The Malcontenta

22

They drove down to Rome the following morning, catching an Alitalia flight back to Heathrow in the early afternoon. As if to ram home the contrast, the Home Counties were once again blanketed by ominous black clouds, into which the plane’s passengers descended reluctantly. The world below was struggling through darkness, drenching rain and a baggage handlers’ dispute. Brock and Kathy finally emerged from the arrivals concourse and tried to work out where they had left their cars in the medium-stay car park. When they had found them, he turned to her. ‘I think you should follow me back to my place, check what’s been happening before you go to Crowbridge. You never know.’

She did as he suggested, trying to keep him in sight through the spray and heavy traffic on the M₄, then across the river and through the inner boroughs until they reached Matcham High Street and the archway into Warren Lane. They parked in the courtyard and ran for Brock’s front door, leaving their dripping coats on the pegs inside and taking the stairs up to the study. Brock lit the gas fire and went to make a pot of tea, while Kathy stood in the window bay looking out over the lane and the railway cutting. It seemed much longer than three and a half weeks since they had made toast here and watched the snow swirling outside this window. If she had been able to go back to that Saturday morning in the car with Gordon Dowling and elect to abandon the search for Brock’s house and leave well alone, she thought, sadly, that she would have done it. Not because she thought she was wrong, but because the price had just been too high. She began to tick off in her mind all the people who had paid for her unburdening herself to Brock — Brock himself, Gordon, Belle Mansfield and poor Rose. Four people, and herself — five lives disrupted. Not to mention Rose’s killer.

‘Just bills.’ Brock had been opening his mail while he’d been waiting for the kettle to boil. ‘Why don’t you ring your place and see if there’ve been any messages? Will there be anyone there at this time?’

Kathy looked at her watch. It was half past four. ‘Hard to say. I’ll try.’

The number rang several times before Patrick, out of breath, answered. ‘Kathy, you’re back! How did it go?’

‘Magic. I brought the social committee something to cheer them up. Have there been any messages, do you know?’

‘Yes — three, I believe. A woman rang yesterday. I think the name’s on the pad here, hang on … yes, Penny Elliot.’

‘Oh yes. Did she say anything?’

‘Just to ring her when you got back. Your aunt also rang.’ ‘Aunt Mary?’

‘Yes, from Sheffield. Same message, to ring her when you got back.’

Kathy sighed. ‘Anything else?’

‘This bloke called round at the weekend. A real hard man, a Geordie. Wouldn’t give his name.’

A chill went down Kathy’s back. ‘What did he want?’

‘Well, he wanted to know where you were. Jill answered the door, and when she said she didn’t know, he came out with this story that you were looking after something of his that he really needed right away. She said she couldn’t help and pretended we didn’t have your key, but he said you’d given him a key and told him to go on up and find the thing he wanted. He just pushed his way past Jill, but I arrived at that point and stopped him. He was pretty bloody arrogant, in point of fact. We weren’t sure what to do for the best. He went away eventually.’

Kathy’s heart was pounding. What did she have in her room? ‘You did the right thing, Patrick. He isn’t a friend of mine, and I haven’t given him a key.’

‘Christ!’

‘Has he been back?’

‘Not as far as I know. But there’s been a car parked across the street for a couple of days now, with a bloke inside reading the paper. Not always the same man.’

‘Patrick, would you do something for me? Go to my room and put any notebooks and papers you can find into a carrier bag. I think there’s a couple of files and several spiral-bound notebooks, and maybe some loose — yes, there’s a wad of loose typewritten reports in one of the drawers of the desk. If you could put them all in a bag and hide it somewhere till I get back — under your bed or something.’

‘Jeez! All right, good as done.’

Kathy put the receiver down and sat staring at the bench top.

‘Problems?’ Brock asked quietly.

‘Tanner’s been round to my place and tried to talk his way into my room.’

‘What’s he after?’

Kathy shrugged. ‘All I can think of are my notes on the Petrou case. That’s about all he’d be interested in.’

Brock grunted. ‘Anything else?’

‘Penny Elliot rang.’

‘Sounds as if it would be a good idea to talk to her. We really need to know what’s been going on. You’d better not tell her where you are, though.’

