"Oh for God's sake!" Alan snapped impatiently. "Any moron can wait in the bushes near a gate in the hopes of someone driving in. You don't need to be acquainted with a place to follow a car going at five miles an hour, which is all I was doing because I didn't want to wake the patients by crunching the gravel." He sighed heavily. "Look, unless you've got something a little more concrete to put to me, I really can't see the point of continuing. My own view is that you should put your suspicions to Miss Kingsley herself, to her father, and to her brothers." He nodded towards The Times. "In fact, if, as you are implying, there is such a strong link between all three murders, I share Sir Anthony's and Mrs. Harris's surprise that you haven't done it already."
"You're very defensive of this family, sir. Is there any particular reason for that?"
"Such as?"
"Perhaps you're more partial to Miss Kingsley than you pretend and perhaps that's why someone saw fit to attack you with a sledgehammer."
Alan smoothed his jaw reflectively. "But wouldn't I have to have told someone I was partial to her to provoke such a response?"
"Not necessarily, sir. You looked pretty matey to me when you were spouting Greek at each other. Perhaps someone else sussed that your feelings aren't quite as reserved as you say they are."
Alan's booming laugh brought a responsive twitch from Fraser's lips. "I'm afraid I was teasing you, Inspector, when I said it was all Greek to me." He stood up. "I am doubtful, ipso facto, whether any conclusion you've drawn can be relied upon. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have patients to see."
Outside, Maddocks scowled angrily as he reached into the car for the handset. "Put me through to Detective Superintendent Cheever," he grunted into the mouthpiece, "and tell him it's urgent, girl. DI Maddocks and I am at the Nightingale Clinic in Salisbury." He drummed his fingers impatiently on the roof. "Yes sir ... No, look, we've run into a spot of bother here. The doctor's playing hard to get and the whole setup stinks. He and the girl were having a very cozy little chat when we arrived and our view is he knows a damn sight more than he's telling ... Yeah, Fraser agrees with me." He glared at the Sergeant, demanding support. "No, I think we should talk to her now. We're on the spot, she's seen us, and she knows Wallader and Harris are dead. If we leave it any longer she'll have a solicitor in tow guarding her interests. Matter of fact, I'm amazed her old man hasn't parked one here already, although maybe he's set the doctor up as watchdog." His eyes gleamed triumphantly. "Will do, sir." He listened for a moment. "Yes, got it. Letters from Landy ... abortion '84 ... Wallader or Landy the father."
He replaced the handset and grinned at Fraser. "We've been given the chance to show a bit of initiative, lad, so let's grab it with both hands. And whatever happens I don't want that arrogant jerk of a doctor around. So no by-your-leave on this, okay?" He nodded towards the path round the corner of the building that led onto the terrace. "We'll go this way."
Jinx was sitting in her armchair, watching the local news on the television, and didn't notice the two men approaching. She felt their shadows blot out the sun on the back of her shaven head as they stepped quietly across the threshold of her open French windows, and she guessed immediately who it was. Unhurriedly, she used the remote to switch off the television, and twisted round to look at them. "There's a rule here that visitors seek permission before they impose themselves on patients. I don't think you've done that, have you, Inspector?"
Maddocks strolled in and perched himself on her bed as he'd done before. "No," he said bluntly. "Does that mean you have objections to helping the police?"
"Several," she said, "but I can't imagine it'll make any difference." She smiled coldly. "Not to you anyway." She glanced up at Fraser with a look of inquiry. "It might make a difference to your partner." She examined the younger, pleasanter face closely. "No? Ah well, we can't all have principles, I suppose. It would be a dull, dull world."
"You're very sharp for someone with memory loss," said Maddocks.
"Am I?"
"You know you are."
"I don't," she said. "I'm the first person I've ever met who's suffered from amnesia, so I've no yardstick by which to judge it. However, if you're interested, you don't become a zombie just because a few days of your life are missing." She gave him an amused smile. "I don't suppose you remember every woman you've rogered, Inspector, particularly if you were tanked up when you did it, but it hasn't done you any harm, has it?" She reached for a cigarette. "Or perhaps it has and that's why you accuse me of being sharp."
"Point taken," he said affably.
She flicked the lighter to the cigarette and eyed him through the smoke. "Freud would have enjoyed that," she remarked idly.
He frowned. "What?"
She gave a low laugh. "Your somewhat unfortunate remark following so closely on my description of your rogering habits. Freud would suspect that that's what your lady friends say to you at the moment coitus occurs." She heard Fraser's snort of amusement. "It's not important, Inspector." She tailed off into a long silence.
Maddocks was not amused. "We have a few questions to ask you, Miss Kingsley."
She watched him but didn't say anything.
"About Leo and Meg." He waited. "We understand Dr. Protheroe has told you they're dead."
She nodded.
"It must have been a shock."
She nodded again.
"Well, forgive me for saying this, Miss Kingsley, but the shock didn't last very long, did it? Your fiance and your best friend have been bludgeoned to death with a sledgehammer, their faces smashed in just as your husband's was, and you're sitting here quite calmly, smoking a cigarette, and cracking jokes. It's about the most unconvincing display of grief that I've ever seen."
"I'm sorry, Inspector. Would it make you feel better if 1 did the little womanly thing and wept for you?"
He ignored her. "About as unconvincing, frankly, as this amnesia rubbish."
"I'm sorry?" She compressed her lips into a savage smile. "I'm afraid I've quite forgotten what we're talking about."
Maddocks glanced at Fraser, who was grinning to himself. "We're talking about the deaths of three people, Miss Kingsley, all of whom were closely associated with you and all of whom have been brutally murdered. Russell Landy, Leo Wallader, and Meg Harris. In addition, we are talking about a violent attack on Dr. Protheroe last night which, but for his own quick thinking, would have resulted in a similar bludgeoning to that received by your husband, your fiance, and your best friend. Presumabiy he told you he was attacked with a sledgehammer?" He flung the question at her, watching for a reaction.
"He didn't," she said quietly.
"How do you feel about that?"
"Fine," she said. "1 don't expect Dr. Protheroe to tell me everything."
"Doesn't the fact that a sledgehammer was used worry you just a little, Miss Kingsley?''
"Yes."
"Then tell me now that you find the situation amusing, because I sure as hell don't, and neither do the two heartbroken mothers whose maggot-ridden children were dug out of a ditch last Thursday."
She drew on her cigarette and stared past him. "I'll tell you whatever you like, Inspector," she said with an odd inflection in her voice, "because it won't make any difference." She shifted her gaze back to his. "You will still twist everything I say."
"That's nonsense, Miss Kingsley."
"Experto credite. Trust one who has been through it." She flashed him a faint smile. "You're no different from the last lot. They also wanted to prove my father was a murderer."
TUESDAY, 28TH JUNE, THE NIGHTINGALE CLINIC, SALISBURY-2:30 P.M.
Fraser moved into Jinx's line of vision. He pulled up the second armchair and sat in it, leaning forward, hands clasped between knees, his face less than a meter from hers. Grab the initiative, the Dl had said. And Fraser, at least, was intelligent enough to recognize that they wouldn't get anywhere with intimidation. But then, unlike Maddocks, he didn't feel he had anything to prove, not against women anyway.