Skylark

by Sheila Simonson

  When I came back Ann was explaining the tenor of the article to Jay. "...and the woman was so snide, almost gloating."

  Jay pulled me down beside him on the sofa and began kneading my shoulder muscles with one hand. "Sounds unappetizing."

  "And we've been besieged by reporters." Ann frowned. "Or we were yesterday and the day before. They seem to have taken today off."

  I nestled against Jay. He was working on the other shoulder. Great hands. "Maybe there's an international crisis, or something else has happened to distract them. Did you buy the Evening Standard?"

  "No, and I suppose it's too late to get one now." She looked at her watch. "Lordy, it's eleven-thirty. I have an appointment in the morning." She began gathering up her purse and the small paper sacks she had brought in with her. Souvenir postcards and slides, I supposed. And more paperback books. Ann was going to have to pay an excess luggage charge when she flew home. Books weigh a ton.

  She said good night, shaking Jay's hand warmly and giving me a hug as we, too, rose to go in to bed.

  The plum bedroom throbbed with uxorious lust--and whatever the wifely equivalent may be. I felt sorry for Ann, alone with her cool Renoirs.

  "Nice woman." Jay watched me pull off the teal sweater.

  "Do you like her? I'm glad." I kicked off my flats and wriggled out of my jeans.

  "She tells a great story." He spoke absently, and his eyes were gleaming. Marriage is a splendid institution.

  I slept until half past seven without so much as twitching, and I woke happy. I looked at Jay hopefully, but he was out of it. He didn't even stir when I kissed him on the forehead. I didn't have the heart to wake him, though I should have. It would take him that much longer to overcome his jet-lag.

  I slid out of bed, took a quick bath, and dressed in sweats. A strange constable patrolled the sidewalk near the house--tag end of the night shift, probably. I nodded to him and went on to the corner and across the zebra. I bought an Independent, and coffee and croissants for three, and performed a juggling act carrying the supplies several blocks home. Ann was up when I re-entered the flat.

  She fell on the coffee without speaking.

  "I didn't buy the Times. Sorry. You can have a piece of my Independent."

  She took a long pull at the coffee. "That's okay, honey. I'm going to take a bath and go off to the hospital. I want to try Matron one more time. I have a ten-thirty appointment in Bloomsbury, so I'll have to get in gear."

  "All right." I sat at the blond table in the kitchen and pulled the plastic lid off my coffee. "Any preferences for dinner? My turn to cook."

  "Anything," she said absently.

  I shook the paper open. "Okay."

  "I think I'm in love."

  I stared at her over the top of the newspaper.

  She smiled. "With your husband."

  "I'm forewarned." But I was pleased. "He likes you, too--said you tell a great story."

  "Well!" She took a gulp of coffee and set the paper cup on the counter. "Need the bathroom?"

  I waved a croissant. "Feel free."

  Ann left at half past eight. No signs of life from the bedroom. I drank the third cup of coffee, which was tepid but good. Jay doesn't drink coffee. Then I tidied the kitchen and living room, and poked through the stack of tour guides Ann had left on one of the end tables. Hereford and South Wales, Yorkshire, the Scottish border. She wanted to get out of London, and I didn't blame her.

  Jay was scheduled to attend his DNA Fingerprinting seminar on Saturday and Sunday in Yorkshire. It was the May Day bank holiday, and he was supposed to stay at a hostelry near Thirsk provided by the sponsors, an international police association. I found Ann's guide to Yorkshire and looked up Thirsk. It sounded pleasant. Perhaps we could rent a car, and I could tootle around the Yorkshire countryside while Jay considered the forensic analysis of bodily fluids. Thirsk. Castle Howard? York? I had visited York as a child and loved it. I began reading.

  The door buzzer sounded. I leapt up and tried to forestall a second buzz, but the caller rang again before I could reach the door and press the button that would admit him.

  It was Thorne, looking cross and accompanied this time by Sgt. Baylor. He seemed to alternate between Baylor and Wilberforce. I wondered if that was usual. I had gathered the vague impression from British detective stories that it wasn't, but fiction is fiction.

  I led the police into the living room and offered them coffee. They declined. Thorne sat on the zebra-patterned sofa. Baylor perched on an armchair and took out her notebook. She seemed fascinated by my sweats.

