Read Online The Black Cat by Martha Grimes - Free Book Online Page A

come?”
    “Simple. Because it’s near Milton Keynes, and that’s only fifty miles from home, and I thought we’d be spending most of the day at Ardry End swilling my single malt whiskey, after which we’d go to the Jack and Hammer and swill some more.”
    “Sorry, but I can’t take you up on that invitation. I’ve got to get back to London.”
    Melrose was disappointed. “It’s a long time since you’ve been to my place.”
    “Yes, a whole month.”
    Sonia was back setting down their plates.
    Jury started in on his eggs.
    “Um, um,” murmured Melrose, mouth full of syrupy pancakes. He ate a few bites and said, “I’m intrigued by your murder victim’s clothes.”
    “So am I.” Jury picked up a triangle of buttered toast and wondered which point to start on. Sonia, he noticed, was watching them as if they’d both walked in with tire irons and nasty intentions.
    “Well, if our unidentified victim could afford that dress and those shoes…,” Melrose began.
    “Jimmy Choo. How can women wear heels four inches high? These shoes, according to Detective Sergeant Cummins, would have cost around six or seven hundred quid.”
    “And that’s a sandal?”
    “All straps.” Jury smiled. “Strappy, you say.”
    “I don’t say it. How does Detective Sergeant Cummins come by such arcane knowledge?”
    “It’s hardly arcane. Jimmy’s popular. It’s Mrs. Cummins, our sergeant’s wife, who knows this stuff; she’s a woman who’s really into designer shoes. The dress cost-get this-around three thousand quid. That’s Yves Saint Laurent. The handbag by Alexander McQueen cost another thousand. It’s mind-boggling.”
    “Astonishing. What item of clothing could possibly be worth it?”
    Jury looked at him. “What did that jacket you’re wearing set you back?”
    Melrose looked down as if surprised to see he wasn’t wearing sackcloth and ashes. “This rag?” He shrugged.
    “Bespoke. Your old tailor. Don’t tell me it didn’t cost as much as her dress.”
    “Don’t be ridiculous. The point is: is prostitution so well paid a woman can buy that stuff?”
    “Who says she’s that?” Jury bit down on his toast, nearly cold and slightly burnt.
    “Come on. Woman leading a ‘second life’ in London, goes from Chesham librarian to London Saint Laurent?”
    Jury reached across the table and speared one of Melrose ’s sausages.
    “Hey! Get your own! You should have a look in this woman’s cupboard to see the rest of her wardrobe. Is she filthy rich? Even so, what does it say about her that she’d spend that kind of money on shoes? Self-indulgent, spoiled, egocentric…”
    Jury chewed slowly and looked at him.
    “What?… What?”
    “Well, there you go, working up a stereotype.”
    “I’m not stereotyping; I’m… profiling.”
    “Then you’re one sorry profiler. Typical of the male ego, he would find such extravagance joined either to prostitution or to a spoiled, shallow, self-indulgent woman, when there are certainly other viable interpretations, the least of which would explain this behavior. We’re making too much of the lady’s extravagance. After all, some women spend money like they’re minting it. If they didn’t, the entire fashion industry would go down.”
    “Then you don’t think these Jimmy Choo shoes are important?”
    “Of course I do. The shoes and the dress are very important. But I wouldn’t think twice if I saw them at the Albert Hall. It’s finding them in the grounds of the Black Cat that’s interesting.”
    “And everything points to her having been killed where she was found? I mean, that she wasn’t transported there?”
    “Everything: beginning with lividity, to the arterialblood-splatter, to the onset of rigor mortis, to an examination of the ground beneath the body to determine the amount of blood that soaked into it-everything.”
    “Oh, you’re just guessing.”
     
    In Bletchley Park, they stood looking down at this machine that was no bigger than a