‘Okay,’ she said, handing Melrose a smile like a penny to the homeless. He’d known smiles that didn’t reach the eyes. But a smile that hardly reached the lips? She was jumping up and down in her enthusiasm, her brave brown hair jumping, too. For some reason, that’s how she struck him, as brave.
‘Wiggins, you stay here and finish your tea.’
The earth that Melrose had tamped down so nicely had been disturbed. ‘You moved them, Lulu!’ The line of purple-blue pansies was straight.
‘Only a little. It looks better; it’s even.’
Jury disengaged the hand Lulu was hanging on with both of hers, again for what seemed dear life. He knelt. ‘Let’s see here.’ Oh, for God’s sakes, thought Melrose. As if Jury knew anything about it! Then again he reminded himself that he himself didn’t know anything about it.
‘I think,’ said Juryl ‘it’s meant to have the colors mixed. See, you’ve got all these purple ones together. You should put some white and yellow in there.’
He sounded just like Lulu. Melrose glared. ‘Since when do you know anything about the art of enameling?’
‘Well, I don’t, do I? But I’ve seen enameled jewelry.’ He tapped Trueblood’s book. ‘You’ve got this whole book here, for reasons known only to yourself, on enameled jewelry.’ Jury leafed through it. ‘The colors are mixed together.’
Oh, the triumph on Lulu’s face! ‘I told you, didn’t I?’ Now that Jury had taken up her argument, she was playing some sort of jumping around game with Roy. Her aunt came out on the path and called for her to come in.
‘Good-bye, good-bye,’ she called to them over her shoulder.
‘Good-bye,’ muttered Melrose.
Jury smiled and set off across the path that led to the cottage.
‘Come on, I have a few things to tell you.’
‘They better be good.’
Jury tossed his coat on one chair and sat down in a wicker rocker, adjusting the pillow behind him. ‘The reason we were having such a time identifying our victim was because she didn’t exist.’
‘Oh, well, nonexistence does rather put a crimp in recognition. What are you talking about?’ Melrose sat down and took out his cigarettes, then thought better of it and returned the pack to his pocket.
‘She was, in the first instance, Georgina Fox, Scott’s old girlfriend. Except Georgina didn’t exist, either. There was no Georgina.
The victim’s name was Lena Banks.’ Jury told him about his visit to the Culross.
‘Lena Banks,’ said Melrose, as if tasting the name. ‘Where does she fit in?’
‘By way of Viktor Baumann. Miss Banks is, or rather was, his longstanding mistress. She picked up with Declan Scott when he was in Paris after his wife died. Since Lena Banks is no longer speaking, except perhaps in eloquent silence, I can only speculate that she was getting information for Viktor Baumann.’ Melrose said, ‘They thought Declan Scott knew where Flora was, which means they didn’t know. Which further means the child was taken by somebody else.’
‘Right.’ Jury leaned back against the cushion and closed his eyes. ‘The Child Thief.’
‘Don’t you start that.’ Melrose decided this time in favor of a cigarette. A cigarette was a thinking prop.
‘I wasn’t actually trying to be funny.’
‘Flora was abducted three years ago.’
‘And six months after that Mary Scott dies. And a year after that, Declan Scott meets up with Lena Banks, aka Georgina Fox.’
‘What if he’s lying?’
‘Declan?’ Jury watched the thin smoke rise from his friend’s cigarette. ‘I don’t think so.’
‘But that’s a purely subjective judgment.’
‘Yes, well, I’m not in St. James’s, so I can be as subjective as I like.’ He flashed a smile, on-off, quick as a light switch.
‘You’re sure of this ID on the victim?’
‘Yes. We took it to Denny Dench. He’s one of Macalvie’s favorite experts. Bones. If Declan Scott didn’t recognize this woman as Georgina, probably nobody would, except for Dench. He looked at photos of the two women and said they were the same person. He used a piece of equipment that can compare images.’
‘Okay, so this Lena Banks is the victim. Now, with that all cleared up, who in hell killed her? Patricia Quint? Lord Warburton?’
Jury opened his eyes. ‘That name sounds familiar.’