  I stood by the fireplace. "Welcome to our new flat. What can I do for you?"

  "Follow my instructions," Inspector Thorne snapped.

  "I beg your pardon?"

  "You left London yesterday without notifying me."

  I sighed. "I beg your pardon, Inspector. I went straight to Gatwick Airport to meet my husband and came straight back."

  He grunted. "I thought Mr. Dodge was scheduled to arrive on Friday."

  "He was. When you lifted my passport he changed his mind."

  "I see. Well..." He broke off. Sgt. Baylor was gaping.

  I turned. Jay, wearing a pair of jeans and nothing else, was standing in the bedroom doorway, blinking. "Lark, where's my...oops." He ducked across to the bathroom and shut the door.

  I bit back a grin. Sgt. Baylor had been treated to the sight of a California-brown torso of collectible quality. I hoped she appreciated it. I did.

  Thorne was blushing.

  I said blandly, "I don't want to waste your valuable time, inspector. I'm sure you had something to tell me. Or did you want to speak to Ann? Unfortunately, she's out for the day. Won't be back until dinnertime."

  He cleared his throat. "I meant to tell you that the woman whose bag was stolen on the Tube has come forward."

  "About time. She was shouting to all and sundry that she could identify Milos's assailant. Did she?" I heard the battery-operated razor I had bought Jay kick in.

  "Mrs. Watt has provided us with a detailed description." Thorne favored me with a constrained smile. "She has also agreed to look through our rogues' gallery to see if she can identify the man. Once Mrs. Watt has narrowed the possibilities, I shall have to ask you and Mrs. Veryan to look through them."

  "Certainly. Any time." I took in the implications. "Does that mean you're no longer claiming I faked the burglary?"

  He heaved a sigh. "It never seemed likely, lass."

  Lass? Progress. Should I press my advantage? "It would be a relief to have my passport back."

  He reached into his breast pocket, drew out the slim blue passport, and handed it to me without comment.

  "Thanks," I murmured, playing it cool, though the relief I felt surprised me. Was I so dependent on external validation of my identity that I couldn't be without my passport for forty-eight hours? A depressing thought.

  I caught a glimpse in the corner of my eye of Jay sneaking back to the bedroom. "Uh, would you like a cup of tea or coffee? I have the feeling my husband will want something soon."

  "I wouldn't say no to a cup of tea."

  "Coming up." I slipped out to the kitchen and put the kettle on. I had laid in a supply of herbal tea for Jay. I was fairly sure Thorne would find that insulting, so I filled the regular teapot with hot water from the tap to warm it properly and tried to remember Daphne's lecture on tea making. Ann's packet of Twining's would have to do.

  By the time I readied the tray, Jay had got himself dressed. He emerged as I carried the refreshments into the living room. Thorne rose.

  I set the tray down and performed introductions. Jay shook hands with Thorne and Sgt. Baylor, and I creamed and sugared according to everyone's preference. I even took a cup of Twining's breakfast blend myself. I thought it tasted all right.

  The two men had begun those skirmishes of professional courtesy men have to go through before they can deal with each other without reaching for their swords. Sgt. Baylor and I listened, like good
hinds. She was not taking notes.

  "I hear you're a policeman yourself, Mr. Dodge," Thorne said heavily.

  Jay shot me a glance. "I was, sir, for some years. Now I run a training program."

  "An academy, eh?"

  "I suppose that would be the equivalent term. I still do some consulting work for the county CID."

  "You're a friend of Detective Chief Inspector Belknap, I believe."

  "We've corresponded. Harry invited me to deliver a paper at a conference he organized up north. I don't know the fine points of British procedure, so when the assault occurred on the subway I called him to see what Lark's obligations as a witness may be--whether she'll be required to return for a trial, that sort of thing."

  "Happen she'll be called," said Inspector Thorne, "if we make an arrest." He took a hearty swallow of tea.

  That I'd have to testify in court hadn't occurred to me. More travel expenses. I squirmed in my chair.

  "So Harry said. He was very helpful."

  "He called me." Thorne spoke in neutral tones, but the reproach was evident. Invasion of territory.

  "I'm sure he thought he owed you the courtesy, sir. He wouldn't want you to think he was interfering with your witness." Jay sipped at the brew he favors.

