WINCHESTER-1:45 P.M.
"The message over the radio in the incident room crackled with excitement. "Listen, sir, a Porsche, registration number MIL-one, has just left Hellingdon Hall by the service entrance, and it's piling off up the road at about a hundred miles an hour. We're following but it's definitely not old man Kingsley. Do we go back to the Hall or do we continue?"
"Who's your backup?"
"Fredericks at the trade entrance, and half a dozen uniformed local chaps at the front gate, keeping the paparazzi in order. But the place has been dead as a dodo all morning, sir. This is the first action we've seen."
"All right, continue," said Frank Cheever, "but don't lose him. It's probably Miles Kingsley, and I want to know where he's going. Fredericks, are you hearing me? Stay alert, and if anyone else comes out, notify me immediately. Understood?"
"Will do, sir."
The first radio burst back into life. "He's turning onto the A three thirty-eight, Governor. Looks like he's heading for Salisbury."
43 SHOEBURY TERRACE, HAMMERSMITH, LONDON-2:00 P.M.
Fraser's last port of call was Meg's neighbor in Hammersmith, Mrs. Helms. She greeted him with surprising warmth, rather as she might an old friend, and took him into the front room. "My husband," she said, waving her hand towards a pathetic husk of a man who was sitting with a blanket across his knees and gazing forlornly onto the quiet street. "Multiple sclerosis," she mouthed. She raised her voice. "This is Detective Sergeant Fraser, Henry, come to talk to us about poor Meg." She went back to her whisper. "Just ignore him. He won't say anything. Hardly ever does these days. It's a shame, it really is. He used to be such a busy little soul."
Fraser took the armchair that Mrs. Helms indicated and, for the fourth time that day, explained the purpose behind his questions. "So, have you any idea what Meg did over the bank holiday weekend?" he asked.
She greeted this with a girlish squeal. "I couldn't begin to say," she declared. "Goodness me, I can't even remember what we were doing that weekend."
Fraser glanced towards her husband, thinking that if his mobility was as poor as it appeared to be, then the chances of them not being there were fairly remote. "Perhaps you had family come to visit," he suggested. "Does that jog any memories? Meg wouldn't have been at work on the Monday."
She shook her head. "Every day's the same. Weekdays, weekends, holidays. Nothing varies very much. Now, if you could tell me what was on the television, that would help me."
Fraser tried a different tack. "It's a fair bet that Leo was here during the nights of Friday, May the twenty-seventh, possibly Monday the thirtieth, and very probably Tuesday the thirty-first. In fact, he may well have been in residence for the rest of that week and the week after. Does that help at all? In other words, did you notice him around more than usual? The last time I spoke to you, you said there was a lot of coming and going shortly before they left for France."
"Well, I certainly noticed he was in and out rather more often than normal, but as to whether he was living with her"-she shook her head-"dates don't mean anything to me, Sergeant. And how on earth would I know if Leo stayed on a particular night? Frankly, Meg's love life was of no interest to either of us, and why would it be? We've enough troubles of our own."
Fraser nodded sympathetically. "Leo had two very distinctive Mercedes convertibles, one black with beige leather upholstery, and the other white with burgundy seats. We think one or the other would have been parked outside whenever he was there. Do you remember seeing either of them at any point in the two weeks before they left for the holiday in France?"
She gave her girlish squeal again. "I wouldn't know a Mercedes from a Jaguar," she said, "and I never notice cars, full stop, unless they're blocking my way. Dreadful invention."
Fraser gave a quiet sigh of frustration. Mrs. Helms's epitaph of a few days previously-She never gave us any trouble-came rack to haunt him afresh. What a pity, he was thinking, because if she had, then Mrs. Helms might have taken a little more notice of her. He looked disconsolately towards her husband. "Perhaps Mr. Helms saw something?" he suggested.
She shook her head vigorously. "Wouldn't notice a double-decker bus if it was parked in his lap," she said sotto voce. "Best not to bother him, really. It makes him anxious if he's bothered."
But Fraser persisted, if only to reassure himself that he had left no stone unturned. "Can you help me, Mr. Helms? It is important or I wouldn't press the point. We have two unsolved murders, ind we need to establish why and when they happened."
The thin face turned towards him and regarded him without expression for several seconds. "Which day was the second?"
"Of June?"
The other nodded.
Fraser consulted his diary. "It was a Thursday."
"I had a hospital appointment on the second. I came home by ambulance and the driver noticed the Mercedes. He said: "That's a new one, not seen that here before,' and I told him it belonged to downstairs and had been there two or three days."
Fraser leaned forward. "On and off, or permanently?"
"It was there each night," he managed with difficulty, "but not always during the day."
"Can you remember when it left for good?"
It was clear he had difficulty articulating words, and Fraser waited patiently for him to resume. "Not sure. Probably when they went to France."
Fraser smiled encouragingly. "And would you be able to say which day that was, Mr. Helms?"
The man nodded. "Clean-sheets day. Monday."
"Goodness me," said Mrs. Helms, "do you know he's right. I'd just stripped the beds when Meg came with the cat food. Dumped the sheets in Henry's lap while I went out to talk to her. There now, and I'd quite forgotten."
"That's grand," said Fraser. "We're making real progress. Did they leave together in the Mercedes?"
Mr. Helms shook his head. "I didn't see. Anthea pushed me and the sheets into the kitchen." There was a look of irritation in his eyes and Fraser thought, You poor bloody sod, I bet she sorted the sheets on your lap as if you were a mobile laundry basket.
"Did you happen to notice when Meg's car went? It's a dark green Ford Sierra. We've found it since in a street in Chelsea."
"The Friday evening. Both cars went. Only the sports car came back."
"With both Meg and Leo in it?"
"Yes."
"Which makes sense. They were clearing the decks before they left on holiday." He drummed his fingers on his knee and addressed his next question to Mrs. Helms. "Did Meg give any indication on the Monday that they had postponed their departure for any reason?''
She pulled a face. "Not really. She just rang the doorbell, thrust the key and the food at me, and said they were off to France. Very odd, I thought."
"Did anything else strike you as odd?"
"Not really," she said again. "She hadn't done her hair, and her eyes were rather red, so I thought she might have been crying, but I put it down to a lovers' tiff."
"Anything else?"
"Well, saying Marmaduke had to be kept prisoner in the hall was a bit odd. She'd never done that before. Poor little fellow, it's no way to keep a cat."
Fraser frowned and flicked through his papers. "Last time I spoke to you," he murmured, isolating a page, "you said Meg was insistent that Marmaduke shouldn't go into any of the rooms."