Kathy agreed and dialled the number of Division, asking to be put through to Detective Sergeant Elliot. ‘Penny, it’s Kathy. I’m not coming back to Crowbridge just yet, but I heard you’d been trying to reach me.’

‘Yes, yes. Are you all right? You got me worried disappearing like that. I thought you might have fallen under a bus.’

‘I just needed to get away for a few days. What’s been happening?’

‘Hang on a minute.’

Kathy heard some murmuring and sounds of movement, then Penny came back, whispering so low and fast that Kathy had to press her ear to the receiver to pick out the words. ‘Tanner and his boys have been trying to find you! Didn’t you know? They had a go at me for a while, thought I should know where you were. They said they just wanted to talk to you. I’ve got the impression that the Rose Duggan case has bogged down. Have you been reading the papers?’

‘No.’

‘Well, her boy-friend is still under arrest, but the lads on the second floor don’t seem very happy. I believe he hasn’t confessed yet. The wife of the Director of the clinic has been here a few times creating a scene, apparently. I don’t know the background, but I’m told she had the front desk in uproar the other day until the Deputy Chief Constable agreed to see her.’

‘Is there some suggestion she’s related to the boy-friend, do you know, Penny?’

‘No idea, sorry. What’s going on, anyway, Kathy? Shouldn’t you be back here?’

Kathy hesitated. ‘I think they may have got it all wrong, Penny. But I don’t have anything concrete to offer. Do you think Tanner was looking for my help?’

Now it was Penny who hesitated. ‘To be honest, Kathy, when he came at me I felt like the woman who runs the refuge in town, when the men come battering on the door looking for their runaway wives. He didn’t strike me as a man who wanted some friendly advice from a colleague. Why does he hate you so much?’

‘I don’t know, Penny, I really don’t.’ She sighed. ‘I just wish I could get a clearer idea about what’s going on.’

‘I’ll try to do what I can and ask around. But the risk is it’ll get back to him straight away.’

‘What about files? Can you get access to them in the normal course of things?’

‘You’re joking! Past Medusa?’

Kathy remembered the formidable woman clerk who guarded the CID file room. ‘Oh yes, of course.’

‘Probably the best way is through the clerical staff. Keep well clear of the investigating officers.’

‘Mmm.’ Kathy sounded doubtful. ‘I don’t want to get anyone else into trouble over this, Penny. Especially you. Have you heard any more about Gordon Dowling?’

‘Not a thing.’

‘How about Belle Mansfield?’

‘She cleared her desk a week ago. I’ve got her home number if you want it.’

‘Yes, OK.’ Kathy wrote down the number Penny dictated, thanked her and rang off.

‘Apparently my aunt in Sheffield has been trying to get hold of me, Brock. I’d better ring and make sure she’s all right.’

She dialled and heard her aunt’s voice answer tentatively, ‘Yes?’

‘It’s me, Aunt Mary — Kathy. How are you?’

‘Oh, Kathy! Have you been away, dear?’

‘Yes, for a few days. I got your message. Are you all right?’

‘Oh, I’m fine. Your Uncle Tom’s had a bad cough this past week, though.’

Uncle Tom’s cough and its remedies took a few minutes, then, ‘No, I just wanted to make sure your friend had been able to get in touch with you.’

‘Friend?’

‘Yes. He phoned here yesterday. Was it yesterday? No, I tell a lie. It must have been Monday, because Effie was here at the time. A nice man, he sounded like.’ Aunt Mary’s judgement was cautious, which Kathy knew meant she really wasn’t too sure. ‘He sounded ever so keen to see you again. Is he an admirer, dear? He seemed to think you were staying with us for a holiday. I don’t know how he could have got that idea, it’s been such a long time since we saw you. The way he was talking, I think he’d have got in his car and come straight down to Sheffield there and then if I’d given him any hope of seeing you.’

‘Down?’ Kathy repeated. ‘You said he’d have come down to Sheffield?’

‘Aye, well, he was a Geordie, wasn’t he? From Newcastle, I’d say. Don’t you know him, then, dear?’

Kathy brought the call to an end as soon she could and told Brock this new discovery.

‘Persistent, isn’t he,’ Brock said. ‘I wonder if he’s been here too.’

Kathy dialled Belle Mansfield’s home number next. She sounded philosophical about what had happened.

