Mungo raised up and looked out the window. He thought he saw Westminster. They were still in London.
He lay down. Morris’s eye wasn’t there anymore at the hole. Morris was asleep.
Mungo sighed. All of these people, all over the place. Why’s it always down to me?
51
Languidly, Harry smoked. No, he didn’t want his solicitor. He hadn’t done anything except borrow a cat for a few days.
“To be precise,” said Jenkins, sitting across the table from him, “the word is ‘kidnapped.’ Or ‘stolen.’ That’s pretty much the way we look at it, and it’s illegal, sir. That dog of yours, Ringo? How would you like it-”
Ringo. Jury laughed silently.
“Mun-go,” said Harry. “How would I like it if somebody kidnapped Mungo? Nobody could. Mungo’s too smart. I wouldn’t have a dog around who wasn’t.”
Jury raised his eyes heavenward. He was leaning against the wall, letting Jenkins take care of Harry.
“If we could go back to the Monday night, Mr. Johnson. You were in Chesham? But you’ve no one to substantiate that story?”
“That’s right. And this is repetitious. That certainly isn’t enough to charge me. You have no evidence that I even knew this woman, Debra whatever-”
“Deirdre Small.”
“-so you’d hardly have any evidence to show I killed her.”
“Let’s go back to the first victim, Mariah Cox, or Stacy Storm, as she called herself. She was also on her way to that party at the Rexroths’. The one you attended.”
Harry raised his eyebrows. “And?”
“A coincidence, is that?”
“Well, it must be, since I never met this Storm woman. Never even saw her.”
Jury shoved himself away from the wall and moved over to the table. He sat down on one corner. “You know what bothers me about this, Harry?”
Harry checked the lit end of his cigar, blew on it softly. “What?”
“You don’t go to parties.”
Harry looked completely surprised.
Jury smiled.
“Are you trying to say that I wasn’t there?”
“Oh, you were there all right. What I’m wondering is why you were there. Do you know a man named Simon Santos?”
“Never heard of him.”
“He was Stacy’s date for that evening.”
Harry looked from Jury to Jenkins and back again. “Then why in hell have you dragged me in for questioning? It would seem he’s the one you want.”
“Unless, of course, you thought Stacy was your personal property and you didn’t much like her meeting Mr. Santos.”
“Oh, bloody hell,” said Harry. “You know me better than that.”
“I do?” said Jury, looking genuinely puzzled.
Jenkins said, “You didn’t know either one of these women?”
“Of course not.”
“You went to Chesham to return a cat-the one you’d taken. Why would you do that? Why not just keep it or get rid of it some way? Take it to a shelter.”
Jury thought Jenkins didn’t realize he was using reason to try to explain completely unreasonable behavior.
“Because I wanted the cat to reappear, to come back. I’ve told you, it was a joke. A joke on Superintendent Jury.”
“Yet Superintendent Jury doesn’t get it.”
“Oh, he gets it all right. He seems to be returning the favor.” Harry turned partway in his chair, not far enough that he could actually see Jury, just enough to let Jury know he was aware he was there.
Jury smiled, saying nothing.
“All right,” said Jenkins in a tone that suggested it was not “all right,” that it was indeed idiotic. “Perhaps someone did see you. A man with a cat carrier might be noticed.”
“No one saw me, Inspector. I took pains that no one would.”
Mention of the carrier reminded Jury to check his watch. It was by now nearly five, almost an hour since they’d left Harry’s house. Plant would be well away by now. Halfway to Chesham.
“Let’s talk about the second victim. Kate Banks. On the night she was murdered, you were at home?”
“Yes, again.”
“You were alone.”
Harry nodded. “Yes, as I said.”
“Are you familiar with the King’s Road Companions escort service? Or Smart Set or Valentine’s?”
Harry’s expression was contemptuous. “Inspector, I’ve never used an escort service in my life. Highly paid and well-organized prostitution.”
“Perhaps not all of them. King’s Road Companions claims to work just that way. Companionship, either alone or at social functions. No sex.”
“You believe that, do you?”
“I’m inclined to after talking with several of the women who work for it. It’s different from the escort services.”
Jury wondered if the difference was significant. Poor Kate. Her death moved him in a way the others’ hadn’t. Perhaps because she seemed such a good person.
Fifteen minutes later, he left Snow Hill after Jenkins said to him, “You know we can’t hold him much longer.”
“Try.” Jury thanked him and left.
Jury didn’t take off his coat so much as cast it off, aiming it in the general direction of the office coatrack. “Is it getting cold or am I getting old? You don’t really have to think about it, Wiggins. So where’s this photo?”
Holding the picture, Wiggins slapped it down on Jury’s desk. “It’s from Myra Brewer’s album. Taken on Brighton pier. Prepare to be surprised, boss. The girls are friends of Kate Banks.”
Jury glanced at the line of girls. “I don’t see Deirdre Small or Mariah Cox here.”
“I didn’t say they were. Look again.”
Jury did so. His glance stopped on the face of the unsmiling girl-aggressively unsmiling, if there were such an expression. As if she hated the person holding the camera.
“Bloody hell. Christine Cummins.”
“Her name’s not Christine, sir. It’s Crystal, Crystal North back then. Which is probably why we missed any connection to Mrs. Cummins when we were checking these women’s backgrounds. Not that we’d’ve come up with every single friend or acquaintance… But what do you think, guv?”
Jury sat staring at the photo. “I don’t. I don’t have one bloody idea, Wiggins.”
“Maybe this time it is coincidence. I know you hate that word, only…”
Jury leaned back. “The trouble with coincidence in this case is that Chris Cummins didn’t say anything about knowing Kate Banks. Not a word.”
“Maybe she just saw the write-up in the papers or heard the news and didn’t put the murdered Kate together with her old Roedean chum Kate. Of course, we don’t know she went there. And these girls in the photo didn’t necessarily go there. Although Myra Brewer seemed to think they were all school chums.”
“‘A pricey public school on the coast,’ that’s what David Cummins said. That could certainly have meant Roedean. It’s near Brighton.”
“There’re a lot of pricey schools. That could just be coincidence, too.”
Jury shook his head. “Could be, but…” He checked his watch, got up. “I’ve got to get back to my place and change my clothes. I’ve got a date with our girl from Valentine’s. Stacy Storm’s flatmate.”
“You mean Adele Astaire?”
“Right. Aka Rose Moss.” He retrieved his coat, which had fallen to the floor. “Come on, it’s nearly six. Good job, Wiggins.”
Walking down the corridor, Wiggins said, “What about Harry Johnson?”
“Jenkins took him in for questioning. ‘Helping us with our inquiries.’ ” Jury snickered.
“Do you honestly think he killed these women?”
“No.” Jury smiled.
52
After a scanty half an hour’s presence in the Black Cat, Mungo had already divested a tubby man sitting at the bar of half a banger; been offered a hard-boiled egg, which he’d turned down, not knowing what to do with it; got a large portion of beans on toast (eaten the beans and left the toast) belonging to a couple who’d been having a quiet meal at a table by the fireplace.