Dark Room

epilogue

FRIDAY, 1st JULY, THE NIGHTINGALE CLINIC, SALISBURY-11:00 A.M.

Detective Superintendent Cheever and DS Fraser waited in silence while Jinx read the letter that Simon Harris had left behind on his desk before setting out to take his own life. It was a chilling document, not least because the sickness it revealed was echoed nowhere else in his house, except perhaps in a single cassock which, although it had been cleaned, still showed positive where blood had splattered the front. Despite this and the letter, however, there was considerable unease about Simon's suicide, particularly in respect of the open petrol cans that had turned his car into a fireball, destroying all chance of forensic analysis, and the extraordinary order in his life that was in such contrast to the apparent disorder in his mind.

The police had not been able to discover a single parishioner in Frampton who found their vicar's homicidal tendencies even halfway credible. "He was a sweet man." "Nothing was ever much trouble for him." "Father Harris wouldn't hurt a fly." "He was the hardest-working priest we've ever had."

There was circumstantial evidence to show that he had been absent from the vicarage from lunchtime on Sunday, June 12, to the morning of Tuesday, June 14, but it hardly stood up to close scrutiny. "I noticed Simon's car wasn't outside on the Sunday or Monday night," said his next-door neighbor, "but he used to park it in his garage sometimes, so it may have been in there. I don't remember seeing him after morning service, but that wasn't unusual. We're busy people and we don't keep track of each other's movements. The car was certainly there on Tuesday morning. I had a form for him to sign and I had to walk round it to reach the front door. No, I didn't notice anything odd about him. He was in his usual good spirits."

Caroline Harris, quite destroyed by the disasters that had overtaken her family, swore that Simon had been with her and Charles on the Sunday and Monday night. She also claimed that he had been staying with them on June 27th when Dr. Protheroe was attacked. But when her husband was asked later to corroborate these stories he shook his head. "No," he said quietly, "I'm afraid neither is true." He had read his son's letter without obvious emotion and handed it back to Cheever with a request that his wife should never see it. "I blame myself," he said. "I should have realized how damaging it was to grow up in a house where the sexual act was viewed as something degrading and disgusting. Selfishly, I thought it was only I who was affected, but clearly. Meg confused it with love and Simon confused it with hate."

To begin with, Flossie Hale and Samantha Garrison were doubtful that Simon was the man who assaulted them. "He didn't wear glasses, you see," said Flossie, studying the photograph of the earnest young vicar, "and he was better-looking." But when shown a snapshot of a younger, smiling Simon minus spectacles and in casual clothes, they were more confident. "Little Lord Fauntleroy," said Flossie triumphantly, "and he's not so different from the first one I picked out either. Same eyes. It's the innocence. Gawd, I'll remember never to be taken in by pretty blue eyes again."

DI Maddocks was liaising with the Metropolitan police in an attempt to discover whether any London prostitutes had suffered assaults similar to Kale's and Garrison's during the five years that Simon had worked there. If they could establish a prolonged pattern of criminal assault on prostitutes, it would ease police doubts over the meager evidence pointing to Simon's involvement in the murders of Landy, Wallader, and Harris. For, as Maddocks said to Cheever when he'd read Simon's letter: "Someone beat the crap out of him to make him write this, sir. It's got bloodstains on it."

Frank watched Jinx lower the letter to her knees. "As you see, Miss Kingsley," he said, "there are one or two questions left unanswered. We're still looking for the weapon, but there was a cassock in his house that appears to have bloodstains on it. However it will be some time before we can say definitely that the blood was Meg's and Leo's. The likely scenario is that he removed the cassock after he killed your two friends, which would explain why we had no reported sightings of someone wearing bloodstained clothes. We believe he probably used the same method to kill your husband-donned his cassock, in other words, to keep the blood off his clothes." She looked paler and more drawn than ever, he thought, and the hand that held the letter shook violently. "I don't wish to upset you further, but we would be grateful for any details you can give us."

She glanced towards Alan Protheroe for support, then nodded. "Perhaps we could begin with Saturday, the eleventh of June, the day you phoned your father to tell him the wedding was off. Do you remember that day, Miss Kingsley?''

"Most of it, yes."

"Do you remember going to Meg's flat in the evening and being angry when she or Leo opened the door to you?"

Jinx nodded.

