Richard Jury: The Stargazey Part 30

"Indeed," said Melrose, "the very spit. But if you don't grab that knife away he won't have Ashley's nose."

" 'Ey! 'Ere, ya li'l bleeder!" Ellie reached out and grabbed the knife Robespierre was trying to get his fat little fingers around. She tossed it on the counter. "You want to see Beatrice, I expect. So we'll walk over to St. Iggy's. Be a nice stroll, it would. I'll just take off me strides, put on a skirt." She was out of her chair, tea poured down the drain, and through the door before Melrose could finish saying, "What about Robespierre, here?"

She shouted back, " 'E's got 'is stroller!"

As he waited, he regarded Robespierre, wondering how such a young tough, ten months old or not, could be contained in a stroller. He was presently chewing a crust of bread he must have wrestled from that adamantine-looking loaf. Melrose gazed round the kitchen, lit a cigarette, and enjoyed his afternoon. Unlike Sergeant Wiggins, for whom the ambience of the Cripps kitchen was surpa.s.sed only by Bosnia's, Melrose rather liked it, as he liked all things that were barely describable. He was a natural candidate for a guided tour of Woburn Abbey, surrounded by a dozen old ladies; for a week in Ibiza in a no-stars hotel; for one of those unmentionable holiday camps where you had to use tokens for money.

When she returned, Ellie was wearing a voluminous flowered frock, the flowers similar to the pattern on the wallpaper (whose flowers had been improved upon by the family Cripps, who had seen the similarity to genitalia), and a straw hat with bouncing wax berries. In her hand she held a small camera.

"If you wouldn't mind just droppin' Robbie into 'is stroller. And put this 'ere in your pocket." She handed him the camera.

Melrose had also brought a camera. Clearly, Ellie and he were on the same wavelength. Now, he commandeered both cameras and the burly baby and set him in the candy-striped stroller. Robbie bounced and pounded and howled, not caring for his little canvas prison. Ellie just gave him a smack and he stopped and smiled.

Once out of the door and down the walk, Melrose was put in charge of the stroller and Ellie hooked her hand through his arm and pointed them all in the direction of St. Ignatius. A late afternoon sun washed the sidewalk, striking Robespierre's light hair and turning it to filaments like dandelion weed. It lit the berries on Ellie's hat. It polished the brown leather b.u.t.tons of Melrose's cashmere coat, its pockets bulging with sweets bags and cameras.

They turned a corner, and White Ellie said, "It'd be ever so nice if you could 'ave a word with the kiddies, as you know 'ow much they respect you."

Respect? Respect? Melrose lifted his chin, wreathed himself in smiles, and inhaled the bright, chill November air. White Ellie was hardly one of those mums who sentimentalized her brood, but every parent goes blind sometimes. The only things the Cripps kids respected was money up front and a kick from behind.

Lowering her voice to a whisper, looking anxiously at the terraced houses, as if they had eyes and ears and gave a tinker's d.a.m.n what this trio was up to, White Ellie said, "An' I wish you could 'ave a wee talk wi' young Alice. It ain't good the way she lifts 'er skirt up an' 'er wi' no knickers on. Where'd she learn that, I ast ya?"

Where indeed, what with her father getting nicked on a regular basis for showing himself in the public toilets? Melrose a.s.sured White Ellie he'd do what he could, patted the arm hooked so sedately in his, and determined that someone had to take a picture of the three of them, before the camera got started on its life of p.o.r.nography.

Ah, Alice!

The "social," which was held every month, according to the big sign in the courtyard of St. Ignatius, was surprisingly well attended, and not only by the multinational sector (it looked like a meeting of the United Nations), their screaming kiddies wanting ice cream and cotton candy. There were some well-heeled types here, too, and Melrose wondered if word had really got around to the dealers. White Ellie waddled off to locate Ashley, leaving Melrose with the stroller and Robespierre.

There were "stalls," in this case largely tables, some with an impromptu tentlike affair set around them. Melrose caught a glimpse of what really looked like his own Derbyware and was surprised upon closer examination to see that it was-not his, at least he hoped not, but the real thing. The old pensioner-or not, considering his prices-talked the stuff up, and when Melrose asked where he had acquired it, said, "Belonged to me old auntie. She left it to me, bless 'er soul." Melrose purchased a cup and saucer for an outrageous sum-though no more than Trueblood would have asked, he supposed-to replace the one broken by his cook, Martha, who still shook her head over the gap in the dinner set. He put it in the carryall attached to the stroller, and Robespierre howled briefly.

The next little booth sold bits and bobs of jewelry, spoons, war medals, and other small items. Then came several stands of antiques: bureaus, clocks, chairs, marble statuary, paintings. The providers of these estimable pieces all talked like Ashley Cripps or racing touts. Finally, he found Ash's own "stall," which he was running with another fellow who, Melrose a.s.sumed, must be Frankie. Ash was delighted to see him and wrung his hand nearly off the arm in his enthusiasm.

"See ya got little Robbie wit' ya. Ain't he a chip off, then?" Introducing "me friend, Mel" to Frankie, he gave Mel a clap across his back that nearly sent him over the stroller and into a stall of lace and linen.

