It took Sam a few seconds to disentangle the grammar: "thinking in the wrong way about killing her." That had to be what Simon meant.

"Who? Dan Jose?"

"Dan?" Simon grinned at the idea. "The man who took a brave moral stand against the deception thats landed his best friend in prison by admitting hes been lying about everything and then still refusing to tell you the truth? Hed never kill anyone-hed never do anything. Kerry Jose?" Simon antic.i.p.ated Sams next question. "No. You read Dans a.s.sessment of her: wants to be fair to everyone. Needs to be seen to be good. She admits in one of the letters that shed quite like to kill Francine, but its a fantasy-she knows she never will. Lauren: the only one in the Dower House who actually liked Francine. If you can like a slab of meat lying p.r.o.ne in a bed," Simon added as an afterthought. "Lauren never knew the b.i.t.c.h who made everyones lives a misery. She missed out on her family Christmas to be with Francine, lobbied to have her included in the Dower House celebrations. And tended to her needs, day after day-paid extremely well for it too, with the perk of five-star accommodation and a job for her husband thrown in. Why would Lauren want to murder Francine? She wouldnt. Theres no way."

"Then . . . Jason?" Sam asked, knowing that it was the wrong answer and that was why Simon was steering him toward it. He was ruthless when he had something to show off about. Sam had come to the conclusion that he enjoyed making other people feel stupid; he was an intellectual s.a.d.i.s.t. This knowledge did nothing to diminish Sams affection for him. "Do you also know who killed Jason?"

"That was Lauren," said Simon, as if it was obvious and hardly mattered. "Wayne Cuffley might have been trying to protect her, but he gave the game away with his inconsistencies, asking you if he could be the one to tell her Jason was dead. As you pointed out, he could have done it already before turning himself in. According to him, hes first taken the plates off his car and delivered us the body so that Lauren doesnt have to worry if Jasons dead or alive, then hes come and handed himself in so that she doesnt have to live with the uncertainty of not knowing who knifed her husband. If hes that bothered about Lauren being kept up to speed, theres no way he wouldnt have told her what hed done while he was still free and in control. His story doesnt add up. Only purpose of telling it was to drum it into our heads: Lauren doesnt know whats happened to Jason-one, she doesnt know hes dead; two, she doesnt know who killed him. All bulls.h.i.t."

Lauren cared about Francine. Lauren killed Jason. Put the two together . . .

"Jason didnt kill Francine," said Simon, apparently reading Sams mind. "He saw who did, though. Through a window."

Awe wasnt an emotion Sam felt often, but he felt it now. "How do you know?"

Simon frown-smiled, running through his theory one last time before presenting it, to check the logic was sound. "Obvious. The lie about where Jason was when Lauren found the body and screamed, the one parroted by everyone at the Dower House. Since Jason didnt kill Francine, why not tell the truth about where he was and what he was doing when she died?"

"But . . . how do you know he didnt kill her?" Sam asked again. If hed already been given the answer, hed missed it.

"Because I know who did," Simon said. All so simple, if your surname was Waterhouse. "So did Jason. He knew before everyone else, apart from Francine herself and the person who smothered her with a pillow. He was outside, cleaning the windows like everyone said in the second version of the story. Except it wasnt the lounge windows at the front of the house, it was Francines bedroom windows. Also ground floor, but at the back. When Charlie started grilling Kerry about what exactly Jason had been doing in the lounge-had he been repairing something, and if so, what?-Kerry panicked, and reached for what she hoped would be a more plausible lie: Jason had been cleaning windows. True. Any good liar knows to pack as much truth as possible into a lie. Kerry changed one detail: lounge, she said, instead of bedroom. It was crucial that no one found out Jason was an eyewitness. Hed have been asked to describe what he saw. His version would have been checked against Tim Brearys confession-it was too risky, when what hed have been describing would have been a lie. He could easily have slipped up over any number of tiny details. Simpler to have him not witness anything and just recite Tims version of what happened, like everyone else at the Dower House."

Tim Breary. In all the speculation, Sam had almost forgotten him.

"So if it wasnt Kerry, Dan, Lauren or Jason, then . . ."

