The Grave Maurice

did, for wholly different reasons. “Dr. Ryder seems to think I am; he needs the bed. God knows, he needs this private room. So he’s tossing me out tomorrow afternoon. I hope I’m not spoiling an evening out for you. You must have boyfriends to spare.”

What, Chrissie wondered, were they? Boyfriends?

She had a way of shaking and nodding her head at the same time that intrigued Jury. “No? Yes?” He tried to mimic the head shaking by way of keeping her company. He wasn’t flirting with her; at least, he didn’t mean to be. Rather, he was attuning himself to her. It was a way he had-born with it or developed it-from years of questioning suspects, in those cases to discomfit them, in Chrissie’s case to comfort.

Jury was aware that he insinuated himself into the lives of witnesses and suspects, but that really was the only way of going about it. It was the only way to see the skull beneath the skin. He had to admit he encouraged the attachment people had to him. It might have been something like transference, that psychiatric tool. But the psychiatrist was trained to remain uninvolved, like a target transfixed to a spot while the rifle sought to pick him out of the shadows.

That image of gunplay brought the whole awful incident on the dock back to him. Poor Mickey.

“Is something wrong?” asked Chrissie. “Shall I get Dr. Ryder?”

“No, no. I’m just tired, a little.”

“Then I’ll leave,” she said sadly.

“No, don’t. It’s me I’m tired of. All of this self-involvement. I’m not tired of you. Listen: pull up a chair, will you? Tell me about yourself.”

Even had there been screams for her attention all up and down the corridor beyond the door, Chrissie King would have pulled up a chair.

TWENTY-SEVEN

The next day, Jury was dressed and packed and sitting with Wiggins waiting for his doctor.

“Hannibal,” said Wiggins, “has given me this list of medications and instructions and what to do if certain things occur, you know, like falling off a cliff or running from stampeding elephants.”

Jury laughed. Wiggins seldom made jokes in this way. Roger Ryder walked in with, unfortunately, Hannibal, who for some reason attached herself to Wiggins.

Dr. Ryder said, “Superintendent, you’re good as new. How do you feel?”

“Better than as good as.”

“All you need to do is watch that bandage-” He pointed to Jury’s midsection. “And don’t do any rowing, will you?”

“I’ll make an effort to resist.”

Ryder smiled. “Don’t make an effort, either.”

Laughter? They looked over to see Hannibal in a near fit of laughter. What was it, Jury wondered, about Sergeant Wiggins that had this effect on others? He was hardly a bon vivant. But he seemed to reverse a natural inclination in others-turn sour sweet, make water run backward, find some hidden spring. Jury smiled. Wiggins would have made a swell dowser.

Jury took Ryder’s arm and led him out of earshot. “There’s something I really would like to do. I’d like to look for your daughter.”

Ryder looked at him, too stunned to speak.

“I’ve been thinking about her, her disappearance, ever since you told me about it. In hospital, you’ve little to do but think. I know it’s been nearly two years and you might rather not have this wound reopened-” Jury hated the cliche, but it didn’t bother Roger Ryder.

“It’s never closed, Mr. Jury.” He paused. “You think there’s some hope Nell is still alive, then?”

Hope was certainly reborn in the father, to judge from his expression. “I think so. The facts here just don’t make it sound like the kidnapping or abduction we’re used to seeing. I’d need to talk to people-to your father, to the others at the stud farm. If you could let him know I’m coming…”

“Absolutely. When do you think you’d feel like it?”

“Right now.”

Roger Ryder rocked back on his heels. “Oh, no, Superintendent, I couldn’t let you. I couldn’t agree to spending your first day out of hospital-”

“I’m fine, Doctor.”

“But… this sort of thing, it’s exhausting, you know.”

Jury didn’t know if he was talking about an inquiry or being in hospital. “It’s no exertion, really. My sergeant could simply drive me and I’d ask a few questions.”

“But-”

“Look, I could go back to my flat straightaway and spend the entire afternoon having to answer a lot of questions about the way I feel, and be visited every fifteen minutes to make sure I really do feel all right. Or I could go to your farm and ask a few questions. Now, which of those alternatives sounds more likely to promote a quick recovery?”

“But-”

But Roger was smiling.

“Waterloo Bridge,” said Jury.

“Waterloo Bridge?”

“Wiggins, can’t I say anything without you saying it back?”

Wiggins actually looked as if he were considering this. Jury shook his head, and again said, “Waterloo Bridge. It’s right down there.” He pointed in an indeterminate direction. “If we leave right now, we may be able to get away from the curb by dinnertime.”

Clearly against his better judgment, Wiggins pulled away from the curb with a lot of engine noise and a jerk that pulled Jury forward in his seat. “Is it that lad you want to see?”

“Benny Keegan. Yes.”

“Why’s that, sir?” The car idled at a zebra crossing, waiting on several pensioners tottering across it with their string and plastic bags full of groceries. One in particular was finding it hard going. “It’s that zimmer bar holding her back,” complained Wiggins.

“I’d be happy to wait while you kick it out from under her.”

Wiggins slid Jury a look.

“Why do I want to see Benny? Because he saved my life. Isn’t that enough?”

“Strictly speaking,” said Wiggins, bringing the car to rapid life again, “it was Mr. Plant that did that. He’s the one that got the ambulance.”

Jury was flabbergasted by this literalness. “Strictly speaking, it was Sparky who saved me. If the dog hadn’t gone there, Benny could hardly have followed him, which would have meant that Mr. Plant wouldn’t have followed Benny.”

“Well, yes, if you look at it that way. The truth of it is”-Wiggins kept plowing the rescue theme-“it was just a colossal piece of luck and a big coincidence.”

“Luck, maybe. But not coincidence. It was purposeful on their part; they didn’t just happen to be strolling by that dock…” Why was he bothering?