“To look after my child! The thought of even having her in the house, close to my family, appalled me. I suppose I failed again in imagination. I should have sensed her need, but all I felt was horror, the compulsion to get away from her, to buy time. I did that by lying. I said I would talk to my wife but that she mustn’t hope, because there was none. I did at least make that clear. And then she said goodbye, again without touching me, and left. I sat watching as she disappeared into the darkness, following a small pinprick of light.”

Dalgliesh said, “Did you at any time enter the Manor?”

“No.”

“Did she ask you to do so?”

“No.”

“Did you, while you were parked, see or hear anyone else?”

“No one. I drove away the minute Shirley got out of the car. I saw no one.”

“That night, one of the patients there was murdered. Did Shirley Beale say anything which leads you to believe that she might be responsible?”

“Nothing.”

“The patient’s name was Rhoda Gradwyn. Did Shirley Beale mention that name to you, speak about her, tell you anything about the Manor?”

“Nothing, except that she worked there.”

“And was this the first time you’ve heard of the Manor?”

“Yes, the first time. There hasn’t been anything on the news, surely, and certainly not in the Sunday papers. I wouldn’t have missed it.”

“Nothing yet, but there probably will be tomorrow morning. Have you spoken to your wife about Shirley Beale?”

“No, not yet. I think I’ve been in denial, hoping but without real hope that I might hear nothing more from Shirley, that I’d convinced her that we had no future together. The whole incident was fantastic, unreal, a nightmare. As you know, I borrowed Michael Curtis’s car for the journey and I’d decided that, if Shirley wrote again, I’d confide in him. I had a desperate need to tell someone and I knew that he would be wise and kind and sensible, and at least would advise me what I should do. Only then would I speak to my wife. I realise, of course, that if Shirley did make the past public it could destroy my career.”

And now Kate spoke again. She said, “But surely not if the truth were accepted. You showed kindness and affection to an obviously lonely and needy child. You were only twenty-two at the time. You couldn’t possibly know that your friendship with Lucy would lead to her death. You aren’t responsible for that death. No one is but Shirley Beale. She was lonely and needy, too, but you weren’t responsible for her unhappiness.”

“But I was responsible. Indirectly and without malice. If Lucy hadn’t met me, she’d be alive today.”