Free Rainbow's End by Martha Grimes Page B

doubt, by Chief Inspector Rush. It didn’t look good, foreigners dying on National Trust property. “You know about that?”
    Lady Cray’s silvery eyes slid him a look. “A body turning up at Old Sarum has a way of getting one’s attention, yes.”
    â€œIt’s not my case.” Wasn’t Macalvie’s either, he told himself yet again. “I’m merely helping a divisional commander out there.”
    â€œYou mean the two are connected? Fanny and that young woman?”
    â€œThe divisional commander thinks so.” He shrugged. “It’s a hunch.” The hell it is , he could almost hear Macalvie’s voice.
    There was a silence. They both sipped their champagne. “Well, and are you going to tell me? Hunch-wise, I mean?” Another silence. She picked up the turquoise sculpture. “To do with this?”
    â€œYes. But I’m not sure what. Was Fanny Hamilton actually from Philadelphia?”
    Lady Cray nodded. “Remember, we talked about her family when I told you about Philip. You know her background.”
    â€œForeground, then. She’d come back from America about two months before she died. Was she different in any way?”
    â€œOnly in respect to grieving over Philip’s death. To tell the truth, she didn’t really rabbit on about her trip.”
    â€œWhat about postcards? Did she send postcards?”
    â€œYes.” Lady Cray frowned. “She did. But I might have thrown them out.”
    â€œAll the same, would you have a look?”
    She nodded, started to get up, sat back down. “What about the people in the Tate who were there when she died? What about the people around her at the time? Could someone she came in contact there have—?” She made vague gestures with her hands. A large stone, a marquise-cut diamond, Jury thought, slid a fraction back on her thin finger.
    Jury thought back to the couple who’d been sitting on the end of the bench where Fanny had died. Bea and Gabe. “Yes. She more or less fell right against a young woman sitting beside her. And her boyfriend.” He remembered their names because he’d found it so ironic that two kids would be making out in front of Rossetti’s painting Beata Beatrix. He’d have to ring Wiggins when he got back to his flat and tell him to find out from C Division the whereabouts of Bea and Gabe, and any other witnesses, too.
    â€œI imagine that if they had been questioned, it wouldn’t have been with the same bare-knuckles approach reserved for witnesses to a murder.” She flashed him a smile.
    â€œThat the treatment you get from the cops? Beatings? Strip searches?”
    â€œNo. I generally just confess. I noticed you were looking at my ring. Wondering if I’d been to New Bond Street lately?”
    Jury smiled, shook his head. Lady Cray had had plenty of trouble with police. She was a kleptomaniac. But improving lately, since her thieving focused only on certain things. Not diamonds, certainly.
    â€œThis turquoise, in case you’re interested”—she picked up the small block—“is the real thing. Persian, probably, as that’s where most of it comes from. Not many turquoise mines left in the States. And one has to be careful not to be fooled by the fake stuff. The kind that’s been injected with plastic.”
    Jury smiled. “You’re quite knowledgeable, Lady Cray.”
    â€œIn my line of work, it’s better to be. God knows what sort of rubbish I might pick up otherwise.” She bestowed upon him another glittery smile. “Right now, I feel like going out and robbing a newsagent or something. Your ‘inquiry’ is beginning to tire me.” From under the rosewood lid of the desk she took out papers—letters, cards—and sifted through them. “Here’s one.” She held up a postcard, looked at the message. “Unfortunately, Fanny was of the