The Dark Room (28 page)

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 windscreen 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.’

‘OK.’ He stood up. ‘We’ll see what we can do, sir.’

Alan raised an enquiring 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 oppo 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
The Times
seeking confirmation of identity and continuing with a bombardment from other journalists demanding to know if the
implications in
The Times
piece had any basis in fact. Sir Anthony Wallader, it seemed, had been very specific in his accusations against Kingsley and his daughter and, while none of the
newspapers was foolish enough to print his statement verbatim, they had all followed
The Times
’s lead by mentioning Landy’s death and quoting Frank’s own refusal to specify
whether a sledgehammer had been used. They had also flirted with Wallader’s other accusation that Kingsley was using his influence to suppress the investigation in his home county of
Hampshire, leaving their readers to tease out all the damning implications.

Frank’s ears were still smarting from a deeply critical dressing-down by the Chief Constable for his failure to keep Sir Anthony and Mrs Harris informed of developments. Frank
had pointed out, but to no effect, that Meg’s body had not been formally identified until a few hours previously and that Sir Anthony’s complaint to the newspapers was very specific,
namely that Hampshire police had not immediately arrested and/or charged Adam or Jane Kingsley. The Chief Constable was unimpressed by such niceties of distinction. Frank should have addressed the
Wallader and Harris concerns at the outset and never allowed this climate of distrust to develop.

‘It must have occurred to you that the two sets of parents would get together. Why on earth didn’t you go back to the Walladers the minute the Harrises had left? Of
course they’re going to suspect the worst if we can’t be bothered to keep them informed. I’m organizing a press conference for this afternoon and I expect you to have pacified
both families in the meantime. No one is to be left in any doubt at all that Hampshire police are pursuing this inquiry with vigour and commitment, irrespective of who may or may not be
involved.’

Frank glanced at his watch as he replaced the receiver. Sir Anthony and Lady Wallader were due in less than ten minutes. The Harrises had declined the invitation, but had agreed to
see Detective Superintendent Cheever in their home at midday. The press conference was scheduled for three-thirty. He picked up the telephone again and ordered DI Maddocks into his office
immediately.

‘Sir,’ said Gareth, presenting himself sixty seconds later, as anxious not to annoy the Superintendent as Frank was anxious not to further annoy the Chief Constable. The
pecking order had been viciously active since seven o’clock the previous evening.

‘I’ve had a call from Salisbury. Dr Alan Protheroe at the Nightingale Clinic was attacked last night with a sledgehammer. He avoided serious injury by raising the alarm
and attracting help but, and this is the interesting bit, Salisbury say Protheroe had a visit from Kingsley’s solicitor yesterday afternoon. I want you to go to Salisbury, take Fraser with
you, talk to Detective Superintendent Mayhew and a Detective Constable Hadden and then go on to the Nightingale Clinic to interview Dr Protheroe. Get me a complete run-down of his day, the names of
everyone he spoke to and what was said. The solicitor’s visit cannot be coincidence.’

Sir Anthony Wallader was in no mood to be placated. He denounced the Kingsleys as murderers, repeated his accusations of police lethargy, demanded to know why Russell Landy’s
death had gone unpunished, insisted that if the police had done their job over that, then Leo and Meg would still be alive. He seemed unable to contain his grief or deal with it, and three days had
brewed in him an anger that needed to lash out at anyone who could be blamed for his loss. Lady Wallader, by contrast, sat with bowed head and said nothing.

Frank, too, sat in silence until the storm abated.

‘Please accept my apologies for any insensitivity that I and my team have shown you and your wife, Sir Anthony,’ he said quietly. ‘Our difficulty was tracing
Meg’s parents and, as I’m sure Mrs Harris told you, it wasn’t until yesterday morning that they were able to make the formal identification. Clearly, I should have telephoned you
immediately afterwards to acquaint you with developments and I regret intensely that I did not.’

‘At the very least, someone should have been sent to comfort my wife. Why wasn’t that done? The Reverend Harris tells me you sent a policewoman to support
his
wife.’

‘We did offer support and counselling, sir, but if you remember you said it would only make it worse to have strangers in your house.’

‘Well, I’m not going to let it rest. I’m making an official complaint. In my view you should be taken off the case immediately and replaced with someone more
competent.’ Tears gathered in his eyes. ‘My son has been murdered and what are you doing about it? Nothing. Any more than anything was done after Russell Landy’s
murder.’

‘I do assure you, sir, we have done a great deal in the few days we’ve had. For example, we’ve located your son’s London house where we expect to find most of
his and Miss Harris’s possessions.’ He checked the time. ‘A team of detectives was due in there this morning, accompanied by your son’s solicitor. We have in addition
requested the French police to enter his house in Brittany although, as it seems clear he and Meg died without ever leaving England, we are not hopeful of anything material coming back across the
Channel. There is also the condominium in Florida, but, again, we think it unlikely that a search will bear fruit.’ He paused for a moment, pretending not to see the hurt bewilderment on the
older man’s face. ‘We are still trying to locate his two cars. His solicitor is sure that one of them, at least, is in the garage of the Chelsea house and he has given us the address of
another garage in Camden which Leo rented for several years. Mr Bloom has agreed to take the detectives there after they have finished in the house. There are, in addition, two safety deposit
boxes, which we will apply to search, and several bank accounts that may tell us something when we can gain access to them. I regret that these efforts had to be delayed until today, but we were
only given Mr Bloom’s name on Sunday afternoon. We contacted him yesterday and arranged for the searches to be made this morning.’