‘I was ready for a change anyway, Kathy. Don’t worry about it.’

‘Belle, I don’t know what to say. I feel terrible, getting you involved.’

‘I knew that what we were doing was out of line, Kathy. I guess I just didn’t expect the boys to be quite so smart.’

‘How did they get on to you?’

‘You remember I told you the clinic’s computer might record the numbers of incoming connections? Well, it did — Tanner was able to trace a call from our hotel that night I tried to break into the computer. And while we were at the hotel we used a credit card. I guess that was stupid, but it’s all very well being Mr and Mrs Smith until you want to pay for something. We never carry much cash around.’

‘All the same, it was pretty clever of Tanner to put all that together.’

‘Yeah. And so quickly. He’s a tough customer, Kathy. You should be careful where he’s concerned.’

‘I know that, Belle. Was he rough on you?’

‘Oh, not really. He just came straight to the point once he’d worked out what I’d done. I had a choice, he said. I could stay and fight, face disciplinary action, then the sack and probably prison, and my husband would probably lose his job at IBM too, given how sensitive they would be to this kind of crime in the family. Alternatively, I could sign a statement and resign gracefully, without retribution. I’m sorry, Kathy, I had to sign.’

‘Of course you did.’ Kathy felt her throat constrict as if a noose were being tightened around it. ‘What did it say?’

‘Oh, just about everything. What I did, whose idea it was, your friend’s offer to pay for the room. Everything.’

Neither of them spoke for a moment. Kathy’s hand was aching from gripping the receiver so tightly.

‘I’m sorry, Kathy,’ Belle repeated at last.

Kathy took a deep breath. ‘There was nothing else you could do, Belle. I had to sign something similar. It doesn’t matter.’

‘Yeah, well, good luck.’

‘What I really need is information. I feel as if I’m blind.’ ‘What kind of information?’

‘About Rose Duggan’s murder. What evidence they have against the man they’ve arrested, what statements other people have made, things like that. I’d hoped that Penny Elliot could have found out something for me, but they’re keeping everything on the second floor locked up very tight. She doesn’t know much more than is in the newspapers.’

‘Has she tried her computer?’

‘How do you mean?’

‘The CID computers on the second floor are networked. Some of the ones on the third floor are in the same network. Hers will be. She could look at their case files.’

Kathy bit her lip, hesitating. ‘What will be there? Would there be investigating officers’ reports? Forensic reports?’

‘I doubt it. Those things are still going on to paper and into the manual files in the CID file room. But some useful stuff goes on to the computer files. Transcripts of taped interviews, for example.’

‘Of course!’ Kathy remembered the print-outs.

‘I have to go, Kathy. I hope it works out.’ Belle couldn’t hide the doubt in her voice.

‘Something?’ Brock asked.

‘Maybe.’ Kathy explained about the computer files, then described the way in which Tanner had traced Belle’s involvement. ‘Rose died on the Monday, and by the Wednesday, when he pulled me in, he knew all about Belle. I can hardly believe it! He couldn’t even have known that we’d tried to break into the clinic computer, and yet within — what? — thirty-six hours, he had it all worked out and had traced telephone numbers and credit cards.’ Kathy shook her head. ‘It’s scary, Brock.’

The phone began ringing as she said it.

It was Patrick. ‘Didn’t have much luck, Kathy. I couldn’t find any of those things in your room. Er …’

‘What?’

‘Well, your room’s pretty untidy. I just wasn’t sure if it’s always like that.’

‘Like what, Patrick?’

‘Well, the drawer on the floor, you know? And the stuff all over the bed.’

‘Oh …’ Kathy bowed her head and ran her fingers through her hair. ‘Don’t worry, Patrick. It doesn’t matter. Just lock the place up again and leave it. Is the car still outside?’

‘Hang on.’ The phone banged on the table and she heard his footsteps echo down the hall, then return. ‘Yep, still there.’

‘Well, just ignore them. Thanks for your help, Patrick. I’ll see you sometime soon.’

She turned to Brock. ‘The bastard. He got in anyway.’

Brock shook his head. ‘Kathy …’ he began slowly, ‘who else knew about us meeting at the Hart Revived that day when we talked about getting Belle involved?’

‘No one. The only way anyone would have known is if the phone you used at the clinic was bugged. Isn’t that the only possibility?’

