Read Online The Winds of Change by Martha Grimes - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Martha Grimes
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that, wasn’t it? The point at which one stops feeling because his feelings are spent. Emotionally bankrupt, that’s how he described his characters. I don’t believe it; there’s always an account that you can draw on. Always. I’m not sure whether that’s a blessing, though. Having despair be just around the corner.’
Cody looked down at his uninviting empty cup and was silent for some moments. Finally, he said, ‘Maybe I should have got something to eat.’ He looked at Jury as if assessing whether the superintendent would fall in with this plan.
Jury almost laughed at the level of concentration Cody was applying to this matter. ‘Go ahead. I’m not in any hurry.’
The waitress wandered over - wandering between tables and chairs was the only way to put it - and Jury noticed for the first time the ring on her finger. It was a diamond cut to its last facet, so tiny one might have thought the jeweler was splitting the atom. ‘I like your ring,’ he said. ‘I like the setting, too. It’s beautiful.’
Her blush was almost feverish. ‘I only just got it last night.’
She stretched her arm out for them to admire it from afar. ‘If I seem a bit dim, well, you know ... ‘ But her dimness went unembroidered with explanation.
‘Not dim. Merely distracted, and you should be. Now, my friend here wants to order something else.’
‘Beans on toast, I think.’ What else? Jury smiled.
‘And more tea?’ she asked, sunnily. As if the mere prospect of another cup were cause for celebration. Cody nodded and she thanked him. Then she was off, to stumble and nearly fall when one in a row of high chairs caught her foot.
Jury watched her cut a swath of near accidents across the room, then turned to Cody and said, ‘What was Flora like? Was she a smart kid? Sweet?’
Cody’s clear eyes grew troubled, like troubled water, a disturbance beneath their surface. ‘Oh, she was smart all right.’ He smiled. ‘But I don’t know as you’d call her sweet. She was kind of stubborn.’
‘She was four years old. ‘Stubborn’ goes with the territory.’
The waitress was setting down his plate of beans and toast with a flourish and a ‘Ta-dah !’ She had apparently traded distraction for entertainment. Cody thanked her and she walked off, much more steady on her feet, like a sailor who’d finally learned the trick of it.
Jury watched Cody fork up the beans. So he did have his little indulgences. ‘You don’t smoke. Do you drink?’
‘No. I stopped that too.’ Cody shoved up his glasses and leaned toward Jury and said with an intense whisper. ‘I’m an alcoholic and believe me, it’s hell, pure and simple. Never a day goes by I don’t want it. It’s sheer hell.’
The corners of Jury’s mouth wanted to creep upward, but he pulled them down.
Inwardly, he smiled. Cody redeemed.
9
Jury liked Detective Sergeant Platt, but he didn’t want Cody with him when he visited the Angel Gate gardens any more than he had in the Heligan gardens. He wanted silence; he wanted to absorb whatever there might be in its sunken history, for he knew even without seeing the place where the body had lain that its history was going to hold some key to the solution. This was not his intuition, and it certainly wasn’t a brilliant deduction. It was simple: either someone had wanted to make a ‘statement’ (that overused concept!) by killing this woman here-thus the ‘here’ was significant-or else the killer had little choice but to do it here, which might mean the killer probably had been in the house or the gardens to begin with.
It was okay with Cody if Jury wanted to walk about on his own.
‘I need to get some things done anyway. Over there’ - he pointed to the white caravan off in the distance - ‘is our incidents room. We could have set up inside the house but the boss didn’t want to do that.’ He turned to Jury. ‘And he told me to assist you in any way I can.’
‘You have done and I’ll tell him
Cody looked down at his uninviting empty cup and was silent for some moments. Finally, he said, ‘Maybe I should have got something to eat.’ He looked at Jury as if assessing whether the superintendent would fall in with this plan.
Jury almost laughed at the level of concentration Cody was applying to this matter. ‘Go ahead. I’m not in any hurry.’
The waitress wandered over - wandering between tables and chairs was the only way to put it - and Jury noticed for the first time the ring on her finger. It was a diamond cut to its last facet, so tiny one might have thought the jeweler was splitting the atom. ‘I like your ring,’ he said. ‘I like the setting, too. It’s beautiful.’
Her blush was almost feverish. ‘I only just got it last night.’
She stretched her arm out for them to admire it from afar. ‘If I seem a bit dim, well, you know ... ‘ But her dimness went unembroidered with explanation.
‘Not dim. Merely distracted, and you should be. Now, my friend here wants to order something else.’
‘Beans on toast, I think.’ What else? Jury smiled.
‘And more tea?’ she asked, sunnily. As if the mere prospect of another cup were cause for celebration. Cody nodded and she thanked him. Then she was off, to stumble and nearly fall when one in a row of high chairs caught her foot.
Jury watched her cut a swath of near accidents across the room, then turned to Cody and said, ‘What was Flora like? Was she a smart kid? Sweet?’
Cody’s clear eyes grew troubled, like troubled water, a disturbance beneath their surface. ‘Oh, she was smart all right.’ He smiled. ‘But I don’t know as you’d call her sweet. She was kind of stubborn.’
‘She was four years old. ‘Stubborn’ goes with the territory.’
The waitress was setting down his plate of beans and toast with a flourish and a ‘Ta-dah !’ She had apparently traded distraction for entertainment. Cody thanked her and she walked off, much more steady on her feet, like a sailor who’d finally learned the trick of it.
Jury watched Cody fork up the beans. So he did have his little indulgences. ‘You don’t smoke. Do you drink?’
‘No. I stopped that too.’ Cody shoved up his glasses and leaned toward Jury and said with an intense whisper. ‘I’m an alcoholic and believe me, it’s hell, pure and simple. Never a day goes by I don’t want it. It’s sheer hell.’
The corners of Jury’s mouth wanted to creep upward, but he pulled them down.
Inwardly, he smiled. Cody redeemed.
9
Jury liked Detective Sergeant Platt, but he didn’t want Cody with him when he visited the Angel Gate gardens any more than he had in the Heligan gardens. He wanted silence; he wanted to absorb whatever there might be in its sunken history, for he knew even without seeing the place where the body had lain that its history was going to hold some key to the solution. This was not his intuition, and it certainly wasn’t a brilliant deduction. It was simple: either someone had wanted to make a ‘statement’ (that overused concept!) by killing this woman here-thus the ‘here’ was significant-or else the killer had little choice but to do it here, which might mean the killer probably had been in the house or the gardens to begin with.
It was okay with Cody if Jury wanted to walk about on his own.
‘I need to get some things done anyway. Over there’ - he pointed to the white caravan off in the distance - ‘is our incidents room. We could have set up inside the house but the boss didn’t want to do that.’ He turned to Jury. ‘And he told me to assist you in any way I can.’
‘You have done and I’ll tell him
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