The Dark Room

by Minette Walters

  ‘OK,’ 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 on to 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. ‘OK, 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 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 speculation, 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 cheques 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 guilt
y of Landy’s murder? What was your revenge, Miss Kingsley?’

  ‘Rather too subtle for you to understand,’ she said curtly before returning to her previous point. ‘If you’re willing to be objective, then why were you so dismissive of everything I told you yesterday?’

  His smile didn’t reach his eyes. ‘I don’t recall being dismissive. I do recall challenging some of the statements you made. But then you’re a suspect in this case, too,’ he pointed out, ‘which means that anything you say will be subject to scrutiny. Is that unreasonable, do you think?’

  ‘No, but I’d be interested to know if you’ve pursued any of the suggestions I made to you. For example, have you looked for another link between the three murders? Have you examined the possibility that someone was trying to kill me on the day of my accident?’

  ‘These things take time,’ he said. ‘We can’t work miracles, Miss Kingsley.’

  ‘But are you even trying, Inspector?’ She turned to Cheever. ‘Is anyone?’

  The Superintendent, who was ignorant of both suggestions because they had not been relayed to him, answered honestly. ‘Not to my knowledge, no, but if you can persuade me they are worth pursuing, then I shall certainly do so. Why do you think someone was trying to kill you?’

  She glanced towards Protheroe, seeking support, but he was staring at the floor. ‘Because of a series of negatives,’ she said flatly. ‘I’m not the type to kill myself. I didn’t want to marry Leo. I never get drunk. I didn’t kill Russell, so can’t imagine I’d have killed Leo or Meg either. And the car crash clearly wasn’t an accident. I can’t think of another explanation for what happened to me bar attempted murder. And I keep thinking, what if I had died? Would you have looked for anyone else in connection with Leo and Meg’s deaths? Wouldn’t you all just have said to yourselves: That explains everything, she must have killed Russell as well?’

  ‘Do you remember anything at all about the crash, Miss Kingsley?’

  She looked away. ‘No,’ she said, her face devoid of expression.

  He studied her for a moment, unsure if he believed her. ‘Well, I’m quite happy to go through all the documents relating to it to see if there’s anything we’ve missed, but I should warn you I’m not very optimistic. Even if you’re right, I don’t see how we’ll ever be able to prove it.’

  ‘I realize that, but the important thing is that you don’t dismiss it as a possibility. You must see what a different light it sheds on the whole thing? I keep coming back and back to it in my mind. If someone tried to kill me, then that means I’ – she pressed her hands to her chest – ‘must know who murdered Leo and Meg, even though I can’t remember it. And it also means that that someone is the missing link, because whoever the person is probably murdered all three.’ She regarded him anxiously. ‘Do you follow?’

  ‘Oh, yes,’ he said, ‘I follow very well. It’s an interesting hypothesis, but it doesn’t help us very much unless you can suggest a name.’

  And if I suggest a name, what then? Do you have any proof, Miss Kingsley? ‘What good is a name if I can’t give you any evidence?’

  The Superintendent shrugged. ‘It would give us a starting point.’

  But she was only interested in the endgame and she doubted whether the police could ever deliver a result. Truth is a disturbingly elusive phenomenon . . . presumably you can’t prove that . . . policemen accumulate the available facts and weigh them in the balance . . . what was your revenge, Miss Kingsley?

  ‘Yesterday,’ Maddocks reminded her, ‘you argued that it was Meg who linked the three murders.’

  ‘And I still believe that’s right,’ she said, turning back from long corridors that led nowhere. ‘Look, I spent all last night thinking about it.’ She drew on her cigarette before stubbing it out in the ashtray. ‘I haven’t been sleeping too well,’ she explained. ‘I don’t blame you for seeing my relationship with Russell and Leo as the focus for what’s happened, but Meg’s relationship with them was just as strong. Last night, I kept coming back to the thinking at the time of Russell’s murder, which was that my father killed him because he didn’t like him. I remember one of the policemen saying to me: Whoever killed him hated him because it was done with such rage. And that set me wondering if the rage was jealous rage.’ She gave her troubled smile. ‘But not jealousy over me,’ she said. ‘Jealousy over Meg.’

  There was a short silence.

  ‘We’ve read her diaries,’ said Frank Cheever. ‘At a rough estimate, she slept with fifty different men in the last ten years. Even by today’s standards, she would be described as promiscuous.’

  ‘Only because she had a very hedonistic view of sex. Why say no, if you both want to do it? In some ways she had a very masculine approach to life. She could love them and leave them and never turn a hair while she did it.’