‘Mmm. It seems a bit elaborate to monitor the patients’ phone calls, but-’

‘Oh shit.’ Kathy suddenly froze on the stool where she was sitting beside the phone. She was pale. ‘Gordon Dowling. I saw him the next day. I’d forgotten all about it. I was in a terrible rush when I bumped into him. He looked so bloody sad and I gave him something to cheer him up. I told him about our meeting in the pub and how we planned to get into the computer at the clinic’

She closed her eyes and groaned. ‘Oh Brock, how could I be so dumb. Gordon Dowling — poor, dozy, gay Gordon Dowling.’

They sat in silence for a moment. Then Brock said, ‘Maybe there was another way Tanner could have found out.’

But Kathy shook her head, her shoulders sagging. ‘No. That’s it for sure. That’s just about the end, isn’t it? Gordon betrayed us.’

Brock said nothing but got to his feet and went over to a cupboard under one end of the long work-top. From inside he fished out a bottle of Johnny Walker Black Label and a couple of glasses.

‘I suppose,’ Brock thought aloud as he poured the drinks, ‘it would be interesting to know when he betrayed us.’

‘How do you mean?’

‘Did he talk to Tanner only after Rose was murdered, or did Tanner already know I was at the clinic? Had Gordon already told him about his visit here, with you, to this house?’

‘Oh yes. And before that, Rose’s letter to me.’ Kathy groaned, and then suddenly stiffened. ‘And if he knew then, why not last October when he put me on the Petrou case with Gordon in the first place? There was something about that — the way Tanner always seemed to know what I was doing, even though he didn’t seem much interested in my reports.’ She screwed up her forehead in thought, sipping absent-mindedly from the glass.

‘So you think Dowling could have been reporting back to Tanner all the time?’ Brock frowned. ‘Pretty devious. I didn’t really imagine him leading a double life.’

‘Perhaps he had no choice. The greengrocer, Jerry, spotted him as gay right away, but I don’t think any of his mates in the force know it. Jerry was fearful of what kind of treatment he would get if they did find out. Maybe Gordon wasn’t ready to face that. Maybe Tanner found out and used it. I imagine that’s the kind of working relationship that Tanner likes to have with subordinates.’

Brock shook his head. ‘Poor Gordon.’

‘I’ll break his bloody neck!’ Kathy drained the glass and slammed it down on the work-top.

‘Well, how do we get even?’

‘Penny Elliot for a start.’ She dialled the number and explained what Belle had told her.

‘The CID computer files? I never use them. Hang on, I’ll try.’

Kathy waited for three or four long minutes before Penny came back. ‘Yes, there is something. The files have got number codes. There’s quite a lot of them. I don’t suppose you know the case number of the Duggan murder?’

‘No, sorry.’

‘Well, I could just go through them until I find it. Or perhaps I could sort them by date. When do you want this?’

‘Oh, Penny, you know …’

‘Tonight, you mean. Well, I suppose I could stay on a bit. Do you want a print-out or a disk?’

‘Either would be great.’

‘I’ll ring you back in an hour and tell you how it’s going.’

She did exactly that. ‘It’ll take another half an hour, then I’ll be going home. Do you want to pick it up there? I live in Tunbridge Wells. I’ll tell you how to find the house.’

Kathy took down the instructions, then turned to Brock. ‘I’d better get moving. What’s the quickest way to the A21 from here?’

‘I should come with you. Tanner’s got me feeling nervous for you now. Maybe he’s got something on your friend Penny, too.’

Kathy smiled, suddenly weary. Was it only this morning they’d had breakfast in Vicenza? ‘I shouldn’t think so, Brock. I’ll be fine. But maybe I could come back here to sleep tonight? At least it’s out of his territory. I just wish I could go home to my flat in Finchley.’

‘I wonder if your fellow tenant has had a visit from Tanner too.’

‘Yes, very likely.’

It was almost midnight before she returned. Brock was waiting up for her, although he had given her a key. The study smelled of toast, and Brock indicated a plate of bread and cheese and pickles. ‘Hungry?’ He took the toasting fork from its hook beside the gas fire and set to work.

Kathy collapsed into the chair, clutching a fat envelope. Brock eyed it. ‘Looks as if she came up trumps.’

