Dark Room

*12*

MONDAY, 27TH JUNE, HO FORENSIC LAB, HAMPSHIRE-9:30 A.M.

The Reverend Charles Harris and his wife came to view the remains of their daughter together. It was a more harrowing identification than Leo's because Mrs. Harris was present. Frank Cheever had done his best to persuade her to remain at home in the company of a policewoman, but she had insisted on seeing Meg for herself. She had worn her grief with calm composure throughout the car journey, but faced with the terrible sight of her daughter, she broke down. "This is Jinx Kingsley's doing," she cried. "I warned Meg what would happen if she took Leo away from her."

"Hush, Caroline," said her husband, putting his arm about her shoulders. "I'm sure this has nothing to do with Jinx."

Her anger was immediate and terrible. "You stupid man," she screamed, thrusting him from her. "This is your baby lying here, not some parishioner's child. Look at her, Charles. Your Meggy, your darling, reduced to this." She held a fluttering hand to her lips. "Oh GOD!" The word exploded from her with hatred. "How can you be so blind? First Russell. Now Leo and Meg." She rounded on Superintendent Cheever. "I've been so worried. From the moment she said Leo had left Jinx for her, I've been so worried. She's a murderer. She and her beastly father. They're both murderers."

Calmly, Dr. Clarke pulled the shroud over Meg's head, then took the mother's hand and tucked it into the crook of his arm. "We have to leave now, Mrs. Harris," he said gently. "Would you like to say good-bye to Meg before we go?"

She stared at him with drowned eyes. "Meg's dead."

"I know." He smiled into the sad face. "But this isn't a bad place. God is here, too."

"Yes," she said, "you're right." She turned and took a final look at the shrouded corpse. "God bless you, my darling," she whispered through her tears. "God bless you."

Frank Cheever watched Bob usher the wretched woman through the doors, and it crossed his mind that perhaps pathologists earned their salaries after all. He gestured awkwardly to Meg's father. "I'm not as good at this as Dr. Clarke," he said apologetically, "but if you'd like some privacy with your daughter-" He broke off.

"No," said the vicar. "God and Meg both know what's in my heart. I can't say any more to her than I've said already." He led the way to the doors, then faltered. "You really mustn't pay any attention to what Caroline said, Superintendent. Jinx would never have done anything to harm Meg."

"Are you sure about that, sir?"

"Yes," he said simply. "She's rather a fine person, you know. I've always admired her courage."

THE NIGHTINGALE CLINIC, SALISBURY-10:00 A.M.

The telephone rang in Jinx's room, fraying her nerves with its jangling peal. She pushed herself out of the chair and reached reluctantly for the receiver. "Hello," she said.

"It's your father, Jane. I'm sending the car to collect you." Fear ripped through her like burning acid. What did he know? There'd been no mention of Meg and Leo in the papers or on the television news. Her fingers clenched involuntarily round the receiver, knuckles whitening under the strain, but her voice was calm. "Fine," she said, "send the car by all means, it's no skin off my nose. I never wanted to be here in the first place. But I'm not coming home, Adam. I'll tell the driver to take me back to Richmond, and if he refuses to do that, then I'll call a taxi and go to the station. Is that what you intended to achieve by this phone call?"

There was an ominous silence at the other end.

"Leave things as they are or I promise I'll discharge myself." Her voice hardened. "And this time, you'll lose me for good. Do you understand, Adam? I'll take out an injunction to prevent you coming within a mile of my house." She slammed the receiver down with unnecessary force, and sank onto the edge of the bed as the strength seeped like sawdust from her knees and thighs. She felt the beginnings of a headache sawing away behind her eyes, and squeezed her temples tightly with shaking fingers.

The flash of memory that burst in her brain was blinding in its clarity. Meg on her knees, begging ... please ... please ... please... She looked in confusion on her friend's terrified face, felt a corresponding rush of terror drive her own heart into a frenzy, before nausea sent her staggering into the bathroom to retch in agony into the lavatory. Shaking violently, she lowered herself to the tiled floor, and as she laid her cheek on the cold ceramic, she clung in desperation to the fact that, despite all her friend's faults, she had loved Meg Harris.

But it was an hour before the shaking stopped.

THE WHITE HART HOTEL, WINCHESTER-10:10 A.M.

