The Winds of Change (20 page)

Jury was drinking lager.

‘Sissy drink.’ Melrose asked the barman for an Old Peculier.

‘Sorry, sir, we’re outta that. How about a Guinness?’

‘They’re not the same.’ He sighed, gestured toward Jury’s drink. ‘Give me one of those.’

‘Sissy.’

The barman smiled, enjoying this little cabaret performed by coppers. ‘Yes, sir.’ He went off.

‘So what do you think of Declan Scott?’

‘He’s so charming I’d like to kick him around his garden.’
 

‘Ha!’ Jury set down his pint and looked at Melrose with a smug grin. ‘Just what I said about Vernon Rice, remember?’

‘It’s not the same thing at all.’ Actually, it was. ‘What about our victim? Haven’t police ID’d her yet? It’s been a week, hasn’t it?’ Jury shook his head. ‘You’d think someone had wiped the slate clean on her. You’d think she had no past.’

‘Or that she’d shared. Thanks,’ said Melrose when his pint was set before him. ‘Shared someone else’s. It’s hard to believe anyone could slip through the net. The only thing you know about her is that she met Mary Scott in the lounge of Brown’s Hotel and you don’t even know that for sure.’

‘Why would Declan Scott invent her? The cook Dora Stout saw her, too.’

Melrose thought for a moment. ‘Here’s something: a woman named Hermione Hobbs told me about an accident Mary Scott was involved in.’

‘I know. Hit-and-run in Mevagissey three and a half years ago. She killed a girl named Elsie Hardcastle. Macalvie was all over the father; Hardcastle was at the point of claiming police harassment.’ Jury looked down the counter to where the barman was shoveling crisps into bowls. When the barman looked up, Jury raised his pint and tapped it.

The barman came along and took the empty glass.

Melrose lit up a cigarette and dropped the book of matches on the bar. He did a double take when he saw Jury staring at him.

‘What? What? For God’s sakes, it’s been years since you quit; am I to throw myself on the reformed smoker’s pyre everytime I light up?’

‘It has not been ‘years.’ It’s been one year and thirteen months–’

‘In other words, years–’

‘–which is no time at all to a smoker. We should institute the smoke-free restaurant rule.’

‘You’re the worst kind of reformed smoker. You’re the take-all-the-fun-out-of-it kind.’ Melrose exhaled a stream of smoke, not precisely in Jury’s face, but not precisely out of it, either.

Jury waved it away and coughed artificially. ‘Secondhand smoke is as bad for your lungs–’

‘Oh, puleeze.’ Melrose stabbed out the cigarette. ‘All right, Macalvie more or less assigned himself to Flora Baumann’s case, and consequently paid a lot of attention to the hit-and-run. Anything to do with the Scotts he would have paid attention to.’

‘Right.’ Jury turned to look across the bar and saw Cody Platt and Wiggins in the other room at the snooker table. Wiggins was racking the balls. Wiggins playing snooker? God had to be kidding around. No, apparently not, for now Wiggins was chalking a cue.

Jury called over to Cody Platt.

‘Sir?’

Jury motioned him over.

Platt leaned his cue against the table as Wiggins gave Jury almost exactly the same look that Melrose had. Talk about your killjoys.

‘Yes, sir?’ said Cody.

‘Do you remember a hit-and-run case involving Mary Scott?’
 

Cody nodded. ‘In Mevagissey. ‘Bout three and a half years ago, that was. She ran a red light and hit a girl named Elsie Hardcastle.’

‘She got off with a suspended sentence, right?’

‘Right. For one thing, she didn’t exactly ‘run’ the light. It wasn’t working right. If she’d waited for the green, she’d have been there all night. Several people attested to it being out of commission. Rain flapping around like sheets in the wind. And the girl Elsie was wearing dark clothes and had her head hidden by her umbrella. Mary Scott would have needed second sight to avoid her. The thing that told against Mary was that she fled the scene.’

‘Thanks. Back to your snooker. How’d you ever get Wiggins to play?’

‘Me get him?’ Cody smiled. ‘No, it’s the other way round. He got me to. He’s champion, Al is.’ Cody walked off.

Melrose said, ‘Al?’ He was eating vinegar crisps.