She nodded. ‘I haven’t had a chance to go through it yet, but it looks promising.’

‘We’ll get to work in the morning. You look all in.’

‘Yes,’ she sighed, ‘but it isn’t just that. That day you rang me from Rome, Penny gave me addresses for Gordon Dow-ling’s next of kin. I remembered when I was talking to her that I’d written them down in my diary. So when I left her this evening I thought I might look them up. His mother lives not too far from Crowbridge, and I wondered if he might be there. He was.

‘She didn’t want me to see him at first. She’s a formidable woman. Small, but tough as old boots and very protective. She said he was ill, and when he eventually appeared at the front door he certainly looked it. They let me in and I had a chat with him alone for a while.’

Kathy took the toast Brock offered her and began cutting slices of cheese. ‘We were right, Brock. He’s been spying for Tanner for a couple of years. It seems Tanner has been monitoring the gay scene in Crowbridge, and when Gordon’s name came to his attention he decided to use him to keep an eye on things. Gordon’s terrified of Tanner. Tanner’s told him he’s moving back to the Met with Long when his promotion is confirmed, and he’s going to take Gordon with him, but frankly I don’t think Gordon’s going to make it. He told me he’s thought of running away to sea or taking his own life. He broke down when he was talking to me. Burst into tears. He’s a mess.’

Kathy shook her head, ‘So Tanner knew everything, all along the line. What a farce! I led you straight into it, Brock. I just don’t know what to say.’

He shrugged. ‘Such is life. If we both end up selling hamburgers at the gates of Stanhope Clinic, so be it. We’ll probably make a fortune. The thing I’m more interested in is who killed Rose and Petrou. Tanner wasn’t smarter than us, just better informed. I wonder how much better informed he is about Parsons? Let’s hope there’s something, in there’ — he nodded at the envelope Kathy had brought back from Penny — ‘because I still can’t see it.’

‘It has to be Beamish-Newell’ Kathy surprised him with her sudden vehemence. ‘We’ve been going round and round this,’ she went on, ‘but in the end he’s the only one who fits. He told us all those lies about his movements when Petrou was killed, he was on the spot when Rose was killed and, as Gabriele said, he’s ruthless in getting what he wants.’

‘What motive?’

‘He’s a closet gay. Petrou tried blackmailing him, having been pointed in the right direction by Gabriele. He murdered Petrou, and then Rose discovered something from Parsons that would incriminate Beamish-Newell, and he had to kill her too.’

‘Come on, Kathy,’ Brock objected. ‘These days you don’t kill people who threaten to reveal you’re bisexual. All right, Dowling — a young lad just starting out in the police force — might be intimidated by a bully like Tanner, but Beamish-Newell would never have been panicked by Petrou. He’d have told him to get lost.’

‘Maybe he was blackmailing other people too — the goats, important people who would have been embarrassed to appear in the tabloids wearing what Petrou died in.’

Brock shook his head, unconvinced. ‘They’d pay up, buy him off. He’d have accepted, I’m sure. Murder’s far too risky.’

‘Perhaps it depends how greedy he was.’

They sat a while longer in front of the hissing gas fire, talking over the possibilities, until Brock offered to show her to her room. Although she’d grown used to sleeping under a duvet in her own bed, the crisp white sheets were freshly laundered and tucked in tight, the way a nurse would have done it, and Kathy fell quickly into a deep sleep. By the time Brock started roaming around in the kitchen next morning, she had already showered and made a pot of coffee, and was working in the study on Penny’s material.

‘While you get on with that,’ Brock told her over a bowl of cornflakes, ‘I think I’d better go up to the Yard and snoop around. Try to find out discreetly how we’re placed before I make an official entrance.’

It was late morning before he returned, looking preoccupied and carrying a bulging briefcase.

‘How did it go?’ Kathy said, and had to make do with the muttered reply, ‘Don’t ask.’

He took off his jacket and tie and cast an eye over the paperwork sorted into piles on the bench. He grunted abstractedly, hands deep in his pockets, and Kathy had the impression his mind wasn’t taking anything in.

‘Is something wrong?’ she asked. ‘I mean, even more wrong than we thought?’

‘I don’t know.’ He shook his head. ‘Look at this.’