"Tim must have murdered Francine?" Simon completed Sams question for him. "No. He mustnt and he didnt. Tim wanted Francine alive, not dead. After what shed put him through, he couldnt get enough of the new balance of power between them. Of not being scared of her, of making her suffer for a change. Words can be weapons just as much as a knife or a gun is, and Francine couldnt fight back. Tim was addicted to tormenting her: telling her stories about Gaby Struthers, the woman he really loved. Reading her poems about decaying forty-year-old bodies. Knowing that, however much Francine hated hearing it all, she couldnt get away. He wouldnt have put an end to that, I dont think-ever. Why do you think he didnt make a beeline for Gaby Struthers, soon as he moved back to the Culver Valley after Francines stroke?"

Did Sam need to bother shaking his head in bafflement, or would Simon take it as read?

"He still wasnt free, thats why. Still wasnt available. He craved Francine in a way he never had before she was laid low, got a power kick out of punishing her. The urge to carry on was so overwhelming, even the thought of Gaby nearby wasnt enough incentive to give up. Breary was addicted. Didnt want to face up to it, though, so he told himself he was conducting an inquiry: Was Francine the same Francine hed known, or not? How to arrive at an accurate ethical evaluation of her? Some inquiry, that never gathers any data," Simon said dismissively.

Sam was only half listening. He was trying to think. Gaby Struthers had an alibi; she couldnt have done it. Who, then? "Im out of ideas," he admitted. "Even desperate ones. If you want me to know who murdered Francine, youre going to have to tell me." Sorry to be a disappointment. Again.

"No one murdered Francine," said Simon.

"No one? But . . ."

"Youve seen her dead body?" That infuriating half smile again.

"Yes!" More than once. What the h.e.l.l was he implying? It had to be a joke.

"Shes dead, for sure," Simon said. "Legally, it might or might not be murder. Depends on the judge, I suppose. Or a jury. I wouldnt call it murder, though, personally. Id call it the opposite."

"Who killed her?" Sam asked. Simon couldnt quibble about the word "killed," surely.

"The person whod have wanted to murder her least of all. Her only ally at the Dower House."

"You mean . . . Lauren?"

Simon nodded.

But a minute ago, hed said . . . No, Sam realized. Simon had said only that Lauren hadnt murdered Francine. Not that she hadnt killed her.

"What Im wondering is, did Kerry and Dan Jose share the addiction? Did they get the same s.a.d.i.s.tic kick out of writing these letters that Tim Breary did from his little bedside chats, or were they doing it just to give Tim moral support, like Dan Jose says in the last letter?"

Sam was at a loss. He decided to sit it out, be a good listener, since he couldnt contribute. Like Francine Breary.

"Moral support," Simon repeated with contempt. "Letters that very thoughtfully and a.n.a.lytically rip Francines character to pieces-taunt her and condemn her in any and every way they possibly can. Talk about kicking a person when theyre down. Meanwhile, Brearys doing the verbal equivalent-torturing his wife, basically. What else can you call it? There she is, trapped in a bed, cant move or speak, and hes telling her all the things he knows are going to make her wish she was dead if she doesnt already. Its psychological torture. And Kerry Jose, who knows all about it-she thinks its good therapy for Tim! Tims processing his fear, she thinks-getting it out of his system, making progress. How sick is that? Kerry decides its okay to let him punish and emotionally torture an invalid who cant fight back, and Dan goes along with it."

Simon swore under his breath, looked up at the ceiling. "Day after day, a punishment that never ends. Francine gets it rammed down her throat over and over again that her life was never what she thought it was, her husband never loved her like he said he did. Shes become nothing more than a receptacle for his bitterness. And Kerrys, and Dans. The letters, which are Kerrys idea of fair, lets not forget! Thats balanced, in their crazy heads. The well-adjusted moderate response: writing long vicious denunciations that are oh-so-polite and articulate and sensitively worded, so its almost impossible to spot whats really going on."

He was right. Right that it was hard to spot too. Kerrys and Dans accounts painted Tim as the chief victim, with the two of them coming a close joint second. The first time hed read the letters, even knowing Francine had been murdered, Sam had had little sympathy for her; such was the skill of Kerry and Dan Joses narrative.