"Could you tell me about that? We assume they were supposed to be long gone, so what made you think they were still there? Why did you go?"

"To collect Marmaduke and take him home with me," she simply. "I couldn't believe it when I saw Leo's car parked outside. I was furious." Tears welled in her eyes. "I'd gone to so much trouble and they just thought I was being paranoid."

"So you had a key to Meg's flat?"

She shook her head. "I was supposed to collect it from the neighbor. But I could see Leo in the sitting room, so I hammered on the door instead and let rip at them." She dabbed miserably at her eyes. "I wish I hadn't now. It was the last time I really spoke to either of them and I was so bad-tempered. You see, I knew they were in danger. I had this feeling all the time that something terrible was going to happen."

Frank waited a moment till he felt she was back in control ol herself. "What happened then?"

"Meg gave me this big spiel about Josh and how badly she was behaving towards him. She said it was my fault, that I was using Russell's murder as a stick to beat her and Leo with because I wanted to make life as uncomfortable for them as I could. We really did have an awful row." She looked at her hands. "Well, that's not relevant anymore. I bullied them into going to Leo's house in Chelsea until Monday. I said at least they'd be safer there than in Hammersmith because I was the only other person who knew the address."

"Did they go?"

"Yes."

"What time was that?"

"I think it was around midnight. Meg insisted on leaving the flat spick-and-span so that prospective purchasers wouldn't be put off when they went round it."

"So she was selling it?"

"Yes," said Jinx again. "I was going to put it with an estate agent as soon as they left for France. That was part of the deal. Meg's business needed an injection of cash, and I promised to try and raise it through the sale of her flat if she and Leo would agree to make themselves scarce for a while. The plan was for me to explain it to Josh after they'd left"-she faltered-"but Meg got cold feet when she spoke to him on the phone on the Saturday, and decided to postpone the trip so she could tell him in person." She licked the tears from her lips. "Josh threatened to pull out of the partnership unless she gave him a few guarantees about her commitment, and they'd been going through such a rough patch recently that she believed he'd do it unless she took the trouble to calm him down."

Frank studied her bent head curiously. "I have some problems understanding why they were prepared to go along with all the secrecy, Miss Kingsley, particularly if, as you say, they thought you were being paranoid."

She stared at him rather bleakly for a moment. "Meg had done the dirty on me twice. She was in no real position to argue. In any case, Leo was on my side. He was cock-a-hoop about being in France when the news broke. The last thing he wanted was to face the embarrassment of a canceled wedding. He'd have gone immediately if Meg had been free to leave."

"Why wasn't she?"

"She had a client she didn't want to lose, and a couple of meetings with the bank manager. She said he'd pull the plug on the business if she tried to cancel them. The earliest she could was the eleventh." She fell silent.

"Then she reneged at the last minute?"

Jinx nodded. "She only agreed to go along with it in the first place because Leo was in favor, but the minute Josh came down on her like a ton of bricks she dug her heels in, kept calling me neurotic and absurd." The tears ran down her cheeks again. "I think she wanted to say she was sorry afterwards, but she was too afraid of Simon to look at me. It was very sad."

"I understand." He waited again. "So they left for Chelsea at about midnight on the Saturday? Are you sure they went there?"

"Oh, yes. I followed them. Leo parked in the garage, and I watched them both go inside. Then I went home."

"What about the cat? What happened to him?"

"We stuck with the original plan, but delayed it until Monday. We left poor old Marmaduke in the hall with some food and the cat tray, but he was only going to be there for thirty-six hours at the most. I would collect the key from the neighbor, rescue Marmaduke, and explain about the flat going on the market. Meg was apposed to call them the minute she got to France, tell them I was kosher and ask them to let me in."

"But why was it so necessary to keep Mr. and Mrs. Helms in the dark?" asked Fraser. "You can't have suspected them of being involved in Russell's death."

"Of course not." There was a long silence. "I thought it was my father we needed to be afraid of," she said at last, "and I couldn't be sure how much he already knew about Leo and Meg's affair. I know he found out about Meg and Russell, because Miles told me afterwards. That's one of the reasons I thought he might have had Russell killed." She rubbed her head. "Leo swore his parents wouldn't have said a word to anyone, but"-she raised her hands in a small gesture of helplessness-"Adam has a way of finding out. If Mr. and Mrs. Helms knew anything in advance, they would tell the first person who asked them. In fact, Meg said it was worse, that Mrs. Helms wouldn't wait to be asked, she'd stand on the street corner and broadcast it to the world."

