"Now I didn't say that, sir," said Hadden, holding out his hand for the piece of paper. "We will, of course, look at any information you give us, but the report of last night's incident emphasizes very strongly that you did not believe the attack was personal. Perhaps you've reconsidered?"
Alan shook his head. "What I said was, I can't think of anyone who would have wanted to do it, but I did make the point that the man took another swing at me even after I'd shut myself in the car. If drugs were what he was after, why didn't he give up then?"
Hadden glanced down the list as he spoke. "Because these types don't act logically, sir, as I'm sure you know. His mind was set on whatever you had in the car, so he smashed the windshield to get at it. Hospitals lose thousands of pounds' worth of stock every week. Sooner or later, someone was bound to think a place like this was worth a hit." He thumbed the corner of the page. " 'Mr. Kennedy, solicitor to Adam Kingsley,' " he read slowly. "Would that be Adam Kingsley of Franchise Holdings?"
Alan nodded.
The transformation from bored indifference to alert interest was startling. "May I ask why his solicitor came to see you, sir?"
"Mr. Kingsley's daughter is a patient here."
"I see." The detective frowned. "Why send his solicitor? Is there some dispute between you?"
"Not that I'm aware of."
"Then what did you talk about? Was it an amicable discussion?"
"Perfectly amicable. We discussed Miss Kingsley's progress."
"Is that normal, sir? Discussing a patient's progress with her father's solicitor?"
"Not in my experience, no, but Mr. Kingsley's a busy man. Perhaps he trusts his solicitor to keep confidential information confidential."
The other man's frown deepened. Clearly, he found the episode as inexplicable as Alan had done. "Have you met Mr. Kingsley himself.''
"No. We correspond by fax and telephone."
"So you can't say what sort of a man he is?" Alan shook his head. "There's a Fergus Kingsley on your list. Would that be a relation?"
"The younger son. Miss Kingsley's half brother."
"And was your conversation with him amicable?"
He thought of Fergus's hand on his arm. The gesture had been annoying, but not hostile. "Yes, it was amicable."
DC Hadden folded the page and stuffed it into his pocket. "You said your guy was carrying a sledgehammer. No question about that?"
"None."
"Okay." He stood up. "We'll see what we can do, sir."
Alan raised an inquiring eyebrow. "Why the sudden change of heart? Two minutes ago, you were quietly going to drop the whole thing; now you're raring to go. What's Kingsley got to do with this?''
Hadden shrugged noncommittally. "I seem to have given you a false impression, sir. The Wiltshire police take all assaults seriously. Presumably, if we need to come back to you, we'll find you here. You're not planning to go away in the next day or so?"
"No."
"Thank you for your help. I'll be off then."
Alan watched him leave, then with a thoughtful frown, reached again for the newspaper. The piece about Leo and Meg was on an inside page, and when he read it, he understood why mention of sledgehammers in the context of the name Kingsley had galvanized so indolent a man as DC Hadden into activity.
ROMSEY ROAD POLICE STATION, WINCHESTER-10:00 A.M.
An hour later and twenty miles away in Winchester, Frank Cheever listened to what his opposite number in Salisbury told him over the telephone, and smiled for the first time in twelve hours. It had been a bastard of a night, beginning with the call from The Times seeking confirmation of identity and continuing with a bombardment from other journalists demanding to know if the implications in The Times piece had any basis in fact. Sir Anthony Wallader, it seemed, had been very specific in his accusations against Kingsley and his daughter, and while none of the newspapers was foolish enough to print his statement verbatim, they had all followed The Times's lead by mentioning Landy's death and quoting Frank's own refusal to specify whether a sledgehammer had been used. They had also flirted with Wallader's other accusation, which was that Kingsley was using his influence to suppress the investigation in his home county of Hampshire, leaving their readers to tease out all the damning implications.
Frank's ears were still smarting from a deeply critical dressing-down by the Chief Constable for his failure to keep Sir Anthony and Mrs. Harris informed of developments. Frank had pointed out, but to no effect, that Meg's body had not been formally identified until a few hours previously and that Sir Anthony's complaint to the newspapers was very specific, namely that Hampshire police had not immediately arrested and/or charged Adam or Jane Kingsley. The Chief Constable was unimpressed by such niceties of distinction. Frank should have addressed the Wallader and Harris concerns at the outset and never allowed this climate of distrust to develop.
"It must have occurred to you that the two sets of parents would get together. Why on earth didn't you go back to the Walladers the minute the Harrises had left? Of course they're going to suspect the worst if we can't be bothered to keep them informed. I'm organizing a press conference for this afternoon and I expect you to have pacified both families in the meantime. No one is to be left in any doubt at all that Hampshire police are pursuing this inquiry with vigor and commitment, irrespective of who may or may not be involved."
Frank glanced at his watch as he replaced the receiver. Sir Anthony and Lady Wallader were due in less than ten minutes. The Harrises had declined the invitation, but had agreed to see Detective Superintendent Cheever in their home at midday. The press conference was scheduled for three-thirty. He picked up the telephone again and ordered DI Maddocks into his office immediately.
"Sir," said Gareth, presenting himself sixty seconds later, as anxious not to annoy the Superintendent as Frank was anxious not to further annoy the Chief Constable. The pecking order had been viciously active since seven o'clock the previous evening.
"I've had a call from Salisbury. Dr. Alan Protheroe at the Nightingale Clinic was attacked last night with a sledgehammer. He avoided serious injury by raising the alarm and attracting help, but-and this is the interesting bit-Salisbury say Protheroe had a visit from Kingsley's solicitor yesterday afternoon. I want you to go to Salisbury, take Fraser with you, talk to Detective Superintendent Mayhew and a Detective Constable Hadden, and then go on to the Nightingale Clinic to interview Dr. Protheroe. Get me a complete rundown of his day, the names of everyone he spoke to and what was said. The solicitor's visit can't be coincidence."
Sir Anthony Wallader was in no mood to be placated. He denounced the Kingsleys as murderers, repeated his accusations of police lethargy, demanded to know why Russell Landy's death had gone unpunished, and insisted that if the police had done their job over that, then Leo and Meg would still be alive. He seemed unable to contain his grief or deal with it, and three days had brewed in him an anger that needed to lash out at anyone who could be blamed for his loss. Lady Wallader, by contrast, sat with bowed head and said nothing.
Frank, too, sat in silence until the storm abated.
"Please accept my apologies for any insensitivity that I and my team have shown you, and your wife, Sir Anthony," he said quietly. "Our difficulty was tracing Meg's parents and, as I'm sure Mrs. Harris told you, it wasn't until yesterday morning that they were able to make the formal identification. Clearly, I should have telephoned you immediately afterwards to acquaint you with developments and I regret intensely that I did not."
"At the very least, someone should have been sent to comfort my wife. Why wasn't that done? The Reverend Harris tells me you sent a policewoman to support his wife."
"We did offer support and counseling, sir, but if you remember, you said it would only make it worse to have strangers in your house."