Dark Room

*21*

WEDNESDAY, 29TH JUNE, THE NIGHTINGALE CLINIC, SALISBURY-5:00 P.M.

Dr. Protheroe stood in Jinx's open doorway, watching her. She was speaking on the telephone, body rigid with tension, fingers clenching the receiver, shoulders unnaturally stiff. Her father, he guessed, for he doubted anyone else could elicit so much nervous energy. He remembered another woman standing in just this way listening to a voice at the other end of the line. His wife, hearing her own death sentence. I'm so sorry, Mrs. Protheroe. How long? It's difficult to say. How long? Twelve months-eighteen, if we're lucky.

Jinx watched him while she spoke. "What's wrong?" she asked as she replaced the receiver.

He shook his head. "Nothing. I was thinking of something else. Bad news?"

"No, good," she said dispiritedly. "They've let Miles go."

"With or without charges?"

"Without." She climbed onto her bed and sat cross-legged in the middle of it. "Kennedy was able to prove he was somewhere else."

"You don't seem very happy about it."

"Adam was on his mobile. I could hear Betty crying in the background. I think the sword has finally snapped its thread."

"Are we talking about the sword of Damocles?"

She nodded. "Adam's had it hanging over their heads for years. The trouble is..." She lapsed into one of her silences.

"They were too stupid to realize it," he suggested.

She didn't say anything.

"So what was Miles really doing that night?"

She pressed her hands flat on the counterpane, then released them, apparently intrigued by the depressions they'd made. "Cocaine," she said suddenly. "In between gambling his nonexistent fortune away. He and Fergus are in hock up to their eyeballs." She was silent for a moment, stroking and pummeling the bed. "Adam paid off fifty thousand pounds on their gambling debts in March, and he said if they ever gambled again he'd throw them out and disinherit them. He's had them watched for the last four weeks."

Alan took up her favorite position against the dressing table. "Why?"

"Because Betty sold the last of her shares halfway through May and he guessed it was to cover their losses."

"So why didn't he make good his threat then?"

She smiled rather grimly. "I imagine he wanted to know who he'd be dealing with when the boys failed to pay up."

"They're over twenty-one," said Alan dispassionately. "He's not responsible for their debts."

"You're back in your ivory tower again," she said, two spots of angry color flaring in her cheeks. "Do you honestly believe anyone would bother to take Adam Kingsley's sons to the cleaners if they didn't think they'd get their money? You've seen what Miles is like. Now imagine what he and Fergus will have said about Adam and Franchise Holdings while high on cocaine. There'll be a video somewhere full of damaging allegations."

Alan folded his arms. "He can't have a worse press than he's had in the last couple of days, so what does it matter what your brothers might have said?"

"It would have mattered four weeks ago," she said through gritted teeth. "Four weeks ago he was planning a society wedding and he couldn't afford any scandal, not if his precious Jinx was to have her day. Miles was right. It is my fault. If I'd had the sense to tell them I didn't want to go through with the bloody thing, well..." She fell silent again.

He watched her for a moment. "As a matter of interest, why didn't he kick them out at twenty-one and tell them to fend for themselves?"

She didn't answer immediately. "Because they'd have done this anyway," she said at last. "If he'd turned them loose, he'd still be expected to pay their debts. I think he hoped that by keeping them close he could check their worst excesses." She bent her head so that he couldn't see her expression. "They've always wanted to throw his money in his face the way I do, but get-rich-quick schemes were all they could think of."

Was that her subtle revenge, he wondered, pissing publicly on what her father valued most, his self-made wealth?

"He's making good his threat now," she went on flatly. "He's going to turn them off without a penny and divorce Betty."

"Do you blame him?"

"No."

"What will happen to them?"

"I don't know. I doubt he can leave Betty penniless because the courts won't allow it"-she pressed her forehead into her clasped hands-"but I'm not sure about Miles and Fergus. He says he doesn't care anymore."

