'Yes,' he said, standing up. 'It means you were pulling my leg.'
It was a Detective Constable Hadden of the Wiltshire police who took up where the two uniformed policemen had left off the previous night. He was a bluff middle-aged man who was there to pay lip service to police procedure but without any obvious intention of pursuing the matter further. Rather to Alan's annoyance, he arrived with the newspaper, which put paid, for the moment anyway, to Alan's attempts to substantiate what Simon Harris had told him over the telephone.
'Frankly, sir,' confided DC Hadden, pushing his ample bottom into the sculptured recesses of the leather sofa, 'I'm inclined to go along with the junky theory unless you've remembered anything overnight that points to something more concrete. You see our dilemma. We'd have more success looking for a needle in a haystack than scouring the countryside for this man you've described. It would be different if you could give us a name or if he'd stolen something-there'd be a slim chance of tracing him through the goods-but as it is'-he shook his head-'needle- in-haystack stuff, sir. I'm sure you understand the problem.'
'Then this list I made of the people I spoke to yesterday was a complete waste of time,' Alan snapped irritably. 'I could have had another half hour in bed, which would have done me rather more good than attempting to assist the police in an inquiry they aren't even interested in.' He snatched the list from the coffee table and prepared to roll it into a ball.
'Now I didn't say that, sir,' said Hadden, holding out his hand for the piece of paper. 'We will, of course, look at any information you give us, but the report of last night's incident emphasizes very strongly that you did not believe the attack was personal. Perhaps you've reconsidered?'
Alan shook his head. 'What I said was, I can't think of anyone who would have wanted to do it, but I did make the point that the man took another swing at me even after I'd shut myself in the car. If drugs were what he was after, why didn't he give up then?'
Hadden glanced down the list as he spoke. 'Because these types don't act logically, sir, as I'm sure you know. His mind was set on whatever you had in the car, so he smashed the windshield to get at it. Hospitals lose thousands of pounds' worth of stock every week. Sooner or later, someone was bound to think a place like this was worth a hit.' He thumbed the corner of the page. ' 'Mr. Kennedy, solicitor to Adam Kingsley,' ' he read slowly. 'Would that be Adam Kingsley of Franchise Holdings?'
Alan nodded.
The transformation from bored indifference to alert interest was startling. 'May I ask why his solicitor came to see you, sir?'
'Mr. Kingsley's daughter is a patient here.'
'I see.' The detective frowned. 'Why send his solicitor? Is there some dispute between you?'
'Not that I'm aware of.'
'Then what did you talk about? Was it an amicable discussion?'
'Perfectly amicable. We discussed Miss Kingsley's progress.'
'Is that normal, sir? Discussing a patient's progress with her father's solicitor?'
'Not in my experience, no, but Mr. Kingsley's a busy man. Perhaps he trusts his solicitor to keep confidential information confidential.'
The other man's frown deepened. Clearly, he found the episode as inexplicable as Alan had done. 'Have you met Mr. Kingsley himself.''
'No. We correspond by fax and telephone.'
'So you can't say what sort of a man he is?' Alan shook his head. 'There's a Fergus Kingsley on your list. Would that be a relation?'
'The younger son. Miss Kingsley's half brother.'
'And was your conversation with him amicable?'
He thought of Fergus's hand on his arm. The gesture had been annoying, but not hostile. 'Yes, it was amicable.'
DC Hadden folded the page and stuffed it into his pocket. 'You said your guy was carrying a sledgehammer. No question about that?'
'None.'
'Okay.' He stood up. 'We'll see what we can do, sir.'
Alan raised an inquiring eyebrow. 'Why the sudden change of heart? Two minutes ago, you were quietly going to drop the whole thing; now you're raring to go. What's Kingsley got to do with this?''
Hadden shrugged noncommittally. 'I seem to have given you a false impression, sir. The Wiltshire police take all assaults seriously. Presumably, if we need to come back to you, we'll find you here. You're not planning to go away in the next day or so?'
'No.'
'Thank you for your help. I'll be off then.'
Alan watched him leave, then with a thoughtful frown, reached again for the newspaper. The piece about Leo and Meg was on an inside page, and when he read it, he understood why mention of sledgehammers in the context of the name Kingsley had galvanized so indolent a man as DC Hadden into activity.
ROMSEY ROAD POLICE STATION, WINCHESTER-10:00 A.M.
An hour later and twenty miles away in Winchester, Frank Cheever listened to what his opposite number in Salisbury told him over the telephone, and smiled for the first time in twelve hours. It had been a bastard of a night, beginning with the call from
