'Of course it was for him. It was screwed up in his fireplacea and it fits with everything you've told me about Turnbull's past.'

'Not quite everything. David Franks said that Branwen didn't know who he was when she was talking to him. This implies she's known for years.'

'We've only got his word for that.'

'Why would Franks lie?'

Roberts looked at him with the strained patience that a parent gives to a difficult child. 'I meant Turnbull's word. He could tell David Franks anything he liked.'

'And how did Bella Hutton know what had happened to Branwen's mother? She wasn't still with Turnbull when he turned up in the States.'

'Maybe Turnbull told her. Or maybe she didn't know at all but was just saying she did to get the girl off her back. I can't imagine that someone as famous as Bella Hutton took too kindly to being asked about a past she'd left behind and a brother she didn't even like.' That was true, Penrose thought: Bella could have told Branwen anything for a quiet life, and such a promise explained the exchange that Josephine had witnessed on the terrace. 'Anyway,' Roberts continued, 'who else would a letter like that be for?'

Because of the reference to the child, the only other possibility was Gwyneth Draycott, but surely she was unlikely to have known where her husband was planning to take his lover? Penrose cast his mind back to what Franks had said and remembered that, again according to Turnbull's testimony, both he and Branwen had been on the Harlech road yesterday afternoon. Had one or both of them been to see Gwyneth? And if so, how did that explain where the letter had ended up? The scenario raised more questions than it answereda and he dismissed it from his thoughts for the present; there was no point in opening up a conversation with Roberts only to be told that no matter what information Gwyneth might have withheld from Branwen, she had most certainly not raped her.

Instead, he concentrated on something more tangible. Wyllie had not come into the room with them but stood waiting at the door. 'Have you got a sample of Branwen Erley's handwriting?' Penrose asked, ignoring Roberts's sigh.

'Almost certainly. We should still have her original letter of application on file. We keep everything relating to the permanent staff.'

'Good.' Penrose went over to the open window and looked down. The Bell Tower and Watch House gardens had both been sealed off nowa and a police photographer was finishing his merciless work with Leyton Turnbull's body. The figure, still dressed in evening clothes and splayed grotesquely on the ground, looked incongruous in the morning sunlight. Penrose wished he had a more reliable witness than Hitchc.o.c.k to the actor's final moments, but there was no way of knowing now what his state of mind had been when he climbed those steps. 'So what happened to Branwen's mother that Turnbull didn't want people to know about?' he asked, turning back to the room.

Roberts hesitateda and Penrose was almost ashamed of how much satisfaction the moment of doubt gave him. Recovering quickly, the inspector saida 'Impossible to tell after all this time. They left twenty years ago or more, and she probably changed her name just like he did.'

Penrose waited in vain for him to continue. 'Aren't you even curious?'

'I could be dying to know, but I still wouldn't have the time or the manpower to track down Leyton Turnbull's every move before he got to America when he's lying there dead in front of me. It's not as though there's a case to be made to bring him to justice, is it? And Rhiannon Erley certainly never wanted to be found or she'd have kept in touch with her daughter herself, so does it matter what happened to her?'

'It does if you're going to make it the motive for two very different murders and a suicide.' It wasn't the first time that Penrose had heard a lack of resources used as an excuse not to follow up every line of enquiry; he had used it himself in the past for other crimes when he was sure of the man in custody. But never for murder. Never when there was so much at stake.

'It's not the only motive,' Roberts argued defensively. 'Bella Hutton didn't tell him about his child.'

'Is that really a reason to stab someone forty or fifty times?' Penrose asked. 'You haven't seen her body yet, but her face is mutilated beyond all recognition.'

'And he was seen with Branwen Erley.'

'His explanation for that was feasible, particularly if there turns out to be an abandoned bicycle somewhere along the Harlech road.'

'We'll check, sir,' Roberts said sarcastically, acknowledging Penrose's rank for the first time and not out of respect. 'But whatever we find, there's no getting round the fact that Bella Hutton was slandering hima and he had a track record for rape.'

'You'll check on that too, I presume?'

'If it will make you happy.'

'It's not about making me happy, Inspector, it's about serving justice a and that's justice for everyone, the victims and the accused.' He sounded sanctimonious, even to himself; the perfection he was looking for was, he realised, unrealistica and he stopped himself going any further. There was no logical reason to dispute Roberts' conclusionsa and he could not explain why he was fighting them, other than a personal dislike of the inspector's arrogance and a few misgivings which were no less nagging for their improbability. He allowed himself to indulge one more of these before giving up. 'Why would he go to all that trouble only to kill himself?' he asked.

