Disordered Minds

*29*

WINCHESTER PRISON CAR PARK

TUESDAY, JULY 29, 2003, 4:00 P.M.

Jonathan was standing by the car listening to the radio through the open window when George and DS Wyatt emerged through the judas gate in the huge oak doors that formed the entrance to Winchester Prison. He watched them walk the two hundred yards to the car park while a commentator talked about a forthcoming inquiry into the events surrounding the mysterious death of the Iraqi arms expert Dr. David Kelly.

"Campbell and Blair to give evidence to Hutton Inquiry ... Government stands accused..."

To Jonathan, still as skeptical as he'd been in February, the idea that an inquiry could get at the truth when the major player was dead was laughable. There were no absolute truths. Only half-truths and interpretations that begged to be spun by anyone strong enough-or determined enough-to force his opinions on everyone else. It was single-minded zealots who ruled the world-politicians, religious leaders, terrorists, media and business moguls-and most of them were too arrogant or stupid to see that their beliefs were flawed.

He cocked an eyebrow as George and DS Wyatt drew close. "Any luck?"

"Nothing we can use as yet," said George, "but at least he's started thinking for himself." She gave a small giggle. "I shouldn't laugh-not after what he did to poor Cill- but he was huffing and puffing by the end. He can't believe what a fool he's been ... he swallowed everything Louise ever told him and never thought for one minute that she had anything to hide."

Jonathan reached into the car and switched off the radio. "His memories won't help us," he warned her. "He'll come up with a stream of them if it gets him off the hook. We need something we can prove if we're going to name her."

"Oh, don't be so miserable," she said cheerfully, tapping his wrist. "Mr. Wyatt's very optimistic. He tells me persistence is everything. If he keeps asking questions, Louise will trip herself up. She's not bright enough to do anything else-none of us is." Her wise eyes smiled into his. "She's already handed us a wealth of ammunition because of the numerous different versions she's produced. It's the tangled-web syndrome, Jon. Roy fell into it the minute he tried to sex up Howard's guilt. Lies always unravel under pressure. You know that."

He gave her a fond smile. "But I wasn't fully committed to mine, George."

She clucked like a mother hen. "Of course you weren't, my dear. You're far too honorable ... and Emma wasn't worth the heartache it caused you. Sasha's a much better prospect. There are no sides to her ... probably because her Mongolian blood is so obvious. It's not the sort of thing you can hide, is it?"

Jonathan opened his mouth to protect what little mystery he had left, but Wyatt forestalled him with an outrageous wink. "Never argue with a lady, Dr. Hughes ... particularly when she's right. Ms. Spencer's a fine young woman, and I am optimistic. Mrs. Fletcher's never been questioned about Grace's murder and she's already contradicted her original statement where she claimed ignorance. It's just a matter of time before she ties herself in knots."

Jonathan looked into George's face. "You'd better not start feeling sorry for her," he warned.

"She was only thirteen."

He held up a finger. "I'm a man, George, and I can't cope with any more emotion."

"But?"

With a fond smile, he pulled her into his arms. "She's my mother," he told Wyatt over her head. "She had a one-night stand with a Jamaican road sweeper thirty-five years ago and she's been regretting it ever since. I wouldn't mind so much but she keeps trying to pass me off as her toyboy."

The policeman gave a doubtful smile.