"Why weren't you worried about Leo parking his car in Shoebury Terrace if you thought your father was having him and Meg waitched?" asked the Superintendent.

She lifted her head to look at him and for the first time he understood some of the agonies she had been through. "I was. I tried to persuade him to leave it in Richmond but he wouldn't go along with it. He said that was taking the whole thing to ridiculous lengths. But you see, I knew what had been done to Russell and they didn't. I spent a nightmare week at the Hall, worrying myself sick. I made Leo phone every day to let me know they were all right and to make my family think everything was normal. Then he phoned on the Friday afternoon to say they were leaving thing the next morning, and it was safe to come back and make the announcements. And I thought, thank God, it's all over-I've made a complete idiot of myself, but I don't care." She held a handkerchief to her eyes. "I can't explain it because I don't believe in second sight or precognition, but I knew the minute Leo told me he wanted to marry Meg that they were going to die. It was like having cold water thrown over me." She looked wretchedly towards Alan. "So I put two and two together and came up with Adam, and if I hadn't, then maybe, just maybe, they'd still be alive."

"No," he said. "It would have made no difference. At least Adam was a terrifying enough prospect to force them to listen to you. They'd have been dead a week earlier otherwise."

She held out Simon's letter. "Except that I made them keep the secret," she said, "and that's why he killed them. It was the secrecy that made him do it."

"No," said Alan, who had read the letter before he took the two policemen to Jinx's room. "He was a very disturbed man. Jinx. It was his illness that made him do it, and nothing you could have done would have stopped that."

"The doctor's right, Miss Kingsley," said Superintendent Cheever. "The only person who might have guessed that Simon murdered Russell was Meg. She was closer to him than anyone else, in all conscience. If it never occurred to her to be afraid of him, then there's no reason why it should have occurred to you." He paused. "Did she ever show any fear of him?"

"Not in the way you mean. She's been afraid for him as long as I've known her. 'If only Simon were more like me,' she always said, 'he'd be okay.' She was worried that he was becoming a bit of a loner. He never seemed to have any friends. I remember her saying once, 'He never plays at anything except being a priest.' "

"Didn't it occur to her he might be ill?"

Her expression clouded. "She asked me once if I'd noticed anything odd about him, and I said: 'What sort of thing?' 'I think he pretends.' she said. 'I'm sure he hates our parents, Mother in particular, but he never says anything unkind about her or to her. I'm the exact opposite. I'm always rude about her because she's a square peg in a round hole and won't do anything to change it, but I'm actually quite fond of the old bag, and okay, Dad's a sanctiimonious old buzzard, but I wouldn't have him any different.' " She pressed her lips into a thin line to stem her tears. "She wondered if I'd ever got the impression that Simon hated them, but as I never had, she let it drop. I know she always thought he was far too withdrawn, but I think she put that down to religious fanaticism. I'm sure it never occurred to her that he had anything to do with Russell's death." She laced her fingers nervously. "Well, it never occurred to anyone."

"That's very clear-thank you. Let's move on. Tell us about the Sunday afternoon and this incident in your garage. What was that all about? Presumably the reference he makes in his letter to the birds having flown, and the phrase 'It was a secret but Simon made Jinx tell' had something to do with it?''

Her hands began to tremble so violently again that she gripped them in her lap until the knuckles shone white. "It's what he says. I told him where they were. He knew they'd left Hammersmith, you see, because Meg didn't answer the phone." She stared at Cheever in desperation. "It was-he thought they'd gone to France, but he made me-I was the only one who knew." She brought herself back under control with an effort. "He came after lunch to apologize for what Meg had done," she managed. "He said he'd prayed for me during services that morning but realized prayers weren't enough and he needed to come and commiserate in person. So I laughed"-her voice broke again-"and said there was nothing to commiserate about. I said if anyone needed commiseration it would be poor old Meg in a few months' time when she discovered she'd tied herself to a mean, self-serving bastard." She swallowed painfully. "I shouldn't have laughed. I think he guessed I'd known about it for a while. He was so angry-kept talking about secrets, called Meg a whore-" She lapsed into a long silence.

"What did he do then?" asked Frank gently.