Frankie struck Melrose as a rather surprising companion for Ashley Cripps, given his military bearing and his waxed mustache, waistcoat, and spats. Frankie apparently specialized in gemstones. Melrose a.s.sayed this lot of jewelry and decided that not all of it was of the costume variety, nor were all the stones semiprecious. His brief excursion into the value of antiques, a subject taught him remorselessly earlier in the year by Marshall Trueblood, had touched on old stones and things like Victorian lockets and rings sporting small locks of braided hair and cameo or jet brooches. There had also been a brief lecture on precious stones: diamonds and emeralds. It was the last two in the list that Melrose was curious about now: surely, that ring in the middle of the line was set with a diamond of at least one carat, possibly more. It was surrounded, however, by pieces of far less, if any, intrinsic value. Melrose picked up a rather heavy, ugly aquamarine.

"Superior quality, that," said Frankie. "My elderly aunt, a woman of uncommonly fine taste, left it to me. I believe it was the dear lady's engagement ring. It's a pity I have to sell it at a mere fraction of its value."

Ash said, "We're lettin' that lot go for twenty-five quid."

Melrose gave him a look. It wasn't even worth five, and he said so.

Ash shrugged. "Seein' as how you're one o' me mates, 'ow about ten? Can't do fairer'n that."

"Oh, I believe you could." Melrose returned the ring, this time plucking up the diamond. "Twenty-five for this? I'd pay twenty-five."

Frankie adroitly plucked the ring from Melrose's fingers. "I fear that one is already spoken for."

"Then this one, perhaps?" Melrose picked up the emerald.

Ash said, nervously. "That 'un too, mate."

"Then why are they on display?"

Ashley didn't answer. He looked off across the schoolyard and motioned to Frankie. "d.a.m.n rozzers won't leave a body be. Blind Ollie, it's 'im, all right."

Melrose gazed over the tops of heads to see a tallish policeman strolling amongst the stalls. He had just turned away from the Bring 'n' Buy and appeared to be coming their way.

Frankie nudged Ash, and Ash, in turn, nudged Melrose into a sort of musketeerish mood, all for one and one for all.

"What you got to do," said Ash, "is just stand 'ere, like you was thinkin' a buyin' one o' these 'ere." Ash grabbed up the diamond and put it in Melrose's hand. In much fuller and fruitier tones, Ash and Frankie greeted their policeman-for Melrose had no doubt he'd been following their escapades so long that he had truly become "theirs."

"Well, now, if it ain't our Constable Ryland. 'Ow are ya, Ollie?"

The constable nodded, hands behind his back, looked for a moment at the black velvet-covered display without much interest, and said, "Been over to your house, Frank. Your missus let me have a look in that lockup you got."

"You're welcome any time, Mr. Ryland. Any particular reason for this visit? Or is my garage merely your home-away-from-home?" Frankie ran a forefinger under his mustache, rather like an old-time villain might do.

"Another house was. .h.i.t over in Highgate. Winnington. That's kinda your patch, right, Frank?"

"I've no idea what you're talking about, Constable. My patch, as you put it, hardly extends beyond my front garden."

"Well, there was a lot of stuff went missing from the Highgate place. China, silver, jewelry, even a dinner jacket. Odd, that." Ryland looked from one to the other, not forgetting to take a dekko at Melrose. He nodded. "Friend of yours, boys?"

"Not a bit of it," said Frankie. "A customer. And if you wouldn't mind, we'd like to go back to our business."

Ryland grunted, looking extremely irritated that he couldn't slap the cuffs on them then and there (including, Melrose felt, on himself) and push them into a van. Instead, he walked away.

When he was out of sight and hearing distance, Ash and Frankie went about boxing each other (and Melrose) on the shoulder, laughing fit to kill. Ash had to wipe his eyes with his handkerchief. Then he took the diamond from Melrose's hand and amidst his weepy laughter said, "Dihn't I tell ya, best place to hide it, put it out. Like Frankie here says, 'You want to hide a diamond, put it in a tiara.' " Then he gave Melrose another smart clout on the shoulder.

Knowing the Cripps kids' desire for quick results in everything, Melrose had had the foresight to bring a Polaroid. First he had Frankie take one of White Ellie, Robespierre, and him, posed like a little family. Then several of the kids, with Alice refusing to mind her manners. Next, one of Bea and Melrose (Bea mugging for the camera); last, one of the whole lot of them. The results were immediate and charming. Melrose had never seen himself looking quite so blithe. Bea, seeing how silly she looked in the one with Melrose, made Ash take another, with her sitting on a low stone wall, showing plenty of leg, while Melrose leaned against it.

"Oh, ain't that luv'ly," said White Ellie, as if they were all in a wedding party. "You do look sweet together." She was looking at the freshly developed Polaroid shot of Melrose and Bea sitting on the wall.

To Melrose they didn't even look together. "Look, she's pulling the corners of her mouth back. You call that sweet?"

But Ellie would have none of that, said she would take it home straightaway and hang it up, "soon as my Ashley packs up his clobber."