She was more upset than he would have expected. If she had any love for her stepmother and her two brothers, she had always hid it well. "There is a bright side," he said after a moment. "If your father's had them watched for the last four weeks, then presumably one thing you can be sure of is that neither of them is guilty of the murder of Leo and Meg, or for that matter responsible for the attack on me."

"I never thought they were," she muttered at the bed.

"Didn't you?" he said, injecting surprise into his voice. "They've always struck me as likely candidates. They're self-centered, not overly bright, and very used to getting their own way, usually through you or their mother. I can imagine both seeing murder as a solution to a problem."

"It never occurred to me," she said stubbornly.

Of course it didn't, because you've always known who the murderer is. "I wish you'd tell me why you don't trust me," he said in a carefully impassive voice. "What have I ever said or done to make you feel you can't?"

She rested her chin on her hand and regarded him just as impassively. "How do you know it wasn't me who attacked you?"

He took the sudden switch in his stride. "It didn't look like you."

"Matthew says it was dark, the person was dressed in black, and the only description you could give was five feet ten and medium build."

"How does Matthew know what I said?" asked Alan.

"Everyone knows."

"Veronica Gordon," he murmured. "One of these days that woman's going to talk herself out of a job." He watched her curiously for a moment. "Look, there are plenty of compelling reasons why it couldn't have been you. You're too weak to wield a sledgehammer. You've no reason to want to attack me. You didn't know when I was coming back, and I'd ordered half-hourly checks to be made on you before I left. If you'd been out of your room, Amy or Veronica would have noticed."

"Except that I was out of my room."

He made no attempt to pretend surprise.

"After Sister Gordon did her nine o'clock rounds," she went on, "Amy took over. I was in bed with my light out the first time she came. The second time, I was in the bathroom in darkness, and she didn't bother to check whether the pillow I'd stuffed down in the bed was me or not. After that, I got dressed and went outside. I was wearing black jeans and a black sweater. I'm five feet ten, and before the crash I weighed ten stone, so my clothes can easily take some padding."

"Go on," he said.

"I wanted to know why Adam had sent Kennedy over, so I thought I'd waylay you. I waited under the beech tree until I was so tired I couldn't wait any longer; then I went back to bed and fell asleep with my clothes on. I was having a nightmare when Amy found me. I'm amazed she didn't report it. She was scared stiff I'd been doing something I shouldn't and might be held responsible." She examined his face. "Or perhaps she did report it and you haven't told me."

He shook his head. "No."

"Then obviously she trusts me more than she trusts you, Dr. Protheroe."

He lifted an eyebrow. "Is that what this was? A lesson in who's trustworthy and who isn't?"

"More or less," she said, refusing to look at him. "You already knew I was outside-Matthew heard you calling my name-but you've never mentioned it, not to me anyway."

Damn Matthew to hell and back! He was going to shred the little toe-rag the first chance he got. "Only because I realized I'd made a mistake. I thought I saw you at the side of the road as I drove in, but as it wasn't you who attacked me, I saw no point in mentioning it. Does that set your mind at rest?"

"No," she said bluntly. "You talk about trust as if it can be had for the asking. Well, it can't, not when you're up to your neck in it. All I know for certain is that my father's paying you to look after me, that for some reason he sent his solicitor over to talk to you on Monday afternoon, and that shortly afterwards you ordered half-hourly checks on me before disappearing." A glint-of humor?-appeared in her eyes. "Then, when you finally reappear, you're attacked with a sledgehammer and the police come down on me like a ton of bricks."

Thoughtfully, he scratched his beard. "You've run those facts into a related sequence when my interpretation is there's no relation between them at all."

"Why did Kennedy come and see you then?''

"Assuming there were no hidden agendas at work, to remind me that I promised your father you wouldn't be subjected to therpy you didn't want. Kennedy taped our conversation, and as I haven't heard anything since, I've concluded that I said the right things in response and not the wrong things."

"What did you say?" she shot at him.

"I suggested it was Adam and not you who didn't want you remembering anything." He noted her alarmed expression. "I also said he'd misread your character entirely and that he was worrying unnecessarily about any rehashing of Russell's murder because you didn't share his anxieties on the subject. Mind you, at that stage I was unaware that Meg and Leo were dead, or that you knew about it." Her alarm deepened. "If I had, I'd have been even more forceful in my remarks on his misreading of your character, because I've never met anyone, man or woman, who was as self-reliant as you are."

