the suicide note. But the words...they were from one of his own speeches in the play. It was Tuzenbach. He was Tuzenbach. He's killed three people, Helen. Gowan died in my arms. For the love of God, answer me! Tell me! Now!"
Her lips formed the hateful word in spite of her resolve. She heard herself say it. "Yes."
"He's there?"
Again. "Yes."
"Are you alone?"
"Yes."
"Oh God. Caroline's out?"
It was easy, so easy. Such a simple word. "Yes."
And as Lynley continued to speak, Rhys turned back to the fire, poked at it, added another log, returned to the couch. Watching him, understanding the implications of what she had just done, of the choice she had made, Lady Helen felt tears sting at the back of her eyes, felt the constriction in her throat, and knew that she was lost.
"Listen to me carefully, Helen. I want to put a tail on him until we get the fi nal forensic report from Strathclyde CID. I could bring him in before then, but all it would amount to is another go-round with nothing to show. So I shall phone the Met now. They'll send a constable, but it may take as long as twenty minutes. Can you keep him with you for a while? Do you feel safe enough with him to do that?"
She battled against despair. She could not speak.
Lynley's own voice was torn. "Helen! Answer me! Can you manage twenty minutes with him? Can you? For God's sake-"
Her lips were stiff, dry. "I can manage that. Easily."
For a moment, she heard nothing more, as if Lynley were evaluating the exact nature of her response. Then he asked sharply: "What does he expect from you tonight?"
She didn't reply.
"Answer me! Has he come to take you to bed?" When still she said nothing, he cried, "Helen! Please!"
She heard herself whisper hopelessly, "Well, that should take up your twenty minutes nicely, shouldn't it?"
He was shouting, "No! Helen! Don't-" when she hung up the phone.
SHE STOOD with her head bent, struggling for composure. Even now, he was placing his call to Scotland Yard. Even now the twenty minutes had begun.
Odd, she thought, that she felt no fear. Her heart throbbed in her ears, her throat was dry. But she was not afraid. She was alone in the flat with a killer, with Tommy miles away, with a snowstorm sealing off easy escape. But she was not at all afraid. And it came to her, as hot tears seared and demanded release, that she was not afraid because she no longer cared. Nothing mattered any longer, least of all whether she lived or died.
BARBARA HAVERS picked up the telephone in Lynley's office on the second ring. It was a quarter past seven, and she had been sitting at his desk for over two hours, smoking so steadily that her throat was raw and her nerves strung to breaking. She was so relieved to hear Lynley's voice at last that her release of tension gave way to hot anger. But her imprecations were interrupted by the intensity of his voice.
"Havers, where's Constable Nkata?"
"Nkata?" she repeated stupidly. "Gone home."
"Get him. I want him at Onslow Square. Now."
She stubbed out her cigarette and reached for a piece of paper. "You've found Davies-Jones?"
"He's in Helen's flat. I want a tail on him, Havers. But if it comes to it, we're going to have to bring him in."
"How? Why?" she demanded incredulously. "We've virtually nothing to work with in spite of this Hannah Darrow angle which God knows is about as thin as what we have on Stinhurst. You told me yourself that every single one of them save Irene Sinclair was involved in that Norwich production in seventy-three. That still includes Stinhurst. And besides, Macaskin-"
"No arguments, Havers. I've no time at the moment. Just do as I say. And once you've done it, telephone Helen. Keep her talking to you for at least thirty minutes. More if you can. Do you understand?"
"Thirty minutes? What am I supposed to do? Tell her the flipping story of my life?"
Lynley made a sound of furious exasperation. "God damn it, do as I say for once! Now! And wait for me at the Yard!"
The line went dead.
Havers placed the call to Constable Nkata, sent him on his way, slammed down the receiver, and stared moodily at the papers on Lynley's desk. They comprised the fi nal information from Strathclyde CID-the report on fingerprints, the results of having used the fibre-optic lamp, the analysis of blood stains, the study