‘I have never heard Wiggins talk about snooker, never.’

‘Well, Sergeant Wiggins may be leading other lives.’

‘I’ve never been sure whether he’s leading this one.’ Wiggins was just about to make a shot when Jury called to Cody Platt again. The cue slipped off the ball and Wiggins, clinging to his shooting position, shifted his gaze and gave Jury an uncharacteristic black look.

‘Sorry,’ called Jury.

Cody snickered and walked to the bar. ‘Thanks. I’m losing.’

‘A hit-and-run in any event is a serious matter. I’d’ve thought an inquest would have come up with something – depraved indifference, perhaps – that would have landed her in the nick, no question.’

Again Cody spread his hands and shrugged. ‘Declan Scott has a lot of influence around here.’

‘Declan Scott is also a man of some character and conscience. I don’t see him trying to buy his way out of manslaughter.’ Cody said, ‘His way, perhaps. But her way, that’s different. He would have jumped through hoops of fire for Mary Scott. I don’t think he’d have thought twice about buying off the local constabulary, or magistrate, or the Hardcastles.’

‘Can you be bought?’ said Melrose.

‘Probably.’

Wiggins, cue stick still in hand, came up behind them. ‘May we go on with our game?’

‘Absolutely go on with it,’ said Jury. ‘According to Cody you’re quite the lad when it comes to snooker. I’ve never heard you as much as mention it, though.’

‘No, well, you don’t play, do you?’

‘No, Wiggins, and I don’t drink green gunk or eat black biscuits, either. But you’re always more than happy to satisfy my curiosity in that regard.’

Wiggins curled his lip. ‘Ha ha.’ He walked off with Cody.

Melrose caught beer in his windpipe from an aborted laugh.

Jury slapped him on the back. ‘I’m not sure Sergeant Platt’s a good influence.’

Melrose gave a strangled answer. ‘Oh, I think just the opposite.’

Jury plucked menus from little aluminum holders, handed one to Melrose.

They looked, trying to decide between the fish, the beef, and the curry. One of each fish and beef made it easier, especially since they didn’t intend to order one of the five different curries listed.

Jury shook his head. ‘This menu makes me nostalgic for the Blue Parrot.’

‘I’ll tell Trevor Sly.’ Trevor Sly owned the Blue Parrot. ‘He’ll be thrilled.’

‘Trevor Sly is always thrilled.’ Jury closed his menu. ‘Thrilldom is his métier.’

‘I’m having the plaice and chips.’

‘And peas, for a change. Yes, that’s a creative choice, isn’t it? I think I’ll have that, too. So will Wiggins and Cody.’ Jury called over to them. ‘Fish and chips all right for a meal?’ This earned him another scowl from Wiggins, whose shot Jury had once again ruined. But they both agreed to the fish and chips.

When the barman came along, they put in four orders for the fish and chips. ‘Less work for the cook.’ He laughed and said the food would be right up and then got them fresh drinks.

Jury thought for a moment and then washed his hands down over his face. ‘I don’t get it.’

Melrose looked at him. ‘What? This case?’

Jury nodded. ‘Here’s a little girl abducted and no demand for ransom of any kind ever made. It’s been three years. If I’d been Mary Scott, I’d have slid completely off the rails.’

The pub fell quiet. All they heard was the occasional crisp click of the billiard balls.

‘Listen, I’m sorry about your cousin,’ said Melrose. ‘Was it hard? The funeral?’

‘The funeral wasn’t, but, yes, her death was hard. Does someone have to die before you sort things out?’

‘Yes.’

Jury looked from Melrose to his watch. He paused to see if Wiggins was about to hit anything and then called over to Cody. ‘What’s happened to your boss? He should’ve been here an hour ago.’ Cody leaned his cue against the table and took out his cell phone. While he waited he seemed to be studying the table. He spoke into the cell, nodded, slapped it shut. ‘He’s on his way, be here in twenty minutes.’

The twenty minutes was taken up with the fish and chips, surprisingly good. Wiggins stated his preference for mushy peas, a preference none of the others shared. They all drank more beer, except for Wiggins, and Cody, who sipped club soda.