She plucked at the counterpane. "It's something you learn very quickly when you find yourself on the wrong end of a murder inquiry," she said. "You never stop watching your back."

"Yet, you're so adept at getting everyone else to watch it for you," he said mildly. "Amy for one, Matthew for another."

She smiled grudgingly. "Poor Amy is watching her own back. She's terrified of getting the sack, but you can't use what I've told you as an excuse. You're my doctor and everything I've said was said in confidence." She changed tack. "According to Matthew, the police think the sledgehammer that was used to attack you belongs to the clinic. Is that right?''

"What a mine of information that young man is."

She ignored that. "Is he right?"

"Yes."

"Is there any doubt about it?"

"I don't think so. One of our security officers went looking for it because he knew we had one. It was abandoned in an outbuilding with paint from my Wolseley on the head."

She sat in deep thought for several seconds. "Could your security officer have been mistaken?" she asked suddenly. "I mean, it seems such an odd thing to leave to chance. How could he rely on a sledgehammer being here?" She searched his face eagerly. "He must have brought one with him. It doesn't make sense otherwise."

He found himself moved by the terrible yearning in her amazing eyes. Were Matthew and Amy as easily moved? "Meaning there's another sledgehammer out there somewhere?"

She nodded.

"Okay. If it's there, I'll do my best to find it, but wouldn't it be easier just to tell me who he is?"

Her face took on a closed expression. "Whoever hit you."

He straightened with a sigh. "No, Jinx, it was whoever tried to kill me. You're not the only one watching your back at the moment. Think about that."

Matthew Cornell was lounging against the front porch, smoking a cigarette, when Alan went outside. Alan toyed with the idea of tearing his arms off, then abandoned it as a nonstarter. All in all, he was growing increasingly fond of his ginger-haired convert.

"How's it going, Matthew?"

"Pretty good, Doc. How's the shoulder?"

"So-so." He eased the muscles gently. "Could have been a lot worse."

"Yeah. You could be dead."

Alan watched him out of the corner of his eye. "Any ideas who might have done it? One theory is it was a junky after drugs."

"That's not the way I heard it."

"Is it not?"

"There's only one person in the frame and it sure as hell isn't a junky."

"You mean Miss Kingsley."

"She's the only one with sledgehammers in her background." He ground his cigarette out under his heel.

"Except she doesn't fit the bill. It was a man I saw in my headlights."

"You sure, Doc? You've got a loud voice and I was sitting by my window Monday night, having a quiet smoke. I didn't get the impression you thought it was a man."

"And you told her all about it the next morning."

Matthew grinned at him. "Didn't seem fair not to. It's a mean old world, Doc, and how was I to know you weren't going to tell the police? I knew she was out there. She lit up her face every time she had a fag. I was watching her for about an hour before you came back and got clobbered. You should remember where my room is, upstairs on the corner, with windows facing both ways."

"Are you saying you saw everything that happened?"

"Not everything. I watched Jinx for a while, then some time later I heard you calling and looked out the other window. I saw your car parked, then-wham!-your windshield exploded and I saw a silhouette againt your headlights as you roared backwards and piled into the tree." He lit another cigarette. "I thought, shit, what the fuck is going on and what the fuck do I do about it? And by the time I'd made up my mind, all hell was breaking loose. You were driving up to the front door, blaring your horn, and all the lights were coming on. So I reckoned I'd keep my head down and see what panned out."

"Thanks very much," said Alan tartly. "I could have been dead by the time you came to a decision. You're required to act in good faith, you know, not stick your head in the nearest bucket."

He grinned again. "Yeah, well, I thought it was only your windshield that'd been smashed, not your shoulder, and no one dies of a broken windshield. You should have lights along the drive-then maybe I'd have seen a bit more."

Alan glared at him. "So all you saw was a silhouette," he growled, "and you don't know, any better than I do, who it was."