‘Henry james. I just call him that for a laugh.’
‘Isn’t he the one who wanted to marry the heiress? Whats her name ?’
‘Isabel Archer. Everyone wanted to marry Isabel Archer.’
‘To choose a suspect from your list, what would Warburton’s motive be?’
‘I’ve no idea. Patricia Quint might have a motive if this is Georgina come back. I get the impression she wants Declan Scott for herself.’
‘Does she? I imagine any woman would.’
Melrose nodded.
‘But the murdered woman didn’t look like Georgina, so why would Patricia Quint kill her?’ Jury asked.
‘Perhaps she knew somehow who this woman was.’
‘That’s pretty weak, if Scott himself didn’t suspect anything.’ Melrose thought for a moment. ‘Could the Banks woman have been acting on her own?’
‘That’s possible, I guess. Macalvie suggested the same thing. But it would be dangerous.’
Stubbing out his cigarette, Melrose said, ‘There are too damned many people walking around with other people’s faces in this case.’
‘‘Nobody knows who anybody is.’ I think Melville said that-The Confidence Man. It’s a frightening thought. You can’t get a toehold and certainly not a finger hold, yet you’re expected to climb the mountain. All the labels are wrong and all the names missing.
We go on acting our roles.’
‘If that’s the case, you can never come up with a solution.’
‘No, probably not.’ Jury paused. ‘But I do think Viktor Baumann’s behind all of this.’
‘Then did he murder her?’
‘I doubt it; he’s far more likely to get someone else to do his work. One of the guys in what we used to call the Dirty Squad has been after Baumann for a long time.’
‘Really? What for?’
‘He’s got a little operation going that caters to pedophiles.’
‘My God. And he wanted custody of Flora Baumann?’ Jury nodded.
‘Then does this pedophile thing have to do with your child who was shot in North London?’
‘Yes, I think so. I’m going back tomorrow.’
‘You just left the place. You look tired.’
Jury shrugged.
Melrose said, ‘Who in the name of God would shoot a little child in the back? What kind of person could do such a thing?’
‘Another child?’
Jury was on his way to the police van when he saw Patricia Quint coming into the bottom of the garden through the iron angel door in the stone wall. She was wearing an old coat, hugging her arms around it as if she were cold.
‘Miss Quint,’ Jury said, nodding.
‘Oh, hello. Your work is never done, is it?’
‘It seems so. Could we sit down for a moment? There are one or two questions I’d like to ask you.’
‘Yes, certainly. Only not there, if you don’t mind.’ She nodded toward the stone bench.
‘No, of course not.’ The crime scene tape had been taken down. Perhaps she thought that was an open invitation to use it.
Instead they moved to one of the white iron benches.
‘Incidentally, what were you doing just now?’
‘Doing?’
‘I merely wondered why you’d be out here.’
‘Taking a walk.’
‘Around the grounds of Angel Gate ?’
‘Yes, why not? Did you think—do you think I should be put off by the murder?’
Jury smiled. ‘No, I wasn’t thinking that.’
Puzzled, she looked at him. ‘Then what?’
‘I
t’s just that you don’t, you know, live here.’
‘I’m an old friend of Declan’s.’ She looked at him in some astonishment. ‘I hardly think he’d mind.’
‘Oh, he wouldn’t mind.’ Jury left the emphasis hanging.
‘Superintendent, is this what you wanted to ask me?’
‘No.’ Jury paused. ‘How well did you know Mary Scott?’
‘Quite well.’
‘I’m not sure what that means. A good acquaintance? A confidante ?’
‘Well, I don’t know that she divulged any secrets to me, so, no, I guess she didn’t confide. People can be friends short of that, can’t they?’
‘You did consider her a friend, though?’
‘Of course. I knew Mary before. I mean before she married Declan. When she lived in London, when her name was Baumann.’ Jury was surprised now. ‘Then you must have known her husband.’
‘I did, yes. Actually, I knew him before he met Mary.’ Macalvie hadn’t said anything about this; perhaps he didn’t know. ‘What did you think of the marriage?’