She shook her head.

"I think it might be easier if I tell you," said Alan. "When he news came through yesterday that Simon was dead, Jinx told me as much as she could remember of what happened." He squatted down and pressed a warm, protective hand to the nape of her neck. "Would you like me to do that, Jinx?"

She looked into his face for a moment, then looked away again. Why couldn't he see what he was doing to her? She was far too emotionally disturbed to survive an Alan Protheroe undamaged. She wished he would take his hand away. She wished he would go to the other side of the room. Oh God, she wished- "If you're allowed to," she said curtly.

The Superintendent nodded. "I have no problem with that Doctor."

Alan straightened. "Then I think it's important you understand how terrifying it is to be confronted with an individual whom you've known for years as a mild-mannered nonentity, but who, without any warning at all, becomes dangerously psychotic. This was Jinx's experience that Sunday afternoon. It's difficult to say what Simon's diagnosis would have been if he'd ever been examined, but it seems clear that he was suffering from some very extreme paranoid disorder, probably of a sexual origin, either centered on his mother or his sister, or both. I think this hatred he had of God may well have been a more general hatred of any dominant male figure, because he seems to have seen the sexual act as a degenerate exercise. Only whores enjoyed it; therefore for a man to enjoy it, he must either employ whores or make respectable women miserable." He looked inquiringly at the Superintendent. "Which may have been something his mother instilled in him. If she persuaded him that nice women found sex disgusting, then he would have had a very ambivalent attitude towards it in later life, particularly if his adored sister flaunted her libido while he curbed his by choosing voluntary celibacy within the Anglo-Catholic church."

"His mother clearly has problems in that area but I doubt she set out deliberately to destroy her son."

"I'm sure she didn't, and I'm sure there were other factors involved. For example, he hated being laughed at. That seems to have been one of the triggers of his paranoia. It may have been why he chose to enter the church, because he was more likely to be taken seriously inside it than he was outside. Another clear trigger was secrecy. As long as he knew what was going on, or thought he did, he could keep his paranoia under control, but the minute he discovered he had good reason to be paranoid, then the control deserted him. It's interesting what close tabs he kept on everything. Jinx says he used to phone her or Josh quite regularly, and I suspect he continued to do that after Meg and Leo were dead. He certainly phoned me to try and find out what information I had." He rubbed his shoulder thoughtfully.

"One of the complicating factors of a paranoid disorder," he went on, "is that while it may impair your functioning on certain levels, particularly where relationships are concerned, your thinking remains clear and orderly and you can function normally within your job and the wider social environment. Which is why I told you it was important to recognize what Jinx was suddenly faced with that Sunday, and equally important that she recognize it too." He looked down at her bent head. "She's been terrified of Simon ever since she started to remember what happened, but I'm afraid she feels she didn't do enough to protect Meg and Leo, isn't that right, Jinx?" She didn't answer, and Fraser, for one, thought he was being surprisingly insensitive.

"She went into the kitchen to make some coffee, and she thinks Simon must have hit her on the head while she was doing it, but she doesn't remember the blow. What she does remember is coming round to find herself lying on the floor with her hands tied to her feet behind her back. Simon then put a plastic bag over her head and said he would smother her if she didn't tell him where Meg and Leo were. She couldn't breathe and she believed him. So when he took the bag off her head, she told him the Chelsea address. The next thing she remembers is being pulled out of her car by her neighbor. She didn't know how long she'd been there, how long it took her to clear her head, or find the number of Leo's house in Chelsea, but by the time she phoned to tell Meg that Simon had just tried to kill her, Simon was already there. Am I right so far, Jinx?"

Silence.

"She was given a straightforward choice," Alan went on. Simon said, 'Leo is in the same position you were in. In other words, he will be dead of asphyxiation in two minutes. Meg is tied up but can speak into the phone if I hold it to her mouth. If you do what I tell you, they will live. If you don't, they will die.' " He brushed the back of her head with his fingertips. "She chose to help them live. She clung, as we would all have done, to the Simon she knew best. The vicar, the man who was fond of his sister, the man to whom she'd given her expensive keyring for luck. It was her tragedy, and Meg's, that they had only ever known and learned to trust Simon's false self, while his true self, the damaged self, had remained hidden. We all protect parts of ourselves-God knows it's not unusual-but for most of us the hidden self isn't dangerous."