"We know very little about your daughter," said Superintendent Cheever to the Reverend Harris and his wife. "As I explained, we had some difficulty finding you. There is almost nothing of a personal nature in Meg's flat, and we can only presume she was in the process of moving out of it."

He had balked at driving them to the police station and the sterility of an interview room, opting instead for a small upstairs parlor in a hotel near the mortuary, where Fraser and a WPC could sit unobtrusively in the background taking notes. He had abandoned the flamboyance of silk bow tie and silk handkerchief in favor of somber black, and he looked to be what he really was, an ordinary man in ordinary surroundings, unthreatening and rather kind. Mrs. Harris sat hunched in an armchair near the half-open window, a cup of tea, untouched, on the table next to her. Her husband sat on a hard chair beside her, clearly unsure whether to comfort her or leave her to come to terms with her grief alone, holding his own grief in check for fear of making things worse for her. Cheever felt sorry for both of them, but he reserved his deepest sympathy for Meg's father. Why was it, he wondered, that men were expected to disguise their feelings?

"She was going on holiday with Leo," said Charles quietly, "but she didn't say anything about moving out of her flat. Not to me anyway." He looked irresolutely at his wife.

"She didn't tell you anything, Charles, because she knew you'd disapprove." Caroline mopped her red-rimmed eyes. "She had an abortion ten years ago. She didn't tell you about that, either, did she? And why not? Because you'd have ruined her life for her." She crumpled the handkerchief between her palms. "Well, it's ruined anyway, but it might not have been if she'd been able to talk to you as a father instead of a priest. Everything had to be kept secret in case you preached at her."

Her husband stared at her, the planes of his face bleached white with shock. "I didn't know," he murmured. "I'm sorry."

"Of course you're sorry. Now," she added bitterly. "I'm sorry too. Sorry for her, sorry for the baby, sorry for me. I'd like to have been a grandmother." Her voice broke on a sob. "It's such a waste. It's all such a waste." She turned to the Superintendent. "We have a son, but he's never wanted to marry. He wanted to be ordained like his father." Her eyes filled again. "It's such a terrible waste."

Cheever waited while she fought for control. "You implied that you knew Meg was moving out of her flat, Mrs. Harris," he said at last. "Could you tell us about that? Where was she going?"

"To live with Leo. He had a house. It made more sense for her to move in with him."

"Do you know where the house is?"

"Somewhere in Chelsea. Meg was going to give me the address when she came back from France. Don't Leo's parents know?"

Frank sidestepped the question. "They're very shocked at the moment."

There was a painful silence.

"Have you met Sir Anthony and Lady Wallader?" Cheever asked next.

Caroline's mouth puckered tragically. "We never even met Leo," she said. "How could we have met his parents? It was all so quick. We had an invitation to Jinx's wedding sitting on the mantelpiece, and then Meg phoned to say Leo wanted to marry her instead." She shook her head in disbelief.

Charles stirred on his chair. "She rang on the Saturday morning," he murmured quietly, "the eleventh, I believe, and I was rather upset by the news. I wondered what sort of a man Leo was to abandon his fiancee so close to the wedding in order to take up with her best friend." He lifted his hands in resignation. "She told me that she'd known Leo far longer than Jinx had, and that he'd only proposed to Jinx because of some silly row they'd had. 'He wanted to spite me,' she said." He paused for a moment. "I forget sometimes that she's a grown woman-was a grown woman," he corrected himself, "and yes, I can see now that I tended to preach, but it was so clear to me that this man was not to be relied upon, and I'm afraid we had a terrible argument about him. I said his behavior was neither mature nor honorable, and that if he was prepared to treat Jinx so shabbily, then Meg would be wise to have nothing more to do with him." His voice faltered slightly. "I'm afraid she hung up on me and we never spoke again, although I believe Caroline tried later the same day." He turned to his wife. "That's right, isn't it?"

She wrapped her arms about her thin body and hugged herself tightly. "You know it is. You were listening." She gave a shuddering sigh. "She wouldn't hear me out either, but at least we didn't scream at each other. I said, why had she never mentioned him before if she'd known him so long? And she said there were a million things she'd never mentioned. It was her life and there was no rule that compelled children to tell their parents everything. I blame her father," she said in a drained voice, turning her shoulder to freeze Charles out. "She couldn't leave home quick enough to get away from him, so of course there were things we would never know."