"Kerry and Dan want it both ways," Simon went on angrily. "They want to show solidarity with Tim, but they dont want to harm Francine, or so they imagine. So they never read her their letters! But they write them-sit there for hours by her bed, writing them, pouring in all their resentment. Does it occur to them that Francine might wonder what the f.u.c.k theyre doing, sitting there writing s.h.i.t she never gets to see? And then stuffing them under her mattress! So she knows shes lying on it, whatever it is."

"If Francine was as much of a control freak as the letters suggest, shed have hated that," Sam said, pleased to be able to contribute something at last. "Maybe they knew that not knowing what they were writing would torment her. That could have been part of the buzz."

"For Kerry, yeah," Simon agreed. "Could well have been. If you think youre too good and fair to ever hurt anyone deliberately, youve got to find a way of doing it that you can hide-even from yourself. Especially from yourself. I think thats what the letters were, for Kerry. Dan . . . I dont know. Best-case scenario, he was trying to support his friend and his wife, and Francine was a means to that end. If he didnt want to make her suffer, then he treated her like an object. Like a . . . muse for bile and hate. It might not be the same straightforward emotional torture Tim Breary was serving up, but its still pretty depraved."

"So Lauren knew what they were all doing?" Sam asked. "She must have done."

"Must have," Simon echoed. "Course, part of the motivation behind Kerrys rule about her and Dan never reading their letters aloud was that: she couldnt risk Lauren hearing. She must have known Lauren had overheard Tim a fair bit-in Francines room, persecuting her with his stories about Gaby. Kerry didnt want Lauren to realize Francine was being a.s.saulted from all sides-not by one person but by three. Three clever, articulate attackers who saw nothing wrong with making a woman who couldnt move or speak lie there day after day, soaking up all their venom."

"Do you think thats what Kerry meant when she wrote that someone would kill Francine soon, but she didnt know who?" Sam asked. "Was she thinking of Lauren?"

"Lauren or Tim," Simon answered without hesitation. "Kerry was terrified one of themd do it, but she didnt know which. Lauren, to get Francine the f.u.c.k out of that house where she was being abused and mistreated, or Tim because once he wasnt scared of Francine anymore and hed said everything he wanted to say to her, once she served no function for him-"

"But-sorry, Im interrupting-in one of the letters Kerry begs Francine to stop breathing."

"Yeah, but not because she wants her dead and gone." Simon shuddered. "Thats Kerry being fair again: 'Spare yourself the ordeal of getting murdered, Francine-and dont forget to be grateful to me for the tip-off. And dont forget"-Simon jabbed his finger in the air to make it clear that he meant Sam this time-"all these letters are performance pieces. Everyones editing themselves, thinking the others are going to be reading the results at some point. They all know where the letters are hidden-why wouldnt they read each others? Dans hoping Kerryll be pulled up short by what he wrote about her being in love with Tim Breary. If she brings it up and tells him theres not a single grain of truth in his suspicion, h.e.l.l feel better. If she doesnt mention it, h.e.l.l feel worse."

"So . . ." Sam struggled to keep up. "Kerry didnt want Francine to die?"

"Did she f.u.c.k! Oh, she probably kidded herself sometimes that it was what she wanted, and maybe part of her did. Or wanted Tim to think she did, when he read her letters to Francine. Mainly, though, she didnt want there to be nothing stopping Tim and Gaby Struthers shacking up together. She wanted Tim living with her and Dan, at the Dower House. His addiction to the wife he hated and tormented suited her down to the ground-she still got to be the good woman in his life, the one he relied on. Once he was blissfully happy with Gaby, shed have been relegated to second place. Shed have hated it."

"Why kill Francine?" Sam asked. "If Lauren cared about her and wanted to protect her from . . ." He stopped, reluctant to use the word "attack." Though Simon was right: there was no word that better described what Francine Breary had been subjected to. A sustained attack, albeit written and verbal rather than physical. "Why didnt Lauren . . . I dont know, report Tims mistreatment of Francine to Social Services?"

"What could she have said? Its just talking, isnt it? Not even shouting, not aggressive. Calm, quiet. Shes overheard a man chatting to his invalid wife, thats all. And shes read some letters that people have tried to hide, and, yes, she knows theyre bad news. Very bad." Simon hauled himself to his feet and started to walk round the room. He was limping; pins and needles.

