James sighed. "I hoped it would stop if I didn't react."
"That's probably what Ailsa thought-and look what happened to her."
The old man pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and held it to his eyes.
"Oh, lord!" said Mark contritely. "Listen, I really don't want to upset you again, but at least consider that Ailsa felt as isolated as you do. You talked about her being afraid of self-fulfilling prophecies… so don't you think she was subjected to these lies as well? That Bartlett cow goes on and on about how she must have felt when she found out. Whoever fed Mrs. Bartlett the information almost certainly knew that Ailsa was shattered by it. It's easy to say she should have told you-I expect she was trying to protect you just as you're protecting Nancy-but the effect is the same. The more you try to keep something secret, the harder it is to bring it out into the open." He leaned forward again and his tone became more insistent. "You really can't let these accusations stand, James. You must challenge them."
He crumpled the handkerchief between his fingers. "How?" he asked tiredly. "Nothing's changed."
"Oh, but you couldn't be more wrong. Everything's changed. Nancy isn't a figment of your imagination anymore… she's real, James… and a real person can disprove everything Leo's saying."
"She's always been real."
"Yes, but she didn't want to be involved. Now she does. She wouldn't have come here otherwise, and she certainly wouldn't have asked for an invitation back if she wasn't prepared to support you. Trust her, please. Explain to her what's been going on, let her listen to the tapes, then ask her if she'll agree to a DNA test. You may be able to do it on blood groups alone. Whichever… it doesn't matter… I'll lay my last cent on her saying yes, and then you'll have evidence of menace and coercion that you can take to the police. Don't you see how much stronger your position is since she turned up this morning? You have an honest-to-God champion at last. I'll talk to her on your behalf if you won't do it yourself." He grinned. "Apart from anything else, it'll allow you to take Pokeweed and Staggerbush to the cleaners. Ailsa would approve."
He shouldn't have mentioned Ailsa. The handkerchief rushed to James's eyes again. "All her foxes are dead, you know," he said in quiet despair. "He catches them in traps and crushes their muzzles before he throws them onto the terrace. I've had to shoot them to put them out of their misery. He did the same to Henry… left him where Ailsa died with a broken leg and a shattered mouth. The dear old thing growled at me as I approached, and when I put the barrel to his head I knew he thought I was responsible for hurting him. There's a terrible madness behind it. I'm sure Ailsa was subjected to it. I think she was made to watch while some poor creature's skull was smashed, and I believe Prue Weldon heard it happen. I'm sure it's what killed the poor old girl. She couldn't bear cruelty. If the creature was still alive, she'd have sat beside it while it died."
It would explain a lot, thought Mark. The bloodstains near her body. Ailsa's accusations of madness. The sound of a punch. "You should have reported it," he said inadequately.
"I tried. The first time, anyway. No one was interested in a dead fox on my terrace."
"What about the evidence of cruelty?"
James sighed and squeezed the handkerchief into his fist again. "Have you any idea of the damage a shotgun blast does to an animal's head? Perhaps I should have left it to die in agony while I waited for a policeman to turn up? Assuming, of course, they'd be remotely interested in a flea-ridden animal that gets hunted and poisoned every day of the year… which they weren't, of course. They told me to phone the RSPCA."
"And?"
"Sympathetic but impotent where vermin's concerned. They thought it was the work of a poacher who took out his venom when he trapped a fox instead of a deer."
"Is this why you sit on the terrace every night? Are you hoping to catch him?"
The old man gave another faint smile as if he found the question amusing.
"You should be careful, James. Reasonable force is all you're allowed in the protection of your property. If you do anything that smacks of vigilantism, you'll go to prison. The courts are very hard on people who take the law into their own hands." He might not have spoken for all the reaction he got. "I'm not blaming you," he went on. "In your position I'd feel exactly the same. I'm just asking you to consider the consequences before you do something you'll regret."
"I consider little else," said James harshly. "Perhaps it's time you listened to your own advice… or is it true that a man who has himself for a lawyer has a fool for a client?"
Mark pulled a wry face. "I'm sure I deserve that, but I don't understand it."
James tore the letter into pieces and dropped them into the bin beside the desk. "Think twice before you persuade Nancy to reveal her connection with me," he said coldly. "I have lost my wife to a madman… I have no intention of losing my granddaughter as well."
Wolfie slipped through the trees in the wake of his father, drawn by a terrified curiosity to find out what was happening. He didn't know the saying "knowledge is power" but he understood the imperative. How else could he find his mother? He felt braver than he had for weeks, and he knew it had something to do with Bella's kindness and the conspiratorial finger that Nancy had put to her lips. They spoke to him of a future. Alone with Fox, he thought only of death.
The night was so black that he couldn't see anything, but he trod lightly and bit his tongue against the assault of branches and brambles. As the minutes passed, his eyes adjusted to the niggardly moonlight, and he could always hear the sound of twigs snapping as Fox's heavier tread broke through the woodland floor. Every so often he paused, having learned from his capture earlier not to walk blindly into a trap, but Fox kept moving toward the Manor. With the cunning of his namesake, Wolfie recognized that the man was returning to his territory-the same tree, his favorite vantage point-and, eyes and ears alert to obstacles, the child moved off at a tangent to establish a territory of his own.
Nothing happened for several minutes, then, to Wolfie's alarm, Fox began to speak. The child shrank down, assuming there was someone with him, but when no answer came he guessed Fox was talking into his mobile. Few of the words were distinguishable, but the inflections in Fox's voice reminded Wolfie of Lucky Fox… and that seemed strange when the old man was visible to him in one of the downstairs windows of the house.
"…1 have the letters and I have her name… Nancy Smith… Captain, Royal Engineers. You must be proud to have another soldier in the family. She even looks like you when you were younger. Tall and dark… the perfect clone… It's a pity she won't do what she's told. Nothing can be gained by involving you, you said… but here she is. So what price DNA now? Does she know who her father is…? Are you going to tell her before someone else does…?"
Mark replayed the recording several times. "If this is Leo then he really believes you're Nancy's father."
"He knows I'm not," said James, dropping files to the floor as he looked for the one marked "Miscellaneous."
"Then it isn't Leo," said Mark gently. "We've been looking in the wrong direction."