"That's about the size of it."

"Are you planning to elaborate, or is that all I get?" he said curtly. "It may have escaped your notice, but I suffered an unprovoked attempt on my life two nights ago and I'm not keen for a repeat experience."

Matthew blew a stream of smoke into the air. "It was hardly unprovoked, Doc. The way I remember it, you were threatening to stay there all night till Jinx showed herself. You're too convincing, that's your trouble. The bastard believed you."

Alan had forgotten that. "So what was he doing there?"

"Waiting." He flicked him a sideways glance.

"What for?"

Matthew shrugged. "For whatever he came here to do." He saw thunderclouds gathering on the doctor's face. "Look, Doc, I can guess, same as you can, but that's not to say either of us'd be right. Personally, I can't see that scarecrow in number 12 murdering anyone; therefore there's some maniac wandering around out there trying to shove the blame onto her. Strikes me he'll be shitting bricks in case she spills the beans, so my guess is, he was waiting to have another go at her."

Alan considered this for a moment. "That can't be right. You said she was out there for an hour and you saw her face every time she lit a cigarette. If you saw her, then he must have seen her too, so why not finish her off then?"

Matthew looked down the drive towards where Alan had stopped his car on Monday night. "Because he didn't expect to find her outside. She'd have screamed her head off if he'd crept up on her under the tree."

"Not if he'd hit her from behind. She wouldn't have had time to scream. I didn't."

"Jesus, Doc," said Matthew severely, "you don't have much imagination, do you? He wasn't going to make it look like murder, not after he went to so much trouble to fake suicide last time. He was going to trap her in her room, slit her wrists or string her up from the bathroom door, and you'd have had a suicide on your hands next morning, and the cops would have rubbed their hands and closed their files. My guess is, he's been waiting for days for an opportunity to slip inside and do the business, but he's up against it here. He probably didn't reckon on so many people being on the premises at night. You've got good security, Doc, but then you need to with the sort of fees you charge." He grinned. "There are too many rich bastards in here who'd do their nuts if intruders could walk in and out as they pleased."

"Why did he have the sledgehammer if he didn't plan to hit her with it?"

Matthew shook his head in exasperation. "You're no psychologist. are you? It's the tool of his trade, Doc, and the rule is, you carry the tools with you just in case. Look at the Yorkshire Ripper-he carried his hammer and chisel with him wherever he went. You should study a bit. This guy's an organized nutter, and your average organized nutter doesn't go out unprepared."

"Except we're not talking about a serial killer."

"You reckon? Three murders look like a series to me."

"Come on, Matthew, there was ten years between them, two of the victims were men and one was a woman, and all three victims were linked to Jinx Kingsley. That's not a typical pattern for serial killing."

"Not yet maybe," said Matthew, "but I'd say his control's really slipping now, wouldn't you? There were nine years between Jeffrey Dahmer's first and second murders, then in the next four years he committed another fifteen. Will you still be saying this guy isn't a serial killer when the next poor sod gets bludgeoned to death?" He saw Alan's skepticism. "Anyway, who's to say what he's been doing between then and now? I'll lay money on the fact that he's found some other way to work out aggressions. You should talk to my dad. He's represented creeps like this at trial. They're bloody clever and bloody manipulative, and I'll tell you this for free-if I were Jinx, I'd have amnesia too."

"All she has to do is give his name."

"Which means it'll be her word against his. Get real, Doc. She's the number one suspect, so it stands to reason she's going to try and throw suspicion on someone else. That's the name of the game as far as the police are concerned. She needs proof, and my guess is, there is none. I'd say she's desperately buying time at the moment until she can remember something that will nail the bastard."

"She couldn't be any worse off than she is now."

Matthew flicked his butt onto the drive. "You're forgetting she's been through this once with Russell. She already knows what happens when no one's convicted of a crime. The victim's nearest and dearest live with the guilt forever and tear each other apart in the process. Suspicion's an evil thing, Doc. I know. I've been there. My old man's accused me of some terrible things in the past, not because he knows I've done something, but because he's afraid I've done it."