‘But this is outrageous,’ spluttered Wallader. ‘We should have been told all this immediately.’

‘In fact, this information was only confirmed for us late yesterday afternoon in a fax from Mr Bloom’s office,’ said Frank. ‘It took some time to assemble
because of the complexity of your son’s affairs.’ He folded his hands in front of him. ‘I do regret the turn events have taken, sir. Please believe that Mr Bloom had agreed to
accompany me to Guildford after the searches of your son’s premises in order to clarify and explain what he knows of Leo’s estate. Wrongly perhaps, I thought it would be more
appropriate for you to hear the details from a solicitor. It seems your son had considerable assets which, from the little you were able to tell us on Saturday, I gather you and your wife knew
nothing about.’

Lady Wallader looked up at Cheever. ‘He had a flat in Kensington which he had to sell in ’eighty-eight to pay off his debts,’ she said tiredly. ‘He lost
everything in the stock market crash and had to live in rented accommodation in Kew for five years until he met Jinx and moved in with her.’

Frank consulted the fax from Bloom. ‘Would that be a flat in Kensington Garden Road?’

She nodded.

‘It makes up part of his estate, Lady Wallader, together with three flats in Kew and two in Hampstead. His list of properties is as follows: a five-bedroomed house in Chelsea,
which was let until April of this year, at which point he instructed Bloom and his agents to keep it vacant; the flat in Kensington, which is currently empty but with instructions to let; two flats
in Hampstead, which are currently let; a three-storeyed house in Kew, which was converted to three flats four years ago, all of which are currently let; a house in Brittany, which is let during the
holiday season when Leo himself doesn’t require it; and a condominium in Florida, which is let year-round to holiday tenants. Off hand, can you remember where he said his rented flat
was?’

‘The Avenue, Kew,’ she whispered.

‘Tremayne, The Avenue, Kew?’ he asked her.

‘Yes.’

‘He bought the entire property eight years ago for two hundred and eighty thousand pounds, Lady Wallader. Perhaps you misunderstood what he meant by rented
accommodation.’

‘No,’ she said. ‘He led us both to believe he was finding it difficult to make ends meet, but I knew he was lying. If I hadn’t, I might have done what he
asked and lent him some money.’ She stared at him with red-rimmed eyes. ‘Was it Jinx who gave you Mr Bloom’s name?’

‘Yes,’ he told her.

‘Does that mean she’s better? I spoke to her stepmother on the telephone and she told me Jinx had lost her memory. I was very sorry to hear that.’

‘I understand it’s only partial amnesia, Lady Wallader. Two of my detectives spoke to her on Sunday, and most of what she can’t recall relates to events in the two
weeks preceding her accident.’

‘How bloody convenient for her,’ said Sir Anthony furiously. ‘You realize she’s probably lying.’

Frank ignored him. ‘Did you like her, Lady Wallader?’

‘Yes, I did,’ she said quietly. ‘But she was angry the last time we saw her and I guessed Leo was up to his tricks again. It’s difficult to be objective about
your children, Superintendent. For all their sins you go on loving them and, however much you wish they
would
, the sins don’t go away.’

Her husband’s hand descended on her arm in an iron grip. ‘You’re being disloyal,’ he said angrily.

There was a short silence.

‘I’m telling the truth, Anthony,’ she said quietly. ‘It doesn’t mean I loved Leo any less. You know that.’ She ignored his hard fingers digging
into the flesh of her arm.

‘The only truth that matters now is that your son was murdered,’ he grunted. ‘Do you want his murderer to get away with it?’

She looked at him. ‘No,’ she said, ‘which is why it’s important that the Superintendent knows the truth.’

‘You’re hurting your wife, Sir Anthony,’ said Frank calmly.

The haggard face turned blankly towards him.

‘Your hand, sir. I think you should remove it.’

Obediently, he unclenched his fist.

‘Tell me why Jinx was angry the last time you saw her.’

‘Oh, because she’d had enough of his lies and deceits,’ said Lady Wallader matter-of-factly. ‘Like every other girlfriend Leo ever had. In the end they all
discovered that the charm and the good looks disguised a very selfish personality.’ She glanced briefly at her husband. ‘He couldn’t share, you see, even as a child. He became
quite violent whenever another child borrowed something of his, so in the end we took him to a psychologist who diagnosed a personality disorder. She told us there was nothing we could do about it
but that he would probably learn to control his aggression better as he got older.’

‘And did he?’

‘I suppose so. He stopped using his fists, but I can’t say hand on heart that he felt any less angry inside about having to share what he had. He was very
immature.’