He turned to the armchair where he’d thrown his briefcase and pulled out a small brown-paper parcel. It had been neatly wrapped and just as carefully opened. ‘Security thought it was a bomb.’

He spread the brown paper open and showed her the paperback book inside. The pages were dog-eared and yellowing with age. Its title was Meaning in the Visual Arts, and the author Erwin Panovsky. Brock opened the cover and pulled out a folded sheet of plain white paper, on which there were a few lines of handwriting. He handed it to her without a word, and she read,

Dear David,

Chapter 7 is for you.

Forgive me.

Forgive those who helped me, please, please, for my sake3. Remember me. I too was in Arcady.

G.

Puzzled, Kathy picked up the book and turned to chapter 7, an essay on a group of paintings and their common theme, entitled ‘Et in Arcadia Ego’. She looked up at Brock for an explanation.

‘One of the patients who was at the clinic, both when Petrou died and when I was there, was Grace Carrington.’

Kathy nodded, remembering the name.

‘Because of that, I befriended her. We talked about paintings, about the subject of that essay. She was suffering from cancer. She said she was going to die.’

‘You want to find out what happened to her.’

He nodded heavily. ‘Yes.’

He phoned Stanhope Clinic, but they would only tell him that she had checked out on 2.7 March, which was two days after Rose was murdered. They refused to give him her home address.

‘I think she said her home was in Essex. The postmark on the parcel is Chingford. I’ve been trying to remember her husband’s name, but I can’t.’

‘Winston,’ Kathy said.

‘Yes! How the hell did you know that?’

‘It’s here, on the flyleaf.’ She showed him the book. ‘Almost faded away; “With love from Winston, Christmas 1968”.’

Brock took a deep breath, then reached for the first volume of an old set of Greater London telephone directories on the shelf above the bench. There was only one entry for ‘W. amp; G. Carrington’ in Chingford.

‘Well,’ Kathy said, ‘can I come? Or would you rather go on your own?’

‘Please do,’ he said, if you don’t mind taking a break from that.’

They found the house without difficulty. The street was quiet, private, with spring blossoms beginning to flower from decorative shrubs and trees.

A man in early middle-age answered the door, wearing an open-neck shirt, sweater, jeans and trainers.

‘Mr Carrington?’

He nodded.

‘I wonder if I might speak to your wife?’ Brock’s voice, never loud, was now almost inaudible.

The man seemed to brace himself a little. ‘No, I’m afraid you can’t. What do you want her for?’

‘We’re police officers. It’s concerning the murder that took place at Stanhope Clinic a couple of weeks ago. Your wife was a patient there at the time. We just wanted to ask her a couple of things.’

‘Well, I’m afraid you can’t.’ The muscles around his mouth were taut, so that an involuntary smile seemed to cross his face. ‘She died last weekend.’

Brock just stared at him. After a moment Kathy broke the silence. ‘We did understand that she was ill. We didn’t realize it was quite so … critical.’

‘Yes.’ Winston Carrington cleared his throat with a dry little cough and rubbed his mouth. ‘Yes,’ he repeated.

‘It must have been a terrible shock for you.’

He nodded and began to speak very rapidly. ‘She’d been on remission for some while and had been doing remarkably well, but we knew it couldn’t last. She phoned on the Tuesday, that’s the week before last, and said she was starting to feel ill again and wanted to come home, so I went down to Stanhope the next day to pick her up. All that following week she went downhill very quickly. The doctor had arranged for her to go into hospital last Sunday, but in the event she didn’t make it. She had a bad night on the Friday, and I phoned the doctor the following morning. She was dead by the time he arrived.’

‘I’m so sorry,’ Kathy said and looked at Brock uncertainly. He still didn’t seem able to speak.

‘The funeral was on Wednesday,’ Carrington added.

‘I don’t suppose she said anything to you about what happened at the clinic in the few days before she came home?’

He shook his head. ‘That was the last thing on her mind.’

‘Of course. Well, we won’t disturb you further,’ Kathy said, again looking at Brock for a lead.

Suddenly he spoke, his voice very low. ‘What was the official cause of death?’

‘I beg your pardon?’ Carrington looked startled.

‘The official cause of death — of your wife, for our records.’

‘Oh, I see … It said coronary failure on the death certificate, I think.’

‘Was there an autopsy?’

