truth. ‘No,’ said the DI, standing up. ‘At the moment I don’t intend
to add any charges to those you’re already facing, but we will want to talk to you again, Bobby, so I advise you very strongly to make yourself available. Neither DS Fraser nor I want the
trouble of having to look for you.’ He paused at the door. ‘Just one last thing. Had there been any attempt made to bury the bodies?’
‘You mean in a grave?’
‘No, I mean had they been covered over with anything?’
‘Only wiv leaves.’
‘Well covered?’
‘Yeah. Pretty well.’
‘Then how did you know they were there?’
Franklyn’s sharp little eyes shifted nervously. ‘Because some think ’ad been at the guy,’ he said. ‘A fox, maybe. The ’ead and top ’alf of
’is body ’ad been dug out, least that’s what it looked like. I didn’t know the woman was there till I started taking the leaves off ’im and found ’er ’ead
beside ’is sodding legs. To tell you the truth,’ he said, ‘I wish I’d never seen them now.’ He wiped his hands on his trousers. ‘It’s got me in bother and
I’m not sure I cleaned myself properly afterwards. I’ve been worrying about that.’
Nightingale Clinic, Salisbury – 6.30 p.m.
Alan Protheroe looked in on Jinx later that afternoon and found her walking with gritty determination about her room. ‘I’m not going out in a wheelchair again,’
she told him angrily. ‘I hadn’t realized quite how sensitive I am to being stared at. It was a deeply humiliating experience.’ She jabbed a finger at her bandages.
‘When’s this idiotic thing coming off my eye?’
‘Probably tomorrow morning,’ he said, wondering if it was only humiliation that had sparked her anger. It would be a while, he thought, before she felt confident enough
to admit she remembered anything. ‘You’ve an appointment at Odstock Hospital for nine-thirty. All being well, it’ll be removed then.’
She came to a halt beside her dressing table. ‘Thank God for that. I feel like Frankenstein’s monster at the moment.’
His amiable face creased into a smile. ‘You don’t look like him.’
There was a short silence.
‘Are you married, Dr Protheroe?’
‘I was. My wife died of breast cancer four years ago.’
‘I’m sorry.’
‘Why did you want to know?’ he asked her.
Straightforward curiosity. You’re too nice to be running around free and most of your shirts have buttons missing. ‘Because it’s six-thirty on a Friday
evening in June and I was wondering why you were still here. Do you live in?’
He nodded. ‘In a flat upstairs.’
‘Children?’
‘One daughter at university, who’s nineteen and very strong-minded.’
‘I’m not surprised. You’ve probably been using her as a guinea pig for your theories on individual responsibility since she was knee-high to a
grasshopper.’
‘Something like that.’
She eyed him curiously. ‘As a matter of interest, what happens when one of your patients chooses a wrong set of values? Acts in bad faith, in other words. I can’t believe
they all toe the existentialist Protheroe line. It’s a statistical impossibility.’
He lowered himself into one of the chairs, stretched his long legs in front of him and clasped his hands behind his head. ‘That’s an extraordinarily loaded question but
I’ll have a stab at an answer. By “wrong” you presumably mean that they leave the clinic with the same problems they came in with? In other words, their time here hasn’t
persuaded them that another modus vivendi might be worth considering?’
‘That’s a very simplistic way of putting it, but it’ll do, I suppose.’
He lifted an amused eyebrow. ‘Then the simplistic answer is that my methods haven’t worked for them, and they either remain as they are or seek alternative therapy. But
they’re usually the ones who discharge themselves within forty-eight hours because they didn’t want to be here in the first place.’
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to add any charges to those you’re already facing, but we will want to talk to you again, Bobby, so I advise you very strongly to make yourself available. Neither DS Fraser nor I want the
trouble of having to look for you.’ He paused at the door. ‘Just one last thing. Had there been any attempt made to bury the bodies?’
‘You mean in a grave?’
‘No, I mean had they been covered over with anything?’
‘Only wiv leaves.’
‘Well covered?’
‘Yeah. Pretty well.’
‘Then how did you know they were there?’
Franklyn’s sharp little eyes shifted nervously. ‘Because some think ’ad been at the guy,’ he said. ‘A fox, maybe. The ’ead and top ’alf of
’is body ’ad been dug out, least that’s what it looked like. I didn’t know the woman was there till I started taking the leaves off ’im and found ’er ’ead
beside ’is sodding legs. To tell you the truth,’ he said, ‘I wish I’d never seen them now.’ He wiped his hands on his trousers. ‘It’s got me in bother and
I’m not sure I cleaned myself properly afterwards. I’ve been worrying about that.’
Nightingale Clinic, Salisbury – 6.30 p.m.
Alan Protheroe looked in on Jinx later that afternoon and found her walking with gritty determination about her room. ‘I’m not going out in a wheelchair again,’
she told him angrily. ‘I hadn’t realized quite how sensitive I am to being stared at. It was a deeply humiliating experience.’ She jabbed a finger at her bandages.
‘When’s this idiotic thing coming off my eye?’
‘Probably tomorrow morning,’ he said, wondering if it was only humiliation that had sparked her anger. It would be a while, he thought, before she felt confident enough
to admit she remembered anything. ‘You’ve an appointment at Odstock Hospital for nine-thirty. All being well, it’ll be removed then.’
She came to a halt beside her dressing table. ‘Thank God for that. I feel like Frankenstein’s monster at the moment.’
His amiable face creased into a smile. ‘You don’t look like him.’
There was a short silence.
‘Are you married, Dr Protheroe?’
‘I was. My wife died of breast cancer four years ago.’
‘I’m sorry.’
‘Why did you want to know?’ he asked her.
Straightforward curiosity. You’re too nice to be running around free and most of your shirts have buttons missing. ‘Because it’s six-thirty on a Friday
evening in June and I was wondering why you were still here. Do you live in?’
He nodded. ‘In a flat upstairs.’
‘Children?’
‘One daughter at university, who’s nineteen and very strong-minded.’
‘I’m not surprised. You’ve probably been using her as a guinea pig for your theories on individual responsibility since she was knee-high to a
grasshopper.’
‘Something like that.’
She eyed him curiously. ‘As a matter of interest, what happens when one of your patients chooses a wrong set of values? Acts in bad faith, in other words. I can’t believe
they all toe the existentialist Protheroe line. It’s a statistical impossibility.’
He lowered himself into one of the chairs, stretched his long legs in front of him and clasped his hands behind his head. ‘That’s an extraordinarily loaded question but
I’ll have a stab at an answer. By “wrong” you presumably mean that they leave the clinic with the same problems they came in with? In other words, their time here hasn’t
persuaded them that another modus vivendi might be worth considering?’
‘That’s a very simplistic way of putting it, but it’ll do, I suppose.’
He lifted an amused eyebrow. ‘Then the simplistic answer is that my methods haven’t worked for them, and they either remain as they are or seek alternative therapy. But
they’re usually the ones who discharge themselves within forty-eight hours because they didn’t want to be here in the first place.’
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