A Life for a Life (11 page)

13

‘No. I don’t think he did it, Mr Jones.’

‘Why not?’

Agnes Croft considered for a moment – not her opinion, but the words to describe it. It was the following morning and they were in her office.

‘Because there’s no direct evidence against him, because his story is plausible in itself and, finally, because I believe him as a person.’

‘What if there were direct evidence?’

‘Then I wouldn’t be so inclined to believe him. Nor if his story or personality didn’t ring true. It’s because of all three criteria that I do.’ She returned Tom’s level gaze. ‘You, I take it, don’t believe him?’

‘I’m honestly not sure what to believe. The evidence against him’s pretty strong and the police aren’t the complete fools the media like to make them out to be.’

‘I know that…’ She hesitated. ‘Although I do think that trying to pin Dr Somersby’s murder on him is a piece of pure opportunism.’

‘I think I’d agree with you there. Although Garrett does have a point about the likelihood of there being just one murderer.’

‘Exactly!’ she said. ‘And Fraser Callan didn’t commit either of them.’

‘So who did?’

‘Isn’t that your job, Mr Jones?’

‘No, Mrs Croft, as a matter of fact it isn’t my job. At the moment my only job is to ascertain whether there’s any truth in Dr Callan’s allegation of corruption.’

‘Couldn’t the two be connected?’

‘Quite possibly.’

She said carefully, ‘Mr Jones, I wonder if there might be some mutual advantage if we were to collaborate?’

Tom grinned at her. Agnes Croft had fair curly hair, blue-grey eyes and a face that managed to be both strong and pretty.

‘I can’t help feeling, Mrs Croft, that you would stand to gain more from that than me.’

‘Not necessarily. I could persuade people like Frances and her mother to speak to you more freely than they would otherwise.’

‘What about people like Leo Farleigh and Ian Saunders?’

‘That might be more difficult,’ she conceded.

Tom thought for a moment… It might not be a bad idea to have Callan’s solicitor on tap…

‘All right,’ he said.

She held out her hand. It was cool and smooth and felt rather pleasant.

Now would be the best time for him to talk to Frances, she told him; she’d just gone back into hospital for her third course of drugs and they might not have started to affect her yet. She phoned the hospital and arranged for Tom to see her that afternoon.

‘Be gentle with her, won’t you?’ she said, ‘Remember she’s ill.’

Tom said, ‘You’re taking this case very seriously, aren’t you?’

‘I suppose I am.’

‘Why?’

‘Because what’s happened to those two people is not fair,’ she said after a pause. ‘I know you can’t make life fair and nor should we even want to, but that’s no reason to ignore its more grotesque anomalies.’

*

Frances was up and dressed in a summer frock. His first impression was of a plain but not unattractive face with very clear grey eyes that watched him intently as he approached her.

‘Mr Jones?’

He nodded. ‘Miss Templeton.’

‘Won’t you sit down?’ She indicated another chair.

‘Thank you.’

Close to, he could see that her skin was dry, almost papery, and that there were lines around her mouth and jowl that made her look older than her years.

She said, ‘Agnes – Mrs Croft – told me that you might be able to help Fraser.’ Her voice was low, clear, with a slight accent, a sort of citified West Country that he thought must be Avonian.

He said carefully, ‘Assuming that what he told me was the truth, then I might.’

‘It
is
the truth.’

‘Then what I’m looking for might help him.’

‘What exactly
are
you looking for?’

Tom explained, then said, ‘If he’s right about Alkovin, and even more to the point, about the corruption, then it could give others a motive for killing Dr Flint.’

Frances grimaced. ‘Well, I’m the living proof he’s right about Alkovin.’

Tom thought quickly, said, ‘Did Fraser feel as strongly about it before he went to America?’ It wasn’t the direction he’d intended going, but it was on offer, so he took it.

‘Oh, yes.’

‘Then whatever made you agree to be treated with it? Didn’t you believe him?’

‘Oh, I believed him, but…’ She hesitated. ‘But “clinical depression” was just words to me then. Hearing about it and living it are two very different things.’

He started to say something but she overrode him. ‘When Dr Flint diagnosed me, my one idea was to get cured. Her figures clearly showed that Alkovin produced better remission and I thought: What’s a bit of depression compared with a better chance of living?’ She sighed. ‘I had no idea what clinical depression could be like.’

‘Bad?’

She looked away, then back at him. ‘It’s like a black hole. Every atom of hope is sucked out of you, and no matter how often you tell yourself it’s the drug doing it, you don’t believe it.’ Her words came faster. ‘It gets so you believe that the people around you, even those who love you, they aren’t just unsympathetic, they’re actually
conniving
at your misery… it gets worse and worse and at last you snap and go out of control.’ She swallowed. ‘Fraser told me how I hit him, threw things at him, but I can’t remember doing it.’ She tried to smile, but it came out lop-sided.

Then she told him how it was the morning after she’d been diagnosed that Fraser had gone to see Connie and they’d had the row that led to his suspension… ‘It was she who hit him, you know, not the other way round.’

‘He does seem to have made a habit of that recently,’ observed Tom. ‘Being hit by women, I mean.’

She smiled suddenly, brilliantly, and her face took on a radiance that astonished him.

Then it faded as she said, ‘It’s occurred to me since that she reacted like that because she knew deep inside that he was right. It makes her phone call to him plausible.’

‘Are you still being treated with Alkovin?’

‘Yes.’

‘Why, for God’s sake?’

‘Because to change now might compromise my chances of a cure. I’ve been on Prozac for a couple of weeks and it’s stopped the depression.’

‘So why on earth didn’t you take it earlier?’