She frowned, thinking. ‘Well, I got the impression he loved her. He was extremely attentive.’
‘That sort of behavior doesn’t always spring from love.’
‘Of what, then?’ She smiled. ‘Or is this just a rush of police cynicism?’
Jury smiled. ‘I’m not a cynic, Miss Quint.’
‘How could you help but be with what you must see on an almost daily basis? You’re a homicide detective, after all.’ She seemed to want some cynicism here.
Jury said, ‘True. But to answer your question about attentiveness, it could be that her first husband wanted to control her. Seeing to her comfort would also prevent anyone else from seeing to it. Often, the most seemingly devoted people are really suffocating the object of their devotion. Love means breathing room, and a lot of it.’
‘I see what you mean. But it’s hard to think of Viktor as suffocating Mary.’
‘She left him, didn’t she?’
Patricia Quint looked out over the gardens. ‘Yes. She did.’
‘What do you know about Viktor Baumann ?’
Her gaze returned to Jury. ‘Not much, really. He was a hard man to know.’
‘How was he with Flora?’
She thought for a moment. ‘You know I don’t ever recall seeing Viktor with Flora. Well, she was only a baby then. It’s hard to think of Viktor with a child.’
Jury looked the question at her.
‘He’s just not a bedtime-story, naptime, zoo-visiting sort of person.’
‘Yet he’d tried very hard to get custody of Flora before she disappeared.’
‘You think he did that? Kidnapped her?’
‘It’s always a possibility. Are you still in touch?’
‘With Viktor? No. I did see him some time ago when I was in London. We had a drink and some chat.’
‘How was he?’
‘Fine, as far as I could tell.’
‘You couldn’t have had much of a friendly feeling for Mary Scott.’
She sighed. ‘‘You do jump around in your conversation. Why would I not have felt friendly toward Mary?’
‘Because she’d nabbed not only one man you favored, but two of them. How could you be anything but resentful?’
She smiled a little and turned away. ‘What makes you think I was interested in Viktor?’
‘He’s rich, intelligent, handsome and, from what I’ve heard, quite charming, although I admit I didn’t find him so.’
She turned and looked at him, the smile still on her lips. ‘Neither did I.’
Jury was a little surprised. ‘I gathered you did from your description. Declan Scott, then. He’s all of those things and more. He’s a nice guy.’
Her smile broadened. ‘Aren’t we going to get to the ‘where were you on the night of so-and-so?’
Jury smiled. ‘I understand that you were here for dinner, along with Marc Warburton.’
‘That’s true. Are you going to ask if I took any solitary walks round the grounds then?’
‘Did you?’
‘No.’ She looked at him, puzzled. ‘Is it your idea that Whoever killed this woman was someone from the house, then?’
‘Not necessarily.’ Jury turned to nod toward the iron angel gate. Both the victim and the perpetrator could have come in through any one of these gates, or even from around the front of the house. No, the possibilities are nearly endless, I’m afraid.’
She got up. ‘I’m cold, Mr. Jury. If you don’t need me anymore, I think I’ll go in.’ As if she could see through the wall behind them, out into the grove, she said, ‘It’s strange having that police van parked out there.’
‘Yes. Very disconcerting.’
Pat Quint looked up at the trees, still dripping from an hour’s old rain. She sighed. ‘I didn’t answer your question altogether, you know, about Declan.’ She leaned down a little, as if to inspect the violets. ‘I really love him.’
The admission was so heartfelt, Jury felt almost sad that she might never get him. Finally he said, ‘Good.’
‘‘Good’?’ She’d turned her head to look up at him.
‘Yes. He needs that kind of support.’
Now she hesitated. ‘Even if he doesn’t know it?’
‘He knows it. On some level, one always knows it.’ When she didn’t speak, he said, ‘It was photographs Mary Scott found of these gardens, the way they were a long time ago, that inspired her to have them restored. So it’s really changing things back.’
‘You think Declan lives in the past?’
Jury nodded.
‘Why?’
‘He hasn’t had all that much luck in the present, has he?’
