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."
*13*
MONDAY, 27TH JUNE, THE NIGHTINGALE CLINIC, SALISBURY-1:15 P.M.
Alan sensed that Jinx felt she had revealed too much of herself. He wondered if this was his last chance to learn what he could about her. "You told me your father wants you to leave, but you didn't say what you intend to do about it."
She propped her chin on her hand and gazed at him with a troubled expression, but there was something studied about the whole gesture. "I said I'd discharge myself back to Richmond and then take out an injunction to stop him ever interfering again unless he left well alone. Now I'm worried sick."
He gave a surprised laugh. "Why? I couldn't have advised better myself. You must be allowed the freedom to make your own choices."
"I wish you'd try to understand," she said helplessly. "It's not my freedom that's likely to be curtailed, it's yours. If Adam thinks you suggested the injunction-" She gave a small shrug and didn't finish the sentence.
"You're worrying unnecessarily," he said. "What can he possibly do to me?"
"He hasn't built his empire on charm, Dr. Protheroe. If he's going to do something, he'll do it quickly. He won't want you putting any more unpleasant ideas in my head."
"I can only repeat," he said, eyeing her curiously, "what can he possibly do to me?"
"That's what Russell said." She stood up abruptly. She might have added, And Leo and Meg, but she didn't.
Alan put through a telephone call to Matthew Cornell's father. "No," he assured him, "Matthew's doing well. I wondered if I could pick your brains on an unrelated matter."
"Go ahead."
"What do you know about Adam Kingsley of Franchise Holdings?"
"I'm a criminal barrister," Cornell reminded him. "Not a stockbroker."
"Which is why I called you," said Alan. "I've been told he began life as an East End crook, and I wondered if there was any truth in it."
"I see." There was a short pause. "All right, rumor has it that he was active alongside the Krays and the Richardsons in the fifties and sixties, but kept a much lower profile and turned legitimate as soon as he could. He was never charged with anything, because he adopted the Mafia cuscinetto system and erected buffers between himself and the violence his thugs meted out. But all that is hearsay, Protheroe, and not for public consumption. He's won damages in the past against two newspapers foolish enough to put that into print."
Alan doodled on the pad in front of him, wondering how to frame his next question. "How does he conduct business now?"
"Why? Are you thinking of investing in Franchise Holdings?"
"Maybe," Protheroe lied.
"There's the odd hint from time to time that he's used unorthodox methods to acquire property and land in the London Docks, but it's pure speculation. I'd say he runs as clean a ship as the next man. Matter of fact," he admitted, "I've a small sum invested in him myself."
"What about social skills? He was described to me as someone to be wary of in personal dealings. Would you agree with that?"
"What you'd expect from an East End boy made good." Cornell sounded intrigued. "I wouldn't want to get in too deep with him. Put it this way, he's not called the Great White Shark for nothing. If you work on the principle that he uses lawyers now as his buffers instead of hired muscle, then you'll probably have some idea of his modus operandi."
"What does that mean exactly?"
"Plus fa change, plus c 'est la meme chose."
"Are you saying once a Mafia boss, always a Mafia boss?"
An amused laugh floated down the line. "No, Protheroe, you're saying it. I can't afford a slander suit."
THE NIGHTINGALE CLINIC-3:00 P.M.
"Josh? It's Jinx. Are you busy, or can you talk for a minute?"
"What is it?" He sounded hostile, she thought.
"Meg's dead."
There was a silence. "I know," he said.
She was shivering with cold, and her expression had a curiously vacant look, as if she were waiting for something. "Who told you?"
"Simon rang," he answered guardedly. "They're both dead, Meg and Leo. How did you know, Jinx? Have you started to remember things?"
"No," she said abruptly, "I guessed. The police came here asking questions about them. What else did Simon say?"
"Nothing much, only that his mother's going out of her mind. She wants to know where Leo's parents live, so he called me."
"Did you tell him?"
"I said I didn't know, so he's trying Dean Jarrett."
It was her turn to hold the silence. "You know quite well where they live," she said at last. "I remember telling you myself when Leo and I first got engaged. The wedding will be a nightmare, I said, Surrey gentry versus Hampshire parvenus, with each side trying to score points. And you laughed and asked which part of Surrey the Walladers came from. Downton Court, Ashwell, I told you."
"I don't remember."
He was lying, she thought. "Why didn't Simon ring me?"
Another silence.
"I'm sorry," she said.
"What for?"
"Meg's death. She was your friend as well as mine."
"Is that what you called to tell me?"
Her grip on the telephone was so brittle that her fingers hurt. "I wanted to know what people are saying, Josh. Do Meg's parents think I killed her? Does Simon?"
"What makes you think they were murdered?" he asked.
"I'm not a bloody fool, Josh."
"No one's saying anything," he said, "not to me anyway."
She didn't believe him. "Why are you afraid of me?" she asked, addressing the fear she heard in his voice. "Do you think I did it?"
"No, of course I don't. Look, I have to go. The police are due here any minute, and I'm trying to find out how the business stands with one partner dead. I'll ring back later when things calm down.'' He cut the line and left her listening to empty silence. Someone else she couldn't trust? Or someone as scared as she was?
She replaced the receiver carefully, doubts seething in her tired brain. Was anything he said true? And why was he afraid of her? Because he thought her memory was coming back? She went to lie on the bed and stared at the ceiling, knowing that safety lay in remembering nothing, but knowing too that she must eventually remember something. However much her father might want what was locked inside her head to remain there forever, she knew it was an impossibility. If Alan Protheroe didn't pry the truth out of her with his sympathetic existentialism, then somebody else would. And they wouldn't do it kindly, either.
Tears stung her eyelids. Common sense told her it would be suicidal-she dwelled on that thought for a moment-to relay memories that no one believed. For this time there was no Meg to give her an alibi.
THE NIGHTINGALE CLINIC-4:15 P.M.
"There's a gentleman to see you, Dr. Protheroe," said his elderly secretary, popping her head round his office door. "A Mr. Kennedy. I told him you were busy but he says he's sure you can find time to talk to him. He's a solicitor, representing Mr. Adam Kingsley." She pulled a face. "He's very insistent."