The Grave Maurice

champion.”

As if the horse perfectly understood him, it nodded. “Better go,” said Jury. “Ryder might be wondering where we are.”

They left the fence and recommenced their drive toward the house. They were pulling up to the front door when Wiggins said, “Cows? I never knew anyone to hate cows. Where’d you get that?”

The man who opened the door of the big white house was not Arthur Ryder. Still, he invited them in. “You’re Superintendent Jury? Arthur told me to be on the lookout.” He smiled. “I’m just a neighbor of Arthur’s. He’s seeing to one of his mares.”

“Superintendent Jury and Detective Sergeant Wiggins,” said Wiggins, a trifle imperiously. “And you are?”

“Roy Diamond. I’ve a farm a mile away.”

Roy Diamond was a tall man-as tall as Jury-in a blue blazer with dull gold buttons imprinted with a figure Jury took to be horse related. Natty dresser. Natty life. He looked like that sort of person-privileged and no doubt rich. He also had that look of almost sinful health, as if he spent most of each day in the open air and probably followed the sun, possibly around the world. Jury made this swift and pleasant journey with him in his mind-Nice, Portofino, Corfu, Aruba, Barbados-in the few seconds it took Diamond to shift his gin and tonic to his left hand and jut out the now-free right. His smile was pleasant and his eyes a blue that could only be called crisp. They snapped.

Jury shook his hand and hated him. He hated a lot of people these days, he found, except for those in his immediate circle. But he thought he could manage a special dislike of Roy Diamond. He glanced around the living room-at its dark wood, the chintz-covered chairs, a sofa covered in a sturdier material, low lamps softly diffusing light. Fire in the grate. The fallen petals of roses littered a low table behind the sofa. It was one of those rooms you step into and feel at home. No, more than that: feel it must have been, in a forgotten life, your home. Something like that feeling of deja vu that Plant had mentioned, that flash of recognition.

“Arthur tells me you’re with New Scotland Yard.”

“That’s correct,” said Wiggins, who decided to sit down, even if neither of the others would. He took out his notebook. “You’re a neighbor, you say?”

Roy Diamond smiled. “Well, out here, ‘neighbor’ can be miles away. But, yes, I own Highlander Stud. It’s that way.” He hooked his thumb over his shoulder. He didn’t appear to mind Wiggins’s taking down information about him. “Arthur tells me you’re interested in Nell Ryder. It was a terrible thing that happened to Nell.”

Jury said, “ ‘Interested in’ isn’t exactly the way I’d put it.” He smiled a chilly smile. “I want to know what happened to her. What do you think?”

The question, asked of him, seemed to surprise Diamond. “I?”

“You must have asked yourself that question.”

“Of course I did.” Diamond moved to a drinks cabinet and sloshed another finger of gin into his drink. “Oh, I’m sorry-would you like-?” He waved a hand over the collection of bottles.

Jury shook his head. “Medication.”

“Hm. Yes, I did ask myself. I imagine I thought pretty much the same as everyone else.” He stopped.

“What did everyone else think?”

Diamond gave Jury a look arrested somewhere between a half smile and a frown. “I get the feeling you’re baiting me, Superintendent.”

Wiggins glanced up at Jury to find his expression, as often happened, completely unreadable.

“I wouldn’t bait you. But what did you think about the girl’s disappearance?”

“That she was being held for ransom.”

“Yet I believe Mr. Ryder doesn’t have all that much available cash, no matter how wealthy he might be in terms of his holdings.”

“That’s right. He’s got some of the best horses in the country. I bring some of my own mares here to be bred to his.” Roy Diamond studied his drink. “By now, I guess she’s dead, though I’d never say that to Arthur.”

“You think he still holds out hope, then?”

“Wouldn’t you?”

It made Jury vaguely uncomfortable, as if he appeared to be hard- hearted. “I expect so.” Then it struck Jury that Roger, who wasn’t getting a mention, was seen as having the lesser interest in Nell’s fate. Perhaps it was simply because she had lived here with her grandfather.

“Have you any children, Mr. Diamond?”

“I did once. She’s dead.” Roy Diamond’s confidence seemed to be draining away, as age might drain the brisk-ness from one’s step. “Oz,” he said, more to himself than the other two. He looked up. “It was Dorothy’s favorite book, The Wizard of Oz-you know, because of her name.”

Somewhat ashamed of his tone thus far, Jury said, “I’m really sorry, Mr. Diamond.”

Diamond shrugged, put his drink on the table. “I’ve got to be getting back to the farm. Would you tell Arthur I’ll see him soon?”

Jury nodded, shook his hand. Roy Diamond turned to Wiggins, who was still seated, and shook his hand also. “Good-bye.” He turned by the door. “And good luck.”

Arthur Ryder, who entered a moment later, was a man who, like Roy Diamond, obviously spent most of his time in the open air. The difference was Ryder did it with his sleeves rolled up. He seemed a little uncomfortable bound by his own four walls. The discomfort didn’t stem from a police presence in his living room; he was genuinely pleased Jury and Wiggins had come. After they were all seated, he said, “This is really kind of you, Superintendent.”

“Not at all. When you’re in hospital you look for things to engage you. Your missing granddaughter engaged me. I’d like to help. Since I’m not on duty, I’ve plenty of time.”

Ryder opened his mouth to respond when another man came into the room holding a pot of coffee. “This is Vernon Rice, my stepson. When my son called me, I called Vernon and asked him to come. Vern has his own investment firm in the City.” Arthur Ryder seemed rather proud of this.

Vernon Rice was an extremely good-looking man with hair just about the burnished brown of the bay in the pasture. His eyes, although gray, were so bright they looked startled. They gave gray a whole new meaning. He held the pot aloft and looked a question at Jury and Wiggins. Jury declined; Wiggins accepted. Wishing it were tea instead, thought Jury.

As he poured the coffee into cups already sitting on a tray, Rice said, “I’ve still got a private investigator looking. I know it’s been over a year and a half, but you never can tell.” He handed Wiggins a cup and set the cream and sugar by him.

Jury smiled. He bet Vernon Rice could pin down the very day the girl had gone missing. He also had the impression that Rice was a “never-can-tell” person. Meaning he operated on faith. Strange for a man in his line of work.

“There was also a horse taken?”

“Aqueduct.”

“Could he carry two people and still jump stone walls and fences?”

“He’s a ’chaser. He’s won the Grand National twice.”

Vernon smiled. “He could jump rooftops if he had to.”

“Nell could ride him?”