Jinx wiped her tears away. "I should have told Colonel Clancey. He's always been the best friend I've ever had." She sucked in her anguish on a sob. "I know some people think he's eccentric and stupid, and they make fun of him behind his back, but he would have made it all right." Her mouth worked as she sought for words. "I did it all wrong. I told the Clanceys everything was okay when it wasn't. I thought, if I just do what Simon says-because, you know, we used to play that game all the time-Simon says-but it was just arrogance-I thought I knew the right thing to do."

Fraser glanced at Protheroe for a permission he didn't need "It's not arrogance to believe a threat, Miss Kingsley, particularly if you knew what Simon was capable of. I'm no expert admittedly, but it sounds to me as if you acted out of love, and I'd say that does you credit."

Alan nodded. "He said there wasn't much traffic because it was a Sunday, and that she had twenty minutes to drive her car to Leo's house in Chelsea. If she wasn't there in twenty minutes, he'd know she'd spoken to the police and he would kill Meg and Leo. Then he put Meg back on."

"And Meg asked you to do as he said?"

Jinx nodded.

"What happened when you reached the house?"

When she didn't say anything, Alan took over again. "She saw Leo briefly through an open doorway. He was lying on the floor, and from the way she described him, he had probably died of asphyxiation before she even got there, so whatever was done to him afterwards was done to disguise that fact. At least she gave Meg a chance to live by arriving when she did. Simon promised he wouldn't hurt them because he never killed women. All he wanted to do was talk. He sat them beside each other against the wall, tied their hands and feet in front of them, and talked for hours. So long, in fact, that Jinx felt he was beginning to calm down."

"And?" asked Frank Cheever, when neither of them spoke.

"Meg offered to have sex with him," said Alan into the silence. "She thought that's what he was after. It probably was, but he didn't want to be reminded of it." He shook his head. "To be honest, I shouldn't think it mattered a damn what Meg said. Whichever role she chose, sister, mother, lover, friend, he would still have gone off the deep end." He glanced at Jinx's fluttering hands. "But there's nothing Jinx can tell you about what happened to Meg and Leo after that," he went on. "Simon went berserk at that point, grabbed Jinx by the ankles to pull her away from Meg, then put a plastic bag over her head and taped it to her neck. All she remembers is Meg screaming and drumming her heels on the floor before she lost consciousness."

There was another silence. "Can you tell us what happened to you. Miss Kingsley?" asked Frank. "Or would you prefer Dr. Protheroe to do it?"

Her huge eyes searched his face, looking for understanding. "I truly don't remember very much," she said unsteadily, "except that I woke up at some point. There was a hole in the bag where my mouth was, and because my hands were crammed up under my chin, I was able to make the hole bigger. But that's all I could do. I was wedged into a sort of box and every time I tried to move, it was so painful that I gave up and went to sleep." She plucked at her lip. "I thought he'd buried me alive, and I just wanted to die." She paused, lost in some private hell. "Then the engine started and I knew I was in the trunk of my car. The funny thing is, I felt better knowing that. It didn't seem so frightening." She gave an odd little laugh. "But he was so angry," she said, "He kept kicking me and saying, get up, get up. He couldn't understand why I wasn't dead. 'You should be dead. You should have died in your garage and you should have died in your trunk. Why does God love you?' "

"Where was that?" asked Frank.

She looked at him blankly. "I don't know. Somewhere outside. I woke up and I was lying on the ground, but I couldn't move because I was so stiff. There was a black garbage bag round me and it smelled because I'd-" She glanced at Alan. "I think I must have been in it for hours."

"So do you know what time it was?"

"No, but it was getting dark."

"Do you remember him giving you something to drink?"

"I think so. He talked about sacrifices," she said in some confusion, "and Jesus."

"Which is probably when you drank the wine, although if you'd been there for hours, then you were probably very dehydrated, and I doubt you drank as much as your blood sample implied. What happened next?"

She stared down at the letter, which she'd abandoned in her lap. "I don't remember anything else." She crumpled the photocopy into a tight ball. "I don't remember anything else," she said on a rising note of alarm. "I think I remember him putting me into the car seat, but after that-I don't remember anything else."

