The Old Silent

Wiggins whistled, went on writing.

'That's a case you can hardly avoid developing an interest in. And watching Goodall making a right cock-up of it. There was one botched attempt by his men to make contact with the kidnappers. I was detective sergeant then.' The tone was a combination of wistfulness and wonder.

Even Macalvie had once been a constable. Even as a divisional commander, he didn't hesitate to do constable's duty. Jury had watched him write a traffic ticket once. Macalvie's net got tossed out and anything that came up he inspected closely. Anyone else in his position would throw back the little-fish cases. Macalvie would dissect minnows. 'You assigned yourself to it, more or less?' asked Jury, smiling.

'I got myself assigned to it.'

Even as a police sergeant, Macalvie was known to be better than most of the men on the force.

'You know the story about the actual investigation; you've obviously read the accounts-'

'I'd rather hear your version.'

'I don't blame you. I got myself assigned to the Healey case because there is nothing, nothing as touch-and-go as an abduction. I'd sooner try to balance on razorblades than negotiate a kidnapping. You know the pressures that exist there and the chances of getting the person back. The need for rational thought. Well, it's pretty hard to be rational when it's your kid. And let me tell you the emotions churning round that house could have bulldozed half of Dockland.'

' 'I've told you and told you not to come here alone,' Citrine-Nell Healey's father-kept saying. People love hindsight; we'd rather look back any day than forward. What a scene, what a scene. Blaming the kid's stepmother for not taking better care of him. Then there was the father, Healey, who was pretty much useless, ranting around and yelling at the mother-stepmother, excuse me-'How could you leave him alone, Nell? Didn't you ever stop to think Billy might be a target for kidnappers?' I ask you, Jury. 'Mummy, I'm going to make a sandwich,' and she's supposed to be sitting there wondering if he'll be kidnapped? Okay, I'm not a father-'

Jury smiled slightly.

'-but it seemed to me old Roger could have been offering comfort and succor to his wife instead of hurling insults. Citrine was at least level-headed enough to get down to business. He seemed pretty cool, though it was taking its toll on him, obviously.'

Watching the tiny spider repairing its web, Jury asked, 'How did she react? Nell Healey? What did she say to all this negligence bit?'

'Nothing.'

'Nothing?' Jury frowned, looked over at Wiggins scratching away on his pad. He was better than a tape recorder.

At the other end of the telephone, Macalvie let out a sigh. 'Nothing. She was sitting on a window seat, a kind of bay window, and looking out, as if to sea. I thought she was out of it, frankly. In shock, or something. All the while Goodall was talking. He had a very soothing voice, and he was trying to assure Citrine-all of them-that the police were doing everything in their power. He gave the Kidnapping Speech, or what I think of as the Kidnapping Speech: 'Mr. Healey, as we're dealing with a crime that can mean life imprisonment, it's always possible that the victim might be harmed in some way. Naturally, you need some assurance that the boy is still alive-' The Kidnapping Speech went on. How, if Citrine paid this ransom, it would be best to have a detective go with him, the usual crap. Argument over more police intervention further endangering the boys' lives. Argument over marked bills. Argument over police going along. Argument over publicity. Argument over Roger Healey insisting on paying, period. Charles Citrine talking to somebody from the bank- there was a V.I.P. there from Lloyd's. It went on.'

'But Citrine finally refused to pay up.'

There was another pause. 'It wasn't Citrine, see.'

'The ransom wasn't paid.'

'Citrine was directing the Lloyd's person to get the money ready. I was sick of listening to the usual codswallop of junk about 'options' and 'alternatives.' So I said, 'You hand over that money and you're signing both those kids' death warrants.''

Jury shook his head. 'That's the 'negotiation'-type thing we're talking about?'

'Jury, you know and I know, and I'm sure Goodall knew the chances. Not just the chances but the game. You know the way people like that think-'

'I wish I did.'

'Then I'm telling you: they say to themselves, Now I've got the money, what do I do with the evidence? Especially if it has eyes and ears? At least until they get the money, there's a chance they'll keep the victim alive.'

'I'm not arguing with you, Macalvie. Tell me the story.'

Another pause. It seemed to worry Macalvie if someone wasn't arguing with him. Some people were like that; they needed it just to sort things out. Macalvie wasn't asking for approval; he was asking for consultation. 'Okay. The minute I said that, they all started rabbiting on, the biggest rabbit being Superintendent Goodall, who quickly told me to shut up. Actually, he went frostbitten with anger. Roger Healey shouted at me. It was the 'how-can- you-know?' routine. Citrine looked pretty ashen, but at least he was trying to keep his head. Finally, he said, 'You might be right. But then you might be wrong.' '

'That pretty much covers the ground.' He could almost see Macalvie smile. 'Then?'

'Then he said he'd pay any amount of money to get Billy back.'

'But you changed his mind?'

Silences from Macalvie were unusual. There'd been at least three in this accounting, and now there was another. Jury could almost hear the air hum out there in Exeter. 'No. It was Nell Healey's mind. She turned her head from that window she'd been staring through and gave me a look that could cut diamonds. I must admit it even pinned me to the wall. Well, you've met her-'

'Just go on, Brian.'

'And she said, 'I think you're right; don't pay it.' And then she turned back to the window. Here I thought she wasn't taking in anything, that she was in shock, that-well, let me tell you, that got to me, that did. Apparently, she'd been taking it all in: Goodall's speech, the others' yelling, her old man's intentions-all of it. And hell broke loose. I thought Roger Healey would throttle her right then and there. It was the exact opposite scenario, wasn't it? You see all these films where the wife is wild, tearful, pleading for the rational husband to pay, pay, pay.'

'But he didn't. I don't understand, if it was two against one.'

'It could have been a dozen against one. She had the money.'

Jury sat up suddenly. 'I thought it was Roger Healey's or the father's money.'

'No way. Those two had some, sure. Healey had a little, Charles Citrine quite a bit of his own. But not five million, not thatkind of money. It wasn't them the kidnappers were holding up; it was the stepmother. She had the money. Her mother Helen's money, apparently, a fortune. Some left to the husband-but he had his own, anyway-a bequest to the sister-in-law, the rest to her daughter.'

It was true that the accounts said that the Citrine-Healey family had refused to pay the ransom. Not which one of them. Charles Citrine had been the spokesman; therefore, the assumption was that it was his considered opinion that the police were right; paying the money would do nothing to insure his grandson's safety. Indeed, it might jeopardize it.

Jury's head was in his hand; he was thinking of Nell Healey, remembering those hours during which he'd followed her.

'Eight years later,' said Macalvie, 'she kills her husband. Why?'

Rubbing his hand through his hair as if that might wake up his brain, Jury said, 'I don't know, Macalvie.'

Another silence. 'That is one awesome lady, Jury.'

Thus did Nell Healey join the ten percent of the population Divisional Commander Macalvie could live with

5