"So has she told you who it is?"

"There'd be no point. What could a junky do? It's her father she needs to tell. He's the only guy with the clout to sort this bastard out once and for all."

Alan frowned at him. "You haven't suggested that to her, have you?"

"Jesus Christ! Do me a favor!"

"You have to act in good faith, Matthew, and that usually means acting within the law."

Matthew grinned. "I know what good faith is, Doc."

But did he?

The Nightingale employed two gardeners, who were packing up for the evening and who both agreed there had been a sledgehammer in the toolsheds prior to the assault on the doctor. "I used it myself a week or two back," said one, "when I was replacing the fencing posts near the bottom gate."

"Do you remember where you put it when you'd finished?" asked Alan.

He nodded towards the younger man. "Tom here took it back on the trailer, same as always."

Alan turned to the lad. "Do you remember which shed you put it in?"

There was a moment's awkward silence. "I didn't put it nowhere," said Tom, shuffling feet that were too big for him. "I borrowed it out to my dad to do some building work back home. There weren't no harm. We've only used it here once in six months, and Dad's looking after it like it were his own."

ROMSEY ROAD POLICE STATION, WINCHESTER-7:15 P.M.

Frank Cheever found the note from his secretary when he returned to his office later that evening, following a fruitless trip to Salisbury after his bird had already flown. "We couldn't hold him," said Blake. "And if you're interested, the solicitor gave us another photograph as he was leaving." She handed it over. "I think it was meant for you and not for us. He said to remind anyone who was interested that it takes a minimum of five hours to drive from here to Redcar, and another five hours to drive back again."

The Superintendent looked at a picture of Miles and Fergus, laying bets on a racecourse. The time was 3:10 p.m; the date was the the thirteenth and the venue, according to a handwritten piece on the back, was Redcar in Cleveland. "How did Adam Kingsley know Meg and Leo were murdered on the thirteenth?" he grunted suspiciously. "We don't know for sure ourselves when they died."

"Because the thirteenth was the day his daughter faked her car crash," said Maddocks impatiently.

Dr. Protheroe phoned, said the note. The sledgehammer found at the Nightingale Clinic on Tuesday is not the one Harry Elphick saw before the assault. Dr. Protheroe has interviewed the gardeners and has established that the clinic's hammer has been on loan to a Mr. G. Stack for the last two weeks and is still in his possession. Address: 43 Clonmore Avenue, Salisbury. He suggests this rules Miss Kingsley out of suspicion as far as the attack on himself is concerned and further suggests thai you test the sledgehammer in your possession for Leo's and Meg's blood. If it proves positive, he believes this will absolve Miss Kingsley of their murders. There is no way (he asked me to underline "no" twice!) she could have brought the murder weapon with her to the Nightingale, as she was semiconscious when she arrived by ambulance and has not left the premises since. Dr. Protheroe insisted on the following PS: Why am I expected to do DI Maddocks's work for him? I am tempted to say that had the matter been left to the Salisbury police, the above facts would have been unearthed yesterday afternoon.

Frank tossed the note to Maddocks. "Well?" he demanded.

Maddocks read it with a frown. "Not my fault, sir. I can only pursue one line of inquiry at a time."

"Meaning what precisely?"

"Meaning that you never gave me the chance to follow up. The weapon was handed over to us yesterday afternoon, sir, and I've been chauffcuring you all today. Anyway, Bob Clarke's already given it a clean bill of health. There's no blood on it, only paint."

"Well, it's a pity you didn't establish ownership yesterday afternoon," said Frank sharply. "It might have saved us today's wasted exercise."

"Hardly, sir," said Maddocks with careful emphasis. "You'd have been even more inclined to pursue Miles Kingsley if you knew the hammer had come in from outside." He looked at the note again. "I'd like to know what set Dr. Protheroe asking questions of the gardeners. He was listening when Elphick told me he'd seen the sledgehammer before, and believe me, it didn't occur to him any more than it did to me or Fraser that the old boy had got it wrong." He put the paper on the desk. "What's the betting the girl put him up to it after you and I left this afternoon?''

