Fraser bent down to look into her face. 'I'll get the doctor to you,' he said.
'The name of Miss Harris's company, that's the only other thing we need,' pressed Maddocks, getting to his feet. 'We can take it from there. You said her partner was Josh Hennessey. What's the name of her company?'
'Leave it out, Gov, for Christ's sake,' said Fraser angrily, pressing the bell beside the bed. 'Can't you see she's not well?'
'Harris and Hennessey,' she murmured. 'The number's in the book beneath Meg's home number. M. S. Harris first, then Harris and Hennessey. I don't understand why you didn't call it before coming here.'
'Well?' demanded Maddocks of Fraser as he unlocked his car door. 'Why the hell didn't we?'
'Don't ask me, Gov. I went to Downton Court, remember. My recollection is that the Super instructed
'It's bloody Hammersmith's fault,' said Maddocks irritably. 'Goddammit, they've got the fucking telephone books in front of them.' He slid behind the wheel. 'What did you make of her?'
Fraser folded himself into the passenger seat and pulled the door shut. 'I felt sorry for her. She looks really ill.'
'Hmm, well, it didn't stop her running rings around you, did it?' He fired the engine.
'Or you,' said Fraser curtly. 'You set the alarm bells ringing, not me.'
But Maddocks wasn't listening. He thrust the car into gear and swung the wheel. 'I'll tell you something-she certainly didn't like Leo very much, or the parents, either. You've met Sir Anthony. Would you say her description of him was accurate?'
'You can't tell much about a man when he's in shock. He's not poor, that's for sure.' He thought back. 'Matter of fact, I did think he was a bit of a pseud, but the poor bastard was about to be hit with his son's death, so I didn't analyze overmuch.'
'It's odd, though,' said Maddocks thoughtfully. 'If she despised them all as much as she claims she did, then why was she going through with the wedding? I mean it was Leo who called it off, not her, and if he was so obsessive about money, why did he get shot of a Kingsley in order to hitch himself to a vicar's daughter? It doesn't ring true to me.' He gave Fraser a friendly punch on the shoulder. 'Well done, lad. Looks like you were right all along. She's our villain, no question about it. Now all we have to do is nail the bitch.'
Fraser had his doubts: She'd looked so damn good on paper, but the person, predictably, was a different matter. Could someone so frail have committed so physical a crime? 'She's not strong enough, Gov. There were two of them and Leo was over six feet.'
Maddocks slowed at the clinic gates. 'She's sharp as a tack. She used deception to kill them, not strength.' He pulled onto the road. 'And don't be seduced by that feeble-little-girl act either. Christ, I've never met such a calculating woman. She was one step ahead of us most of the time, and if she's suffering from amnesia, I'll eat my hat.'
THE RAGGED STAFF, SALISBURY-6:30 P.M.
WPC Blake, comfortably unobtrusive in jeans and a T-shirt, finally tracked Samantha Garrison to earth in a city-center pub. She was alone at the bar, a rather pathetic sight in a tight black strapless sheath that showed every one of her middle-aged bulges and encouraged her underarm fat to flow like soft lard over the sequined border. Limp hair hung like a damp curtain about her heavily made-up face and cheap scent rose in a thick miasma from her warm pores.
'Samantha Garrison?' she asked, slipping on to the neighboring stool.
'Oh Jesus,' sighed the woman, 'tell me you're not the filth, there's a love. I just don't need the aggro at the moment. I'm having a quiet drink in my local, all right? Do you see any customers? Because I sure as hell don't. Chance'd be a fine thing on a Sunday night in this miserable hellhole.'
'I'm not here for aggro,' said Blake, catching the barman's eye. 'What are you drinking?'
Samantha eyed the half-pint of bitter that she'd been spinning out for the last forty minutes. 'Double rum and Coke,' she said.
Blake ordered a gin and tonic for herself, waited for the drinks to arrive, then suggested they adjourn to an isolated table in the window.
'You said no aggro,' Samantha reminded her. 'What do you want to say to me over there that you can't say here?'
'I want to talk about what happened to you on the twenty-third of March. I thought it would be less embarrassing if we were a little more private.'
A bleak expression settled over the painted face. 'I knew that one would come back to haunt me. What if I say I don't want to talk about it?'
'Then I'll be conducting a one-sided conversation which everyone will hear.' Blake glanced towards the barman. 'I'm trying to make things easy for you, Samantha. If you'd rather, we can go back to your house.'
'Gawd no. D'you think I want my kids reminding what happened?' She eased off the stool. 'Get your arse over here then, but I'm not making no promises. It still gives me the sweats just thinking about it. I suppose it's what happened to that other girl that's got you on my back again.'
Blake took the chair opposite and leaned forward, elbows on the table. 'Which other girl's that?'
'The word is another one got done same as me.'
'It certainly looks like it.'
'Is she talking?'
'Not at the moment. She's too scared.'
Samantha took a huge swallow of her rum and coke. 'Not bloody surprised.'
Blake nodded. 'We need one of you to help us. We're worried that if he does it again he might kill the next girl.' She examined the woman's face closely. 'Girl,' she thought, was quite the wrong expression. Flossie had given her