Roberts shrugged, his interest in human nature as probing as ever. 'Remorse perhaps, or resignation. He must have known he'd be caught. Talking of which, have you checked his car yet? You said he was seen in the garages last night.'

'I've hardly had time to . . .'

'Right then, we'll do it now.' He felt inside the pockets of the raincoat and took out a set of keys. 'They must be what we need.'

'I'll take you over,' Wyllie said.

The three men walked across the village square in silencea and Roberts pulled back the garage door. Penrose saw the blood on the bodywork of the Alvis immediately. The car had been driven straight in and its boot was only a couple of feet away from him; bending down to look more closely, he noticed that it was smeared all around the lock, where someone stowing things away had been careless. Roberts took the keys and opened the lid. Inside, there was a set of bloodstained overalls a the sort mechanics wore a and some glovesa a torcha and a knife with a blade about six inches long, also covered in blood.

'I'll get forensics over here straight away,' Roberts said, 'but I don't think we need their help to tell us what we're looking at.'

Penrose had only seen what he had expected to see, but that in itself made him suspicious. 'I want to go with you when you question Gwyneth Draycott,' he said.

'I won't be questioning Gwyneth Draycott.' Roberts looked at him in astonishment. 'I think she's been through enough, don't you?'

'I think she might be interested to know that her husband's dead.'

'Of course, but we can take care of that. I could hardly ask a detective chief inspector of Scotland Yard to waste his precious time on condolence calls.'

Penrose had lost the appet.i.te to fight a battle that he could not win. 'If you're remotely interested in tying up some loose ends, there's some news on what happened to her son,' he said, wanting at least to be sure that the information was pa.s.sed on. He outlined what Franks had told him and added: 'You'll want to question him yourself, obviously, but it might give her some shred of comfort to know that the case is nearer to being closed.' He could see from the expression on Roberts' face that it had never truly been open.

15.

Even here, on the Amis Reunis in the afternoon sun, the chill gloom of the woods was proving hard to shake off. Bridget leant back against the side of the old boat, enjoying the warmth of its wood through the thin cotton of her shirt. It was a relief to close her eyes: the reflection of the light from the brilliant white paper in her lap made it hard to draw for more than a few minutes at a time, and the subject matter she had chosen was hardly conducive to peace. She often turned to her work to exorcise ghosts and had hoped that, by setting down a physical expression of the morning's horror, she might be able to lift the emotional pall that clouded her mind. So far, the effort had been in vain.

'Policeman's widow already?'

She smiled without opening her eyes. 'Just because you spent the night alone, Jack, don't take it out on me.' He sat down next to her and she kissed his cheek. 'It shows what a lucky escape I've had, though, doesn't it? Second fiddle to a corpse would never have suited me, no matter how famous.'

He shook two cigarettes from a packet and looked at her curiously. 'Past tense? Does that mean you've told him?'

'No. I haven't made my mind up yet, and there wouldn't have been time if I had. Things have got a little out of hand round here, haven't they?' The half-finished image lay between them, a composite of memory and fear, and Jack studied it for a long time. 'I know what you're thinking,' Bridget said, 'but sometimes, if you can draw a scream, it loses some of its power.'

'Although it will need a certain type of collector.' She smileda and he pulled her towards him. 'I'm so sorry,' he said. 'It can't have been easy to walk up there and find Bella like that.'

'It wasn't.' Bridget watched the ash burn down on her cigarette, knowing that she did not need to say anything else: Jack was one of the few people who understood something of what she had felt that morning, and it was a relief not to have to explain. 'I'm fine, though. What about you? You seemed a long way away earlier.'

'A long time away, perhaps, but I haven't moved far from here. I was thinking about this place and how it used to be. You heard what happened this morning when Archie got us all together?' Bridget nodded. 'I can't believe that was David's father. Everybody was talking about it when I came back here after the war. I think some of the men on the farm had even helped search for the missing boy. I remember going to look for the burnt-out sh.e.l.l of the cottage and finding the dog cemetery. Clough's probably still got the photographs somewhere. I gave them to him when he bought the old house.'

'We used to look for Gypsy graves in those woods when we were kids. Do you remember?'

'Of course I do, but they were far too clever to leave clues for strangers. And it seems a lifetime ago now.'

She resisted the temptation to point out that, if he followed his plans through, there might not be any more years to add. 'You always did love this part of the world.'