"That's fine," said Frank with a smile of encouragement. "I think we can work out the rest. You obviously have a very strong will to live, Miss Kingsley. I envy you your courage, and whichever guardian angel is watching over you, because I can't believe that courting couple arrived by accident." He watched her for a moment. "Dr. Protheroe tells me Simon came to visit you the day after you regained consciousness. Did you know then that he was responsible?"

"No."

"When did you remember?"

She kept her head down. "Yesterday morning," she said, "when the policewoman asked me about the key ring."

"Not before?"

She didn't say anything.

"Did you tell your father that Simon had murdered Meg and Leo, Miss Kingsley?"

Her head snapped up, eyes huge with surprise. "No, of course I didn't. Why would I do that?"

Cheever nodded. "Your brothers? Your stepmother?"

"No."

Alan Protheroe frowned. "Why do you ask, Superintendent?"

Frank Cheever gave a small shrug. "Just tying up loose ends, Doctor. We don't want accusations floating around afterwards about the"-he sought for a word-"convenience of Simon Harris's suicide. One might almost say the poetic justice of how he met his end. Our problem is, there's only this letter and the bloodstains on the cassock linking him to the murders, and as the cassock had been cleaned recently, it may not produce the evidence we're looking for. We assume Simon took Leo and Meg in his own car to Ardingly Woods, but as it was completely burned out yesterday, we're very doubtful of being able to prove anything from a forensic examination. We've also examined your car, Miss Kingsley, and I have to tell you there's nothing to show you spent twelve to eighteen hours in the trunk."

"There wouldn't be," said Alan. "Not if he wrapped her in black plastic before he put her in there."

"I accept that. But it's a problem, nevertheless. It would have helped if you'd been able to identify him as your attacker."

Alan nodded towards the crumpled photocopy in Jinx's hands. "You've got a written confession. Doesn't that count for anything? Presumably you've verified that it's Simon's handwriting."

"Certainly we have, but the original is being tested at the moment for the blood and mucus stains on it. We believe Simon was bleeding from his nose when he wrote it. And that means he may have been coerced into doing it."

"By whom."

"We don't know, sir, which is why we're interested in finding out when Miss Kingsley began to remember and whether she told anyone about it." He glanced at Jinx. "It would be very unfortunate if doubts about Simon's guilt began to circulate."

Alan rubbed his jaw aggressively, his fingers rasping through thick stubble. "Are you suggesting Jinx is lying about what happened, Superintendent?'' he demanded. "Because if you are, then I begin to understand why she has such a low opinion of Britain's policemen. Goddammit, man, imagine if the murdering bastard was still alive, and she tried to tell you he was guilty. She wouldn't stand a chance. You'd still be sitting there smugly, giving us this garbage about lack of evidence. Well, thank God she didn't remember before, is all I can say because she'd have been signing her own death warrant by naming him. He was obvously a psychotic with paranoid delusions, but he was quite clever enough to convince you of his innocence while he did away with the woman he held responsible for his murderous binges."

Cheever shrugged. "You've encapsulated our dilemma rather well, sir. Personally, I have no doubts that Miss Kingsley is telling the truth. I am also hopeful that we will find other prostitutes in London who will identify Simon Harris as a client who assaulted them, which, in turn, will point to a pattern of serial criminal behavior. However, in the short term, we have a rather timely suicide on our hands which, in view of Harris's undoubted cleverness, to which you yourself referred, and his past determination to throw the blame on Miss Kingsley, raises rather too many doubts for comfort. I am sure Miss Kingsley does not want this story to run and run, any more than we do"-he turned his attention to Jinx and held her gaze with his-"so anything she can tell us now that will result in the coroner bringing in an unequivocal verdict of suicide would be helpful."

Jinx nodded. "I understand," she said, glancing towards the open notebook on Fraser's lap. She thought for a moment. "I did not remember anything until the policewoman asked me about the keyring yesterday. Then it all came back to me in a rush and I was violently sick, as she will testify. I have been told since that Simon had been dead for some hours before I gave her his name. Because I did not remember who tried to kill me, I could not tell anyone who it was. Dr. Protheroe, whom I trust implicitly, and whom I would have told had I been able to remember, will testify that at no time did I ever give him a name or even hint at a name. Had I been able to remember, I would, of course, have told the Hampshire police, who from the outset of the investigation have made it clear to me that while I was a suspect, they would not allow media speculation to cloud their judgment. As a result, I have always had confidence in Superintendent Cheever and his team and have given them all the time and assistance I could."