‘No, no. It was expected, you see. It just came much quicker than we had thought. Which was a blessing, really — she was in pain.’

Brock nodded and made as if to go, then stopped and turned back. ‘Did she leave letters to be sent to people after she died?’

‘Yes, she did. After she passed away I found letters she’d written to us — that is, the boys and me.’ He hung his head and hesitated a moment. ‘Also, half a dozen letters and packages she wanted me to post to friends and relatives and so on after the funeral. I sent them off on Wednesday. I didn’t take a note of the names. Why?’

Brock shook his head. ‘Her will,’ he said. ‘Was there anything unexpected about that?’

Carrington was beginning to look exasperated. ‘What on earth do you mean?’

‘I was thinking of the clinic, Mr Carrington. A legacy to someone connected with the clinic? Or a donation to the place, perhaps?’

‘No, nothing like that. I don’t quite see what you’re implying.’

Brock shook his head again. ‘Nothing, really. It doesn’t matter. We just have to make sure there are no loose ends.’

As they came back down the drive, a car pulled up at the kerb. A woman got out and gave a little wave towards the front door. She reached back into the car for something, and as they passed her they could make out the golden crust of a home-made pie.

They drove back in silence. Dusk was falling as they turned into Warren Lane and trudged back to Brock’s front door. He climbed straight back up to the study, still wearing his outdoor coat, sat on the stool at the bench and picked up the letter that had been inside the book.

‘It’s a suicide note, Kathy,’ he said heavily.

‘Yes.’

‘She died on Saturday morning, while we were driving up from Rome.’

Kathy suddenly recalled his toast to absent friends in the cafe at Orvieto.

‘We talked about forgiveness. She said it must be hard for us, the police, not being able to forgive the guilty people we have to catch. I said, on the contrary, that was what kept us sane. I think I was just being glib.’

He sighed and lowered his head on to his hands, rubbed his forehead and eyes. ‘Dear God, why should she ask my forgiveness?’

‘What about those who helped me?’ Kathy said.

‘Well …’ He spread his hands in a gesture that might have been assent or despair. ‘She needed all the help she could get.’

‘Brock, you remember I told you I visited Jerry Hamblin last week, the greengrocer? He told me that his partner, Errol, had been very upset last year because his mother died of cancer. He said Beamish-Newell had been very kind to her, visiting her and giving her medicine. Helping her.’

Brock stared at her, stunned. ‘Helping her to die, you mean?’

‘Errol started his affair with Petrou after that,’ Kathy continued. ‘It would be natural for him to talk to his lover about what had happened. Then Petrou would really have had something on Beamish-Newell. Remember that Beamish-Newell went to see Errol the day that Petrou died, perhaps to find out how much Petrou really knew.’

‘Grace must have thought that was the reason I was at Stanhope in the first place — to nail Beamish-Newell,’ Brock said. ‘When she first suspected I was the police, she was very angry. Beamish-Newell had probably already told her he would help her when things got bad, and she thought I was there to trap him, to stop him. It was only when I convinced her it was the Petrou killing I was interested in that she talked to me again.’

‘It’s a motive, Brock. If he was helping good people to go through a difficult death, Petrou’s life must have seemed pretty worthless by comparison.’

‘It’s possible, I suppose.’

‘Well, I’ll tell you this much: I’ve been through all this’ — she waved her hand at the papers on the bench — ‘and there’s no way that Parsons did it.’

‘You’re sure?’

Kathy nodded. ‘I’m hungry too. We haven’t eaten since breakfast. I know you’re used to all this fasting, but I wouldn’t mind a bite. Let me buy you dinner, and then I’ll explain what I mean about Parsons.’

He smiled at her chiding. ‘I’m sorry, I wasn’t thinking. There are a few places we could get a take-away from in the High Street.’

‘Right. I’ll go and get something.’

He shook his head, ‘No. If Tanner’s out there looking for you, I’d rather not give him any opportunities. I’ll phone and get them to deliver. What do you want? Pizza?’

While they waited for the food, Kathy outlined what she had made of the documentation that Penny had provided. ‘That pile is the transcripts of interviews with Parsons since the time he was brought in to Division on the evening of Monday 1 April, through to last Sunday, the 7th. I can understand Tanner’s frustration. Parsons has said almost nothing. The transcripts are practically monologues. Look.’