Cody Platt and two other detectives Jury had seen but didn’t know were in the big van doubling as an incidents room, both on their cell phones. They both nodded to Jury. When Cody saw Jury, he started to rise until Jury motioned him down and sat down himself on the other side of the desk.
‘At least now we know the name of the victim. That’s a break,’ he added. He went on, ‘If you don’t mind me saying it, that was a good job of police work.’
Jury smiled. ‘I don’t mind, but it was really .my colleague’s police work.’
‘Who’s that, then?’
He was so damned literal. ‘Detective in SO5 who has a particular loathing for Viktor Baumann. His name’s John Blakeley.’ Cody tipped back his chair, crossed his hands behind his head and studied the ceiling of the van, thoughtfully.
He shook his head and said (as if this were the point), ‘No, sir, I don’t know him.’
‘No. Anyway, Blakeley told me about the victim, a woman named Lena Banks.’ Jury told Cody about the Hester Street operation.
‘My God. This is the man who’d get custody of Flora?’
‘I’m afraid so.’
Cody slowly shook his head, then said, ‘The boss said that forensic anthropologist, Dench, took one look at the photo and knew–like that.’ He snapped his fingers.
‘It’s probably the focus. Dench is focused on bone structure, on skeletal remains. He can’t help himself. When he eats fish, he leaves behind on his plate all of the little bones perfectly aligned.’
‘That’s kind of creepy.’
‘Yes. Well, Dr. Dench may be a bit creepy, but he’s a focused creep. Makes all the difference, doesn’t it?’
‘I don’t know; maybe.’
Never a rhetorical question Cody didn’t find worthy of investigation. Where had Macalvie found this orphan intellect? Under what toadstool or little stone bridge? Jury smiled. Cody had a mind like quicksand.
‘This Hester Street operation, why in hell doesn’t Blakeley raid the place?’
‘Ah. There’s a thing called probable cause, remember? What with the shooting, he can probably get it, but that would mean every house on Hester Street and possibly even houses along the cross street. It’s hard to be certain. There’s no way of knowing exactly where she came from. That
makes it very hard to get a warrant.’
‘Yes, but I don’t get it. He says there are ten kids in that house at any given time and he can’t come up with probable cause? Surely they’ve been watching the house? If not the kids themselves are going in and out, the villains are. The so-called customers? Just collar one of them.’
‘He has. Perfectly respectable businessmen. Who then issued a complaint against Blakeley. He tried passing himself off as a customer, another coin collector, but didn’t get to first base.’
Cody grunted. ‘Why not? How much of a numismatist do you have to be?’
‘I don’t think it’s that. I think only men Viktor Baumann gives a pass can get to first base. So it’s knowing–something. I’m not sure what. Anyway, Blakeley and his group were slapped down for harassing the poor woman.’
‘Makes me want to weep, that does.’ Cody’s expression darkened. ‘I had a little sister once. One day I was minding her when Ma went to the shops. I resented it because I was supposed to meet my mates to fool around and who wants a kid tagging along, know what I mean? So we were walking along the pavement in Slough, me trying to pretend I didn’t know who she was, for I was in for a razzing having to babysit her, and her calling me ‘Cody wait up, wait up.’ And me, paying no attention. It wasn’t until I met up with my friends and we were talking I realized I didn’t hear her; I looked around and didn’t see her, either. I guessed she’d gone into the sweet shop and I told them we’d got to look for her. That’s what we did. All of us, everywhere. I was scared. I’ve never been so scared. Long and short of it is, we never saw her again. I could hardly face Ma with this. Betsy was seven.’
Jury was stunned. ‘Then when this happened to Flora, it was having to live it all over again for you.’
Cody nodded and sat looking down at the papers on his desk.
With a whiplash motion he scraped them off, sent them flying, and with the papers anything else that happened to be within his line of vision.
It was the suddenness, the abruptness of the display as well as the intensity of the rage that got Jury. Completely gone were the sanguine manner and scattered attention. If Jury wanted focus, here was focus. Cody was volcanic.
‘I’m sorry, Cody. Then little Flora’s disappearance must have been twice as awful for you as for the others.’
The Winds of Change Page 22