A Finer End

town nestled in the valley between Wearyall and the Tor. The Tor seemed to float above the red tile rooftops, its humped shape and well-defined contours giving it the look of an alien leviathan. Kincaid followed her gaze. ‘It is a very odd thing, isn’t it?’
    ‘Surely those terraces are man-made—’
    ‘If they are, it was so long ago that there’s not even an oral tradition to explain them. Although some people claim it’s a maze, or a labyrinth, used for ritual magic, I don’t know that there’s any historical evidence to support it.’
    Gemma thought of Faith’s tale of being drawn to climb the Tor. As absurd as it sounded, she had been convinced that the girl was telling the truth — or at least what she believed was the truth. She shook off a chill of unease.
    ‘Let’s go back,’ she told Kincaid.
    He gave her a concerned glance. ‘You’ve been working too hard, and not looking after yourself properly.’
    Unwilling to pursue the topic, Gemma started downhill. ‘What’s next, then?’
    Kincaid walked in silence for a few minutes, apparently mulling over their progress. ‘Have you noticed how everything seems to revolve round Winnie Catesby?’ he said at last. ‘I think it’s time we paid a visit to hospital.’
     
    Jack had protested at the idea of their visit when Kincaid rang him on his mobile, saying, ’I don’t want her upset. She’s still weak—’
    ‘She’s going to have to know these things — that someone may have tried to kill her, and that Garnet Todd’s dead,’ Kincaid had interrupted. ‘And for her own safety, you must tell her as soon as possible.’
    At that, Jack had given in, albeit unhappily. When they reached the hospital and found the proper ward, Jack joined them in the corridor with an anxious expression. ‘She’s dozing again.’
    ‘How is she today?’ asked Gemma.
    ‘She seems more clear-headed, but fragile... You really think this is necessary?’
    ‘I do, if we’re to get any further with this. I rang Inspector Greely again, by the way. They’ve had to release Nick Carlisle, but if they can turn up the least bit of concrete evidence, they’ll charge him in a heartbeat.’
    ‘I don’t believe Nick had anything to do with this.’ Jack said it so fiercely that Kincaid wondered if he were convincing himself.
    ‘Then we had better find out who did,’ Kincaid replied reasonably. ‘Why don’t we wait out here, and you let us know when Winnie starts to stir. Any sign of her brother, by the way?’
    ‘No. He hasn’t shown up since I’ve been here, and he hasn’t rung to check on her, as far as I know.’
    They had struck up a conversation with the nursing sister in charge of the floor when Jack reappeared a quarter of an hour later. As Jack motioned them inside, Kincaid realized he was looking forward to meeting Winnie Catesby with a good deal of curiosity.
    As he entered the room, his first thought was that the woman in the hospital bed was plain. Of course, she had been ill, but even making allowances for that, she seemed quite ordinary; her features certainly lacked the distinction of her handsome brother’s.
    Then she looked up at him and smiled, and all thoughts of conventional beauty fled his mind. It was instantly apparent why Jack had fallen in love with Winnie Catesby.
    ‘Jack’s been telling me all about you,’ she told Kincaid. She seemed oblivious to the fact that her head bore an unsightly shaved spot, with the edges of a wound pulled together with a clip.
    ‘Has he mentioned all the times I got him into trouble when we were kids?’
    ‘More than once. But I don’t believe he was as innocent as he makes out,’ Winnie replied, with a mischievous glance at Jack.
    She greeted Gemma, then, when they had chatted for a few moments, Kincaid pulled a chair up close to the bed.
    ‘Winnie, did Jack tell you why he asked us to come?’
    She focused all her attention on him, her face grave. ‘No. I just assumed he needed a bit of moral support...‘
    ‘Have you remembered anything about your accident?’
    ‘Sometimes there are... flashes. Did you ever catch a glimpse of something out of the corner of your eye — a glimpse so fleeting that you not only weren’t sure what it was, but whether you really saw anything at all?’
    Kincaid nodded encouragingly.
    ‘That’s what it’s like. I know something’s there, but I can’t grasp it long enough to put words to it. I’m sorry.’
    ‘Don’t worry,’ he reassured her.