There seems to have been some effort on Elaine’s part to repair her battered image with a public display that appeared to lack spontaneity. This past Valentine’s Day, just as police were investigating allegations that she had abused Hawking, she was observed wheeling her husband through Cambridge’s cobblestone streets. Attached to his wheelchair was a red heart-shaped balloon emblazoned with i love you.

“She controls herself incredibly well in front of celebrities” and certain other people, a female observer says. Dr. Mary Hawking, who is Stephen’s younger sister, doesn’t believe that her brother has been abused, Lucy tells me. Nor apparently does Hawking’s good friend Kip Thorne. A phone call to the California cosmologist gets me only his assistant, equipped with an all-purpose response to such inquiries: “I will not dignify the outrageous allegations by commenting on them.” The assistant pauses.

“And Dr. Thorne says you may not quote him on that.”

“That’s pretty odd, considering he hasn’t investigated,” I suggest—a bit hastily. After my call, Thorne flies to England to see his friend.

“You know, part of it is the myth, the beautiful myth,” explains McKendrick in the Master’s Lodge. “This man who can’t move but has everything. Money, house, fame, celebrity, best-sellers, genius, a wife, children. And no one wants to puncture the myth. That’s the thing.”

By the end of March, Cambridgeshire Constabulary had carried out a full and thorough investigation. That’s what a press release from Detective Superintendent Michael Campbell, who headed the investigation, claims, anyway. Its tone is tender with regret: “I appreciate that these allegations have caused some discomfort and distress to Professor and Mrs. Hawking.” However, the detective superintendent “can find no evidence to substantiate any assertion that anyone has perpetrated any criminal acts against Professor Hawking. I am grateful to Professor and Mrs. Hawking for their full and willing cooperation.” Full cooperation from the same Hawkings who asked nurses to sign a statement of support.

Why would the investigation stop when there have been specific allegations that sound pretty compelling? Not to mention the little red notebook.

“Ah, yes,” says Jarman, the police media spokesman. “Ah, perhaps I can get Detective Superintendent Campbell to call you by saying you wish to tell him about your sources,” he offers.

This does not sound like a good plan. There has been no shortage of people willing to risk everything by talking to the authorities.

“A couple of people asked me that question,” says the spokesman. “Because I understand two nurses have just lost their jobs at Professor Hawking’s.”

Actually, four employees suddenly find themselves no longer working for Hawking. One of these, I’m told, has lately been getting menacing phone calls, a muffled male voice warning, “Keep your mouth shut.”

“That’s what they’ve got us by, the short and curlies,” says one former employee who feels muzzled.

Elaine Hawking tells the London press she is “delighted” with the investigation. But who knows what the future will bring? One nurse reports, “The police phoned each of us up after the investigation ended, and said specifically they are not throwing anything they have away, which I found significant. None of the statements will be thrown out … They said, ‘Just don’t give up on it.’ ” Jane received a similar message: “They told me they are keeping that red book.”

Will Elaine inherit all his money? “Well, it’s a worry,” Lucy concedes. But it’s not one that often invades her thoughts. “I mean, at some point you ask yourself, Is it really worth it? I mean, the pain and the struggle we’ve been through, if this all turns out to be about money, well, then—she can keep it and I hope she chokes on it!”

As for the British newspapers, their ardor for pursuing this case has been effectively dampened. Instead, stories revolve around the Theory of Everything, Hawking’s longtime dream. The cosmologist has, it turns out, abandoned his quest. “Some people will be very disappointed,” he acknowledges. “But I have changed my mind.”

This is a particular blow. What has been proven? his rivals wonder. Look at how he retracts!

“All this time they said he was the world’s greatest intellect,” Lucy muses. “And now they say he’s not.”

“Like a recanting heretic,” suggests The Sunday Times Magazine. It contains a particularly hurtful passage about the scientist and his “not appetizing” lack of “lip control” while he eats dinner. From his hospital bed, Hawking listens as a friend reads this passage out loud to him.

Tears roll down his face.

The magazine published a postscript to this article in the December 2007 issue.

Judy Bachrach is a Vanity Fair contributing editor.