Cambridge this afternoon) by getting him to talk about the case, but Jury proved uncharacteristi-cally taciturn.
“You know, don’t you?”
“Know what?”
“Oh, stop being
“Pass him” was Jury’s only comment, indicating the car ahead.
“I can’t. A car’s coming from the other direction. They do that, you know. This is a two-lane road and we’ve got hedgerows on either side and curves we can’t see around.”
Jury made a squiffy sound and stared out of the passenger window as if he’d happily roll up the hedgerow and toss it at the cows. There were several ruminating cows near the road.
“We’re nearly there, for heaven’s sake.”
No comment from his passenger.
“You’d be a total disaster at an AA meeting, you know that?” Melrose knew this comment, unrelated to anything at all in the present conversation, would pry a response from Jury.
“AA? What’s AA got to do with anything?”
“It doesn’t, for you. The thing is you’re supposed to share. ‘Thank you for your share’ is what they like to say.”
“That is
“Perhaps, but then you’re not an alcoholic.”
“A debatable point.”
“Anyway, I think ‘thank you for your share’ is rather warm and friendly.”
“Please don’t say it again.”
Melrose considered. “I’d say Long Piddleton is a really alcoholic place. I mean, there’s so little to do.”
The hedges gave way to dogwood and white birch trees and silver fern. The road widened.
“Does Vernon Rice have an alcoholics chat room on his Web site? I bet you’d always see ‘thank you for your share’ posted there.”
“The only share I want is ten percent of Microsoft.”
“Thank you for your share.” Melrose turned off onto the Ryder drive.
In the distance beyond the white fence horses grazed, one or two turning their heads to inspect the Bentley and its contents. The car spat up gravel as it stopped by the front door, which at the same time was opened by a haggard-looking Arthur Ryder.
“Saw the car. I remembered it.” He nodded toward Melrose and evinced no interest in his appearing here with Richard Jury. It was as if anything worth questioning had been nullified by the death of his grandson.
Jury apologized for intruding. “I wouldn’t if it wasn’t important.”
“No. Yes. Come in.”
Far from being annoyed by this unexpected visit from the two of them, Arthur Ryder seemed a little relieved to have something to focus on other than the upcoming funeral.
Standing by the large front window, Vernon Rice nodded to them and returned his gaze to the chilly scene outside.
Roger Ryder moved to shake Jury’s hand and ask him how he felt. “Is there much pain still?”
“No, not much,” Jury lied.
Roger knew it, too. He smiled. “You’re tiring yourself out; you should be relaxing-”
(A word Jury would be happy to shoot where it stood, along with “share.”)
“-but I think it very good of you to give so much time and effort to our family, Superintendent.”
“I’m dreadfully sorry for your loss. Maurice will be missed.”
“Awful, isn’t it?” said Arthur Ryder. “Nell come back, Maurice gone, as if we had to pay a price for her return. I feel as if it’s a kind of curse.” They had been drinking tea, and Arthur told them he could get some hot.
Jury shook his head, saying, “I can understand your feeling it’s a curse, but Maurice wasn’t a payment for Nell. If you think that way, you’ll find yourself wandering through mazes of pain and self-blame. Don’t go there.” He turned to Roger Ryder. “Dr. Ryder, it’s you I wanted to talk to. Could I have a word with you?”
“Yes, of course.” He looked around at the others. “Here?”
Jury nodded and they sat down on the sofa. Vernon turned from the window, his expression bleak. Jury looked at him. No one felt things more; he was as much of this family as any of them.
“When I was in hospital,” began Jury, “tended by the excellent Nurse Bell-”
Roger laughed a little. “Not your favorite person, I believe.”
“No, definitely not, but we might owe her a debt, or, rather, her mordant turn of mind. She was fond of bringing up unsuccessful cases. Wedged into her promenade of patients who hadn’t made it-one of whom she seemed to think I was likely to become-”
Roger smiled.
“-was a girl, a young girl who’d died in the OR when you were operating. Dory I think was her name.”
“Oh, Christ.” Roger put his head against his fist. “That was more than two years ago.” He leaned forward, forearms on knees, head bent as if in an act of contrition. “I blamed myself. The child had a heart condition-arrythmia, not dangerous in itself, it can be controlled with medication, but no one knew about it, including me, and I certainly should have; before operating, I should-”
Vernon Rice frowned. “What child?”
Arthur said, “That was not your fault, son.”
Jury turned to Arthur. “You knew her, then?”
“Of course, we all did. She-”
This outburst came from the office and was repeated twice before the speaker, a small man with a big temper, stormed into the room. “What the bloody hell’s goin’ on, Arthur?” He was holding up the shredded silk. “I got four bleedin’ races at Cheltenham tomorrow! I’ll look good in this lot, I will.”
“Billy, I don’t know-” said Arthur.
The jockey jiggled the hanger; the pieces of silk fluttered in the air of Billy’s shaking. Finally, they stilled into their green and silver diamond pattern.
Melrose stared. “You’re one of Roy Diamond’s jockeys?”
Billy nodded, muttering imprecations.
“He told me his daughter was dead,” said Jury. “She was the little girl.” It was only half a question.
Arthur said, “Dorothy, her name was. Dorothy Diamond.”
“She was in-” Jury stopped before he said,
Vernon stared at him and bolted from the room.
