epilogue
FRIDAY, 1st JULY, THE NIGHTINGALE CLINIC, SALISBURY-11:00 A.M.
Detective Superintendent Cheever and DS Fraser waited in silence while Jinx read the letter that Simon Harris had left behind on his desk before setting out to take his own life. It was a chilling document, not least because the sickness it revealed was echoed nowhere else in his house, except perhaps in a single cassock which, although it had been cleaned, still showed positive where blood had splattered the front. Despite this and the letter, however, there was considerable unease about Simon's suicide, particularly in respect of the open petrol cans that had turned his car into a fireball, destroying all chance of forensic analysis, and the extraordinary order in his life that was in such contrast to the apparent disorder in his mind.
The police had not been able to discover a single parishioner in Frampton who found their vicar's homicidal tendencies even halfway credible. 'He was a sweet man.' 'Nothing was ever much trouble for him.' 'Father Harris wouldn't hurt a fly.' 'He was the hardest-working priest we've ever had.'
There was circumstantial evidence to show that he had been absent from the vicarage from lunchtime on Sunday, June 12, to the morning of Tuesday, June 14, but it hardly stood up to close scrutiny. 'I noticed Simon's car wasn't outside on the Sunday or Monday night,' said his next-door neighbor, 'but he used to park it in his garage sometimes, so it may have been in there. I don't remember seeing him after morning service, but that wasn't unusual. We're busy people and we don't keep track of each other's movements. The car was certainly there on Tuesday morning. I had a form for him to sign and I had to walk round it to reach the front door. No, I didn't notice anything odd about him. He was in his usual good spirits.'
Caroline Harris, quite destroyed by the disasters that had overtaken her family, swore that Simon had been with her and Charles on the Sunday and Monday night. She also claimed that he had been staying with them on June 27th when Dr. Protheroe was attacked. But when her husband was asked later to corroborate these stories he shook his head. 'No,' he said quietly, 'I'm afraid neither is true.' He had read his son's letter without obvious emotion and handed it back to Cheever with a request that his wife should never see it. 'I blame myself,' he said. 'I should have realized how damaging it was to grow up in a house where the sexual act was viewed as something degrading and disgusting. Selfishly, I thought it was only I who was affected, but clearly. Meg confused it with love and Simon confused it with hate.'
To begin with, Flossie Hale and Samantha Garrison were doubtful that Simon was the man who assaulted them. 'He didn't wear glasses, you see,' said Flossie, studying the photograph of the earnest young vicar, 'and he was better-looking.' But when shown a snapshot of a younger, smiling Simon minus spectacles and in casual clothes, they were more confident. 'Little Lord Fauntleroy,' said Flossie triumphantly, 'and he's not so different from the first one I picked out either. Same eyes. It's the innocence. Gawd, I'll remember never to be taken in by pretty blue eyes again.'
DI Maddocks was liaising with the Metropolitan police in an attempt to discover whether any London prostitutes had suffered assaults similar to Kale's and Garrison's during the five years that Simon had worked there. If they could establish a prolonged pattern of criminal assault on prostitutes, it would ease police doubts over the meager evidence pointing to Simon's involvement in the murders of Landy, Wallader, and Harris. For, as Maddocks said to Cheever when he'd read Simon's letter: 'Someone beat the crap out of him to make him write this, sir. It's got bloodstains on it.'
Frank watched Jinx lower the letter to her knees. 'As you see, Miss Kingsley,' he said, 'there are one or two questions left unanswered. We're still looking for the weapon, but there was a cassock in his house that appears to have bloodstains on it. However it will be some time before we can say definitely that the blood was Meg's and Leo's. The likely scenario is that he removed the cassock after he killed your two friends, which would explain why we had no reported sightings of someone wearing bloodstained clothes. We believe he probably used the same method to kill your husband-donned his cassock, in other words, to keep the blood off his clothes.' She looked paler and more drawn than ever, he thought, and the hand that held the letter shook violently. 'I don't wish to upset you further, but we would be grateful for any details you can give us.'
She glanced towards Alan Protheroe for support, then nodded. 'Perhaps we could begin with Saturday, the eleventh of June, the day you phoned your father to tell him the wedding was off. Do you remember that day, Miss Kingsley?''
'Most of it, yes.'
'Do you remember going to Meg's flat in the evening and being angry when she or Leo opened the door to you?'
Jinx nodded.
'Could you tell me about that? We assume they were supposed to be long gone, so what made you think they were still there? Why did you go?'
'To collect Marmaduke and take him home with me,' she simply. 'I couldn't believe it when I saw Leo's car parked outside. I was furious.' Tears welled in her eyes. 'I'd gone to so much trouble and they just thought I was being paranoid.'
'So you had a key to Meg's flat?'
She shook her head. 'I was supposed to collect it from the neighbor. But I could see Leo in the sitting room, so I hammered on the door instead and let rip at them.' She dabbed miserably at her eyes. 'I wish I hadn't now. It was the last time I really spoke to either of them and I was so bad-tempered. You see, I knew they were in danger. I had this feeling all the time that something terrible was going to happen.'
Frank waited a moment till he felt she was back in control ol herself. 'What happened then?'
