The Grave Maurice

little about the rest of the farm. Her room, the kitchen, the locked office. “It was where I found out about this operation.”

Handing her a drink that looked to Jury as if it were right down Wiggins’s alley-a brightly colored club soda-Vernon asked: “That’s where you got the stuff you showed me?”

“Yes. Once I had a chance to look through her books. There were stud books. But what I was mainly interested in was the mares. Wait a minute.” She rose and went down the hall to her bedroom.

Jury took the moments to tell Rice what she’d said about going to the farm the next day. “What do you think? Is it okay?”

“Absolutely. As a matter of fact, we could-”

Nell was back with one of the Premarin folders and the snapshots and handed them to Jury. “That’s Valerie Hobbs, there.”

Jury looked at the two snapshots of the woman holding the reins of a horse and the third shot of what he presumed were the mares. He picked up the folder.

“It seems so benign, doesn’t it, when you read about it in there?”

Jury read about the drug. “I notice they don’t show you any horse farms, do they? What would women do if they knew about the way these mares are treated?”

Nell said, “Some would stop taking it-no, I imagine a lot of women would stop. Some would just go on. Like they go on wearing fur. I don’t blame them, really, even though it’s selfish and inhumane. There are so many things that make a person’s life hellish. I expect it’s hard to let go of any sort of comfort.”

“This is terrible,” he said, putting the folder on the table. “But you found nothing else?”

“I didn’t know what to look for, specifically. There was the book in which she kept an accounting of the mares and the amount of urine they produced, and breeding of each one.”

Jury held up one of the snapshots of Valerie Hobbs. “Do you mind if I keep this for a while?”

Nell shook her head. “No, take it.”

He pocketed the photo, then said, “About that night and those walls-”

“Hadrian’s walls is what we call them.” She seemed to like this and smiled in an almost sunny way.

Jury returned the smile. “What about the stable lads, the trainers? I’m just looking for whoever would be a good enough rider to jump those walls.”

“A jumper, a steeplechase jockey, could do it. He was small enough, I think, to be a jockey. With the right horse, maybe even Maurice could do it.”

“Maurice? I didn’t know he excelled as a rider.”

“That’s because he never talks about it. He always wanted to follow in his dad’s footsteps and of course he’s not that good. He was well over five feet when I-left; maybe he’s grown since I saw him. Anyway, for Maurice, if he can’t be as good as his father, well, he doesn’t want to be anything. I’ve always tried to get him over that but I never could.”

Jury studied her for a while, then rose. “I should be getting back to my digs. What time are we leaving?”

Nell waited for Vernon. He said, “Ten o’clock all right for you?”

“Couldn’t be better.” He turned to Nell. “Thanks for talking to me.” He turned to go and Vernon said, “I’ll see you to the door.”

Outside the flat, Vernon said, “You know what I think?

I think it’d go down much better for Arthur and Roger if they didn’t know Nell had sought me out first. So couldn’t we just say we found her?”

Jury thought for a moment. “Say you found her. I agree with you. Make something up, and tell her what you’re going to say.” Looking at Vernon, he smiled. “You know for someone who spends his time shoving money around, you’re a sensitive chap. But why she wants me along, God only knows.”

“Yeah. Sure.” Vernon smiled.

As if God knew.

FORTY-FOUR

It was Arthur Ryder who opened the door, surprised to see the two of them there in tandem. “Vernon!” He kept his face straight. “Have you got a warrant?”

“Ask him,” said Vernon. “He’s the Filth, not me.” Arthur shook Jury’s hand. “I expect you know already about the woman who was shot? Simone Ryder?”

Jury nodded. “I heard, yes.”

Arthur Ryder shook his head. “I don’t know if that makes the whole thing less or more mystifying.” He looked from one to the other. “It makes me anxious just to ask, but-have you got news?” They were still standing by the open door and as he said this, he was looking past them at Vernon’s silver BMW. “One of your people, Superintendent? Doesn’t he get to come in from the cold?”

“No,” said Vernon. “Look, Arthur, we do have news-”

“Christ!” The single syllable nearly broke in two, sounding both anxious and sorrowful. “She’s dead, isn’t she?”

This reaction interested Jury. Vernon Rice would never have thought that. He’d always believed Nell was alive. He’d always known it.

“No, Arthur. She’s not dead. She’s alive.”

“You mean you’ve seen her? What-?” Then he was off the sofa and almost throwing himself across the room as if he meant to reach the door by the shortest way possible. He flung it open.

“Art!” called Vernon.

When Nell saw him, she sprang from the car and ran around it, ran toward him. When they met in the center of the courtyard she jumped up and tried to wind herself around him.

Vernon watched and sighed. “She bloody well didn’t do that when she met up with me again.”

Jury couldn’t help himself; he cuffed him one up the side of the head, laughing.

“What? What?”

Arthur and Nell, both laughing, both crying, reached the door.

“I just can’t believe it,” he said, releasing her from the grip of his arm. “Where’d you find her? How did you find her?” This was directed at Jury, naturally assuming it was police work.

“Don’t give me any credit for it. It was Vernon.”

“Pure luck. I was coming back from Cambridge, Art, and some instinct took me down that old road that leads to the compound you don’t use anymore. The horse barn, the exercise ring-”

“That’s where you were?” he said to Nell.

“Not for the last two years, Granddad, no. Only a few-days.”

Jury thought Vernon was right in not letting Arthur know Nell had sought him out in London. Vernon, being Vernon, didn’t take this as Nell’s preference for him, but