She picked out a sample for Brock to read.

DCI TANNER: You’re going to have to let go, Geoffrey. What’s done is done. It has to be brought out into the open. You’re going to crack up if you don’t let it out.

(PARSONS coughs)

DCI TANNER: What? … I said you’re strung up like a fiddle.

You have to talk to us … I want you to begin with what Rose was going to tell Mr Brock. What was it that was so terrible that you had to kill her? Had you confessed to her that you had killed Alex Petrou? Is that it? And she was going to tell Brock?… Have a drink of water, Geoffrey, for God’s sake … Oh fuck, get a fucking towel, Bill. He’s dropped the water all over his fucking pants.

Brock grunted. ‘Parsons sounds as if he’s in bad shape.’

‘Yes, that comes out all the way through, how tense he is, how they’re afraid he’s going to snap. They get a doctor in to look at him on three occasions as recorded here.’

‘Does he say anything at all?’

‘He responds a couple of times to references to Laura Beamish-Newell, who is his sister, incidentally. Here.’

DCI TANNER: Your sister’s been charging up and down like a cat on hot bricks on your behalf, Geoffrey, but she isn’t going to be able to do anything to help you until you start talking to us.

PARSONS: She knows…

DCI TANNER: She knows what?

PARSONS: She won’t let you …

DCI TANNER: She can’t begin to help you until you begin to help yourself.

PARSONS: She’ll stop it. She won’t let you do anything.

‘It sounds as if he’s reverting to childhood,’ Brock said. ‘My big sister won’t let you hurt me.’

‘Or maybe, She knows who really did it, and she’ll stop this if it goes too far.’

‘Why not stop it straight away?’

‘Because she’s also trying to protect the person who did it — her husband.’

Brock scratched his beard. ‘You said you knew Parsons didn’t do it. How can you be sure from this stuff?’

‘Read this.’ Kathy pulled out another sheet and handed it to Brock. ‘This is from the last interview from last Sunday.’

DCI TANNER: Well now, Geoffrey, you’re really going to have to do better than that. We’ve found the rest of the rope you used to strangle Petrou with. We found it in a place that points only to you. Do you remember? Do you want to tell us about it?

(PARSONS mumbles)

DCI TANNER: Did I detect an answer there? Do you have something to tell us at last, Geoffrey?.. Well, let me remind you where you hid it. In your tool chest, in the stable block, under the work-bench. Remember? The locked tool chest, with your initials on it, with your old green sweater inside on top of the tools, and with a piece of the identical rope coiled up between the sweater and the tools, and bearing hair and skin particles that belong to you, and a cut end that matches the end of the rope that Petrou was hanging from. What do you say?

PARSONS: No … No.

‘Very convenient of him to leave it in such an incriminating place,’ Brock murmured.

‘Yes, except he didn’t leave it there.’

‘Presumably the search teams looked there when you were investigating Petrou’s death.’

‘No, they didn’t. I remember that Dowling came to ask me about it. It was locked and had Parsons’ initials on it. We had no search warrant, and I told him to leave it until we could ask Parsons’ permission. We never got around to it.’

‘So?’

‘So I had a little private peek anyway. I was curious. There might have been a blade that matched the serrations on the end of the rope in the temple, or some duplicate keys to the temple — who knows? At that stage we were desperate for real clues. But there was nothing except his jumper and some very old tools that didn’t look as if they’d been out of the box in years. So — the rope has been planted.’

‘Very interesting. What do you suggest we do?’

‘It means I have something to trade with Tanner,’ Kathy said. ‘I can save his case for him if he’ll drop any unpleasant plans he has for us.’

Brock thought, then shook his head. ‘I don’t think so. It’s going to seem unbelievably convenient that you now happen to have remembered some uncorroborated evidence in order to save your bacon. And it’s going to mean revealing Penny’s role in supplying you with these documents.’

Kathy sighed. ‘Yes, you’re right. What, then?’

‘We have to carry on. The only evidence that’s going to count now is the confession of the real murderer.’

‘Well, let’s get on with it, then.’

‘Now? They’ll all be in their beds by the time we get there.’

‘I put off going to see Beamish-Newell once before and found the next morning that I was too late. I think I’d like to go now.’