Free An Act of Evil by Robert Richardson Page A

very well,” Jackson began. Madden’s logic was obvious and rooted in established patterns. If Diana Porter had been murdered it was statistically likely that the murderer was someone who knew her. Add to that the link with her presence in Vercaster, discount the possibility that unusual and therefore non-statistical forces were involved, and you ended up with Augustus Maltravers. Having reached that point, the next step was simple. Question Maltravers with increasing intensity until he gave himself away or cracked under pressure and confessed.
    “ But I can’t see him as a potential murderer,” Jackson went on, adding incautiously, “always assuming that Miss Porter has in fact been murdered.” The possibility of Diana being murdered was attractive to Madden. The alternative of her hiding out with unpredictable friends meant time-consuming and irritating police inquiries; a simple murder according to oft repeated and established patterns of human behaviour was infinitely preferable, statistically more likely and greatly more convenient.
    Jackson decided it would help their future working relationship if he made his feelings clear on the matter.
    “ In fact, to be quite blunt, I think that the possibility of Mr Maltravers killing Miss Porter is total crap,” he said. “Sir,” he added.
    Madden ’s face rose like that of a very old turtle and stared at him like a basilisk. Jackson drew in his breath quietly and resisted the temptation to add anything that would seem to qualify and, by implication, apologise for his statement.
    “ Indeed?” Madden said the word quietly but with a whiplash of rising inflection, then stretched Jackson’s nerve with a resonant interval of several seconds’ silence which he stubbornly refused to break. Madden lowered his gaze back to the papers on his desk.
    “ Very well,” he said. “Keep me informed on any developments.” He handed back the summary impassively.
    “ Thank you, sir,” said Jackson and left Madden’s office. “That,” he muttered to himself as he walked down the corridor outside, “was a damned close-run thing.”
    *
    Maltravers was reading to Rebecca in the living room at Punt Yard when the telephone extension from Michael’s study rang at his elbow. It was Joe Goldman.
    “ Gus, has she turned up?” he demanded. “She’s got to be found.”
    “ Joe, everything possible is being done. As soon as…”
    “ Do you know who called me?” Goldman interrupted excitedly. “Clive Zabinski. Yes, Zabinski, the Hollywood super-brat. He’s in London, someone shows him a video of Success City and he wants to talk to Diana. Of course I tell him to ignore everything in the papers. It’s all a misunderstanding I tell him. Of course we’ll be at the Dorchester tomorrow, Mr Zabinski. Gus, when Zabinski calls you don’t say the actress he wants for a new movie can’t be found! Nobody says that to Zabinski!”
    “ Joe, calm down will you? We’re all worried sick up here.”
    “ You’re worried? I’ll do you a favour — I’ll worry for everybody. You just find her and get her back to London by tomorrow!” The line went abruptly dead.
    “ Where’s Diana?” asked Rebecca, still sitting on her uncle’s knee. He ruffled her hair.
    “ I think Diana’s playing a game of hide-and-seek,” he said. “She’s playing a joke on us.”
    “ But I heard Mummy crying this morning,” objected the child. “Not laughing.”
    “ Look, the Wild Things are having a Wild Rumpus,” said Maltravers picking up the book again. “They’re not frightening at all, are they?”
    “ I wasn’t frightened of them,” Rebecca said simply. Maltravers finished the book and glanced at his watch.
    “ Come on,” he said. “There are some appalling computer cartoons on television.” Rebecca scrambled down, crossed the room and turned on the set and Maltravers went into the kitchen where Melissa was at the table peeling mushrooms.
    “ What’s all this crying about?” he