She looked inquiringly at Frank, saw the tiny encouraging lift of his eyebrows, and went on: "I believe Simon, through his telephone calls to my friends, my doctor, and my relations, learned that the Hampshire police had refused to take anything at face value, and realized he would be arrested the minute my memory returned. I have known him a long time, and knew him to be very fond of his parents. It is my own conviction that he would have done anything to avoid putting his mother and father through the trauma of his trial, and I am saddened but not surprised that he took his own life."

"I don't think he'd want his colleagues or his parishioners to be subjected to that sort of trauma either, do you?" Cheever prompted.

"I knew him to be a very dedicated clergyman," she resumed obediently, "who must have been appalled, when lucidity returned, to realize that the burden of his guilt would fall on the people who loved him. He was an ill man, not a bad one."

Cheever held out his hand to her as he stood up. "It's hardly appropriate to say this, Miss Kingsley, but I've enjoyed crossing swords with you. I'm only sorry we had to meet in such tragic circumstances. You may be required to appear at the inquest, but if you give your evidence there as clearly as you've just given it to us, there shouldn't be a problem. In my experience, a little generosity goes a long way. Suicide is always easier to accept if there's a good reason for it."

"I know," she said, shaking his hand. "If Simon had made my car crash look like an accident, then I'd have been a little more worried. You see, I could always accept I might have killed Meg and Leo. They really did behave like bastards. I just couldn't accept I'd kill myself."

His eyes twinkled. "So you weren't quite as indifferent as you led us to believe?"

She smiled suddenly. "I have my pride, Superintendent. After all, I am Adam Kingsley's daughter."

Fraser turned the car into the main road. "So what's the verdict, sir?" he asked. "Do you still reckon she got her old man to take Harris out?"

"I do," said the Superintendent mildly. "She was afraid it would be her word against his, didn't trust us to believe her, so turned to her father to sort something out."

"Well, I'm not so sure. She strikes me as being dead straight, sir."

"But as she said herself, Sean, she's Adam Kingsley's daugher."

"With respect, sir, I don't see what difference that makes."

"You would, if you'd ever met the breed." Frank looked out of the window onto sunlit countryside. "They're effective. They get things done."

"They weren't too effective when Landy was murdered."

"People rarely are when they're at cross-purposes."

"How come?"

"I suspect he became convinced that she killed Russell, and she became convinced that he did. If they both learned about the affair afterwards, then they knew there was a motive for the other one to commit the murder. Divided they fell, united they stand."

"It seems odd that Miss Kingsley didn't tell the police, though, You'd think she'd want her husband's murderer punished, and let's face it, it's not as though she's very fond of her father."

"You think so, do you?"

"She certainly doesn't go out of her way to express affection for him."

Cheever smiled but kept his thoughts to himself.

"So are you going to charge Adam Kingsley with Simon's murder, sir?"

The Superintendent closed his eyes and let the sun warm his face. "I don't think I heard you right, Sergeant. Did you say something about a murder?"

"Isn't that what you reckon-" Fraser broke off.

"Yes?"

"Nothing, sir."

THE NIGHTINGALE CLINIC-12:45 P.M.

Matthew Cornell opened his eyes to find Alan Protheroe looming over him where he lay sprawled on a bench in the clinic gardens. "Hi, Doc." He shielded the sun's glare with a raised hand, then swung his legs off the seat and sat up, lighting a cigarette.

Alan lowered himself onto the vacant piece of bench. "The police have come up with a bizarre theory about Simon Harris' suicide," he said in a conversational tone. "They seem to think Jinx might have given his name to her father in order to have him dealt with once and for all." He glanced sideways. "However, she's persuaded them that she didn't remember anything until yesterday morning, which means neither she nor any of her friends here could have passed the information on."

Matthew looked straight ahead. "Why are you telling me?"

"Because I know how you like to keep abreast of the facts."

The young man turned to grin at him. "Plus, you don't want my cred as the clinic networker destroyed by getting the story wrong. Isn't that right. Doc?"

"I couldn't have put it better myself, Matthew."

"Well, I reckon good faith is all about justice." Matthew turned the cigarette between his fingers. "Have you ever wondered what a murderer's victims would demand if their voices hadn't been silenced? At the very least they would ask to be heard as loudly as their killers, wouldn't they?"

