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probably belonged to a local rifle club. But I don’t suppose his parents would have approved.”
    â€œYou can bet your pension they wouldn’t.” Sergeant Payne was smirking to himself. “Handling a firearm? To the people in Pangbourne Village that would be worse than molesting a child.”
    â€œA bit extreme, Sergeant. In a way they could be right. Hold on a second…”
    I switched on the cupboard light. Around the skirting board and the interior panels of the door were a series of curious notches, apparently left by a gnawing mammal with powerful incisors.
    â€œHave you seen these marks, Sergeant? It looks as if a small creature was trying to get out. Did the Maxteds keep some kind of exotic pet?”
    â€œOnly in a manner of speaking.” Payne ambled to the door and held it open for me as we left the son’s room. “Those marks are quite common on the estate.”
    â€œWhat are they caused by? The forensic people must have some idea.”
    â€œWell … they haven’t been able to agree.” We had entered Dr. Edwina’s bedroom. Payne pointed to the wooden frame of the headboard, where I saw a similar pattern of fretwork. “You’ll find them all over the place, a kind of dry … rot.”
    He emphasized the words with cryptic pleasure, then sat on the bare mattress and switched on the bedside TV set.
    I said, sharply: “Sergeant, I must be getting on—you’ll have to miss the local race meeting.”
    â€œThis is their own private program, Doctor. There’s no gambling on the Pangbourne channel.” Payne pointed to the screen, which revealed the road outside the window. The camera tracked to and fro, as if searching for a fallen leaf, tirelessly hunting a panorama as silent as a stage set.
    I shrugged at the screen. “Security was important here, they were obviously obsessed by it. So the house has an input from the monitors at the gate?”
    â€œEvery house in Pangbourne Village.” Payne spoke in a droll but meaningful way. “Upstairs and downstairs. At least we know why there were no infidelities here. But think of the children, Doctor—they were being watched every hour of the day and night. This was a warm, friendly, junior Alcatraz. Swimming at eight, breakfast eight-thirty, archery classes, origami, do this, do that, watch the Horizon repeat on the video together, well done, Jeremy…” Payne blew his coarse cigarette smoke at Dr. Edwina’s dressing-table mirror. “The only surprise about these people is that they found time to get themselves murdered!”
    â€œWell, they were murdered. Let’s not forget that.” I let Payne’s outburst subside. He was still holding something back, and I waited to draw him out. “But they certainly led very busy and well-organized lives. In fact, it’s remarkable that the killers found them all in.”
    â€œPerhaps they made an appointment.”
    â€œBy staging some pretext? It’s hard to visualize what, exactly. Remember, this was a Saturday morning in June. It’s quite a coincidence that no one was on holiday. Between them these people owned about fifteen properties, in the South of France…”
    â€œâ€¦ Cortina, Corsica and Tuscany.”
    â€œAll those places you hate, Sergeant. Yet everyone was here, every adult and every child. One of the children—Roger Sterling, the fifteen-year-old—was due to have his wisdom teeth out and was brought home for the weekend from the London Clinic.”
    â€œBrought home?” Payne beckoned me into the ground-floor study as we spoke, still leading me on in all senses. “Or did he volunteer, Doctor?”
    â€œVolunteer? Maybe. But for what? The diaries and appointment books show nothing—there were the usual Saturday activities—gymnasium work, the next round in the bridge contest, swimming…”
    â€œâ€¦ Forty-seven