The Superintendent absorbed this in silence, careful to keep his face neutral. "When did she tell you she was moving in with Leo?" he asked after a moment.

"During that telephone call. 'We're going to live together until we get married,' she said. 'Leo has a house in Chelsea and I'm moving my stuff in now, but I don't want you to tell Dad because I can't take any more lectures.' Then she said they were going to France until the fuss died down and that she'd phone her answering machine regularly for messages." She fingered her handkerchief, pulling out the crumples. "She said we'd stop worrying once we met Leo, and promised to bring him down as soon as they came home. And I said, what about poor Jinx? And Meg said Jinx would survive because she always has. Then we said good-bye." She held the handkerchief to her eyes.

To Frank's ears, this description of Meg was an unflattering one and he wondered if Mrs. Harris was aware of the picture she was painting. "Tell me about Meg," he invited. "What was she like?"

Her sad face brightened. "She was a beautiful person. Kind, thoughtful, very loving. 'Don't worry, Mummy, I'll always be here'-that's what she used to say." The tears welled again. "She was so intelligent. She could do anything she set her mind to. 'I'm going places,' she always told me. Everyone adored her."

Frank turned to the vicar. "Is that how you saw her, sir?"

Charles glanced at his wife's rigid back. "She had faults, Superintendent, we all do. She was a little self-centered perhaps, rather too careless of other people's feelings, but yes, she was a popular girl." He folded his hands in his lap. "Our son, Simon, could give you a better idea of what she was like. He's worked in various London parishes over the years and saw far more of her than we did. As Caroline told you, we effectively lost her when she went to university. She used to come down two or three times a year, but other than that we had very little contact."

"Is he still in London, sir?"

"No, he was given a parish of his own two years ago. It's a village called Frampton, ten miles to the northeast of Southampton." He lifted the cuff of his cassock to look at his watch. "But he'll be at the vicarage in Littleton Mary by now. I thought it would be easier for us if he came up."

"Easier for you, you mean," said Caroline unsteadily, swinging round to face him. "You think he's going to take your side."

Charles shook his head. "There's no question of anyone taking sides, Caroline. I hoped we could support each other."

Her cheeks blazed suddenly. "There's been too much secrecy. I can't stand it anymore." She reached out a claw to clutch at the Superintendent's sleeve. "I knew we'd lost her," she said. "I prayed we'd only lost her to Leo, but in my heart of hearts, I knew she was dead. I kept asking myself why Jinx had tried to kill herself." Her eyes rolled alarmingly and Frank glanced towards the WPC for assistance, but Caroline went on in an unsteady voice: "She did the same thing after Russell was murdered, you know, but that time she tried to starve herself to death. If it hadn't been for her father, she'd have succeeded. This is Jinx's doing, Superintendent. She won't have her men taken away from her."

"You're talking nonsense, Caroline," said her husband severely.

"Oh, am I?" she snapped. "Well, at least I'm not a hypocrite. You know the truth as well as I do. We're talking about jealousy over Meg, Charles, something you know all about."

He pressed his hands to his face and breathed deeply for several seconds. "I really don't think I can continue, Superintendent," he said unexpectedly. "I do apologize. Can I urge you to talk to Simon? I'm sure he's the best person to give you an objective view of this sorry business."

Fraser, who was sitting a few yards apart, looked up and caught Cheever's eye. "Sorry business" was a peculiarly cold-blooded way to describe a brutal murder, but then it hadn't occurred to either of them at that stage how much the Reverend Charles Harris had disliked his daughter.

THE NIGHTINGALE CLINIC-1:00 P.M.

"Are you busy, Dr. Protheroe?"

He glanced up from his desk to find Jinx hovering, poised for flight, in the doorway, a look of indecision in her dark eyes. "We're very informal here, you know. You can call me Alan if you want."

The idea of anything so intimate appalled her. "I'd rather stick with 'Dr. Protheroe,' if you don't mind."

"Fine," he said indifferently. "Come in then."

She stayed where she was. "It's not important. I can come back later."

