Fraser agreed with him. "That's got to be it, Gov. It doesn't make sense otherwise. Have you ever seen a flat as devoid of personality as this one is?"
"Why did she leave her first editions behind?"
"Because the insurance policy here probably specifies and covers the collection, which would make this the most sensible place to leave them unattended. What's the betting she moved all her personal stuff before the holiday, left the cat behind because she had a neighbor who would feed it, and was planning to come back for the books, the rest of her clothes, and the cat on her return? She was moving in with Leo-it's the only logical scenario."
"Goddammit," said Maddocks ferociously, "everything points to him moving in with her. If he had a place of his own, why the hell was he shacked up in Glenavon Gardens with the Kingsley woman? Frank'll go mad over this. It's my guess the only person who knows anything is Jane Kingsley."
THE NIGHTINGALE CLINIC, SALISBURY-3:30 P.M.
Minus her bandage and dressed in black sweater and trousers, Jinx sat on a bench in the shade of a weeping beech tree and studied the comings and goings on the gravel sweep in front of the clinic. She felt herself to be comfortably anonymous behind a pair of mirrored glasses, and for the first time in several days she allowed her tired body to relax.
The memory that she had known about Leo and Meg's affair pierced her brain like a needle. My God! Leo himself had told her in the drawing room of his parents' house with Anthony and Philippa there as silent, horrified witnesses. She had screamed at them all-why had she been screaming?-and Leo had said: I'm going to marry Meg-and she had been so, so shocked. Meg and Leo ... Meg and Russell ... But when? When had Leo told her?
She wrestled with the memory, desperate to hold on to it, but like a dream, it started to fragment and fade and, in confusion, she took the bunch of flowers that was being pressed onto her lap and heard Josh Hennessey saying, "Jinxy love, are you all right?"
She had forgotten he was coming and stared up at his anxious face, smiling automatically while she knitted back the fabric of her subconscious and let the memory go. "I'm fine," she heard herself saying. "Sorry, I was miles away. How are you?" But, oh God, she'd been so angry ... she could remember her anger...
He squatted in front of her, his hands resting lightly on her knees, his eyes examining every inch of her face. "Pretty bloody depressed if I'm honest. How about you?" He seemed to be looking for a reaction and was disappointed-surprised?-when he didn't get it.
She held a thin hand to her chest where her heart was beating frantically. Something else had happened. The knowledge weighed on her like a ton weight. Something else had happened ... something so terrible that she was too frightened to search her memory for it. "I'd describe myself as being in a state of suspended animation," she said, breathing in jerky, shallow breaths. "I exist, therefore I am, but as I can't think straight it's a fairly meaningless existence." She thought how unattractive he looked, with fear and worry pinching his nose and mouth. "I suppose if you're depressed, it means you haven't got hold of Meg."
He shook his head, and she saw with dismay that there were tears in his eyes.
"I'm sorry." She fingered the flowers on her lap, then laid them beside her. "It was kind of you to bring these."
"I feel so awful about this." He lowered himself to the ground and withdrew his hands. "Couldn't you have phoned, told me you were in trouble? You know I'd have come."
"You sound like Simon," she said lightly.
He ruffled his hair and glanced away from her gaunt, bruised face and shaven head. "Simon's been on the phone almost every day. His parents are devastated, blaming each other, blaming Meg, wanting to do something to make up-well, I'm sure you can imagine how they feel. Simon tried phoning the Hall to find out where you were and got a mouthful of abuse. It's understandable, of course, but it didn't make things any easier."
"I'm sorry," she said again, "but oddly enough, Josh, it doesn't make it any easier for me, either, to have everyone blaming themselves because I drove at a brick wall."
He flicked her a quick glance but didn't say anything.
"Not that I did it deliberately," she said through gritted teeth. "That car cost me a fortune, and I can think of a hundred better ways of killing myself than writing off a perfectly good Rover."
He plucked at a blade of grass. "I spoke to Dean last night," he said uncomfortably. "The poor chap was in tears, said if I managed to get hold of you, I was to tell you business is fine but please call him the minute you feel up to it. I gave him the number here, but he's afraid to call himself in case you're too unhappy to talk to him."
It was hopeless. "I'm not unhappy," she said with a forced smile. "I feel great. I'm looking forward to going home." Why was sympathy so unbearable? "Look, let's put these flowers in my room and then go for a walk." Stupid woman! Fifty yards would see her on her knees.
"Are you sure you're up to it?" he asked, pushing himself to his feet.
"Oh, yes," she said briskly. "I keep telling you, I'm fine." She set off ahead of him so he wouldn't see her face. "Believe me, I don't intend to stay here very long. They've already said I'm mentally fit to go home, now all I need to do is prove I'm physically fit." Who the hell did she think she was kidding? "It's in here," she said, putting one groggy leg over the sill of the French windows and hauling herself towards a chair.
The flowers slipped from her fingers onto the floor. She felt Josh's arms closing about her and saw murky images floating on the swollen river of her memory.
43 SHOEBURY TERRACE-4:00 P.M.
Fraser rang the doorbell of number 43 and asked Mrs. Helms if Meg had given any indication that she intended to vacate her flat after her holiday.
"Not in so many words," said the stout woman thoughtfully, "but now you come to mention it, there was a lot of coming and going shortly before they left. I remember saying to my Henry, it wouldn't surprise me if there was a change in that direction. Then she asked me to feed Marmaduke and it rather went out of my mind, except that she was insistent the poor creature shouldn't go into any of the rooms. 'Keep him in the hall, Mrs. H,' she said, thrusting a tin of cat food at me. What's going to happen to him now? Henry won't have him anywhere near, but then he's not well, you know."
"We'll do our best to sort something out," said Fraser, "but in the meantime perhaps you could go on feeding the cat."
"I won't let him starve," she said grudgingly, "but something ought to be done before too long. That stuffy hallway's no place to keep an animal."
He agreed with her. "You wouldn't happen to know what Miss Harris did for a job, would you, Mrs. Helms?"
"Seems to me you know very little about her, Sergeant. Are you sure you've got the right person?"
He nodded. "Her job?" he prompted.
"She called herself a headhunter. Used to be with a big consultancy firm in the City, then set up on her own about five years ago." She spread her hand and made a rocking gesture with it. "But it wasn't going too well from what I could gather. People are scared to give notice because of the recession, and you can't hunt heads when there are no vacancies to fill."
"Any idea what her company is called?"
"No. We talked about Marmaduke and the milkman from time to time, but other than that"-she shrugged-"we were just neighbors. Nothing special. Nothing close. I'm sorry she's gone, though. She never gave us any trouble."
Fraser found himself dwelling on that last sentence as he walked the few yards to the DI's car. "She never gave us any trouble'' was the most depressing epitaph he had ever heard.