Mara smiled. “I’m not used to answering machines, that’s all. Sorry.”
“No need. You just came across as frightfully worried and serious. Are you?”
A domino clicked loudly on the board, obviously a winning move. “Not as much as I probably sounded, no,” Mara said. “But it is about the demo. Partly, anyway.”
She had decided that, as Jenny had mentioned Banks, she might as well begin by seeing if she could find anything out about the investigation, what the police were thinking.
“Go ahead, then.”
Mara took a deep breath and told Jenny about recent events at the farm, especially Burgess’s visit.
“You ought to complain,” Jenny advised her.
Mara sniffed. “Complain? Who to? He told us what would happen if we did.
Apparently his boss is a bigger bastard than he is.”
“Try complaining locally. Superintendent Gristhorpe isn’t bad.”
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Mara shook her head. “You don’t understand. The police would never listen to a complaint from people like us.”
“Don’t be too sure about that, Mara. Alan wants to understand. It’s only the truth he’s after.”
“Yes, but … I can’t really explain. What do they really think about us, Jenny?
Do they believe that one of us killed that policeman?”
“I don’t know. Really I don’t. They’re interested in you, yes. I’d be a liar if I denied that. But as far as actually suspecting anyone … I don’t think so.
Not yet.”
“Then why do they keep pestering us? When’s it going to stop?”
“When they find out who the killer is. It’s not just you, it’s everyone involved. They’ve been at Dennis, too, and Dorothy Wycombe and the students.
You’ll just have to put up with it for the time being.”
“I suppose so.” The old men shuffled dominoes for another game, and a lump of coal shifted in the fire, sending out a shower of sparks and a puff of smoke.
Flames rose up again, licking at the black chimney-back. “Look,” Mara went on, “do you mind if I ask you a professional question, something about psychology?
It’s for a story I’m working on.”
“I didn’t know you wrote.”
“Oh, it’s just for my own pleasure really. I mean, I haven’t tried to get anything published yet.” Even as she spoke, Mara knew that her excuse didn’t ring true.
“Okay,” Jenny said. “Let me get another round in first.”
“Oh no, it’s my turn.” Mara went to the bar and bought another half for herself and a vodka-and-tonic for Jenny. If only she could get away with some of her fears about Paul allayed-without giving them away, of course-then she knew she would feel a lot better.
“What is it?” Jenny asked when they’d settled down with their drinks again.
“It’s just something I’d like to know, a term I’ve heard that puzzles me. What’s a sociopath?”
“A sociopath? Good Lord, this is like an exam question.
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Let me think for a bit. I’ll have to give you a watered-down answer, I’m afraid.
I don’t have the textbook with me.”
“That’s all right.”
“Well… I suppose basically it’s someone who’s constantly at war with society.
A rebel without a cause, if you like.”
“Why, though? I mean, what makes people like that?”
“It’s far from cut and dried,” Jenny said, “but the thinking is that it has a lot to do with family background. Usually people we call sociopaths suffered abuse, cruelty and rejection from their parents, or at least from one parent, from an early age. They respond by rejecting society and becoming cruel themselves.”
“What are the signs?”
“Antisocial acts: stealing, doing reckless things, cruelty to animals. It’s hard to say.”
“What kind of people are they?”
“They don’t feel anything about what they do. They can always justify acts of cruelty-even murder-to themselves. They don’t really see that they’ve done anything wrong.”
“Can anyone help them?”