  "Hrrmph. Well, I don't mind admitting I was taken aback by Mrs. Dodge's proximity to murder as well as assault and burglary. However, I've done some checking." Thorne cocked an eyebrow.

  Jay smiled slightly. "Normal procedure."

  "Aye." Thorne took a final gulp of tea and set his cup down. "Both ladies came up clean, and a new witness has come forward in the assault case. Her evidence tallies with what Mrs. Veryan and Mrs. Dodge reported. I've returned Mrs. Dodge's passport, and I trust there's no ill feeling, but I'll have to ask her to notify me if she leaves London." He turned to me, adding with heavy good humor. "Even for Gatwick Airport."

  Jay's eyebrows shot up. "Good God, Lark."

  I said, "I realize now I should have called Inspector Thorne. I'm sorry." I did my best to look meek and repentant. It's possible that I fooled Thorne. In any case, he let the matter drop.

  "I believe you were with the Los Angeles police at one time, Mr. Dodge."

  "For ten years." Jay looked wary. He left the LAPD after he was caught in a crossfire between a sniper and the SWAT team. Technically he retired on a disability pension. The Los Angeles experience was a sore point. "I'm from LA. I trained there."

  Thorne's eyes gleamed. It turned out he was a devotee of all the ancient cop shows filmed in Los Angeles. He was full of questions, but most of them involved gross violations of normal police procedure in TV's version of reality. Starting with Dragnet.

  Jay answered him patiently. Pretty soon they were sharing a laugh at the absurdities of Hollywood, and Jay asked several flattering questions about Scotland Yard. I thought that was all to the good. It was obvious that I was not going to do any bonding with Thorne myself. Jay might as well. I'm in favor of male bonding. I poured everyone more tea.

  However, when they got to Rumpole of the Bailey I decided it was time to rescue Sgt. Baylor.

  I let the last anecdote run its course. When the chuckles died down, I said, "I hope Sgt. Wilberforce relayed my concern about Milos Vlaçek's disappearance, Inspector."

  Thorne turned to me, his features reassembling in the professional mask. "Ah."

  "I saw the man who handed Milos the papers at the Barbican."

  "Oh, aye. So Wilberforce said."

  "He told me to butt out," I said bluntly. "I presume that means you have no interest in what the man said."

  Thorne's eyes narrowed. "You spoke to him?" He jerked his head at Sgt. Baylor.

  When she had set her cup down and taken her notebook from her purse, I gave Thorne as thorough an account as I could of what the man in the bomber jacket said before he hopped on the bus. Thorne was noncommittal. He asked one or two questions about the man's appearance but didn't seem very interested in what he had said about the papers.

  "Is Hambly a town?" I asked.

  "I don't recall a town of that name," Thorne replied. "Do you, sergeant?"

  "No. The man spoke with a foreign accent..."

  Frustrated, I got up and started collecting cups and saucers. "Is Milos in protective custody, Inspector Thorne? Ann is terribly upset about his disappearance. I'm worried, too."

  "Mr. Vlaçek was released from hospital at his own request," Thorne said. "He's not in custody."

  "Do you know where he is?"

  He was silent for a moment, frowning down at his hands. Finally he met my eyes. "No, I do not, Mrs. Dodge. He left St. Botolph's in a private ambulance."

  "That's a relief! Where was he taken?"

  Thorne shook his head. "I don't know, and if the hospital staff know they aren't saying. I sent a constable to question his landlady, but she's seen nowt of Mr. Vlaçek since before the accident. She's, er, concerned about the rent. His mates at the Hanover haven't heard from him either."

  "Has a missing person report been filed?"

  "Mr. Vlaçek is an adult, lass, and he's not wanted for any crime. He is probably at a private nursing home, or in the care of friends. I have questions for him, to be sure. Whoever is caring for him is bound to make contact with the hospital in a day or two about his National Health benefits. If not, I'll put out the word that he's wanted for questioning."

  "He's still very ill."

  "He was in a recovery ward when he, er, discharged himself. His surgeon and Matron advised him not to leave, but he insisted. And he was moved in an ambulance." Thorne rose. "Sergeant Baylor and I must be off."