Melrose asked their barman if he could locate a Puligny Montrachet ‘64 in his cellars and the barman (to his everlasting credit, thought Jury) turned this over in his mind and said, ‘The ‘66 and ‘70, but not the ‘64. Sorry.’ He walked off.

‘Rotten luck,’ said Melrose.

‘Some days are like that,’ said Jury.

The door opened and rain and Macalvie swept in. He stood by their table and shook some beads of water from his coat. He didn’t take it off; he rarely did.

‘You’re getting water on my fish,’ Jury said.

‘It’s used to it.’ He moved off to the bar.

‘They’re out of the Puligny Montrachet ‘64,’ Melrose called after him.

In a couple of minutes Macalvie was back carrying a glass of whiskey. ‘Christ, what a night.’

‘Where’ve you come from?’ asked Wiggins, still plowing away at his plate. ‘You seem a bit.., out of sorts, if you don’t mind my saying.’

‘I’m always out of sorts, Wiggins. Glad to see you, though.’ He sat back, took out a cigar. ‘I was at Angel Gate.’

Melrose was surprised. ‘I just came from there a couple of hours ago. Have I missed something?’

‘I wanted to talk to Declan Scott.’

Now Jury was surprised; he was about to say he thought Macalvie was leaving Declan Scott to him, but didn’t.

Melrose said, ‘When I left they were about to sit down to dinner.’

‘I know. I interrupted them. While they were having dinner, I went to the kitchen to talk to Rebecca Owen. She gave me a cup of tea. Nice woman. She came to Angel Gate on the same day that our mystery woman did. I was hoping she might have remembered something about the victim. Which she didn’t. I went back. Same thing. No sign of anyone around. She wasn’t around when the mystery lady came to the house. So she had nothing to say about whether Scott had seen her or not.’

‘Why would he lie about having seen this woman with his wife?’

‘Yeah. Rebecca Owen said the same thing: ‘My goodness, why would Mr. Scott lie about her?’ Then this niece of hers–’

‘Lulu,’ said Melrose.

‘Lulu says ‘Because people like to lie,’ as she sat munching a cookie. All eyes, she is. So’s that crazy mutt of hers.’

‘‘Because people like to lie.’’ Melrose said, ‘It sounds like one of her mysterious pronouncements. They don’t mean anything.’

‘Oh, right?’ Macalvie hooked a thumb toward Melrose as he looked at the others. ‘Our expert on childhood behavior has spoken.’

‘I’m only making the point that Lulu has a flair for drama. She likes to make you blink.’

Macalvie said, ‘She asked me if I was ever going to find Flora.’ He looked around the pub. ‘I said I just didn’t know. To which she then says, ‘Why? Aren’t the police smart enough?’’

‘Good question,’ said Cody with a snicker.

Macalvie’s mouth formed a small circle through which he puffed smoke. ‘Yeah, so after I slapped her up the side of the head, I modestly confessed, ‘No, I guess we aren’t.’’

‘‘That’s too bad,’ she says as if I hadn’t been kidding.’ He drew in on his cigar again.

A dozen or so customers had come in while they’d been sitting at the table. It was an indifferent pub night. If there really was such a thing.

Macalvie went on. ‘So then I asked Lulu if she missed Flora.

‘No,’ she said.’

‘Her aunt gets a little upset by this. ‘Lulu, you don’t know what you’re talking about. You and Flora had good times together.’ Lulu would only admit to some good times. This kid would drive me nuts inside five minutes. She’s so contrary.’

Wiggins looked up from his few remaining chips (it took him an eon to finish a meal), his eyebrows raised.

‘So Lulu stood–or rather jumped—from one leg to another like she had to pee while that dog was bouncing off the walls like he needed a fix. I got up from the table, thanked Miss Owen and turned to go. Then Lulu said, ‘I know who took her.’’

‘Ah,’ said Melrose.

‘‘Ah, what?’’ When Melrose merely shrugged, Macalvie went on. ‘Well, this stopped me in my tracks. I looked at her looking at me, looking at and stirring her tea and waiting for me to ask. Okay.

I gave up and asked: ‘Who?’

‘‘The Child Thief.’’

‘I opened my mouth to ask what in hell she meant and she said, ‘That’s all I’m telling you.’
 

‘Ordering my hands not to strangle her, I asked why? Why wouldn’t she tell me more?