He gestured towards a vacant armchair. "Come in," he said again. "I could do with a break from the paperwork." He stood up and walked around the desk, ushering her in and shutting the door behind her. "What's up?"

With her escape route barred, Jinx accepted that the die was cast. She crossed the parquet flooring, but instead of sitting down, took up a position by the window and gazed out across the garden. "My father phoned to say he wants me out of here. I wondered why. Do you know?"

"No," he said, resuming his seat and swinging round to look at her back.

"Did you phone him about the police visit?"

"No."

She turned round to study his face closely, and nodded in relief. "Then I don't understand," she said. "Why does he want me to leave?''

"I suppose it may have something to do with the fax I sent him." He reached inside his top drawer and removed both the fax in question and the reply he had received that morning. "Read them," he invited. "My extraordinarily anodyne letter is typical of a hundred more on file, so why should your father find it threatening?''

She perched on the edge of the armchair and read both pieces of paper before handing them back to him. "What was your brief?'' She chewed nervously on the side of her thumb.

"What he says. To let you recover at your own speed. He didn't want psychiatrists meddling."

Why not? What was there to fear from psychiatrists this time? What did Adam think she could tell them? What could she tell them? "Then it must be your invitation to talk about Russell's death," she said slowly. "Wild horses wouldn't make him do that, and certainly not with me present."

"What's he afraid of?"

"Nothing."

Why did she keep lying to him? he wondered. And why this need to protect her father when it was so very clear she thought he'd murdered her husband? "There must be something, Jinx, or it wouldn't require wild horses to drag it out of him," he said reasonably.

"There's nothing," she insisted. "It's just that as far as Adam is concerned, Russell didn't exist. His name's never mentioned. The episode is forgotten history."

Protheroe mulled this over. ' 'You obviously think your father views your tragedy as a 'forgotten episode,' " he said thoughtfully. "But is that how you see it too?"

She didn't answer.

"Tell me about your father's background," he suggested, next. "Where did he come from?"

She spoke in quick, jerky sentences. "I only know what Betty's told me. Adam never talks about his past. He was born in the East End of London. He was the third of five children. His father and two older brothers were merchant seamen and all died when their ships were sunk in the North Atlantic. His younger brother and sister were evacuated to Devon while he remained with his mother to face the blitz. His education was minimal. He learned more from the black marketeers working out of the docks than he ever learned in school. By the end of the war he had amassed a list of contacts abroad and enough money to set up as an importer. The first goods he shipped in were silks, cottons, and cosmetics-they arrived on his seventeenth birthday. He doubled his money overnight by flogging the lot on the black market, and he's never looked back. He began life as a crook-knew the Kray twins very well. That's all I know."

He believed her. If Adam Kingsley was anything like she described him, he was a man who compartmentalized every aspect of his life. Rather like his daughter. It would be interesting to discover whether he, too, closed doors on dark rooms and threw away the keys. The chances were high that he did. "As far as Adam was concerned, Russell didn't exist," Jinx had said.

"What happened to his mother?" Protheroe asked now.

"I don't know. He didn't have much to do with her after he married my mother. As far as I can make out, neither family approved of the marriage."

"And the brother and sister? What happened to them?"

"They went back to London after the war, presumably to live with their mother. The only thing Adam has ever said on the subject is that he's always regarded them as strangers because he and they grew up apart."

"Does he still feel like that?"

She slipped down into the chair and laid her head against the back of it. "He hasn't spoken to either of them for over thirty years. Uncle Jo emigrated to Australia and hasn't been heard of since, and Aunt Lucy married a black man. My father severed all his ties with her the day she walked up the aisle."

"Because her husband was black?"

"Of course. He's a racist. Betty used to know Lucy quite well when they were all younger. She told me once that Adam tried to stop the wedding."

"How?"

With shaking fingers, she lit a cigarette. "Betty was very drunk. I'm not sure she was telling the truth."

"What did she say?''

She took quick pulls on the cigarette, considering her answer. "That Adam tried to scare Lucy's fiance off with a beating," she said in a rush, "but that Lucy went ahead and married him anyway. It might be true. He really does hate black people."

Alan watched her for a moment. "How do you feel about that?"

"Ashamed."

He waited. "Because your father's a bully?" he suggested.

