‘No. He didn’t get them from me either, if that’s what’s worrying you.’
‘But…?’ She stared at him perplexed.
He took a sip of tea and placed the mug carefully back down on the tray. ‘He knew it all already.’ Brock straightened his spine against the back of the chair and flexed his shoulders. ‘I’m afraid I seriously underestimated our problem, Kathy. I shan’t do it again. The only thing to say on the positive side’ — he turned his neck slowly — ‘is that they do seem to have cured my bad shoulder.’
20
‘The other good thing,’ Brock said later, when they were washing their plates in the kitchen, ‘is this conference. They feel inhibited about disgracing me while I’m supposed to be representing the cream of my profession at an international conference. They feel bound to wait until I get back.’
‘You’re still going to Rome?’
‘Have to. I’m booked to fly out on Saturday. What day is it today? I’ve lost count.’
‘Thursday.’
‘That means it’s Good Friday tomorrow. Is that right?’
‘I suppose so,’ Kathy said. ‘I’d forgotten it was Easter. When will you get back?’
‘Well, it might be advisable for that date to become a little uncertain. The formal business of the conference finishes on Friday, but I suppose, if my paper was brilliant enough, my Italian colleagues might feel it necessary to ask me to extend my stay. I don’t actually use up all of my back leave until the middle of April.’
Kathy stared at the soapy water in the bowl, again wondering if he was telling her he was bowing out.
‘I don’t think,’ he said, wiping the last plate with the tea-towel, ‘that they’ll go for you until they’ve made up their mind what to do with me. I may be wrong, but that was the feeling I got. There were one or two interruptions, phone calls, in the course of their inquiries, concerning relations between forces. You are still formally on secondment from the Met, which makes it a little more awkward for them. And, of course, it now looks as if you were right about Petrou being murdered. Embarrassingly so. They won’t forgive you for that.’
Brock took the dishes over to the cupboard. ‘Let’s see, you’re “Eric”, aren’t you?’
‘How on earth did you know that?’ Kathy looked at him, astonished.
‘Jill told me. Nice girl. Patrick’s a pleasant fellow too. You’re lucky to have such good neighbours.’
‘And when did you meet them?’
‘About four in the morning. I woke up with a foul headache and went searching for an aspirin. Jill and Patrick were down here. They fixed me up.’
‘They were down here then?’
‘Mmm. Jill had just got in from some disco. She offered to take me next week, but I had to tell her I’d be in Rome. They did say they were a bit concerned about you.’
Kathy shook her head in disbelief. ‘You think … you think Division will just leave me in suspense for a while?’
‘Yes. They don’t need to rush. I think you should keep very quiet. Not do anything to attract anyone’s attention. Trust no one.’ It reminded her of Tanner’s earlier advice. ‘On the other hand, if you knew of ways to stay in touch — indirect, inconspicuous ways — it would be very useful to know what was going on.’
‘You haven’t told me what happened to Rose,’ she said.
Brock frowned and lowered his head. ‘I feel like some fresh air. Is there anywhere around here we can walk?’
They put on their coats, crossed the main road at the front of the house and followed a lane opposite that led down to the banks of the stream which flowed through the centre of Crowbridge. There was a path along the bank, wide enough for them to walk side by side, and they followed it slowly, watching the heavy current swirl past between clumps of willow and hawthorn.
‘Poor Rose,’ Brock said at last.
‘Tanner said we shared the responsibility for her death.’
‘Perhaps he’s right. It makes it worse that I was there and couldn’t prevent it. Hell, I don’t even know what happened! One moment I was feeling the first needle going in, and the next thing I remember was trying to get my legs out from underneath her body — twenty minutes later. I can’t blame them for being sceptical. I wouldn’t have believed it myself if a witness had told me that.’
‘But you’d passed out in similar circumstances before — Beamish-Newell could confirm it.’
‘Yes. I wonder if he did.’
‘Anyway, if you had been awake you’d have received the same treatment as Rose. How did they do it?’
‘Those treatment rooms are linked to one another by connecting doors. They must have been in one or other of the adjoining rooms and waited for Beamish-Newell to leave, then stepped in, cut Rose’s throat, locked the door to the corridor and switched off the light. Then back into the next room, take off the protective clothing — there was a hell of a mess, it must have been all over them — bundle it up and march off down the corridor.’
‘Pretty cool — and chancy. It would have to have been someone in the clinic who knew the routines. God, the more you think about it, the more difficult it sounds.’ Kathy shook her head. ‘And why do it anyway?’
‘Because they knew she was going to tell me something crucial. Something worth taking a risk for.’
‘Who knew she was going to talk to you?’
‘I don’t know. Grace Carrington, certainly, but I don’t know who else. Rose might have spoken to her boy-friend about it. Maybe even Laura Beamish-Newell.’
‘They couldn’t know that you would pass out. And they couldn’t know when Beamish-Newell was going to leave. Well, that’s not quite true, is it? One person could have known both those things: Beamish-Newell himself.’
‘Yes. He rearranged the time of my session. And it seems odd if he left the room knowing I’d passed out. I imagine he’s been giving a fairly detailed account of his movements after he left the room.’
‘As he did the first time — all lies. And anyway, people would only be able to vouch for him once he had left the room. They wouldn’t be able to say what he’d been doing before that, when he was alone with Rose and — ’
‘And one ever-alert undercover detective,’ Brock muttered bitterly.
Later, when they turned to retrace their steps along the river bank, Kathy asked, ‘How about your paper to this conference? Did you get it finished?’
‘All but. It seems pretty spurious now, though. If it were any good, it should tell me how to solve this one.’
‘It was about serial crimes, wasn’t it?’
‘The hidden thread,’ Brock said without much conviction, ‘that links the actions of the serial killer. I’ve had plenty of time to ponder that over the last few days. But it’s amazing how much easier it is to spot in retrospect.’
Brock was anxious to get back home to London. Kathy could understand, but all the same she didn’t relish the prospect of being left in limbo without a future or a plan. Later that afternoon she walked part of the way with him to the vehicle yard attached to Division, where Brock’s car was being held. Rain was beginning to fall as they shook hands on a street corner and wished each other luck.
That evening she came upon Patrick in the kitchen.
‘I think,’ she said, ‘that it’s time I had a rusty nail.’
Over the following days she followed Brock’s advice, keeping a low profile and approaching no one at Division. On Tuesday the morning papers carried the news that an unnamed male employee of the clinic, aged thirty-three, had been taken to Division headquarters the previous evening, exactly one week after Rose’s murder, and was helping police with their inquiries. The local radio news repeated this through the day, but by evening had added nothing to it. At seven Penny Elliot rang.
‘Kathy, how are you? I thought you might have rung me.’
‘I wanted to, Penny, but I thought I’d better leave you alone.’
‘You sound depressed. Have you heard the news?’ ‘Only what’s been on the radio.’
‘They’ve charged someone. Someone called Geoffrey Parsons. Do you know him?’