The Winds of Change

by Martha Grimes

  Pat went on. ‘It’s a popular village with tourists. You know, fishing village on the coast. It’s near Heligan, indeed, right round the comer. The Lost Gardens have become a significant tourist draw. Well, they are beautiful, aren’t they?’

  Here was a subject best served cold, like revenge. The Lost Gardens of Heligan.

  Declan said, ‘British troops were bivouacked at Heligan in the Second World War. It was quite interesting, what they did. At one point they decided to mimic the class system, the upstairs-downstairs syndrome, you could say. So they took on different roles.’

  ‘How did they decide who was to be whom? Lord whoever on the one hand, and the under-butler on the other?’

  ‘That’s what’s so fascinating. They did it by rank. So the highest ranking would perform as family and the lower ranks as staff.

  Then within those categories, there was further ranking: master sergeant, say, as butler; plain sergeant as under-butler. Captain or lieutenant as the titled owner, lieutenant as his son, the earl of whatever.’

  Pat laughed. ‘That’s charming, but what was the point of it all?’

  ‘Something to do, I guess. Maybe we never lack the desire to dress up and be somebody else. You know, the trunk in the attic we looted as children?’

  Pat Quint said, ‘I can remember doing that; dress-up appeals to all kiddies, doesn’t it?’ Then, clearly feeling she’d strayed once again too close to little Flora Baumann, she quickly put in, ‘This enameled mead stuff what is it exactly?’

  ‘It’s quite simple.’ What followed here was much the same information he’d given Jury, such as it was. But then if you were completely unfamiliar with the subject, it probably sounded quite esoteric. Except to Marc Warburton, who didn’t mind taking a backseat to Melrose for the moment.

  ‘What a pleasant effect that must be,’ said Pat.

  ‘I hope so.’

  Declan Scott was smiling slightly, but he looked far away and unhappy. He was leaning forward in his armchair, watching Melrose, but not really seeing him.

  It was at that point that Rebecca Owen came to the door and announced dinner.

  ‘You’ll join us, won’t you?’ said Declan as he set his half-finished drink down.

  ‘Thank you, but I’m meeting someone’ — Melrose looked at his watch ‘right now, actually. I’m late.’

  21

  Jury was sitting at the bar of the Winds of Change with ! Sergeant Wiggins, who had come with him from London that afternoon. They’d been met at the station by DS Platt, who appeared to have immediately forged a bond with Wiggins.

  Perhaps it was their mutual rank. Right now they moved down the bar to continue whatever they had going.

  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 s
he 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?

  ‘‘Because I don’t know any more than that. It’s just the Child Thief.’ That’s what I mean.’ He paused. ‘No wonder I hate talking to kids.’

  Melrose knew it wasn’t for that reason. ‘Lulu’s not one of your ordinary children.’

  ‘There are no ordinary children.’ Macalvie turned to Jury.

  ‘What do you think?’

  ‘About Lulu? I don’t know. I haven’t talked to her.’

  ‘You could get something out of her, I bet.’

  Jury drained his pint, set it down. ‘I don’t know if you can talk to kids if your purpose is to get something out of them.’ He shrugged.

  ‘Maybe you can’t talk to anyone if that’s your purpose.’ He looked round the table to see all of them looking at him, perplexed. ‘Sorry.’ He added, ‘I’m going over there in the morning. I’ll talk to her.’ He felt vaguely ashamed, without knowing why. He picked up his pint, remembered it was empty and got up. ‘I’m in the chair; who wants another? Before Wiggins and I toddle along to Mevagissey.’ Wiggins looked up, surprised, and none too happy. ‘Sir?’

  ‘A family by the name of Hardcastle. The mum said they’d be happy to see us.’

  Wiggins looked with something akin to longing at the other room with the billiard table.

  ‘I’m sorry we can’t take it with us, Wiggins.’

  Melrose said, ‘Well, I’ve got to get back to my digs or I’ll never rouse myself in the morning. I wish I had Ruthven here.’

  ‘Yeah, that’d help your case,’ said Macalvie. ‘A gardener with his valet.’

  ‘It’ll take forever,’ said Melrose. ‘All I have is this rented car, made for midgets. Good night.’

  Jury and Macalvie said good night to him. Jury set down his pint and asked Cody for the keys to the Ford.

  Macalvie asked himm to hang on for a minute.

  Cody gave the keys to Wiggins and they both rose and announced they were going to finish their game. They returned to the snooker table.

  ‘What?’

  Macalvie said, ‘Do you think it’s possible this woman can’t be traced because she actually wasn’t this woman?’