She could taste hot, sweet bile in her mouth and drew in a lungful of smoke to mask it. "Yes-no. Mostly because I should have sought Lucy and her family out years ago and made a stand-but I never did."

Veronica Gordon was right about the eyes, he was thinking. What the hell was going on inside her head, that she could look so frightened and sound so composed. "Why not?"

She turned her face to the ceiling. "Because I was afraid the whipping boys would be punished if I did."

"Meaning your brothers."

"Not necessarily. Any whipping boy will do," she said flatly. "If I'd sought out my aunt, then Betty would have been taken to task because she knew Lucy as a child and would have been accused of being the instigator. But it's more often the boys than not."

"Are we talking literally or metaphorically? Does your father physically beat your brothers?"

"Yes."

"So was Russell another whipping boy, do you think?" he asked mildly.

He caught her unawares and she stared at him in shock. "My father didn't kill him," she said, her voice rising. "The police ruled him out very early on."

"I was talking metaphorically, Jinx."

She didn't answer immediately. "I don't think you were," she said, lowering her gaze, "but it doesn't make any difference anyway. Russell was never punished for my shortcomings."

"No," he agreed. "I suspect you were punished for his." He toyed with his pen. "How much do you know about your mother? Why did both families disapprove of the match, for example?"

"Her people were middle-class and my father's were working-class. I presume it was straightforward snobbery on her side and inverted snobbery on his, and I don't suppose it helped that he made money out of black marketeering." She was silent for a moment. "I know he adored her."

"Did he tell you that?"

"No, he never talks about her."

"Then how do you know?"

"Because Betty told me. Her name was Imogen Jane Nicholls, she was the only child of a doctor, privately educated, and very much a lady, and he has photographs of her all over his office walls."

He thought of the name on Jinx's file cover. Jane Imogen Nicola Kingsley. "Do you look like her as well?"

"Of course I do," she said with a kind of desperation. "Adam set out to re-create her."

He couldn't fault the desperation-it was there in her voice-but he doubted it had anything to do with her mother. "Even your father can't perform miracles, Jinx," he said with a touch of irony, as he watched the ash on her cigarette lengthen and curl. "I suspect that little scenario is more in your stepmother's mind than his. We all need ways of coming to terms with a partner's indifference. None of us is immune from pride." He nudged the wastepaper basket towards her with his toe. "You should know that."

THE VICARAGE, LITTLETON MARY-1:15 P.M.

Fraser watched Cheever's courteous and sympathetic handling of this devastated family with a far more willing admiration than he had felt for Maddocks yesterday. The Superintendent knew as well as he did that there were some strange undercurrents at work, but never for one moment did he pressure either of the Harris parents into saying what they were.

They drove in convoy back to Littleton Mary, with Mrs. Harris and a motherly WPC in the leading one, and himself, Cheever, and Mr. Harris in the car behind. There was little conversation. The vicar clearly found talking difficult, and the Superintendent was content to leave him to his thoughts. Where "initiative" was Maddocks's watchword, "patience" was Cheever's.

In retrospect, of course, Fraser had to ask himself whether Maddocks's insensitive approach wouldn't have been more appropriate, for it was Cheever's willingness to take his time that gave rise to the events that followed. Maddocks would have squeezed every last drop of information out of them, irrespective of the trauma they were suffering, and Charles could not have conspired with Simon to keep the information about Meg and Russell's affair to themselves. But would justice have been better served, Fraser always wondered, if they'd known about it then instead of later?

As they drew up behind the other car in the vicarage driveway, Charles Harris touched a hand to his dog collar as if seeking reassurance. "Could I suggest that I have a quick word with Simon first," he said rapidly, "just to explain why you're here, and then perhaps you could talk to him outside away from his mother? It's important you get a clear picture of Meg, and I'm afraid you won't get that if Caroline is listening."

The Superintendent nodded. "I'll ask WPC Graham to take Mrs. Harris inside. Sergeant Fraser and I will wait here."

It was five minutes before Simon emerged, his thin face looking very drawn. He ushered them round the corner of the house to some chairs grouped about a table on the lawn. "Dad's asked me to tell you about Meg,'' he said, sitting down, "but I'm not sure-'' He took off his glasses abruptly to pinch the bridge of his nose. "I'm sorry," he said, struggling for composure. "It's all been a bit of a shock." He breathed deeply over the tears that were crowding his throat. "I'm sorry," he said again.