"Instinctively, she knows exactly what the letters mean," he said. "They mean deliberate cruelty, but someone like Lauren, not the brightest in the world, hows she going to put that into words and make sure shes believed over the likes of Tim Breary with his collection of poetry books and exclusive library membership, and Dan Jose with his economic theory research and his old-fart tweedy suits? Educated millionaires who write touchy-feely letters full of anecdotes and insights and therapeutic airing of everything thats been bothering them that theyve never had the guts to express until now. Poor f.u.c.king them! Who do you think Social Services are going to prioritize in that situation? The husband and best friends, or the chippy hired help? Lady-of-the-Manor Kerry, with her original art on the walls of her listed building, or tattooed, anorexic Lauren who cant open her mouth without a stream of foul language spilling out?"

"When you put it like that . . ." Sam muttered.

"Lauren can feel exactly whats wrong, but she cant think it through," said Simon. "And shes married to Jason, which is confusing for her. Thats what abuse is, she probably thinks. Psychological tortures what Jason does, so how can this be the same and as bad when its so different? She cant answer her own questions, shes getting more and more desperate. Then, Im guessing, one day she overhears Dan Jose read a letter aloud to Francine for the first time. The crueltys escalating, she thinks-though not in those precise words. How bad could it get? Answer: very. She has to get Francine out of the Dower House. So she does it the only way she knows how-she takes a pillow and puts an end to an unremittingly miserable life."

"A mercy killing," Sam said quietly.

"In the truest sense, yes."

"What about Tim Brearys confession?"

"I cant say for sure, but I think theres a good chance Francines death broke the spell," Simon said. "The addiction, whatever you want to call it. Think about it: Lauren tells Tim what shes done and she tells him why. Shes distraught. He sees his behavior through her eyes. Feels guilty, maybe. Hard to see how he could feel good about turning a basically decent young woman into a killer. Hopefully it brought him to his senses."

"He confessed to protect Lauren," said Sam. "Or Jason strong-armed him: 'You caused all this trouble for my wife and therefore me; youre taking the blame."

"Partly, maybe," said Simon, staring out of the window. "Could have been a bit of both, but neither was the main force driving him."

"Gaby," said Sam, not knowing quite what he meant.

"Gaby," Simon repeated expressionlessly. "Breary still wanted her, and with Francine dead, there was nothing to stop him, except his conviction that he didnt deserve her."

"Even more so now, presumably," Sam said.

"Right. Soon as Gaby found out the truth about how he, Kerry and Dan had been treating Francine, shed want nothing to do with him-thats what he thought."

"So he pretended hed killed Francine," said Sam. Finally, he felt as if he was getting somewhere. "Its still bad-its murder, its worse-but in a different way. In a way that seems less grim and repellent, somehow. More . . . honest."

"More male," said Simon. "Less humiliating. Straightforward evil of the masculine variety: brutal, yes, but not despicable, not pathetic. You murder the person you hate. Its a show of force. Theres something effeminate about subtly torturing your helpless wife with carefully chosen words. If Lauren had admitted to killing Francine, the truth would have come out-Breary would have been certain thatd scupper his chance with Gaby. At the same time, he didnt want Gaby to be under any illusions about his moral character-he wouldnt have seen that as being fair to her."

"So he tells Lauren h.e.l.l take the blame." Sam took over the story. "In doing so, he protects her, which, given the circ.u.mstances, feels like the right thing to do, and he can finally be honest with Gaby, he thinks, even though hes being anything but. Still, he feels as if his . . . badness is out in the open. So many of Kerry and Dans letters mention his lack of self-esteem."

"Exactly," said Simon. "Hes going to be labeled a murderer and punished, and itll wipe his slate clean. He can say to Gaby, 'Look, this is how bad I am. Ive done the worst thing a person can do. Can you forgive me? Whereas he wouldnt have dared ask her the same question in relation to what hed really done."

"Yes. That makes sense, doesnt it?" Sam asked. He still wasnt sure.

"Perfect sense," he heard a womans voice say. He turned.

Gaby Struthers stood in the doorway. "Correct in every detail," she told Simon.