"There's a difference between justice and revenge, Matthew."

"Is there? The only difference I see is that justice comes damned expensive. If it didn't my father couldn't afford to keep me here."

Half an hour later, Alan stood with Jinx at her window and watched a tall, well-built man in an immaculate suit emerge from the back seat of a Rolls Royce. "Your father?"

"Yes."

"You've never explained why you call him Adam."

"What makes you think there is an explanation?"

He smiled. "Your expression every time the subject comes up."

She watched the tall figure disappear from view into the build-ins. "I wanted to punish him, so I did what God did and cursed Adam for allowing his wife to seduce him." She turned to Alan. "I was seven years old. I've called him Adam ever since."

"You were jealous of Betty."

"Of course. I didn't want to share my father with anyone. I adored him."

Alan nodded. "In spite of everything, I suspect you still do."

"No," she said, "I'm long past adoration. But I do admire him. I always have. He achieves while the rest of us get by."

"Well, I hope you recognize that he's making the first move," said Alan casually. "Will you be generous to him?"

"If I'm not, the clinic won't get paid." She smiled slightly at his expression. "Don't go sentimental on me, Dr. Protheroe. The one thing you can be sure of is that my father will never change. He'd sue if he thought you'd deliberately poisoned my mind against him."

"So what happens now?"

"I'm discharging myself. I'm not your patient anymore. I think we say good-bye."

"Where will you go?"

"Back to Richmond."

"Does your father know Miles and Fergus are there?"

"Not unless they've told him."

"If they need a good barrister, then don't forget Matthew's father. I'm told he's one of the best."

Jinx smiled and tapped her pocket. "Matthew's given me his card. I thought I'd use the gains I've made on the Franchise Holdings shares to pay his fees. Matthew says they'll be exorbitant." She shrugged. "Then with luck and a little emotional blackmail, I may persuade Adam to acknowledge Betty and the boys again once it's all over."

"You don't think it might be better to let Miles and Fergus fight this battle alone?"

"Probably."

"Then why don't you?"

"Because they're my brothers," she said, "and their mother's the only one I've ever known. It's worth another try, don't you think?"

"It depends whether you believe in the triumph of hope over experience."

"I do. Look at me. Look at Matthew."

He nodded. "Matthew's very fond of you, Jinx."

"Yes." She listened for footsteps approaching down the corridor. "But only because I have the same black eyes as his dying fox. He wants to train as a vet when he leaves here. Has he told you that?"

Alan shook his head.

"He's a sucker for wounded animals. People, he can take or leave."

"He's not so different from you then."

She gave a little jump as Adam's footsteps sounded at the top of the stairs. "On the whole," she said in a rush, "I'm not quite so prepared to leave them as I used to be. Perhaps my judgment's improving."

"That's good." He smiled down at her. "The Nightingale's achieved something then."

"Except that I don't think it was the Nightingale." She crossed to the door and stood with her back to it. "I don't always look like a dog, you know. You'd be amazed what a little hair does for me." She hesitated. "I-er-I suppose you wouldn't like to look me up in a month or two when I'm presentable?"

He shook his head. "Not really."

She blushed with embarrassment. "It was just a thought, Dr. Protheroe. Rather a stupid one. Sorry."

There was a loud knock on the door. "Jane, are you in there? It's your father."

Alan lowered his voice. "The name is Alan, Jinx, and who the hell needs hair? I only ever fantasize about bald women."

Another knock. "Jane? It's your father."

Her eyes gleamed. "I'll be with you in ten minutes, Adam," she called. "There's something I have to do first. Can you wait in the foyer for me?"

"Why can't I wait in there?" Adam Kingsley demanded.

The Nightingale's administrator lifted an eyebrow. "I'll be psychotic in two months," he murmured. "It does a man no good no keep his feelings zipped up as tightly as this. I'm in considerable pain here."

Jinx was shaking with laughter as she quietly locked the door. "It's a woman's thing, Adam," she called to him in a quivering voice. "You'd only be embarrassed."

"Oh, I see. Well, no rush," said her father gruffly. "I passed Dr. Protheroe's office on my way in. I'll have a word with him while I'm waiting."

"You do that," she said, wiping the tears from her eyes. "You'll like him, Adam. He's your sort of man. Straight as a die and larger than life."

-=*@*=-