"That's all right, sir," said Frank. "Would it be easier if we asked you questions?"

Simon nodded.

"Your father says you worked in London for several years and saw more of Meg than they did. Perhaps you could tell us something about her lifestyle. Did she have many friends, for example? Did she go out a lot? Did she enjoy discos, pubs, things of that sort?"

"Yes," said Simon, "all of those. She loved life, Superintendent." He wiped his eyes with the sleeve of his shirt, then put his glasses back on. "She had a very happy personality, people always enjoyed being with her."

Frank twisted his chair against the sunlight. "That's how your mother described her," he said, "but your father seemed to have reservations. Why is that, do you think? Did he and Meg not get on?"

Simon's expression was unreadable because the sun was reflecting off his lenses, and Frank wished he'd had the sense to position him better at the beginning. "No, Dad and Meg got on fine," he said, but his tone was too flat and lacked conviction. He was silent for a moment. "Look, perhaps it would be simpler after all if I just told you what Dad's asked me to say. He's worried you've fixed on Jinx Kingsley as a suspect because of what happened to Russell." He took off his glasses again and laid them on the table, fishing in his trouser pocket for a handkerchief to blow his nose. "It's not much fun, this," he said by way of apology. "I've been so angry with Meg for the last two weeks, and now-well, you never expect anyone to die." He took a deep breath to steady himself. "The irony is, it's my job to comfort people in this position, tell them it's the whole history of their love that matters, not the two small weeks of anger''- he blew his nose-"but it's only when you experience it yourself that you realize how patronizing that is."

"We can only do our best, sir," said Frank, giving the man's shoulder an awkward pat. "In this job, we run up against it all the time. Such sadness everywhere and no easy answers."

Oddly enough, Simon seemed to find this trite response rather comforting, perhaps because it proved to him that he wasn't alone in offering banalities by way of consolation. He rested his hands on the table and toyed with his glasses. "The reason Dad didn't want Mum listening to this," he said, "is that she never really knew what Meg was like. She knew Meg had a lot of boyfriends but she assumed the relationships were fairly casual." He corrected himself immediately. "Well, of course, they were casual, but casual in Meg's terms, not in my mother's. I suppose you'd describe her as promiscuous, except that that gives a false impression of her because we tend to use it pejoratively only where women are concerned." He gave an uncertain smile. "I don't really know how to explain this to you without setting up prejudices in your minds. You had to know Meg. She was very innocent in an odd sort of way. She loved having fun."

Fraser raised his head. "It sounds to me as though you're saying she enjoyed sex, sir, but didn't want the commitment of a relationship. Is that so unusual these days?''

"No," said Simon with relief, "but I'm sure you can appreciate what my mother would think if she ever found out. She's very straitlaced." He fell silent.

Fraser waited a moment. "In fact, sir," he said when Simon didn't continue and the Superintendent gave him the nod, "your mother gives the impression that it's your father who's straitlaced. She refers to his preaching and the fact that Meg couldn't leave home fast enough to get away from him. She talks about the fact that they had arguments and that he was always lecturing her over the phone. She also knew about Meg's abortion, which your father clearly didn't. Are you sure she's as ignorant as you suggest?"

Simon nodded unhappily. "Yes, but I'm afraid you'll have to take my word for it. Mum likes to think she knew what sort of life Meg led, but it's not true. In fact, Meg only ever lied to her because she didn't want to upset her."

"So was the abortion a lie?"

"No, that did happen. But she didn't tell Mum about it until they had their row over Leo. It's one of the reasons I was so angry with her. If she'd only come down and talked to them in person, instead of giving them ultimatums over the phone about the fact that it was her life and she could do what she liked with it, then they might not have taken it quite so badly." He raised his glasses off the table and swung them from side to side, watching the pendulum motion with absorbed fascination. "She said a lot of things that I'm sure she regretted afterwards."

Fraser glanced at the Superintendent before asking his next question. "Are you saying her announcement about her relationship with Leo caused friction between your parents?"

