Nancy had some sympathy with that view. "Who's doing it?"
Another shrug. "We don't know. Most of them are from a number or numbers that have been withheld… probably because the caller dials 141 to block number recognition. James has managed to trace a few by dialing call-return on 1471, but not many. He's keeping a list, but the worst offender-" he paused-"or offenders-it's hard to know if it's always the same person-isn't stupid enough to advertise who he is."
"Does he speak? Don't you recognize the voice?"
"Oh, yes, he speaks all right," said Mark bitterly. "The longest call goes on for half an hour. I think it's one man-almost certainly Leo, because he knows so much about the family-but he uses a voice distorter which makes him sound like Darth Vader."
"I've seen those things. They work just as well for women."
"I know… which is most of the trouble. It would be fairly straightforward if we could say it was Leo… but it could be anyone."
"Isn't it illegal? Can't you ask BT to do something?"
"They can't act without police authority, and James won't have the police involved."
"Why not?"
Mark took to grinding his eye sockets again, and Nancy wondered what was so difficult about the question. "I think he's scared it'll make matters worse if the police hear what the Darth Vader voice is saying," he said finally. "There are details of events-" a long pause-"James denies them, of course, but when you hear them over and over again…" He lapsed into silence.
"They sound convincing," she finished for him.
"Mm. Some of it's certainly true. It starts to make you wonder about the rest."
Nancy recalled the Colonel's reference to Mark Ankerton being an "honorable exception" among the ranks of those rushing to condemn him, and she wondered if he knew that his lawyer had begun to waver. "Can I listen to these tapes?" she asked.
He looked appalled. "No way. James would have a fit if he thought you'd heard them. They're pretty damn awful. If I was on the receiving end of them, I'd have changed my number and gone ex-directory immediately. The bloody Weldon woman doesn't even have the guts to speak… just phones in the middle of the night to wake him… then sits and pants for five minutes."
"Why does he answer?"
"He doesn't… but the phone still rings, he still wakes up, and the tape records her silence."
"Why doesn't he disconnect at night?"
"He's collecting evidence… but won't use it."
"How far away is the Weldons' farmhouse?"
"Half a mile up the road toward Dorchester."
"Then why don't you go and read the riot act to her? She sounds like a lump of jelly to me. If she doesn't even have the courage to speak, then she'll probably faint if his solicitor turns up."
"It's not that easy." He blew on his hands to bring back some warmth. "I had a go at her husband this morning over the phone, told him there was a case against his wife for slander. James came in in the middle and gave me hell for even suggesting it. He refuses to consider injunctions… calls them white flags… says they smack of surrender. To be honest, I don't understand his reasoning at all. He uses siege metaphors all the time as if he's content to wage a war of attrition instead of doing what I want him to do, which is take the fight to the enemy. I know he's worried that legal action might put the story back on the pages of the newspapers-something he doesn't want-but I also think he's genuinely afraid of renewed police interest in Ailsa's death."
Nancy pulled off her hat and tucked it over his hands. "That doesn't make him guilty," she said. "I imagine it's far more frightening to be innocent of a crime, and unable to prove it, than guilty and covering your tracks all the time. The one's a passive state, the other's proactive, and he's a man who's used to action."
"Then why won't he take my advice and start attacking these bastards?"
She stood up. "For the reasons you've already given. Look, I can hear your teeth chattering. Put your coat back on and let's start walking again." She waited while he re-donned the Dryzabone then purposefully retraced their steps toward the Japanese garden. "There's no point him putting his head above the parapet if it's likely to be blown off," she pointed out. "Maybe you should suggest guerrilla warfare instead of formal troop deployment in the shape of injunctions and police involvement. It's a perfectly honorable course of action to send out a sniper to pick off an enemy in a dugout."
"My God!" he said with a groan, surreptitiously tucking her hat into his pocket, very conscious that it was a DNA gold mine. If she forgot it, the problem could be solved. "You're as bad as he is. Do you want to put that into English?"
"Take out the people you can identify, like the Weldon woman, then concentrate on Darth Vader. He'll be easier to neutralize once you've isolated him." She smiled at his expression. "It's bog-standard tactics."
"I'm sure it is," he said sourly. "Now tell me how to do it without injunctions."
"Divide and rule. You've made a start on Mrs. Weldon's husband. How did he react?"
"Angrily. He didn't know she'd been making calls."
"That's good. Who else has 1471 identified?"
"Eleanor Bartlett… lives in Shenstead House, about fifty yards down the road. She and Prue Weldon are close friends."
"Then that'll be the strongest axis against James. You need to split them."
He bared his teeth in a sarcastic grimace. "And how do I do that?"
"Start believing in the cause you're fighting for," she said dispassionately. "It's no use being halfhearted about it. If Mrs. Weldon's version of events is true, then James is lying. If James is telling the truth then it's Mrs. Weldon who's lying. There are no gray areas. Even if Mrs. Weldon believes she's telling the truth-but it isn't the truth-then it's a lie." She bared her teeth back at him. "Pick a side."
To Mark, for whom the entire issue was a confusing collage of grays, this was an extraordinarily simplistic argument and he wondered what she'd read at Oxford. Something with defined parameters; engineering, he guessed, where torque and thrust had defined limits and mathematical equations produced conclusive results. In fairness, she hadn't heard the tapes, but even so… "Reality is never so black and white," he protested. "What if both sides are lying? What if they're being honest about one thing and lying about another? What if the event they're disputing has no bearing on the alleged crime?" He jabbed a finger at her. "What do you do then… assuming you have a conscience and you don't want to shoot the wrong person?"
"Resign your commission," Nancy said bluntly. "Become a pacifist. Desert. All you do by listening to enemy propaganda is compromise your morale and the morale of your troops. It's bog-standard tactics." She jabbed a finger back at him to stress the words. "Propaganda is a powerful weapon. Every tyrant in history has demonstrated that."
11
Eleanor Bartlett was satisfyingly bullish when Prue phoned to relay the news about travelers in the Copse. She was an envious woman who enjoyed a grievance. Had she been wealthy enough to indulge her whims, she would have taken her grievances to court and been dubbed a "malicious litigant." As she wasn't, she contented herself with destabilizing relationships under the guise of "straight-speaking." It made her generally disliked, but also gave her influence. Few wanted her as an enemy, particularly the weekenders whose absences meant they couldn't guard their reputations.
It was Eleanor who had urged her husband to accept early retirement in order to move to the country. Julian had agreed reluctantly, but only because he knew that his days with the company were numbered. Nevertheless, he had serious doubts about the wisdom of leaving the city. He was content with where he was in life-senior-management level, a decent portfolio on the stock market which would pay for a cruise or two during retirement, like-minded friends who enjoyed a drink after work and a game of golf on weekends, easygoing neighbors, cable television, his children by his previous marriage within a five-mile radius.