'I've always been happy here. There aren't many places you can say that about. It has good memories.'

Bridget let her mind run through a series of images from her youth. 'I can't believe you had to spell it out to me,' she said eventually, shaking her head in embarra.s.sment. 'I felt so stupid. All those years and I never noticed you were in love.' She knew she was about to cross a line, but she did it anyway. 'You can't keep punishing yourself because you lived and he died, you know.'

'Is that what you think I'm doing?' Bridget nodded. 'Perhaps you're right.' She had expected him to be angrya but he refused to rise to the bait. 'Who's to say it would have lasted anyway? These things so rarely do. I suppose that's what makes them precious. If he were still here, we'd probably be as unrecognisable to each other as this sh.o.r.eline. And that would be worse, I think a much worse.' He grinned at her. 'You and your policeman don't seem to have that problem. Think about that before you destroy it.'

Bridget threw the b.u.t.t of her cigarette into the water. 'Well, I've punched as low as I know how,' she said, ignoring his last remark, 'and I still haven't managed to change your mind, have I?'

'No, but don't take it personally. A man's got to do and all that.'

He spoke the words with a convincing American accent, every bit the brave pioneer, but Bridget didn't laugh. 'Since when have you worried about that?' she asked. 'Why start now?'

'Don't, Bridget. Let's not go through all that again. It's the right thing to do a for me, anyway. That's all there is to it.'

He took her handa and Bridget wondered why she suddenly felt so lonely. 'When do you leave?'

'As soon as possible, but I won't go without letting you know. We can have dinner.'

'You mean I get to share your last supper.'

'I'll be fine, Bridget. I'm always fine.'

She hugged him, trying to ignore a sense of foreboding which refused to go away. Over his shoulder, she saw Hitchc.o.c.k coming towards them across the lawn. 'It looks as though I'm not the only one who's trying to persuade you to do other things with your life,' she said. 'Perhaps he'll have more luck.'

'I doubt it.'

Hitchc.o.c.k raised his hand and climbed aboard the stationary vessel with surprising agility. 'I'm sorry to interrupt, Miss Foley, but I need to borrow Jack for a moment. Do you mind?' Bridget shook her head, surprised that the director knew her name. 'Mrs H. and I enjoyed your last exhibition very much,' he said by way of explanation. 'We make a point of never buying a painting unless we both like it a the only time I've ever considered divorce was over a Paul Klee which she refused to have in the house a but in your case we were spoilt for choice.' Her obvious astonishment seemed to amuse Hitchc.o.c.k. 'I'm not just a cheap sensationalist, you know,' he said, winking at her as he led Jack away.

Still smiling, she saw Archie walking down across the sea lawn and went to meet him. 'You look furious,' she said as he bent to kiss her. 'Has something else happened?'

'No, I've just had a run-in with the local police. It seems that everyone is in Alfred Hitchc.o.c.k's fan club except me. He's caused havoc this weekenda and he's just going to wash his hands of it and walk away.'

'Well, he does have a certain charm.'

Archie looked at her in amazement. 'Not you as well?'

'He's put money in my pocket, Archie, but it's only a professional allegiance.' She nodded to the terrace, where the director was ordering drinks. 'If it makes you feel better, he's in for a disappointment now. Hitchc.o.c.k is about to make Jack an offer he can and will refuse.'

'Is he going to work for another studio? He told me he had plans.'

'No. He might go to America eventually, I suppose, but he's going to fight in Spain first. I can't talk him out of it.'

She was grateful to Archie for refraining from the usual meaningless rea.s.surances about another person's safety. 'And what about you?' he asked instead. 'What are your plans?'

'Back to London for a couple of days, then on to Cambridge.'

There was a silence as each waited for the other to speak. In the end, it was Archie who took the risk. 'We could try this again, away from the film crew.'

'I'd like that. It would be good to talk properly, without any distractions.'

'From what I recall, Cambridge with you was just one distraction after another. That's what I loved about it.'

'Let's meet in London first, Archie.' Worried that she had seemed too eager to deflect him, she addeda 'I've got to come up to town a lot over the next few weeks. It would be nice to have something to look forward to apart from work, and I need to check you've got that painting in the right place.' He smiled, and she took his arm as they walked to White Horses.

16.

Josephine sat by the hotel pool and watched as Alma Reville hesitated before coming over to her. 'Miss Teya may I have a word with you?'