In his mind's eye, Melrose saw himself in Nancy Pastis's apartment, looking at that wall of paintings. It was then the penny dropped.

40.

Jury drank what was left in his pint and set it on the counter, with a wink at Kitty and a nod to refill both his and Kate's gla.s.ses.

He had called Melrose Plant on the Stargazey's phone to tell him he wouldn't be having dinner with him at Boring's and listened in turn to Plant saying he was going back to Northants to look for an art restorer. Jury asked him what he was talking about, but Plant didn't explain and instead began a brief argument about searching the Fabricant Gallery.

"You and your mates go into the gallery and have a look round, if that's what you euphemistically call it."

"Can't do that. We don't have reasonable grounds."

"What? One of them murdered Simeon Pitt!"

"Even if that's true-"

"d.a.m.n it, of course it's true! He guessed what they were up to."

"Can you see one of them killing in that way? It would take a measure of flamboyance, at the least, to walk into that club and stick a knife in somebody while other people were in the room. All I can do at this point is go back and question them again. And don't forget the other murder."

He must have forgotten; Plant's mind wasn't on Nancy Pastis. Jury replaced the receiver and collected the two gla.s.ses Kitty had filled.

She looked across the room to where Kate was seated at a bench and said, "I see you found her."

Jury smiled. "I did indeed, Kitty."

All the way across the room, he was jostled to within an inch of spilling the beer.

"Thanks," said Kate, as he set down the drinks. After he sat down himself, she put her hand through his arm and got closer. "This place is blue with smoke. Doesn't that get to you?"

"Oh, it gets to me all right, but it's good for the soul-resisting temptation." He looked at her, smiled. "Well, some of it, anyway." He picked up his gla.s.s. "What's an art restorer do?"

"I'll take a wild swing at the answer and say he restores art. Why?"

"Oh, just this friend of mine who helps me out, unofficially. The one from Northants. I mentioned him to you."

"The ex-earl in that little village?"

"That's the chap. I was just talking to him. Says he wants an art restorer."

Kate thought for a moment. "Ah." Then she asked, "He's the one who gave up his t.i.tle?"

"t.i.tles. Had a whole raft of them: Earl of Caverness, Viscount something-and-something, Marquess of Glengarry and Glen Ross. On and on."

Kate laughed. "Glengarry Glen Ross is a play by David Mamet."

Jury shrugged. "Well, there're a couple of Scottish t.i.tles in there somewhere."

"Was it politics? Did he want to be a commoner so he could run for the House of Commons?"

Jury laughed. "Lord, no, not him. Political is the last thing he is." Jury drank his beer. Plant had disquieted him; he felt uncomfortable.

"Are you all right?" She put her hand on his face.

He looked at her, smiled. "Absolutely. Only"-he drank down nearly half of his beer-"I've got to get somewhere. I'll see you tonight? Your place? Or are you tired of your place? Want to go to the cinema?"

"You've got to be kidding." Kate laughed.

41.

Melrose sat in his club chair, letting his late-morning coffee go cold, chewing the side of his thumb. This was a habit he had indulged in since childhood, which neither his mother nor his nanny had been able to break him of. The habit was one he resorted to when he was in deep thought. Here the thought included a rerun of the conversation with Jury he'd just had. Melrose should have been more forthcoming, more specific in telling his friend what was taking shape in his mind. But perhaps that was the problem; it was still amorphous, not yet jelled.

They had been there, the Fabricants had, in St. Petersburg at the same time Ralph was. Flamboyant. Pitt had used that word in speaking of the theft of the Chagall.

Melrose did not want the murder of Simeon Pitt eclipsed by this Nancy Pastis murder.

What the devil const.i.tuted "reasonable grounds," anyway? He was absolutely sure that the Fabricants were responsible for Pitt's death.

Melrose went back to chewing the side of his thumb. Well, it wasn't Jury's fault; after all, they couldn't go in and toss the place. To get a warrant Melrose imagined one had to satisfy stringent conditions, and there were no visible ones insofar as the gallery or the Fabricants themselves were concerned.

This was why Melrose was chewing his thumb, in deep thought. The d.a.m.ned paintings would be gone if he didn't act immediately. Probably being wrapped and crated in that storage room at the gallery this very min- Storage room.

Bea. Of course.

She was as silent on the other end of the phone as Jury had been, until she finally said, "Where did you get this idea?"

"Yesterday, at the fete. Frankie lobbed it over the net, or whatever they do to tennis b.a.l.l.s. " 'If you want to hide a diamond, put it in a tiara.' "

"Of course. It's really clever. Even if they didn't do it, you are for thinking it."

Melrose couldn't quite sort through that syntax and didn't try. "You know they're getting the paintings ready to s.h.i.+p. Have they crated them yet?"

"A couple, I think. See, each one has its own separate wooden box."

"Okay, how are they wrapped?"

"What do you mean?"

"Just that. Did they wrap them in brown paper, tie them with string? Twine?"

"Yes. Brown paper, twine."

Melrose beat his head with his fist, as if this might speed up the thought process.