'I was talking metaphorically, Jinx.'
She didn't answer immediately. 'I don't think you were,' she said, lowering her gaze, 'but it doesn't make any difference anyway. Russell was never punished for my shortcomings.'
'No,' he agreed. 'I suspect you were punished for his.' He toyed with his pen. 'How much do you know about your mother? Why did both families disapprove of the match, for example?'
'Her people were middle-class and my father's were working-class. I presume it was straightforward snobbery on her side and inverted snobbery on his, and I don't suppose it helped that he made money out of black marketeering.' She was silent for a moment. 'I know he adored her.'
'Did he tell you that?'
'No, he never talks about her.'
'Then how do you know?'
'Because Betty told me. Her name was Imogen Jane Nicholls, she was the only child of a doctor, privately educated, and very much a lady, and he has photographs of her all over his office walls.'
He thought of the name on Jinx's file cover. Jane Imogen Nicola Kingsley. 'Do you look like her as well?'
'Of course I do,' she said with a kind of desperation. 'Adam set out to re-create her.'
He couldn't fault the desperation-it was there in her voice-but he doubted it had anything to do with her mother. 'Even your father can't perform miracles, Jinx,' he said with a touch of irony, as he watched the ash on her cigarette lengthen and curl. 'I suspect that little scenario is more in your stepmother's mind than his. We all need ways of coming to terms with a partner's indifference. None of us is immune from pride.' He nudged the wastepaper basket towards her with his toe. 'You should know that.'
THE VICARAGE, LITTLETON MARY-1:15 P.M.
Fraser watched Cheever's courteous and sympathetic handling of this devastated family with a far more willing admiration than he had felt for Maddocks yesterday. The Superintendent knew as well as he did that there were some strange undercurrents at work, but never for one moment did he pressure either of the Harris parents into saying what they were.
They drove in convoy back to Littleton Mary, with Mrs. Harris and a motherly WPC in the leading one, and himself, Cheever, and Mr. Harris in the car behind. There was little conversation. The vicar clearly found talking difficult, and the Superintendent was content to leave him to his thoughts. Where 'initiative' was Maddocks's watchword, 'patience' was Cheever's.
In retrospect, of course, Fraser had to ask himself whether Maddocks's insensitive approach wouldn't have been more appropriate, for it was Cheever's willingness to take his time that gave rise to the events that followed. Maddocks would have squeezed every last drop of information out of them, irrespective of the trauma they were suffering, and Charles could not have conspired with Simon to keep the information about Meg and Russell's affair to themselves. But would justice have been better served, Fraser always wondered, if they'd known about it then instead of later?
As they drew up behind the other car in the vicarage driveway, Charles Harris touched a hand to his dog collar as if seeking reassurance. 'Could I suggest that I have a quick word with Simon first,' he said rapidly, 'just to explain why you're here, and then perhaps you could talk to him outside away from his mother? It's important you get a clear picture of Meg, and I'm afraid you won't get that if Caroline is listening.'
The Superintendent nodded. 'I'll ask WPC Graham to take Mrs. Harris inside. Sergeant Fraser and I will wait here.'
It was five minutes before Simon emerged, his thin face looking very drawn. He ushered them round the corner of the house to some chairs grouped about a table on the lawn. 'Dad's asked me to tell you about Meg,'' he said, sitting down, 'but I'm not sure-'' He took off his glasses abruptly to pinch the bridge of his nose. 'I'm sorry,' he said, struggling for composure. 'It's all been a bit of a shock.' He breathed deeply over the tears that were crowding his throat. 'I'm sorry,' he said again.
'That's all right, sir,' said Frank. 'Would it be easier if we asked you questions?'
Simon nodded.
'Your father says you worked in London for several years and saw more of Meg than they did. Perhaps you could tell us something about her lifestyle. Did she have many friends, for example? Did she go out a lot? Did she enjoy discos, pubs, things of that sort?'
'Yes,' said Simon, 'all of those. She loved life, Superintendent.' He wiped his eyes with the sleeve of his shirt, then put his glasses back on. 'She had a very happy personality, people always enjoyed being with her.'
Frank twisted his chair against the sunlight. 'That's how your mother described her,' he said, 'but your father seemed to have reservations. Why is that, do you think? Did he and Meg not get on?'
Simon's expression was unreadable because the sun was reflecting off his lenses, and Frank wished he'd had the sense to position him better at the beginning. 'No, Dad and Meg got on fine,' he said, but his tone was too flat and lacked conviction. He was silent for a moment. 'Look, perhaps it would be simpler after all if I just told you what Dad's asked me to say. He's worried you've fixed on Jinx Kingsley as a suspect because of what happened to Russell.' He took off his glasses again and laid them on the table, fishing in his trouser pocket for a handkerchief to blow his nose. 'It's not much fun, this,' he said by way of apology. 'I've been so angry with Meg for the last two weeks, and now-well, you never expect anyone to die.' He took a deep breath to steady himself. 'The irony is, it's my job to comfort people in this position, tell them it's the whole history of their love that matters, not the two small weeks of anger''- he blew his nose-'but it's only when you experience it yourself that you realize how patronizing that is.'
'We can only do our best, sir,' said Frank, giving the man's shoulder an awkward pat. 'In this job, we run up against it all the time. Such sadness everywhere and no easy answers.'
Oddly enough, Simon seemed to find this trite response rather comforting, perhaps because it proved to him that he wasn't alone in offering banalities by way of consolation. He rested his hands on the table and toyed with his glasses. 'The reason Dad didn't want Mum listening to this,' he said, 'is that she never really knew what Meg was like. She knew Meg had a lot of boyfriends but she assumed the relationships were fairly casual.' He corrected himself immediately. 'Well, of course, they were casual, but casual in Meg's terms, not in my mother's. I suppose you'd describe her as promiscuous, except that that gives a false impression of her because we tend to use it pejoratively only where women are concerned.' He gave an uncertain smile. 'I don't really know how to explain this to you without setting up prejudices in your minds. You had to know Meg. She was very innocent in an odd sort of
