Rose’s role was to move the needles gently once Beamish-Newell was satisfied with their placing. He murmured something to her that Brock couldn’t make out, and left the room.
‘Well, Rose.’ Brock cleared his throat. ‘How are things with you?’
‘OK.’ Perfunctory, preoccupied.
‘Why don’t you talk to me while you’re doing that? Might be the best chance we get. Tell me what’s bothering you.’
‘You’re sounding like an amateur psychiatrist today, Mr Brock. Just what are you?’ She was belligerent now.
‘You were the one who contacted Kathy, Rose. I just want to help.’
‘Do you? How do I know I won’t just make things worse for-’
She stopped mid-sentence and tugged at one of the needles. He winced. ‘For whom?’
She didn’t reply.
‘I really don’t think you’ve got a choice, Rose. I believe, in your heart, you know you’re going to have to talk to someone.’ Brock was finding it hard to make his point when all he could see of her was the toe of her shoe.
‘Never you mind about what’s in my heart, mister,’ Rose leaned over him and hissed in his ear.
He sighed. ‘Look, you’d probably be more comfortable talking to Kathy. Why not give her a ring? I can give you her home phone number.’
She didn’t reply until they heard Beamish-Newell’s voice outside the door, and then she said quietly, ‘I’ll think about it.’
‘Well, you survived this time, David.’ Beamish-Newell came back in and looked him over. ‘I think we can get down to things in earnest next Monday.’
Brock waited while the needles were withdrawn, then got unsteadily to his feet and headed for the door.
It seemed everyone wanted to use the pay phone that lunch-time, and it was almost two o’clock when Brock eventually got through to Kathy.
‘How’s the tyre-slasher?’ he asked.
‘Another eight cars last night. How’s the human pincushion?’
‘Thoroughly punctured, thank you. The closest I can get to the computer password is that the receptionist’s name is Jay, and she typed in three letters that might have been J, A, Y, or something close to those.’
‘Upper or lower case?’
‘I don’t know. I didn’t see her touch the shift key, but she might have.’
‘Right, I’ll tell Belle.’
‘And you can tell her that she’s not allowed to start any sexual gymnastics until she’s found out what we want. Not while I’m stuck like a monk in this place and paying for her room.’
‘Yes, sir. Anything else?’
‘I had another word with Rose. She’s being very reluctant. I believe she’s worried for someone else, protecting them.’ ‘Her boyfriend?’
‘That’s the obvious choice, I suppose. I suggested she might be more comfortable speaking directly to you on the phone at home. She said she’d think about it.’
The corridors had cleared by the time he rang off, the patients all tucked away in the various corners of the house for the rest hour. Brock went up to the first floor and worked his way back along the corridor to what he estimated to be the area above the dumb waiter in the corner of the dining room below. Two doors were possible and he tried their handles, but both were locked.
He was beginning to head back to his room when he heard one of the doors open. He turned and found Norman de Loynes staring round the jamb at him.
‘Oh, hello, Norman,’ he said.
‘Looking for someone, old man?’
Brock strolled towards him and he stepped out into the corridor, pulling the door almost closed behind him. He was dressed, Brock saw, in a flamboyant, brocade smoking jacket, black silk pyjama trousers and gold slippers, like some character from the circle of Oscar Wilde.
‘I was hoping to catch a bit of the racing from Newmarket on the box actually, Norman. They’re watching some woman’s programme downstairs, and someone mentioned they thought there was another sitting room up here with a telly. I was trying to find it.’
‘Nothing on this floor, David.’
‘Ah, too bad.’ Brock smiled and didn’t move.
De Loynes paused as if in doubt, then shrugged. ‘See you later, David.’ He slipped back through the door and clicked it firmly shut.
Brock rang Kathy at home immediately after breakfast next morning, impatient.
‘I haven’t heard from her yet,’ she said. ‘They’re probably having a lie-in.’
‘Let’s hope they’ve earned it,’ he said testily.
The clinic seemed to be in limbo, the normal routine suspended for the weekend as some patients departed and others arranged outings for the day. Brock waited an hour and tried again.
‘No luck, Brock. I’m sorry. She couldn’t do it. Apparently the clinic is in some kind of electronic bulletin-board network, and she was able to get into that all right, but not into their private files.’
‘I thought even schoolkids could break into anybody’s computer these days.’
‘She was very apologetic, but they did have a nice evening, anyway. She says thank you for that. It seems you saved their marriage!’
Brock grunted ungraciously. ‘Well, that only leaves the old-fashioned manual method, I suppose.’
‘Brock, I’ve been thinking. I reckon you’ve done about as much as you can down there. I think you should let it be. Come home.’ She sounded worried.
‘What’s the matter?’
‘The last thing we need is a Detective Chief Inspector from Scotland Yard caught red-handed breaking into their files. Anyway, if we’re right, there’s a high probability that a particularly nasty murderer is still wandering around down there. I think you’ve done about as much to stir him up as you should.’
‘Or her.’
‘Pardon?’
‘Him or her.’
‘Oh yes, well … but they had to be strong enough to carry Petrou’s body out to the temple and string it up.’
‘Maybe. Anyway, your point is taken. All the same, whoever specified the internal locks in this place wasn’t too bothered about security.’
‘Oh God. Please, Brock. I’m getting a bad feeling about this. And I feel responsible.’
‘It was entirely my idea to come here, Kathy, and I’d like to have something to show for my pains. But I won’t rush into anything, don’t worry.’
Brock spent the morning working in his room. Towards lunch-time he made his way down to the library to see if he could find a dictionary. As he stepped out into the corridor to leave, he almost bumped into Grace Carrington. She didn’t seem pleased to see him.
‘Are you all right?’ he asked, puzzled.
‘Yes. Thank you for the book, but I don’t want it.’ She fumbled in her shoulder bag, pulled it out and thrust it at him. She sounded furious.
‘What’s the matter? Was it a bad choice?’
She glared at him.
‘Look, come into the library for a moment,’ he said. ‘There’s no one here. Tell me what’s wrong. Please.’
Reluctantly she followed him in and he closed the door.
‘No,’ she said at last. ‘I suppose it was quite an appropriate choice, in a way. I thought it was a touching thing to do, actually. Then I spoke to Rose this morning.’ She looked at him, challenging him.
‘So?’
‘She was very upset. She said you had been putting pressure on her to tell you about what went on in the clinic when Alex Petrou died. She said she was frightened of you, of your questions. And I thought of all the questions that you’ve been asking me.’ She paused, controlling her anger. ‘She thinks you’re a policeman. Is it true?’
‘Ah.’ Brock turned away, avoiding her accusing stare.
‘It’s hard when you start off by lying to people,’ she said, her voice tight and low, ‘hard to stop, and hard for anyone to accept anything from you at face value.’
‘I don’t believe I lied to you, Grace.’
‘Maybe not in so many words. Anyway, I don’t want your gift.’
She made for the door.
‘I’m not on duty here, Grace. But what happened to Alex Petrou was never resolved, was it? And I think it’s important that it should be. Don’t you think that?’