'Where was his office?'
But she couldn't remember that, either. 'Somewhere in London,' she told him.
'Okay, it doesn't matter.'
'You don't believe me, do you?'
'I've no reason not to.'
'How could I remember something so awful if it never happened?'
He didn't say anything.
'You think I've invented it,' she accused him. 'But why would I want to invent something that never happened?'
Perhaps because nobody's ever been charged with Russell's murder, he thought, for her guilt seemed rooted in a far more powerful anguish than her very natural reluctance to kiss the mutilated face of her dying husband.
Bodies Found in Ardingly Woods
The remains of a man and a woman were discovered yesterday in Ardingly Woods in Hampshire. Cause of death has yet to be revealed but police are not ruling out foul play. 'We are asking for help in trying to establish their identity,' said a spokesman. 'Death is believed to have taken place ten to twelve days ago, but no one matching their descriptions has been reported missing.'
The man is described as 6'1', medium build, aged between 30 and 40, with straight blond hair. He was wearing fawn cotton slacks, a checked shirt, and dark green ribbed sweater. The woman was 5'4', slim build, aged between 30 and 40, with short dark hair. She was wearing blue denim jeans and a navy blue T-shirt.
Police admit to being puzzled as to how the bodies came there. 'There are no reports of a car being abandoned in the area,' said the spokesman, 'and the woods are not on a bus route, We believe someone must have driven them there, and we are asking anyone who gave a lift to a couple answering these descriptions to come forward, ft is possible that they hitched a ride from outside the county.'
Police have not ruled out a suicide pact, although they are concerned that neither body carries any form of identification. 'This is unusual,'' said the spokesman. 'We would have expected to find a wallet or a handbag.' The woods continue to be searched for fui-ther evidence.
Mrs. Mary Hughes, 73, who discovered the bodies with Pepita, her Jack Russell, is recovering at home following a slight heart attack. She ran over a mile to the nearest telephone to alert police, and blames the attack on shock and overexertion. 'I should have walked,' she said. 'I'm an old woman now and those bodies weren't going anywhere. There's no fool like an old fool.'
*6*
FRIDAY, 24th JUNE, THE VICARAGE, LITTLETON MARY, WILTSHIRE-11:00 A.M.
The Reverend Charles Harris watched from his study window as the white Rolls Royce-registration number KIN6-pulled in through the vicarage gates and parked by the front door. The number plate said it all. By the strategic placing of a yellow-headed screw to break the six and turn it into a G, the word KING screamed out from both ends of the ostentatious vehicle. Not for the first time, he wondered how Jinx had remained so apparently unaffected by her vulgar family, and not for the first time either, he berated himself for being uncharitable.
His dismay grew when the chauffeur opened the back door and assisted Betty Kingsley out. Adam he might have coped with, but Betty was a different matter altogether, particularly when, as was clearly the case now, she had been hitting the bottle hard during the journey. With a sigh, he opened the door of his study and called to his wife. 'Caroline, we have a visitor. Betty Kingsley has just driven in.'
His wife appeared in the kitchen doorway, a look of apprehension on her thin face. 'I don't want to see her,' she said. 'I can't stand it, Charles. It was bad enough talking to her on the phone. She'll just start screaming at me again.'
'I don't think we have a choice.'
'Of course we do,' she snapped, frayed nerves getting the better of her, 'There's no law that says we have to answer the door. We can hardly be blamed because Leo preferred our daughter.' The doorbell rang. 'Just ignore it,' she hissed at him. 'I won't be harangued by a common fishwife in my own home.'
But he was an old-fashioned man with old-fashioned manners. He shook his head in gentle admonishment and crossed the hall to open the front door. 'Hello, Betty,' he said kindly. She stank of gin, and her lipstick was smeared at one corner. There was something infinitely sad, he thought, about the worn face covered in makeup and the plump body squeezed into a girlish dress. Growing old would always be something to fear because drink had addled whatever wisdom she had, and now there was nothing left to make her interesting.
She pushed past him belligerently to confront Caroline, bumping into a walnut card table as she did so and slopping water from the vase of flowers onto the polished surface. 'It's your slut of a daughter drove Jinx to kill herself, not me or her daddy,' she grunted, jabbing her finger at the other woman. 'She'd never need to kill herself because of us. You've got me that riled, Mrs. High-and-bloody-Mighty. You think you can say what you like about me and mine, when the truth is it's your precious Meg deserves the blame.'
Caroline Harris glanced helplessly towards her husband.
'Yes, well, Meg always said you were a tight-arsed bitch who'd rather see everything swept under the carpet than have it aired in public.' Betty clutched at the table with a meaty fist and affected a classy accent. ' 'Oh, I say, I can't see the point of discussing this.' ' She took a deep breath. 'But you fucking well discuss it when it suits you. 'Now, now, Betty, don't go blaming Meg for your own failings. Jinx needs a mother to talk to.' ' She slammed the table and set the vase rocking alarmingly. 'Well, she's got a bloody mother. Me.'
