"That's a simplistic way of putting it, but it'll do, I suppose."
He lifted an amused eyebrow. "Then the simplistic answer is that my methods haven't worked for them, and they either remain as they are or seek alternative therapy. But they're usually the ones who discharge themselves within forty-eight hours because they didn't want to be here in the first place."
Like me, she thought. "You must have your share of backsliders, though. I can't see Matthew sticking to the straight and narrow once he's away from here."
"I think you're underestimating him. He's only been here two weeks, you know. Give him another month and then tell me he won't make it."
She looked appalled. "A month? How long am I supposed to stay here then?"
"As long or as short as you like."
"That's not an answer. How long does my father expect you to keep me?"
"This isn't a prison, Jinx. I don't keep anyone."
"Then I can leave tomorrow after the bandages have been removed?"
"Of course you can, subject to what I told you on Wednesday. You're still not physically fit, so I'd feel duty-bound to inform your father that you'd discharged yourself."
She smiled faintly. "Does that mean I'm mentally fit?"
"My impression, for what it's worth, is that you're tough as old boots." He leaned forward and studied her face closely. "I'm having some difficulty squaring this rugged self-reliance of yours with the picture the police gave me of a heartbroken, vulnerable woman who drove her car at a wall."
She pressed a fingertip to her eyelid to hide the awful rush of tears. "So am I," she said after a moment, "but I've read the piece in the newspaper over and over again and I can't come up with another explanation." She lowered her hand to look at him. "I phoned Meg's answering machine today. I thought if I could only talk to her and Leo, they could at least tell everyone that I wasn't upset about him going."
"Is that something you can remember?"
"You mean not being upset?" He nodded and she shook her head. "No, I'm just so certain that it wouldn't have worried me."
"Why?"
Because it didn't worry me last time. "Because," she said out loud, "I didn't want Leo myself." She looked away from him, fearful perhaps of seeing his disbelief. "I know it sounds like sour grapes but I'm relieved I don't have to marry him. I can remember hanging around the studio till all hours just to avoid going home and spending cozy evenings with him, and I don't think it was cold feet about the wedding. I was beginning to actively dislike him." She gave a hollow laugh. "So much for rugged self-reliance. Why was I marrying someone I didn't like? It doesn't make sense." She lapsed into a brief silence. "It wouldn't be so bad," she said suddenly, "if I didn't have to keep shoring up my defenses."
"Against what?"
She pressed her fingertips to her good eye again to shut him out. "Fear," she said.
He waited a moment. "What is there to fear?"
"I don't know," she murmured. "I can't remember."
ROMSEY ROAD POLICE STATION-7:00 P.M.
Events moved extraordinarily quickly once the bodies were given tentative names and addresses. A telephone call to the Richmond police uncovered the interesting information that 12 Glenavon Gardens had attracted the attention of another branch of the Hampshire police some ten days previously, following a road traffic accident involving Miss Jane Kingsley, the owner/occupant.
"You want to speak to a Sergeant Halliwell at Fordingbridge,'' said the voice at the other end to Fraser. "He asked us to make some inquiries about Kingsley because it looked to them like the RTA was a deliberate attempt to kill herself. The gist is, she was engaged to Leo Wallader, who lived with her in Glenavon Gardens for about two months before buggering off on the night of Friday, the tenth of June, three weeks before the wedding, to shack up with Kingsley's best friend. We talked to Kingsley's neighbors, who mentioned another suicide attempt on Sunday the twelfth, and also to Wallader's parents by phone. The information we were given is that Wallader and his new girlfriend have scarpered to the Continent until the fuss over the canceled wedding has died down."
"Any idea what the name of the girlfriend is?" Fraser held his breath.
"Harris. Meg Harris."
Bull's-eye! "Do you have an address for Wallader's parents?"
"Let's see now. The father's Sir Anthony Wallader. Address: Downton Court, Ashwell, Near Guildford."
"What about Meg Harris's parents?"
"Sorry. She only came into it as the new girlfriend. We've nothing on her at all except her name."
"Okay, can you fax me everything you've got on this?" He read out the number. "Within the next five minutes, if possible."
"Will do. What's the story then?"
"Not sure yet, but we've got two bodies here that we think are Wallader and Harris. You'd better warn your chaps to expect us sometime tomorrow. Cheers."
Fraser cut the line, flipped through a police directory, and dialed Fordingbridge. "Is Sergeant Halliwell still there?" he asked. "Yes, I know it's late." He drummed his fingers on the desk. "Okay, well, this is urgent. Can you find him and ask him to call either DI Maddocks or DS Fraser in the Ardingly Woods incident room." He rattled off the number. "And make that a priority, please."
He gathered his notes together and made his way down the corridor to the fax machine, which was already printing the first of two pages being transmitted down the wire from Richmond. He skimmed both sheets before shouldering his way into Maddocks's office. "Here's the Hampshire connection, Governor. Leo Wallader was engaged to a Miss Jane Kingsley up until a couple of weeks ago. They were supposed to be getting married on the second of July, but Leo jilted her on the tenth of June for her best friend, Meg Harris." He looked up. "Miss Kingsley's father is Adam Kingsley of Franchise Holdings and the wedding was supposed to be taking place at Hellingdon Hall, which is where Kingsley senior lives. It's a mansion to the north of Fordingbridge." He handed Maddocks the sheets of paper. "I've asked for a Sergeant Halliwell at Fordingbridge to give us a call. He's the one who requested this information when his guys hauled Miss Kingsley out of her car on the thirteenth of June, unconscious and drunk as a skunk. A suicide attempt, they reckon, following a previous one on the twelfth of June." He tapped the Ordnance Survey map on the wall. "According to the guy I spoke to in Richmond, the RTA was at Stoney Bassett airfield, which is"-he spread his hand across the map-"two thirds of the way between Ardingly Woods and Hellingdon Hall, say fifteen miles from the woods to the airfield and another seven from the airfield to the Hall. I've a real gut feeling about this one, Governor. The geography's right, we've got skid marks on the bank made by a woman's shoe, and the doc said a woman could have done it."
Maddocks was an older and warier hand. "Let's wait to hear from Halliwell," he said.
Half an hour later they transferred to the Superintendent's office and brought him up to date on what they knew. "I accept there's a remote chance that Wallader and Harris are sunning themselves on the Riviera," finished Maddocks, "either because Franklyn's lying to us or because our two bodies nicked the credit cards only to have them nicked again by Franklyn, but it's so damned unlikely that it's not worth considering. It explains why no one's reported them missing. According to Halliwell, Leo's family said they ran away to France to avoid the embarrassment of the canceled wedding. So what do we do? Tell Sir Anthony Wallader we think his son's in the bath at the lab and ask him to make an identification? Or wait till we're sure the ID's accurate before we tell the families? We can probably lift some fingerprints from Harris's flat in Hammersmith, but Richmond say there's no way they can go back into Glenavon Gardens without alerting Jane Kingsley to the fact that something's up. Which could be a bad move if she's involved."