‘I’ve got nothing more to say.’

Hare and Pünd left. Mrs Chandler stepped aside to allow them to pass. Neither of them looked back.

‘I hope I’m doing the right thing,’ Hare muttered as they went back downstairs. ‘If Francis Pendleton was murdered, Eric Chandler may well be the most likely suspect. In fact, he’s the only suspect. He was in the house – and you heard what his mother said. He was in one room. She was in another. Which means that, actually, she had no idea where he was. If he thought Pendleton was going to shop him for stealing his wife’s knickers or whatever, that would have given him a motive.’

‘What you say is true,’ Pünd agreed. ‘He is damaged. His life has, I think, been unfortunate in many ways. And yet he does not strike me as a violent man. In his own, twisted way, he adored Melissa James. Would he kill the man to whom she was married?’

They had reached the hallway and a uniformed police officer approached them, coming out of the living room. He had been looking for Hare. He was holding a handwritten letter that had been placed in a transparent evidence bag. ‘Excuse me, sir,’ he said. ‘I thought you ought to see this. We found it in the living room, tucked away in the bottom of a bureau. It was hidden among a whole load of old papers, obviously somewhere it wasn’t meant to be found.’

He handed the letter to Hare, who read it carefully. ‘Well, this might change your mind about things,’ he muttered. ‘Maybe I was right after all.’ He showed the letter to Pünd. The paper was crumpled. The letter had been thrown away before it was finished.

13th February

My darling darling,

I can’t go on living this lie any more. I simply can’t. We have to be brave and tell the world our destiny …

‘Melissa James was having an affair and she wanted Francis Pendleton out of her life. He couldn’t bear the thought of losing her so he killed her and when he got found out he killed himself.’ Hare took the letter back. ‘Can you really think of another explanation?’

‘I agree with you that it does seem, on the face of it, unarguable,’ Pünd agreed. ‘But even so, Detective Chief Inspector, there is one piece of information that we require before we can consider the investigation to be complete.’

‘And that is?’

‘Melissa James was having an affair. That much is evident. But with whom?’

FOURTEEN

HIT-AND-RUN

What are you doing here?’ Dr Collins asked.

‘Actually, I was waiting to see you,’ Algernon replied.

The doctor had come into the kitchen of Church Lodge to find his brother-in-law sitting at the table, smoking a cigarette. Samantha was helping the vicar with preparations for the next service and had taken the children with her. She liked them to spend time with her at the church. Mrs Mitchell wasn’t due in to clean until later in the afternoon. Dr Collins had thought he was alone.

He was not fond of Algernon Marsh. He knew too much about his activities both past and present and resented having him stay in the house. But in this, as in so many other things, he had allowed himself to be overruled by Samantha, who had, he knew, a much more forgiving nature. He couldn’t make her see that Algernon was trouble and had been since the day he was born. His parents might have been prescient. They had christened him with the name of a villain straight out of melodrama and he had certainly grown into it.

Seeing him now, Dr Collins felt a stab of annoyance. In a way, the two of them were complete opposites. He had been a doctor for fifteen years, first in Slough, then in Tawleigh, working for his patients around the clock for a salary that barely allowed him to support a wife and two children. He had never complained. Medicine had been his calling: even during the war years he had served with the Royal Army Medical Corps. Algernon, of course, had kept well clear of the action, with a desk job in Whitehall. With his expensive suits, his French car, his devious business schemes that were surely designed to benefit only himself, he epitomised the new generation that was dragging the country into an era of selfishness and hedonism.

Even the way Algernon was sitting at the table – his table – filling the room with his cigarette smoke came across as deliberately offensive. Dr Collins hadn’t invited him here. He had simply arrived and now he was behaving as if he owned the place.

‘I’m sorry. Are you waiting for me?’ Dr Collins asked. For Samantha’s sake, he was trying to be polite.

‘Yes. I thought we might have a little chat.’

