Perhaps the information was too shocking to take in; perhaps, quite simply, it didn't make sense. Sir Anthony gave a surprised laugh. "Don't be absurd, man. I've already told you. They're on the Continent somewhere. What is this? Some sort of practical joke?" His brows snapped together angrily. "That wretched man Kingsley's doing, I suppose."
"No sir," said Cheever gently, "not a practical joke, although, for your sake, I wish it were. We do have two unidentified bodies"-he glanced towards the smiling photograph-"one male, aged between thirty and forty, six feet one inch in height with blond hair, and one female, aged between thirty and forty, five feet four inches in height, with short dark hair. While there is still a chance that the boy lied to us about how he came by the credit cards, I must warn you that it's very remote. Certainly the description of the male seems to fit your son, although we have still to compare the female with Miss Harris. As yet we have no description of her."
Sir Anthony shook his head in denial. "There must be some mistake," he said firmly. "Leo's in France."
"Perhaps you can give us a description of Meg," suggested Fraser.
"She came here once," said the older man slowly. "Dropped in for lunch on her way back to London when Leo and Jinx were down for the weekend. Philippa took to her immediately. She was a nice girl, clearly besotted with Leo, a far better prospect in every way than Jinx. Good family, decent background. Philippa and I were pleased as punch when the boy phoned to say he was planning to marry Meg instead. The family comes from Wiltshire, I believe. A pretty girl, dark hair, slim, always smiling." He lapsed into silence.
"What sort of age-" began Fraser, but Cheever glanced across at him and made a damping motion with his hand.
Despair settled on Sir Anthony's face. "This will destroy my poor wife, you know. Leo was the only one. We tried for more, but it wasn't to be." He pressed a thumb and forefinger to his eyelids to hold back the tears. "What was it? Some sort of accident?"
Cheever cleared his throat. "We don't think so, no. The pathologist's view is that they were murdered." He clamped his hands between his knees. "I'm so sorry, Sir Anthony."
He shook his head again angrily. "No, no, this is outrageous."
There was another long silence.
Sir Anthony raised a trembling hand to his forehead. "Who would want to murder them?"
"We don't know, sir," said Cheever quietly. "They've been dead some time, perhaps as long as two weeks. At the moment, we're looking at the thirteenth of June as the most likely date for when it happened."
"That would be the day Jinx tried to kill herself," he said flatly.
"So we understand."
Sir Anthony's mouth worked. "I suppose you know her husband was murdered," he said harshly.
Frank Cheever leaned forward with a little frown. "You mean Miss Kingsley's husband?" This was news to him.
The other man nodded. "She was Mrs. Landy then. It was nine or ten years ago. Her husband's name was Russell Landy. He was an art dealer in Chelsea." He fixed Frank with a penetrating stare. "He was clubbed to death with a hammer but his murderer was never found. Landy was so badly beaten that his face was unrecognizable. The newspapers described it as one of the most brutal killings anyone could remember. How was my son murdered, Superintendent? Will I be able to recognize him?" He saw the brief hesitation in the policeman's eyes, a shutter close on something horrific. "Was he clubbed to death like Landy?"
Frank wiped a weary hand across his face. Good God, he was thinking. Could it be this easy? "Death is never pretty, Sir Anthony, less so when several days have elapsed."
"But was he clubbed to death like Landy?" There was anger in Wallader's voice.
"At this stage," said Frank carefully, "nothing has been ruled in or out. The pathologist hasn't had time to finish his examination, and, until he does, it would be wrong to speculate, but I give you my personal assurance that I will pass on his conclusions to you as soon as possible after they have been reported to us."
Whatever spark had fired Sir Anthony's anger extinguished itself as rapidly as it had ignited. He looked lost suddenly, as if the fact of his son's death had only just dawned upon him. "I suppose you need me to identify the body." He started to get up.
"There's no hurry, sir. I'd like you to take as much time as you need to talk it through with your wife. Please don't feel this is something you have to do immediately."
"But it is," he said abruptly, pushing himself from his chair. "Philippa's out for the day doing her voluntary stint in the hospital, so she won't even know I've gone. You talked about a remote chance," he reminded the policeman with tears in his eyes. "For my poor girl's sake, I'm praying for that."
HO FORENSIC LAB, HAMPSHIRE-11:45 A.M
He stood, dry-eyed, over what was left of his son, now transferred to a clinically clean table, his torso discreetly veiled by white cotton sheeting. The hair, as thick and blond as it had been in life, was unmistakably Leo's, and dreadful though it was, there was still enough of the facial structure left for recognition.
His eyes sought out Dr. Clarke. "What should I tell my wife?" he asked him. "I don't even know how to begin."
Clarke looked down at the poor dead body. "She'll need comfort, Sir Anthony, not truth. Tell her how peaceful he looked."
Art Dealer Murdered
The battered body of Russell Landy, 44, was found in the stockroom of his art gallery in Chelsea last night by his wife, Jane Landy, 24. He was still alive when the ambulance reached him but died on the way to the hospital. Mrs. Landy, who is three months pregnant, is said to be deeply shocked. She had waited for over an hour for him at Le Garrodie, where they were to have dinner together, but when he didn't arrive, took a taxi to the gallery to look for him. She was alone when she found him. Doctors say he probably had been attacked some 1-2 hours previously and might have survived had he been discovered sooner. The gallery was ransacked and several of the more valuable paintings stolen. Police believe Mr. Landy may have disturbed the robbers. A sledgehammer was recovered from the scene. Russell Landy was a relative newcomer to the art world. His gallery, Impressions, opened less than four years ago and specialized in the minimalist work of young painters such as Michael Paggia and Janet Hopkins.
Daily Telegraph extract * 2 February, 1984
Jane Landy Loses Baby
Two weeks after the murder of her art dealer husband. Russell Landy, Jane Landy has suffered a second tragedy. It was announced yesterday that she has lost the baby she was expecting. She is said to be distraught. Police are no nearer finding the murderer of her husband.
Daily Telegraph extract * 18 February, 1984
Landy Murder Mystery
Police admit to being puzzled about the murder of an dealer Russell Landy, 44. whose battered body was found two nights ago by his wife, Jane. "The premises were broken into," said a police spokesman, "and some paintings stolen, but we cannot account for the frenzied attack on Mr. Landy. This sort of specialist robbery isn't normally associated with extreme violence. Art thieves pride themselves on their professionalism."