"What are you suggesting now? Some sort of conspiracy theory?"

"I'm just commenting on the way we're being drip-fed information that seems to suit a certain party."

Frank folded himself into his chair and reached for the telephone. "Find out if DS Fraser's back and send him down to my office," he said into the mouthpiece. "Thank you." He leaned back to look at Maddocks. "Go on," he invited.

The DI shrugged. "It's gut instinct. She's our murderer. You see, I've always wondered how I'd do it if I ever wanted to get rid of someone. The received wisdom is, you keep it simple, engineer a reasonable alibi, and deny everything, but she couldn't do that because of Russell's murder. The police were bound to draw parallels, and whatever method she used to do away with Leo and Meg, she would still be in the firing line." He stroked his jaw. "So she's done what I would have done. She's made herself the obvious suspect by tying Leo's and Meg's murders to Russell's ten years ago, and my guess is, she's just waiting for the right moment to prove beyond a shadow of a doubt that the alibi Meg Harris gave her then is rock-solid. Which will leave us floundering because we've busted a gut to tie the three murders together."

"Are you saying she didn't murder Russell but did murder Leo and Meg?"

Maddocks nodded. "Yes. Look, you've read the Met reports. Landy's murder was a contract killing, carried out by one Jason Phelps on the instructions of Adam Kingsley. There was never anyone else in the frame. All this garbage about Adam not allowing Jane to find the body comes from her, and, damn it, she's had a hell of a long time to come up with excuses. She says herself that her brothers have always believed her father was responsible, and that's pretty obvious, frankly, from the way they behave. You don't grow up normal if you think your father's a ruthless murderer. And look at the wife. Drunk as a skunk by ten o'clock in the morning, according to Fordingbridge. We're talking major family breakdown here, and the idea that the daughter's immune from the madness is crazy." He paused to collect his thoughts, nodding briefly to Fraser as he entered the room. "I think she's telling us the truth about Russell. At the time of his death, I think she knew nothing about his affair with Meg. I also think she knew nothing about the murder and was genuinely shocked by it. But I'd argue that ten years of living with the knowledge that her father ordered it and got away with it has left her as damaged as she claims her two brothers to be."

THE NIGHTINGALE CLINIC-7:15 P.M.

Sister Gordon was insistent. "Doctor's orders, Jinx. He wants you moved to a room upstairs."

"Why?"

"Good grief, girl," she said irritably, "do you question everything? How would I know? As usual, no one's bothered to tell me anything."

Jinx glanced towards her French windows. "I'd rather be in a room I can get out of if I have to."

"Yes, well, perhaps that's what's worrying the doctor," said Veronica tartly, who had been putting snippets from the rumor factory together with Alan's peculiar remark on Monday night and his sudden decision to move Jinx to a room upstairs. "I expect he'll feel safer knowing you've only got one exit."

ROMSEY ROAD POLICE STATION-7:25 P.M.

"There's a chance she did know about Meg's affair with Russell at the time of the murder," said Fraser slowly. "According to Hennessey, she told him about it after she lost her baby but, if you remember, her story was that she found some love letters in her attic a year later."

Maddocks put his hands on the Superintendent's desk and leaned forward belligerently. "I'm sure that's not the only lie she's told us. I swear to God, sir, she's leading us all by the nose."

"Why would Meg Harris give her an alibi?"

"Because she convinced Meg she was innocent. Damn it, she's all but convinced you and you hardly know her."

"Five minutes ago you were arguing she didn't kill Russell."

"Five minutes ago there was no evidence she knew about the affair, but you'll never get a better motive for murder than straightforward jealousy. Damn it, everything else I said stands. Even better if it was precious Jane who got away with Russell's murder-she could tie the other murders to it and say: 'But the Met have proof I wasn't involved. They know it was my father.' "

"There's still no evidence she knew about the affair before the event," Eraser pointed out. "If Hennessey's telling the truth, then we only have hearsay evidence that she knew about it at the time of her miscarriage, and that was two weeks after the murder."

