plonk they were foisting off on their guests?”
“Show. Ritual.” They ate in silence for a few minutes.
Young Higgins was back, removing their avocado and announcing that the lamb would arrive in just a few moments.
Jury shrugged and raised his hands, smiling, while Melrose sat staring. He calculated. “That’s three pounds forty you owe me.”
“Let’s go to Vegas while your luck is running. Now, what were we talking about?”
“Memory loss. You recall when we were sitting here November a year ago?”
“Certainly, I do.”
“We were talking about the war. The Second World War, I mean.”
Melrose nodded, hardly shifting his attention at all to the plate of lamb and silver dishes of peas and potatoes Young Higgins now placed before him. “I remember. You said you’d been evacuated, your-cousin, is it?-up in Newcastle told you about it.”
Jury nodded. “But she said I wasn’t in the Fulham Road house when my mother died. And I was younger, too. Maybe no more than two or three. I’d much rather she died with me there.”
“Well, I wouldn’t, old chap. Because had you been, probably you wouldn’t be sitting here right now. I can understand your feeling, though.”
They ate in companionable silence, passing the silver dish of vegetables back and forth, drinking more wine.
Then Melrose said, “How about
Jury looked up from his plate, which he hadn’t touched much. “You mean hers could be faulty?”
“Of course.”
“She’s years older than I. She’d remember better.” Jury smiled. “Her husband, Brendan, thought she was winding me up. She doesn’t really like me.”
“Is she vicious?”
“Vicious… that might be too strong a word.”
“Okay, give me a weaker one.”
As Young Higgins came to clear their plates away, Jury said, “Resentful, maybe, of me getting so much attention from my uncle. It was my uncle who took me in. My aunt was kind, but not really too keen. And after he died, she didn’t feel she could keep me on, not with three of her own. The other two are dead now.”
Young Higgins cleared his throat and said, “Your treacle tart will be up in a moment. Would you care to have coffee in the Members’ Room?”
Melrose said, yes, they would and stared at Jury as Young Higgins moved off. “You win it all.”
Jury smiled and shrugged.
Back in the Members’ Room, in the same seats they had occupied, Jury said, “The thing is, she had pictures- snapshots, you know-of me and these other kids. They were kids I remember, too. But that was several years later, in Devon. They were foster children this woman was drawing stipends for-”
“Instead of the kids being the evacuees you thought you’d been among?”
“Yes.”
“Pictures may tell part of the truth but not necessarily all of it.”
A log split and fell, sparking. The flames sputtered, became no more than live coal and leaped once again into flame. He said, “Lately, that’s what I seem to be dealing with-pictures. Memories. Neither being completely reliable as a reconstruction of the past. I have a friend, a DCI in the City police, who showed me some pictures.” He told Melrose about Mickey’s suspicions.
“Why doesn’t he investigate this himself? I know you’re awfully good, but it seems odd bringing Scotland Yard into it.”
“It does, yes. We’re old friends, we go back a long way.”
“Still-”
“He’s dying.”
“Oh. I’m sorry.”
“His father was a regular at the Blue Last. He knew the owner, Francis Croft, quite well. Oliver Tynedale and Francis Croft were like brothers. It’s impressive that they’d remain that close to each other and stay friends for that long, and also be in business together.”
“I can’t imagine anything that could sour a friendship quicker than a business relationship. Who was at the helm?”
“Tynedale, I expect. The business seemed to fall roughly between the public relations end and the financial end. I imagine the line between them was pretty much blurred.”
“So Francis Croft died and his own fortune got divided among his children?”
“Actually, no. That’s another unusual thing. Some of it went to Tynedale’s children, as some of Tynedale’s will go to Croft’s. They really are like one extended family.”
“Which sounds as if it complicates things.”
“Yes.” Jury watched the fire over the edge of his glass of cognac.
“Let’s just say that, unlike his father, Simon Croft was crooked. Say he embezzled funds, and a major stockholder found out and-” Melrose mimicked a pistol with his thumb and forefinger. “Except you don’t think so, do you?”
“It’s more that Mickey doesn’t think so.”
“He’s convinced it’s a member of the family.”
Jury answered obliquely. “The thing is, Tynedale is very sick; murdering him would be, well, superfluous for an heir of his. His granddaughter, Maisie, will probably get the lion’s share. The fortune would then be split-not necessarily equally-among the remaining Tynedale and Croft children-Ian, Simon, Marie-France-oh, and there’s Simon’s sister, Emily. She’s living in Brighton in one of those assisted-living places.”
“Hmm. If the motive’s getting a larger share of the inheritance, why would the killer choose Simon Croft over the granddaughter? You’ve just said she’ll undoubtedly get more than the others.”
“Depends, I suppose, on how much more,” Jury said.
“Isn’t it equally likely there’s another motive for shooting Simon Croft? What if he knew about this imposture?”
“Which points to the Riordin woman, or, of course, Maisie. She might know, she might not. Anyway, they’re the ones who wouldn’t want Oliver finding out Maisie isn’t Maisie. To wait fifty years for the payoff shows a hell of an emotional investment on the part of Kitty Riordin. To have that snatched away now-” Jury shrugged.
“Perhaps Simon Croft’s killing isn’t connected to the identity of Maisie Tynedale. DCI Haggerty could be dead wrong.”
A porter came on hushed feet to deposit two more cognacs. Jury insisted on paying for this round and slapped down Melrose’s five-pound note.
“Oh, thanks,” said Melrose. “You’re too generous.”
“I know.” Jury swirled the cognac, sniffed it and drank. “Another thing that bothers me is this little girl who’s Tynedale’s ward. Gemma Trimm her name is. She claims someone’s tried three times to kill her.”
Melrose sat up. “My god. But do you believe her?”
“They found a bullet casing. Southwark police certainly believe there was a shooting; they seemed to put it down to a rash of robberies, that, or some young punk proving how cool he is. As to the choking and poisoning, well, I’m not so sure.”
“And what would be the motive in this case?”
“I’ve no idea. Her presence in that house is mysterious. She seems to be largely ignored except by staff and Oliver Tynedale, who apparently dotes on her.”
“Is she a dotable little thing?”
Jury smiled. “Oh, my, yes. Extremely dotable-an earnest child. They say nothing about her. I came upon her quite by accident outside, walking.”
“They say nothing about her?”
“I questioned all of them, except for Oliver Tynedale, and no one so much as mentioned Gemma.”