Simon squeezed the bridge of his nose again. "It's been a nightmare," he said after a moment. "I think the trouble was that Meg knew she was behaving badly, so she set out to defend her position right from the word go. Dad, of course, homed straight in on her betrayal of Jinx, and Mum homed in on the fact that she must have been sleeping with Leo. If only she'd just apologized and left it at that." He looked bleakly at the Sergeant. "We never do, though, do we? It's human nature to justify ourselves."

"What did she say?"

"I only know what she told me afterwards. She phoned me about lunchtime, but by then I'd had Mum on the phone in floods, so I was pretty angry as well." He held the handkerchief to his eyes. "We all said things we wish we hadn't, and now it's too late." He breathed deeply again, to calm himself. "As I understand it, she said Dad was a sanctimonious hypocrite who lusted after anything in a skirt, including her and Jinx, but hadn't got the balls to do anything about it, and Mum was a frigid prude who couldn't bear the thought of anyone enjoying sex. Meg said she'd told her about the abortion to prove there was at least one woman who didn't see babies as the only reason for having intercourse." He caught the look of interest that flashed in Fraser's eyes.

"I'm telling you what she said, Sergeant," he murmured tiredly, "I'm not saying it's true. She was defending herself, so she went for their weaknesses. My mother is a prude, in so far as she deplores modern sexual practices, but she's not frigid. My father is extremely fond of Jinx because she shares his interest in the classics, but he doesn't lust after her. If Meg had telephoned from France, or if Jinx hadn't driven her car into a wall, the storm would have blown over in a day or two. As it was, my parents were left blaming each other for what they see as their fault, namely Meg's cavalier theft of her friend's fiance, and Jinx's resulting suicide attempt. You really must understand what an impossible situation they found themselves in. Jinx's family wanted scapegoats-not unreasonably in the circumstances-but the only scapegoats available were my wretched parents. They've had to put up with some fairly strong abuse, so it's hardly surprising they feel responsible."

Fraser nodded as he turned back through the pages of his notebook. "Did you know about your sister's abortion before your mother did?"

"Yes."

"When did she have it?"

"A long time ago. After she came down from Oxford, I think. She was much more careful after that."

"Do you know who the father was?"

"No. I don't think she did either."

"Did she tell you about it at the time?"

He nodded. "I drove her to the hospital to have it done."

"Did you approve?"

For the first time Simon smiled. "It doesn't matter whether I did or didn't."

"But you must have had an opinion, sir."

"Funnily enough, no. Where Meg was concerned, I never gave opinions. She wouldn't have listened to them."

Fraser found the page he was looking for. "You said: 'It would be simpler if I just told you what my father wants me to say. He's worried that you've fixed on Jinx Kingsley as a suspect.' Could you expand those remarks, sir?"

Simon nodded. "Apparently my mother keeps accusing Jinx of murdering Meg and Leo, and he's afraid you'll believe her." He looked inquiringly at the other man, but got no reaction. "But Jinx wouldn't have done it," he said. "She and Meg were more like sisters than friends."

"Even more reason to be angry then when Meg stole her fiance," suggested Fraser. "Are you saying that wouldn't have upset Miss Kingsley?"

"She says not. I went to see her on Wednesday and she was very bullish about it, asked me to tell Meg she bore them no resentment and said she wished everyone would stop worrying about it."

"Miss Kingsley's suffering from amnesia, sir. How can she know what she felt at the time?''

"I don't know, Sergeant, but I believe her and so does my father." He leaned forward to emphasize his point. "We've known her for years, and we can't accept she's a murderer. She certainly didn't murder Russell. She was with Meg that afternoon. Meg was her alibi."

The Superintendent nodded thoughtfully. "You said your father took Meg to task for her betrayal of Jinx. Am I right in thinking that's why you were angry with her as well?"

"Yes. Jinx didn't deserve to be treated so shabbily. She's been through hell one way and another, but she's never allowed it to sour her. She's very generous." He jerked his head towards the parish church across the road. "Helped Dad out with his steeple fund five years ago, persuaded her father to stump up for a Romanian orphans' charity I'm involved with. She's a very fine person."

Frank smiled agreement. "You have a high opinion of her."

"Very."

"Rather higher perhaps than you had of your sister? People who love having fun tend to be somewhat selfish and egocentric. Quite often, they're the black sheep of the family."

Simon looked at him. "Yes," he said simply. "Meg was certainly that."