'Of course.' Alma seemed relieved by the welcomea but her reticence was unnecessary: it had been a long, restless morning of waiting and thinking, and Josephine was glad of any distraction which kept her mind from the reality of Branwen Erley's body and the imagined horror of Bella's. 'Although I should warn you that it might be detrimental to your health. People have a habit of dying after a heart-to-heart with me.'

She made the comment without thinking, then realised that Alma did not know her well enough to understand that its flippancy was defensive. The director's wife seemed to take the remark in the spirit it was meant, though; Josephine guessed that she was used to black humour, living with Hitchc.o.c.k. 'It has been a terrible day,' Alma agreed, 'and your conversation with Bella must have made the news of her death even more of a shock. But it's not really a heart-to-heart I want, so I'll take my chances.' She smiled and sat down. 'Hitch and I are going back to London later this afternoona and, before we go, I wanted to say how much I've enjoyed meeting you.'

The suddenness of the departure surprised Josephine. 'Doesn't your husband want to stay and see all this in action?' she asked, gesturing to the village. 'I've heard how seriously he takes his research, and I would have thought this was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. At least, I hope it is.'

'Hitch is not very good at real life,' his wife admitted. 'It's never been his strong point.' She gave Josephine a wry smile. 'And I notice you're taking a back seat, too.'

'I got closer than I ever wanted to this morning,' Josephine said quickly. 'It was a salutary lesson in fact and fiction, and it will be a long time before I need another reminder.'

'Yes, of course. I'm sorry.' The apology was sincerely delivereda and Alma addeda 'That was a stupid thing to say, especially as I believe that Hitch's blurring of those boundaries has already led to some tension between him and your friend.'

'Archie knows more about murder than the rest of could understand or bear,' Josephine said, smiling to take some of the edge off her words. 'It's not surprising that there are days when death as entertainment seems a little strange to him, even offensive.'

'Quite, but I hope you won't let any of this affect your decision regarding A Shilling for Candles?'

So that was it, Josephine thought: not so much a heart-to-heart as a white flag of diplomacy. 'Of course not,' she said. 'I've made my mind up, and I'm almost looking forward to seeing the finished result.' Alma smiled gratefullya and, while she had the upper hand, Josephine took the opportunity to satisfy her curiosity on another subject. 'What was the problem between you and Bella?' she asked. 'I don't know either of you personally, but you seem to me to have had a lot in common: the same strength and determination, the same talent and power, the same joys and worries. That often makes people friends, or at least natural allies, but obviously not you and Bella.'

'The problem was David Franks,' Alma said candidly. 'We demand absolute loyalty and commitment from the people who work for us, and Bella resented the fact that he was prepared to throw his creative lot in with us entirely. That's what she meant by suffocation: she thought that he should spread his wings more widely, and in some respects she probably had a point. He'll be brilliant in his own right one day if he gets the right experience.'

'He must have more experience now than your husband did when he started directing,' Josephine said shrewdly.

'Indeed he does, and I admit that our interests in keeping him with us were not selfless by any means a but neither were Bella's. As David said this morning, it's not easy to see someone you've guided choose advice from elsewhere. More than anything, though, Bella didn't want him to go back to America and she knew we would have asked him to come with us.'

Once again, Bella Hutton's devotion to her nephew sounded unconvincing to Josephine, but she said nothing. She followed Alma's gaze over to the hotel and watched as Franks came out onto the terrace. 'Would have?' she queried.

'Yes.' Alma got up, bringing the conversation to an end. 'If you'll excuse me, there's another apology I need to make. I have a policy of not interfering in my husband's decisions, but I can at least try to clear up after them.' She held out her hand before Josephine could ask for an explanation. 'I'll be in touch with your agent as soon as we've settled back in town, and I sincerely hope that we'll do your book justice.'

Josephine smiled. 'So do I,' she said. In the distance, she saw Archie walking across the lawn from the direction of White Horses. He acknowledged her wave but seemed preoccupied, and she wondered if Bridget had talked to him about whatever was worrying her. 'Is everything all right?' she asked cautiously as he sat down. 'How's Bridget?'

'She's fine,' he said, and she was touched to see how his face lit up at the mention of Bridget's name. 'We've arranged to meet when she's in town next month.'

'I'm glad. I was hoping you weren't going to wait until my sixtieth. Once every twenty years doesn't allow for much conversation.'

He laughed. 'No, I don't suppose it does.'

'So why the frown?' She followed his gaze over to the Bell Tower. 'It's this investigation, isn't it?' Archie nodded. 'Do you know why Turnbull did it?'