‘How much did you inject?’
‘ Twenty units.’
‘Two ampoules, each of ten units?’
‘ Yes.’
‘What did you do with the ampoules?’
‘ Put them into the disposal basket.’
‘And then got into bed?’
‘ Yes.’
‘You didn’t take the syringe into the bedroom with you and put it on the side table?’
‘ Of course not! ’
‘Or any ampoules?’
‘ No.’
‘Or a glass of brandy?’
‘ No.’
‘Tell us what happened when you got into bed.’
‘ I shouldn’t have drunk what little wine I did: the headache came back. I told Gerald when he came up: I didn’t want to disappoint him, after he’d come all the way from London.’
He had to crush every feeling, Hall decided: stick always to the truth, according to the psychiatrist. ‘Disappoint him about making love, you mean?’
‘ Yes.’
Jennifer’s shoulders were heaving but still she wasn’t making any sound. She drank again.
‘What happened?’ Hall drank, too.
‘ He got me something from the bathroom.’
‘Something for the headache?’
‘ Yes.’
‘What was it?’
‘ Gerald didn’t bring a bottle back. Just some pills, in his hand .’
‘Did he say what they were?’
‘ Paracetamol. I could safely take that.’
‘You saw they were paracetamol?’
‘ The headache had got bad again. I was keeping my eyes closed against the light, although it wasn’t very bright.’
‘So he gave you pills and you took them without looking to see what they were?’
‘ Yes.’
‘What then?’
‘ He said it didn’t matter. About making love. He just held me.’
‘He got into bed to hold you?’
‘ No, not then. He sat on the side of the bed.’
‘Not then. What about later.’
‘ I don’t remember later. I went to sleep.’
‘Don’t you remember anything about later?’
‘ Vaguely that there was something against my face, hurting me. And a smell, of something strong… and then of choking.’
‘Was it brandy you smelled?’
‘ I don’t drink any spirit. Never have. I told you, it was only vague. It could have been brandy. It must have been, from what was said at the inquest. ’
Hall paused at the next question, held this time by the inanity of it, telling himself that nothing could be inane. ‘You were at your own inquest?’
Only Cox showed any reaction, shaking his head. There was no facial reaction.
‘ I wanted to know! But it was all lies! ’
‘I know some of them,’ promised Hall. ‘You’re left handed, aren’t you? All the stab wounds to Gerald’s body were from a left-handed person and Jennifer is right handed.’
‘ Yes. I’m left handed.’
‘Could you inject, with your right hand?’
‘ It wasn’t easy.’
‘Did Gerald ever inject you?’
‘ I didn’t like him doing it: I always thought it was a private thing. And he didn’t like doing it.’
‘But he could, in an emergency?’
‘ I’d taught him how. But he was clumsy. It hurt.’
‘That night you injected yourself in your right thigh?’
‘ Yes.’
‘Twice?’
‘ Yes.’
‘Not three times?’
‘ That was a lie, at the inquest! I didn’t administer the third, the most obvious one.’
‘What about the even more obvious one, the big puncture mark in your left arm?’
‘ No! I’ve never ever injected myself in my left arm. I couldn’t, obviously.’
‘Did Gerald do it?’
‘ He must have done. I was asleep. Unconscious.’
Hall pushed across in front of Jennifer the copies of the American enquiries that Humphrey Perry had faxed him. There’s your American medical records. And another affidavit from your family doctor, up until you moved to England. You were never hospitalized, for an insulin overdose, were you? You’ve never ever overdosed?’
‘ Never! It was another lie! ’
‘And you never had a drink problem, in America?’
‘ How could I have had, with diabetes as severe as mine? ’
Jennifer was slumping lower and lower over the table, pressed down again by exhaustion. Hall was drained, too, but wouldn’t stop. There was a momentum he didn’t want to lose. He was doing more than follow the basic legal precept of never asking a question to which he didn’t already know the answer. lle was intently listening, too, gauging his knowledge against Jane’s. He was sure he was ahead. Now he was about to go beyond the established precept: to grope out for answers he didn’t already know and needed to guess precisely the right questions to ask.
‘It’s all guesswork, though, isn’t it? You can’t prove Gerald killed you? It’s what the police would consider circumstantial.’
‘ More than circumstantial! Everything at the inquest was lies! The police would have investigated, if they’d known.’
‘Of course they would,’ agreed Hall. ‘And I believe they would have found enough for a murder charge, like I believe I have.’
‘ So where’s your argument? ’
‘Where’s yours, to prove Jennifer was part of it?’
‘ His mistake! What he said in his statement.’
It was too soon for any satisfaction. ‘Where, precisely, in his statement?’
‘ About the temazepam, which I know now he gave me instead of paracetamoclass="underline" drugged me to make everything else possible. Read it! It says “I had it collected. ” Not “I collected it.” Had it collected, by her. By Jennifer Stone.’
He was there! thought Hall, euphorically. He’d guessed correctly – had Humphrey Perry agree with him – and now he had his defence. ‘“I had it collected”,’ Hall repeated yet again, returning the quote. ‘Not “I had it collected by Jennifer Stone.” You don’t know who collected it, do you?’
‘ Had to be her. She had the motive, the reason.’
‘You didn’t know about the affair with Jennifer Stone when you were alive, did you?’
‘ No.’
‘You went to bed that night wanting to make love to him. Thinking he loved you.’
‘ He did. Always did.’
The denial of the cheated wives isolated Hall, sadness mingling with the satisfaction: Jane refusing to admit losing to Jennifer and Jennifer refusing to admit losing to Rebecca. How many other lives of other women would Gerald Lomax have shattered if he hadn’t died? ‘And you hate Jennifer, don’t you? Hate her not because you think she had anything to do with your death but because she stole your husband from you.’
‘ Yes.’ For the first time there was a discernible emotion, the word hissing out in snake-like loathing.
‘Who’s Ian Halliday?’ demanded Hall, abruptly.
There wasn’t an immediate answer. Then, ‘ Gerald’s doctor.’
‘Never yours?’
‘ I spent most of my time in the country. I needed a local doctor. ’
‘Halliday never treated you?’
‘ No.’
‘Never prescribed for you?’
‘ No.’
‘Did you ever meet him?’
‘ No.’
Hall went to a paper in front of him, lifting it. ‘This is a signed statement, made to Humphrey Perry eight days ago by Doctor Ian Halliday, of Harley Street, London. It sets out the history of his medical association with Gerald Lomax. Part of it reads, “Two months before the death of his first wife – the actual date of the consultation was June 12 – Gerald Lomax-’
‘I wasn’t there!’ Jennifer’s interruption croaked out, the sound so strained and unexpected that everyone jumped. She gulped from her glass again, spilling some water down her chin. She didn’t bother to wipe it. ‘I wasn’t there!’ she repeated, stronger voice. ‘In June of the year Jane died… in fact throughout May and June and part of July
… I was on secondment to New York…’ She sniggered, disbelievingly. ‘It was there, that time, that I met Rebecca. Isn’t that ironic…? There’ll be proof…’