‘Because Dr Flint wouldn’t allow it. She doesn’t – didn’t, that is – believe in prophylactic treatment.’

‘I see,’ said Tom. What he saw, more clearly than ever, were Fraser Callan’s reasons for hating Flint. ‘You mentioned the phone call just now, when Dr Flint asked Fraser round to her house, but you weren’t actually there at the time, were you?’

‘No, more’s the pity.’

‘Could you tell me about that day, from your point of view?’

‘All right…’ She told him how she’d decided to drive to her mother’s.

‘What time did you leave?’ he asked.

‘I’m not sure, about half-past ten, I suppose.’

‘How about arriving?’

‘I think around eleven – does it matter?’

‘I’m trying to get all the details of that day right in my head…’ What he really wanted to find out was why Callan hadn’t made more effort to bring her back home after he’d been released by the police. ‘What did you do, once you got to your mother’s?’

She shrugged. ‘Chatted, had lunch, then went out shopping. It was that that did for me.’

‘But you still intended to go back home?’

‘Yes, but I didn’t feel up to driving by then. I rang Fraser but couldn’t get any reply. It wasn’t until the next day that I found out why,’ she added.

‘But he rang you, didn’t he?’

‘Yes.’

‘So why didn’t he come and collect you?’

‘At the time, because it seemed simpler that way, although I realise now that it was because he didn’t want me to find out about Connie—’

Of course not! But in what sense…?

‘—I suppose he didn’t think he’d be able to hide it from me.’

‘You didn’t realise anything was wrong from the way he spoke on the phone?’

‘No. But by that time, I felt so near to collapse I was happy to stay at Mum’s… If only I’d known…’

‘Can you remember the next day?’

She nodded, her face becoming pinched again. ‘I remember waking up… I’d had a terrible dream and I felt awful. I remember having a row with Mum, and then nothing – until I woke up again and Dr Parker, our GP, was there.’

‘When did you find out what had happened to Dr Flint?’

‘Not till the day after.’ She smiled again, wanly. ‘Mum had Dr Parker tell me in case I threw another wobbly.’

‘Did you?’

She shook her head. ‘I haven’t had one since. Dr Parker says it’s the Prozac.’

‘Good stuff, then?’

She nodded. ‘And some.’

‘Did it surprise you, Fraser hitting a policeman and making a run for it?’

‘Of course it did. He’s always been a bit short-tempered, but I’ve never known him to be violent before.’ She continued: ‘In a funny kind of way, it’s rather flattering. He did it for me.’

‘It’s made things a lot worse for him.’

‘Oh, I know that – I did say in a funny kind of way.’

‘You know that the police are wondering whether Fraser killed Dr Somersby as well?’ said Tom, changing tack.

‘There’s no
as well
about it,’ she said sharply. ‘Besides, I’ve never heard anything so ridiculous in my life.’

‘Why d’you say that?’

‘Because they got on so well.’

‘How d’you know?’

‘It was obvious, you could see they had an affinity. This was before we started going out together,’ she added.

‘What about Dr Flint?’ Tom asked. ‘Did Fraser ever have any affinity with her?’

‘I know they had a one night stand, if that’s what you’re getting at,’ she said drily. Then she added, ‘I think it had more effect on her than him.’

‘In what way?’

She thought for a moment, then said, ‘I think she still wanted him afterwards, and then realised that he didn’t want her… I’m sure it’s a factor in the whole business, why she hated him so much, why she was so bloody-minded when he tried to tell her about Alkovin.’

‘Her feelings were that obvious?’

‘Oh no, they were always very correct in public, I don’t think anyone else knew about the one night stand.’

‘But it was generally known they disliked each other?’

‘I wouldn’t have said it was
generally
known… Terry Stroud certainly knew, and maybe some of the others.’

‘He’s the one who heard Fraser threatening to kill her?’

‘He’s exaggerating. Besides, it was just after Fraser came back from America and found I was ill.’

He took the opportunity to go over everything she knew about the dispute. It didn’t differ significantly from Callan’s account. Then he asked her to contact him if she remembered anything else, and got up to go.

‘I hope you’re feeling better soon,’ he said, the words sounding limp and inadequate in his ears.

‘Thanks.’ He was half-way to the door when she said, ‘What would really make me feel better is some good news about Fraser. You will try, won’t you?’

*

At that moment, Fraser was on his way to gaol.

He was sitting handcuffed in a cubicle, one of eight cubicles in a large van belonging to Group Four, although he was the only prisoner. There was no window and nothing to look at, not even graffiti. From the steady roar of the engine, he guessed they were on a motorway.

His troubles, Agnes had explained to him the previous evening, had come at a bad time. The local prisons were even more overcrowded than usual and he was being sent to Her Majesty’s Prison Ship
Derwent
, a converted car ferry moored off Portland Island. She told him she was looking for the best available counsel, and that Tom Jones was investigating the corruption angle. His mouth turned down at that and Agnes told him that Jones was probably the nearest thing they had to a friend at that moment. The aloneness he’d felt as she’d left was one of the worst moments.

The van ground on. His mind turned to Frances – she’d be into the third course of drugs by now and he wondered how she was feeling…

There was a click and he looked up to see an eye peering at him through the spy hole. The sight of it, for the second it lasted, seemed to encapsulate his whole life.

At last they came to a stop he sensed was final. The cubicle door opened.

‘Let’s be ’avin’ you then, sunshine.’

The back of the van was opened and he stumbled out, blinking in the sudden brilliance. A heavy, black chain link fence stood in front of him, about twenty feet high. Behind it and to the left was a massive structure, perhaps fifty feet high – was that a ship?