"How do you know?" Sam asked her.

"How do you think?"

"Tim told you?"

Gaby nodded. "And Lauren. She so desperately wanted to tell the truth and be told shed done nothing wrong. Tim deprived her of that chance by insisting on protecting her. He begged her to let him take the blame. Jason backed him up. So did Kerry and Dan, once they saw how desperate he was to bury the truth. He convinced them that the only thing he had to live for now was me, that Id want nothing to do with him if I found out hed mistreated his bedridden wife until her care a.s.sistant had been driven to kill her out of pity."

"But he thought youd forgive him for killing her," said Simon.

"You dont need me to explain the difference," Gaby told him. "Youve said it all already: a sudden murderous impulse on the one hand, and on the other, constant pa.s.sive-aggressive victimization over a period of years, slow and insidious." She looked very serious suddenly. "You were right when you called it an addiction. Tim didnt plan to torture anyone. He just got caught up in something stronger than he was. Im not justifying what he did-it was wrong, but-"

"Theres no 'but," Simon said.

"If you were Tim, if youd had his exact life experiences and been through exactly the same formative psychological process that he went through, can you honestly say youd have behaved differently?"

Did that question make sense? Sam wondered. If Simon were Tim Breary, would he have behaved as Tim Breary behaved? Yes. Obviously.

"What about Lauren?" Gaby asked. "Is there a 'but for her? She also killed Jason."

"We know," Simon said.

"He attacked her on Friday, after he attacked me. She decided enough was enough. Another life she felt she had no choice but to take."

"Im sympathetic, but Im not sure the law will be," said Simon. Sam had been thinking the same thing, but hadnt wanted to say it.

"Im sure it wouldnt be," said Gaby. "Still. The law will have to find her first." A smile played around the corners of her mouth. "I dont know, obviously-Im just guessing-but Id imagine that Lauren might be out of reach by now. It could be that when you go to the Dower House to look for her, youll find it empty."

"If you know where she is, youd better tell us," said Simon. It could have been intended as a threat, but Sam heard only weariness.

"I dont know anything," Gaby replied smoothly. "Im speculating."

"Are Kerry and Dan with her?" Sam asked.

"I dont know where any of them are, but I doubt Lauren would be capable of getting far without support. Or of staying hidden indefinitely. Dont you agree? Youve met her."

"Well find her," Simon told Sam: a show of bravado, for Gabys benefit.

"Im sure you will, if you look long and hard enough," she said. "Or you could not look quite so hard and catch bad guys instead. Isnt that what youre supposed to be for?"

Before Simon or Sam could answer, shed gone.

27.

TUESDAY, 5 APRIL 2011.

"Marjolaine," Tim says, staring at the door at the far end of the corridor. Hes stopped several feet away from it, white-faced. I know how hard its going to be for him to come any closer. Im not going to try and persuade him. It has to be up to him. I tried to solve the mystery of his nightmare years ago, when he wasnt ready, and I drove him away.

"Id forgotten that the rooms had names and that ours was called Marjolaine," he says, almost whispering. "Theyre all named after flowers, or herbs. I remember Francine saying."

"You dont have to come with me, but Im going to go inside," I tell him. "Okay?" I booked the room for one night in order to have the access I needed this afternoon, even though Tim and I arent staying. Were here for the day only. Tim would never have agreed to stay at Les Sources des Alpes in any case, even if Id suggested it. If hes wondering why I booked us outbound and inbound flights on the same day instead of suggesting we stay overnight at a different hotel, he hasnt mentioned it.

Another thing he hasnt mentioned since getting out of prison: that Ive spent every night at the Combingham Best Western and hes spent every night at the Dower House, both of us alone. I know and understand his reasons. He doesnt want to rush me.

d.a.m.n his reasons to h.e.l.l. They make no difference.

Be fair, Gaby. Hes the one who suggested this, coming here. Thats huge, for him.

Huge for Tim isnt good enough for me anymore. I need him to do things that are huge by my standards. Nothing less will do.

The key is gold, heavy, shaped like a bell. I unlock the door and walk in. To anyone but Tim, this would look like an ordinary hotel room. He calls my name from the corridor, anxious because he cant see me.