  I thanked Thorne for what he had told me of Milos. I was relieved but not completely satisfied. I had the feeling that Thorne was holding something back, but I could think of no way to persuade him to tell me anything he didn't want to tell me.

  We shook hands all around, and Thorne offered to take Jay out for a beer with the boys when the investigation was over. They didn't clap each other on the back, but they might as well have.

  Jay gave me a mild scold for not reporting my Gatwick excursion to Thorne, but his heart wasn't in it. I didn't take umbrage. When I had fed us breakfast, we walked over to the Victoria and Albert, by way of doing our touristly duty. I thought he'd probably run out of steam when his body reminded him it was the wee small hours at home, and I was right. He yawned his way around the V and A, though the marvelous rooms that look like an architectural rummage sale tickled him. We looked at the Mogul paintings, and that was enough of that for the time being.

  He revived briefly in the open air, so I made him go shopping with me. I thought he ought to meet Daphne and Trevor, and we were out of wine. I dragged him down the Old Brompton Road to a wine specialty shop. Daphne, I knew, would drink anything short of hair tonic, but Trevor's tastes were probably more finicky. I bought a good burgundy and a white bordeaux, which Jay carried for me, and we both browsed among the paperbacks at Waterstone's. We stopped at the grocery store, and at the butcher shop for lamb chops, and I laid in cheese and water biscuits at the deli. By that time Jay was a zombie, so I took him home and tucked him in.

  I wrote Daphne a note, explaining that Jay had come, and inviting her and Trevor for a glass of wine after dinner. Then I went back to my Independent to see if I could figure out where the press had got to. The President of Nigeria was making a state visit, which meant the queen and royal carriages and a parade. I felt a twinge of regret that I wouldn't get to see the fun, but it was nice to know the press had some sense of proportion.

  I woke Jay at two-thirty. He grumbled but got up, and we had sandwiches. Ann came in about an hour later with more pamphlets and booklets, and she looked so discouraged I was glad I could at least assure her that Milos's abductors had carried him off in an ambulance.

  I ought to have prepared her for the news. She collapsed on the zebra couch, her face as pale as milk. I thought she was going to faint.

  I leapt up and hurried over to her. "Are you all right?
"

  "Hush. Let me think." She took off her glasses and rubbed her face with both hands. "Oh, lord, I wish I could think."

  Jay had got up and gone to the kitchen. He returned with a glass of water and another of the burgundy I had opened to breathe before dinner.

  Ann took the wine glass and drained half of it at a gulp. Gradually her color came back. In fact she began to look flushed.

  "I thought you'd be glad about the ambulance," I said, bewildered.

  "Oh, honey, I am. Believe me. It's just that I don't know what to do now."

  "Why don't you tell us what's on your mind, Ann?" Jay is trained to negotiate with hostage-takers, distraught snipers, and would-be suicides. I recognized the warm, unthreatening tone of voice.

  Ann responded like a rose in a spring rain. "You'll think I'm a fool, I reckon, but I've been so worried. Yesterday I was having lunch in the British Museum cafeteria and talking with this nice Englishman who happened to sit at my table. He was doing research on the medieval manuscripts at the museum."

  "I'll bet that was interesting." Jay, still soothing. He was watching her intently.

  "Well, I was interested, and we talked, and one thing led to another. I ended up telling him about Milos and asking if he knew the address of Amnesty International."

  "Zow," I said. "The human rights people."

  "I thought maybe they could do something." Ann took another, less drastic swallow of wine. "He said they had an office nearby, but that I'd be better off to talk to this organization he knew about that dealt with British civil rights violations, and he helped me set up an appointment for this morning."

  "The Henning Institute," Jay murmured.

  She looked at him, wide-eyed. "What do you know about them? Are they reputable?"

  "Yes. They're a watch-dog group, tend to focus on Ulster. That business in Birmingham with the alleged IRA bombers--the claim is that the evidence was rigged by the police and the courts." Jay's voice was neutral now.

  Jay is interested in the problem police forces have of working within the limits of constitutional protections. Since my mother shares the interest from a strong civil libertarian viewpoint, they had exchanged a lot of information since my marriage. Neither of them is hard-nosed, so the interchange had done both a lot of good. When Jay wrote his paper on DNA fingerprinting, he dealt with the potential for violations of the Fourth Amendment. He dedicated the article to Ma.