Dark Room

Hall, when we were sure she'd made up her mind two weeks earlier, but they said it was Leo who had jilted her, and as I couldn't prove any different, there wasn't much more to be said.'

'Okay, then there's just Friday the third left to cover. Anything unusual happen that day?'

'Just a wall-to-wall fashion shoot in London's docklands. We began at eight-thirty and went right through to seven o'clock in the evening without a break. Jinx dropped me off with all the cameras and equipment at the studio around seven-thirty, blew me a kiss, and said: 'It's all yours for a week, so be good.' And I haven't seen her since.'

'Have you spoken to her?' asked Fraser idly.

'Just once, on the telephone.'

'When was that?'

'Sunday night.'

'Who called who?'

'She called me.'

'At home?'

Dean nodded.

'It must have been important then,' said Fraser.

'Oh, it was,' said Dean. 'It was my thirtieth birthday and she knew I'd have died a thousand deaths if I hadn't spoken to her, never mind she's flat on her back in hospital and suffering galloping amnesia.' He beamed engagingly. 'As I said, she's quite my most favorite lady.'

Fraser flicked over a page or two of his notebook. 'Odd,' he said. 'According to her, she asked you to phone the Walladers to find out whether Leo and Meg were dead or not. She never mentioned your birthday. Can anything you've said be relied upon, sir?'

ROMSEY ROAD POLICE STATION, WINCHESTER-1:00 P.M.

The call from Salisbury came through to the incident room as Detective Superintendent Cheever was briefing the team he'd picked to conduct interviews at Hellingdon Hall that afternoon. He listened for five minutes, with only the odd interjection to know he was interested; then he said: 'And the prostitute is certain of her identification?' A longish pause. 'You've got two of them who swear it's him? ... Yes, we're planning to interview the whole family this afternoon ... No, he's never entered the frame at all.' Another long pause. 'Because he was sixteen when Landy got done, that's why ... Okay, okay. We all know ten-year-olds do it now.' He compressed his lips into a thin, frustrated line. 'Well, how quickly can she get here? ... Half an hour. Yes, all right, we'll hold on ... Yes, yes, yes. We've had cars stationed outside since yesterday afternoon. The whole family's there, including Kingsley. He drove back from London this morning.' He listened again. 'No, we won't steal her blasted thunder.' He slammed the phone onto the rest and glared at the assembled detectives. 'Damn!' he growled.

'What's up?' asked Maddocks.

'Miles Kingsley has been beating up on prostitutes in Salisbury. The DCI there says he has all the hallmarks of a classic psychopath.'

'Where does that leave us?'

Testily, Cheever fingered his bow tie. 'High and dry for the moment. They're sending a WPC over with what she's managed to get on him. I suggest we put everything on hold till she gets I here.' He steepled his hands in front of his face. 'This is what's known as a spanner in the works, gentlemen. Why in God's name I should Miles Kingsley have murdered his sister's husband, fiance, and friend? Can any of you make sense of that?'

'You're jumping the gun, sir,' protested Maddocks. 'So the bastard beats up on prostitutes, that doesn't make him a killer.'

'You still favor Jane for the murders then?'

'Of course. She's the only one with a motive for all three.'

'And her father, knowing what she's done, protects her?'

'That's about the size of it. After Landy's death, she's bundled off to a psychiatric unit while Dad takes the flak himself because he knows the Met will never be able to prosecute him. This time, she's shoved into the Nightingale, following a fake suicide, and we're told hands off because she's got amnesia. Meanwhile Dad's solicitor is busy on a crisis-limitation exercise with the clinic's administrator. She's guilty as sin. Her father knows it and so does Dr. Protheroe.'

'That's a hell of a conspiracy theory, and it's full of holes anyway. If the doctor's protecting her, why did she go for him on Monday night?'

'Because she's off her bloody rocker, sir.'

'She's a psychopath, in other words.'

'Sure she is.'

Frank lowered his hands and smiled sarcastically. 'The Met said her father was a psychopath. Salisbury says her brother's a psychopath. You say she's a psychopath. It's beginning to look like an epidemic, and I don't buy that, Gareth.' Maddocks shrugged. 'What would you buy, sir?' 'One psychopath, maybe, but not three. I suggest two of them have been tarred with the brush of the the other.'

The announcement that Adam Kingsley had resigned in favor of number two, John Normans, was released through Franchise Holdings' London headquarters at twelve o'clock. At one o'clock the BBC television news, video footage of the gates of Hellingdon Hall formed a backdrop to the news story: 'Adam Kingsley reached his decision this morning amidst the peace and quiet this palatial eighteenth-century house on the edge of the New Forest, although it is unlikely he will be here for very much longer. Hellingdon Hall is a registered asset of Franchise Holdings, and sources say it will be sold off to recoup some of the losses of the last few days...'

WINCHESTER-1:45 P.M.

'The message over the radio in the incident room crackled with excitement. 'Listen, sir, a Porsche, registration number MIL-one, has just left Hellingdon Hall by the service entrance, and it's piling off up the road at about a hundred miles an hour. We're following but it's definitely not old man Kingsley. Do we go back to the Hall or do we