Read Online Trick of the Mind by Cassandra Chan - Free Book Online
Authors: Cassandra Chan
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by now?”
Davies grinned at him. “It’s very seldom,” he said, “that I find a subject you’re not well versed in. But apparently you know very little about gunshot wounds.”
“I readily admit that,” retorted James. “Frankly, I had never thought it would be a topic of import to me. I take it they’re keeping him sedated?”
“No, that’s not the problem,” answered Davies. “Poor Gibbons
has forgotten most of yesterday. I don’t know whether any of it is likely to come back or not, but at the moment his memory stops on his way into the Yard in the morning.”
“Ah,” said James, considering this. “So he doesn’t remember our interview with the Colemans? Or our lunch together?”
“No,” said Davies, his eyes lighting up at this revelation. “You took him to lunch, did you?”
“Yes, and found him a very pleasant companion. Mind you, he’s appallingly ignorant about jewels—and painting, for that matter—but he’s a very intelligent sort, and picks things up quickly. I should say he’s already fully grasped just how different our work is from Homicide’s. And,” he added, “it was rather a relief to me that he wasn’t one of the country lads you sometimes send me who seem to think my slightest comment off the case is an effort to chat them up.”
Davies smiled. “That was Sergeant Dent.”
James simply sighed and shook his head.
“Well,” he said, “let’s order, shall we? And then you can tell me what happened to poor Sergeant Gibbons.” He beckoned the waiter. “Shall I decide?” he asked.
It was their usual arrangement, James having a reputation as a gourmet, and Davies nodded acquiescence.
James’s good humor seemed to return as he discussed the merits of various dishes and ingredients with the waiter, but with the ordering of their meal accomplished he turned serious again.
“So you think this shooting is connected with the Haverford case?” he asked.
Davies waggled a hand. “We just don’t know at this point,” he said simply. “Everything is being considered.”
“How did it happen?”
“We don’t know that, either,” said Davies, frustration in his voice. “For some reason, Gibbons went to Walworth last night and was shot in the street around nine o’clock. That’s the sum total of the facts at the moment.”
“And your job is to either rule in or rule out the Haverford case as a connection,” said James, nodding. “Well, I don’t know that I can tell you much. Let’s see …” He rested his elbows on the table and
steepled his fingers in front of him while he marshaled his thoughts. “The interview with the Colemans was largely inconclusive,” he said slowly. “I came away thinking it unlikely they were running a scam, though they’re a difficult couple to make out. Particularly her.”
Davies raised an eyebrow. “So why were you inclined to exonerate them?” he asked.
“Oh, it wasn’t anything to do with our interview,” said James. “It’s just logic. The robbery looked quite professional, or so I gathered from your forensics lads, and I didn’t see how two people only recently arrived in England would have the necessary connections. On the other hand, the fact that they may well be planning to leave the country means they could conceivably keep the insurance money and sell the jewelry elsewhere in the world. Well, I’m sure you’ve worked that out for yourself.”
Davies nodded thoughtfully and sipped at his wine. “Yes, I explained to Sergeant Gibbons that the pieces themselves were worth more than just the value of the jewels in them, and that only someone very desperate for money would be likely to sell the jewels off individually. I take it the Colemans don’t seem desperate to you?”
“Not a bit of it,” answered James. “I admit that I found Mrs. Coleman very enigmatic, but there was nothing enigmatic about her clothes. Designer labels and two-hundred-pound Italian shoes—not the wardrobe of anybody
Davies grinned at him. “It’s very seldom,” he said, “that I find a subject you’re not well versed in. But apparently you know very little about gunshot wounds.”
“I readily admit that,” retorted James. “Frankly, I had never thought it would be a topic of import to me. I take it they’re keeping him sedated?”
“No, that’s not the problem,” answered Davies. “Poor Gibbons
has forgotten most of yesterday. I don’t know whether any of it is likely to come back or not, but at the moment his memory stops on his way into the Yard in the morning.”
“Ah,” said James, considering this. “So he doesn’t remember our interview with the Colemans? Or our lunch together?”
“No,” said Davies, his eyes lighting up at this revelation. “You took him to lunch, did you?”
“Yes, and found him a very pleasant companion. Mind you, he’s appallingly ignorant about jewels—and painting, for that matter—but he’s a very intelligent sort, and picks things up quickly. I should say he’s already fully grasped just how different our work is from Homicide’s. And,” he added, “it was rather a relief to me that he wasn’t one of the country lads you sometimes send me who seem to think my slightest comment off the case is an effort to chat them up.”
Davies smiled. “That was Sergeant Dent.”
James simply sighed and shook his head.
“Well,” he said, “let’s order, shall we? And then you can tell me what happened to poor Sergeant Gibbons.” He beckoned the waiter. “Shall I decide?” he asked.
It was their usual arrangement, James having a reputation as a gourmet, and Davies nodded acquiescence.
James’s good humor seemed to return as he discussed the merits of various dishes and ingredients with the waiter, but with the ordering of their meal accomplished he turned serious again.
“So you think this shooting is connected with the Haverford case?” he asked.
Davies waggled a hand. “We just don’t know at this point,” he said simply. “Everything is being considered.”
“How did it happen?”
“We don’t know that, either,” said Davies, frustration in his voice. “For some reason, Gibbons went to Walworth last night and was shot in the street around nine o’clock. That’s the sum total of the facts at the moment.”
“And your job is to either rule in or rule out the Haverford case as a connection,” said James, nodding. “Well, I don’t know that I can tell you much. Let’s see …” He rested his elbows on the table and
steepled his fingers in front of him while he marshaled his thoughts. “The interview with the Colemans was largely inconclusive,” he said slowly. “I came away thinking it unlikely they were running a scam, though they’re a difficult couple to make out. Particularly her.”
Davies raised an eyebrow. “So why were you inclined to exonerate them?” he asked.
“Oh, it wasn’t anything to do with our interview,” said James. “It’s just logic. The robbery looked quite professional, or so I gathered from your forensics lads, and I didn’t see how two people only recently arrived in England would have the necessary connections. On the other hand, the fact that they may well be planning to leave the country means they could conceivably keep the insurance money and sell the jewelry elsewhere in the world. Well, I’m sure you’ve worked that out for yourself.”
Davies nodded thoughtfully and sipped at his wine. “Yes, I explained to Sergeant Gibbons that the pieces themselves were worth more than just the value of the jewels in them, and that only someone very desperate for money would be likely to sell the jewels off individually. I take it the Colemans don’t seem desperate to you?”
“Not a bit of it,” answered James. “I admit that I found Mrs. Coleman very enigmatic, but there was nothing enigmatic about her clothes. Designer labels and two-hundred-pound Italian shoes—not the wardrobe of anybody
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