"Is there any reason to think he isn't telling the truth?" asked the Superintendent.

Fraser shook his head. "No, but I wouldn't want to rely on him in a witness box. He's pretty hyped up at the moment, swings from anger against Meg for leaving him in the lurch, through anguish when he remembers she's dead, to a sort of sullen protection whenever Miss Kingsley's name is mentioned. I think he thinks Jane is responsible, but I also think he blames Meg for provoking her into it. My guess is, he was fond of them both and doesn't know who to blame."

Frank drew a doodle on a pad in front of him. "How fond?"

"He's known them both a long time." He consulted his notebook. "He was working with Meg at a company called Wellman and Hobbs when Jane was married to Russell."

"I meant, was he sleeping with either of them?"

THE NIGHTINGALE CLINIC-7:30 P.M.

Fergus shouldered his way into Jinx's new room and stood aggressively over Matthew. "I want to speak to my sister," he said, jerking his head towards the door.

Matthew leaned forward to stub out his cigarette in the ashtray on the coffee table. "I assumed the whole point of your being given another room was to stop aggressive visitors barging in," he told her. "I'll bet it was that old fool Elphick who told him where you are."

"You heard me," said Fergus. "On your bike."

Matthew ignored him. "Is he dangerous, or are you happy to speak to him in private?"

"I think I'm safe enough on my own."

"Okay. I'll be down the corridor. A good scream should fetch me back." He raised his skinny frame off the bed and squared up to Fergus. "I hope you're going to behave like a gentleman, Mr. Kingsley."

"Piss off," said Fergus. Matthew smiled gently before bringing his knee up with the speed of an express train into the young man's crotch and pushing him backwards against the wall. "Never judge a book by its cover," he murmured. He cocked a finger at Jinx. "Sorry, but your brother's a creep. I'll see you around."

Jinx waited till he'd gone, then looked down on the slumped, defeated shoulders of her baby brother. "Where's Miles?" she asked him.

"Outside in the car," he said tearfully. "Dad gave him a hell of a beating, then threw us out."

"What about Betty?"

"She's in the car as well," he said shamefacedly. "Look, I know it's a lot to ask but we need a place to stay. We've pooled our petrol in one car, and we've enough to get to Richmond. Miles and Mum said you'd never agree but, well"-he flushed-"well, I said you might and it was worth a try."

She let him stew in his own discomfort for several seconds. "I'll crucify you all if you do a damn thing in that house I don't like," she said crossly. "That means no mess, no gambling, no drugs, no drunkenness, and you bend over backwards to be nice to the Clanceys. Do you understand?"

He nodded. "We'll need a key."

"Try saying: 'Thank you, Jinx, you're a sodding brick. We owe you one.' "

"Thank you, Jinx, you're a sodding brick. We owe you one." He smiled sheepishly. "We'll still need a key."

"The Clanceys have one. I'll phone them and ask them to give it to you when you arrive. There's probably enough food in the freezer to keep you going till I get back." She glared at him. "And you're not to run up phone bills. And you're not to tell Adam where you are. I won't have my house turned into a war zone. Got that?"

"Sure." He rose to his feet. "I knew you'd be okay about it."

"It won't be forever, Fergus."

"I know. Hey, we'll take care of the house, I promise. I'll make sure Miles and Mum behave. And no phone calls. We'll lie low till you get back."

She nodded.

He paused by the door. "To be honest with you, I wasn't really sure you'd say yes. You're not so different from Dad, you know. I guess you were right the other day. You got the good genes and we got the bad ones." He checked himself in case she changed her mind. "But look, I'm grateful. You won't regret this, honestly."

She smiled suddenly. "I know I won't. I'd have had far more to regret if you hadn't asked me, Fergus. I was really afraid this afternoon that I was never going to see any of you again."

He looked surprised. "Why?"

"I didn't think you'd bother with me if Adam chucked you out."

"That's what we thought about you," he said. "I guess we never learned to trust each other. That's pretty sad, really. I mean, if you can't trust family, who the hell can you trust, Jinx?"