  ‘But surely you must see the flaw in your argument? If someone was so jealous that they were prepared to kill her lovers, then we should have fifty corpses on our hands instead of two.’

  It was Alan Protheroe who answered. He had stood with bowed head, listening intently to Jinx’s reasoning, but now he looked up. ‘Because Russell and Leo were the only two lovers she really cared for,’ he pointed out. ‘By the sound of it, the rest meant nothing at all. Jinx told me the letters Meg wrote to Russell were very moving, and the newspapers talk about an eleven-year relationship between her and Leo. If someone else was in love with her, then it’s those two men who represented the threat, not the fifty or so others who came and went as regularly as clockwork.’

  ‘Why kill Meg as well?’

  ‘For the same reason jealous husbands kill their wives when they find them in flagrante delicto with other men. On the face of it, it’s illogical. If you love a woman enough to be jealous, then how can you summon the hate required to kill her? But emotions are never logical.’

  ‘Then why wasn’t she killed when Russell was killed? Why only kill her over Leo?’

  Alan shrugged. ‘For any one of twenty reasons, I should think. A desire to give her a second chance. A belief that Russell was a sort of Svengali who’d influenced her against her will. Simple logistics – she wasn’t with him the day of the murder. Myself, I’d probably pick the Svengali option because that would explain why she had to die this time. If she’d known Leo for eleven years then it must have been clear to anyone who knew them both that she was an equal party to all decisions made. You need to find out who else knew about the affair with Russell. Isn’t that the key?’

  DI Maddocks cleared his throat. ‘I could almost buy this theory if it wasn’t for one small snag. Like Superintendent Cheever says, we’ve read her diaries, or what there is of them, and nowhere is there a mention of another man who lasted longer than three or four months. So who is this mysterious lover? You knew her better than anyone else, Miss Kingsley. Do you know who it is?’

  ‘No,’ she said, ‘I don’t.’

  Maddocks was watching her carefully. ‘So give us a handful of likely candidates, and leave us to ferret out what we can.’

  ‘Ask Josh,’ she said, evading the question. ‘He knew her men friends far better than I did.’

  ‘We’ll do that. Did he also know her women friends better?’

  ‘Probably.’

  ‘Did she have many?’

  Jinx frowned, unsure where he was leading. ‘A few close ones, like me.’

  ‘That’s what I thought.’

  She flicked him a puzzled glance. ‘Why is it important?’

  He quoted her own words back at her. ‘“Why say no if you both want to do it? Meg had a masculine approach to life.”’ He held her gaze. ‘I wonder if this jealous lover was a woman, Miss Kingsley?’

  Canning Road Police Station, Salisbury – 3.30 p.m.

  Blake showed Miles into an interview room. ‘You can wait here till the solicitor comes, although I may have to move you if the room’s needed by someone else.’

  ‘How long are you planning to keep me here?’

  ‘As
long as it takes. First we wait for the solicitor, then we ask you questions. It could be several hours.’

  ‘I don’t have several hours,’ he muttered, glancing at his watch. ‘I need to be out of here by five at the latest.’

  ‘Are you saying you don’t want to wait for the solicitor, Mr Kingsley?’

  He thought rapidly. ‘Yes, that’s what I’m saying. Let’s get on with it.’

  Nightingale Clinic, Salisbury – 3.30 p.m.

  ‘Which way?’ asked Maddocks as he turned out of the clinic gates. ‘Salisbury CID or back to Winchester?’

  ‘Stoney Bassett airfield,’ grunted the Superintendent. ‘Young Blake will keep Miles on ice till we get there. Let’s face it, he’s not going anywhere in a hurry.’

  Hellingdon Hall, Fordingbridge, Hampshire – 3.30 p.m.

  Betty put down the extension in her bedroom and dragged herself to her dressing-table stool, pools of sweat gathering under her arms and drenching her corset at the back. She thrust her fat face at the mirror and desperately applied powder in an attempt to repair the ravages of time and her husband’s neglect. She listened for his footsteps on the stairs, knowing that it was over. This time there would be no reprieve for her or the boys. As usual, she turned her resentment on the first Mrs Kingsley, whose ghost had defied every attempt she had ever made to lay it. It wasn’t fair, she told herself. All right, so no one had ever promised her a rose garden, but no one had warned her that marriage to Adam would be a bed of thorns either. ‘Hello, Daddy,’ she said with desperate gaiety, as the door was flung open, ‘it’s been a bugger of a day one way and another, hasn’t it?’