‘I can’t imagine what you think we might have to chat about, but anyway, I’m going to have to disappoint you. I have my case notes to study.’

‘I’m sure they can wait.’

‘I’m afraid they can’t.’

‘Sit down, Leonard. We need to talk.’ It wasn’t an invitation. It was a threat. There was something in his voice and the silken smile on his face that warned Dr Collins not to leave. Against all his better instincts, he took his place at the table.

‘Thank you.’ Again, Algernon managed to say the words in a way that utterly distorted their meaning. His eyes were pitiless as they took in the man sitting opposite him.

‘What is this about, Algernon? I really don’t—’

‘It’s about this.’

Algernon took a sheet of paper out of his pocket and unfolded it. With a start, Dr Collins recognised the letter addressed to Samantha from Parker & Bentley in London. Algernon placed it flat on the table between them.

‘Where did you get that?’ Dr Collins demanded furiously. ‘You’ve been in my desk. How dare you? That’s private!’

‘You weren’t going to tell me about it? Dear Aunt Joyce popping her clogs in New York and leaving Samantha – how much, exactly? I take it that’s why you were in London yesterday.’

‘It’s none of your business.’

‘It’s very much my business, Leonard. I’m Samantha’s brother, in case you’ve forgotten. I had to live with the old bag too.’

‘She left you nothing, Algernon. She disapproved of your lifestyle – as, for that matter, do I. The amount of money is neither here nor there as you’re not going to receive a penny of it.’

‘Is that what Samantha says?’

‘Yes.’

‘Or is it what you persuaded her to say? From my memory, Sam always had a soft spot for me – at least until she married you. I bet you anything you like that she’d want to share her good fortune with me. How much did you say it was?’

‘I didn’t.’

‘Well, I’ve done a bit of research on my own and from what I’ve heard, Harlan Goodis made a mint out of advertising. My friends tell me that we could be talking about a million quid.’

‘What do you want, Algernon?’ Dr Collins looked at his brother-in-law with undisguised contempt.

‘I was thinking half would be fair.’

Dr Collins stared at him, then let out a bark of laughter. ‘Are you mad?’

‘You don’t agree?’

‘I’ve already told you my thoughts. The money was not left to you. It was left to my wife. It was the specific wish of your aunt that none of it should come your way and if Samantha will take my advice, once she has inherited the money she will have nothing more to do with you.’

‘She listens to you, does she?’

‘Yes.’

‘Good. Then you’ll be able to persuade her to think otherwise.’

‘And why should I do that?’

‘Because I know a thing or two about you, Leonard, which you might not want me to mention to Samantha – or to anyone else.’

It was as if Dr Collins had been punched in the face. ‘What are you talking about?’

‘Do you really want me to spell it out?’

‘You’re trying to blackmail me!’

‘Trying and succeeding, I’d say.’ Algernon leaned forward. ‘Let’s just call it a lack of professionalism in your dealings with certain patients.’

‘I categorically deny whatever it is you’re hinting at. There has never been any wrongdoing on my part and your pathetic attempts to discredit me will only land you in jail, which is what you richly deserve.’

‘Samantha may not agree.’

‘Leave my wife out of this!’

Dr Collins might have leapt out of his chair and thrown himself at the other man, but the conversation was interrupted by not one but two cars pulling up in the driveway outside. Atticus Pünd and Detective Chief Inspector Hare were in the first. Uniformed police officers followed behind.

Algernon got up and glanced out of the window. ‘It looks as if we’re going to have to continue this pleasant conversation later,’ he drawled. He reached for the letter but Dr Collins snatched it away. ‘We both know what we’re talking about,’ Algernon continued. ‘Fifty-fifty. I’ll keep quiet for the time being. But you’re going to have to use all your charm and powers of persuasion on Sam. I won’t give you long.’

The doorbell rang.

Dr Collins was staring at Algernon Marsh. He tore himself away and went to answer it.

*