’

  ‘Can you remember when it left for good?’

  It was clear he had difficulty articulating words, and Fraser waited patiently for him to resume. ‘Not sure. Probably when they went to France.’

  Fraser smiled encouragingly. ‘And would you be able to say which day that was, Mr Helms?’

  The man nodded. ‘Clean sheets’ day. Monday.’

  ‘Goodness me,’ said Mrs Helms, ‘do you know he’s right. I’d just stripped the beds when Meg came with the cat food. Dumped the sheets in Henry’s lap while I went out to talk to her. There now, and I’d quite forgotten.’

  ‘That’s grand,’ said Fraser. ‘We’re making real progress. Did they leave together in the Mercedes?’

  Mr Helms shook his head. ‘I didn’t see. Anthea pushed me and the sheets into the kitchen.’ There was a look of irritation in his eyes and Fraser thought, you poor bloody sod, I bet she sorted the sheets on your lap as if you were a mobile laundry basket.

  ‘Did you happen to notice when Meg’s car went? It’s a dark green Ford Sierra. We’ve found it since in a street in Chelsea.’

  ‘The Friday evening. Both cars went. Only the sports car came back.’

  ‘With both Meg and Leo in it?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Which makes sense. They were clearing the decks before they left on holiday.’ He drummed his fingers on his knee and addressed his next question to Mrs Helms. ‘Did Meg give any indication on the Monday that they had postponed their departure for any reason?’

  She pulled a face. ‘Not really. She just rang the doorbell, thrust the key and the food at me and said they were off to France. Very odd, I thought.’

  ‘Did anything else strike you as odd?’

  ‘Not really,’ she said again. ‘She hadn’t done her hair, and her eyes were rather red, so I thought she might have been crying, but I put it down to a lover’s tiff.’

  ‘Anything else?’

  ‘Well, saying Marmaduke had to be kept a prisoner in the hall was a bit odd. She’d never done that before. Poor little fellow, it’s no way to keep a cat.’

  Fraser frowned and flicked through his papers. ‘Last time we spoke,’ he murmured, isolating a page, ‘you said Meg was insistent that Marmaduke shouldn’t go into any of the rooms.’

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘But just now you said she wanted him kept prisoner in the hall.’

  ‘Well, yes. Same difference.’

  ‘Can you remember her actual words, Mrs Helms?’

  ‘Oh lord. It’s nearly three weeks ago.’ She screwed her face in concentration. ‘Let me see now. It was all over in half a second. “You remember I said we were going to France, Mrs Helms?” That’s how she began. Well, of course, she’d never said anything of the sort but I was too polite to say so. “And you promised you’d look after the cat?” she said next. Which annoyed me because I hadn’t. I’d have said so, too, except she shoved the key and tin at me, and never gave me a chance to answer. “The cat’s imprisoned and will want to get out. Please be careful how you open the doors. I don’t want any more damage done.” And that was all she said. And that’s what I’ve done, though for the life of me I can’t imagine why it was necessary. Damage never worried her before.’

  ‘She said “the cat” and not Marmaduke?’ The woman nodded. ‘And you were outside on the doorstep?’

  ‘That’s right. She wouldn’t come in.’

  He pictured the little porch under the basement steps and realized then what had happened. Someone had been down there, listening, he thought. He tapped his pencil against his teeth. For Leo, read lion, read cat. ‘Leo is imprisoned. Please be careful. I don’t want any more damage done.’ Jesus! What despair Meg must have felt, knowing her only chance resided in this irritatingly stupid woman. But if he were honest, would anyone have understood so cryptic a message?

  ‘OK.’ He turned back to Mr Helms. ‘What did they do on the Saturday and Sunday? Do you know? Did you notice anyone coming to the door?’

  His mouth worked. ‘Her friend came,’ he blurted. ‘The tall one. Saturday night.’ He raised a weak hand and dropped it on to his thigh. ‘Banged on the door. Said: “You must be mad. What the hell are you doing?”’

  ‘Was it a woman?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Jinx Kingsley?’

  ‘Tall, dark. Drives a Rover Cabriolet. JIN 1X.’

  ‘When did she leave?’

  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 neighbours 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. ‘D
id 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 back-up 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.’

  Nightingale Clinic, Salisbury, Wiltshire – 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 this 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 naïve,’ 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 the night watchman 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 OK, 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 draught 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 enquiringly 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 enquiries 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 even heard of the bitch.’

  Chapter Twenty

  Wednesday, 29 June, Nightingale Clinic, Salisbury – 2.45 p.m.

  LITTLE LORD FAUNTLEROY, thought Blake, 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 on 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 in 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 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 fiancé 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.’