The Blue Last

He wanted to talk to Mickey and thought they must be on the same wavelength when Mickey called and suggested a drink and maybe dinner.

“Liza and I were kicking around the idea of drinks and a meal at the Liberty Bounds, you’ve been there; it’s near the Tower Hill tube station. They’ve got good food.”

Liza. Back then, years ago, he’d had feelings for Liza that crossed the borders of friendship. But she was married to Mickey, so… Jury said, “I haven’t seen her in years, Mickey. As I remember, she was very indulgent when it came to cop talk.”

“Hell, yes. You’ve forgotten she was one? Let’s meet at seven, seven-fifteen? That sound all right?”

“Definitely.”

Jury left the Tower Hill station and arrived at the Liberty Bounds at twenty to seven. He had a pint at the bar, drank that down, then ordered another and carried it over to a table in a window. It was the table in the window that made him think of the Jack and Hammer, though this pub was ten times larger. He pictured them there in Long Pidd: Melrose, Trueblood, Diane, Vivian-

It was while he was thinking of Vivian that he had raised his eyes to the door and seen them walk in-Mickey and Liza Haggerty.

He had forgotten how Liza Haggerty looked. He waved them over and thought his expression must have been rather sappy for Mickey laughed.

“What’s wrong, Richie? You drunk? Or have you forgotten Liza?”

“No way I could forget Liza.” Jury smiled. He also blushed.

So did Liza.

“Waterloo Bridge,” said Jury.

Liza laughed. “What?”

“Ever since someone brought that film up, I’ve been seeing that actress everywhere.”

“Richard.” She laughed and shrugged her coat off.

Jury shook his head. “I’d forgotten how pretty you were, Liza.”

“Oh, don’t let that worry you. He forgets all the time.” She tilted her head in Mickey’s direction. “I’ll have a martini, straight up, with a twist. And tell them I don’t want watered gin, either.” This last she called to Mickey’s departing back.

“Lord, but it’s good to see you both again,” said Jury.

“Yes.” That was all she said, but there was conviction in the word. “Friends shouldn’t lose touch, should they?” Liza’a smile stopped just short of glorious. It must have taken a hell of a lot of courage to smile like that. Serious now, she said, “Mickey told you?”

He nodded. “I’m-” Looking at her, he simply couldn’t say more.

Liza gave him the most sorrowful look he’d ever seen. “I try not to think about it. Having been on the Job once makes it a little easier. I mean, we deal with death so much. We haven’t spent so much time ignoring it; we’ve had to come to grips with it-” It was hollow talk and she knew it.

Mickey was back with the round of drinks.

Liza raised hers as if she were going to toast them, and said, “Don’t they know what a martini glass is?” She shook the stubby whiskey glass. “And there’s ice in it. Mickey? Now why’d you let him do that?”

Mickey threw up his hands in surrender. “I told him, baby, I really did. Just be glad he didn’t use the sweet stuff.”

She took a sip. “I’d say this was three parts vermouth to one part vermouth.”

Jury laughed. “You should have drinks with a friend of mine in Northamptonshire; she was born with a bottle of vodka in one hand and two olives on a stick in the other.”

Mickey said, “Not to change the subject-”

“But you will.”

Mickey smiled and looked at Jury. “You talked to Kitty Riordin. What do you think? Am I right?”

“I agree she could’ve done it.” Jury still hadn’t gotten over the way the woman had smiled, looking at her baby’s picture.

“What I wonder is, does Erin know about all this?”

“You mean Maisie. I don’t know.” Suddenly, he looked at Mickey and laughed. “Hell, Mickey, you sound more interested in this alleged imposture than in the murder itself.”

“Forget ‘alleged.’ You don’t see any connection?”

“With the murder of Simon Croft? Not at the moment.”

“Then maybe money wasn’t the motive.”

“That kind of money? Moneyed money? I’d say it’s always a motive. Few other motives could touch it. The Tynedale inheritance would be one hell of a motive.”

Liza said, “Mickey told me about this case. She would have to be the Medea of all mothers to carry this off for half a century. Now, would someone get me a real martini?” She pushed her glass toward them.

Jury smiled and took her glass and went to the bar, where he stood as the bartender poured a frugal measure of gin. He thought about his walk on Sunday. It had taken him past the site of the old Bridewell Prison, supposedly a “house of correction” for beggars, thieves and harlots. He tried to imagine the hopeless horrible life there. Bridewell was a scandal. The Bridewell orphans-what a way to begin a life. Orphans. He looked back at the table. Then the drinks came.

“Here we go,” Jury said, setting down the drinks. “Is this my fourth? Or my fifth?”

“Well, it’s only my second, so hand it over.” She took a sip, got up.

“What’s wrong?”

“I’ll be right back.”

“Croft found out,” said Mickey.

Jury laughed. “You don’t even speculate, do you?”

“Of course I speculate. Sometimes.”

Liza was back holding a stemmed glass. “It just took a little bit of convincing. It’s a trick I picked up in my former line of work. I offered to shoot him.” She tossed a couple of bags of crisps on the table.

Mickey, Jury thought, was obsessing. Jury tried to get him off the subject, but Mickey managed to slide back to it. Jury wondered if being obsessed with Kitty Riordin kept him from obsession with his own condition.

Liza, though, knew how to get him off the tangent: she brought up some old cases either he or she or both had worked. Fairly soon all three of them were laughing and ordering up more drinks. “Remember-” Liza began “-that bank job?”

“I didn’t do bank jobs, babe.”

“No, no, no. That bank job where the perp ran out with a satchel of money right into several cops and surrendered and it turned out to be the cast of The Bill?” The three laughed until they choked.

Remember? Remember? They swapped stories for nearly an hour, drank and ate vinegar crisps. Mickey laughed so hard he got one up his nose. Liza sat between them with a hand on each of their arms and once, laughing, got her head down so low a strand of black hair trailed through her martini.

Jury thought how much alike Liza and Mickey were, and yet they weren’t in any way competitive.

Liza went on about the time Mickey thought she was the perp in a theft and locked her outside.

Jury was laughing. “Liza, if you’re ever available, remember-” He realized what he’d said, and could not unsay it. They both sat smiling but the smiles were wooden. It was only a moment, and Jury got up, nearly toppling his chair in the process. He moved between tables, heading in the direction of the men’s room. He did not go in. Instead he leaned against the wall opposite, giving himself a mental lashing. Poor Mickey, poor Liza. He felt as if he’d poured the black night, like ink, across their table. He held this position for a century or two, then he felt a light hand on his arm.

“Richard,” said Liza. “Never mind. Come on back.”

He looked at her and saw her smile was real and bright. She tugged. “Come on!”

Jury followed her back to the table, where they resumed their stories and laughter and got pleasantly, wittily,