The Winds of Change (6 page)

Yet he hadn’t stopped; he hadn’t even slowed. His pace along the path was even. There was no one else; Jury’s feet alone crunched on the gravel. There was no sound except for a bird somewhere above him.

All of this had taken less than five minutes when he came upon steps going down. They were moss covered, soft and a bit slippery. The Crystal Grotto was situated at the bottom of these steps. According to Platt, Flora Scott had last been seen by her mother in front of this small cave. He wondered if Flora had gone inside the grotto to look, for the way the grotto was described made it sound quite romantic; pieces of crystal were embedded in the roof and back when the gardens flourished, the owners would set candles all about and the light from the candles would reflect on the crystals.

Mary Scott had apparently gone on ahead and around shrubberies that would have blocked her view of the grotto. But if it had been only a minute or two until she realized Flora was not behind her, whoever took the little girl had to have been following them and had to be very quick. Jury didn’t see how this person could have been waiting in this spot, for Heligan’s gardens were vast and she (Jury imagined it was a woman) wouldn’t have known Mary and Flora would come this way.

He or she could have known, however, that they often visited here. If that was the case, it might not have been random. Which would seem to leave it at someone who knew them and meant to take Flora and not just any little girl. If it was Viktor Baumann, though, how could he have hidden the child for the three years since her abduction? There was nothing more to be seen at the site of a three-year-old crime. If indeed it had been a crime.

His name was Marvin Griswold and he’d been working here in several capacities for more than four years. The ticket kiosk was only one of them.

‘Well, it’s hard to remember that far back, three years, I mean, remember exactly what the circumstances were,’ said
 

Marvin Griswold in answer to Jury’s question about the disappearance of Flora Scott. ‘Of course I remember the incident. I mean, it was in all the papers. It was very dramatic. For six months after you could hardly get near the Crystal Grotto. People can be such ghouls, can’t they? But do I remember seeing them - her and her mother on that particular day? No, I don’t. It must have been someone else in the kiosk when they came.’

He sounded a little resentful as if someone else was having all the fun.

Jury thought about the geography of the gardens. ‘Anyone entering comes by your kiosk to get a ticket?’

‘Yes. It’s not exactly a ticket; it’s one of these pins.’ He held out a small metal tab that a visitor would affix to a jacket or coat.

‘And leaving?’

Griswold shook his head. ‘Not unless they come back by the same way. More likely, they’d come out by way of one of the other paths, such as behind the gift shop over there’ - he waved his hand in that direction, past Jury’s back. ‘There are several ways that lead to here.’

‘And the Scott woman would have had a map.’

Marvin blew out his cheeks in thoughtful contemplation. ‘I expect so. We always hand over a map with the pin. But she might not have bothered with one if she and the little girl visited often.’

‘When you didn’t see her return, didn’t you wonder?’

‘No, because as I’ve just told you, there are a number of exits.’

‘Which also means there are a number of entrances. From the gardens to here, to the buildings, such as the gift shop. But there’s only one exit back to the road. Through the car park.’

‘Yes, for the visitors. Of course there are other roads the workmen use. As to what you’re calling a number of entrances, theoretically, yes. But people don’t do that, do they? Try to sneak in. I mean, not into a place such as Heligan. It’s not a cinema or a Stones concert, is it?’

‘No,’ said Jury, smiling.

Marvin sighed. ‘You know, I’ve already been questioned by police, and more than once.’

‘But not by me.’ Jury gestured in good-bye. ‘Thanks for your help.’

Sergeant Platt was sitting on one of the wooden benches with a cup of tea when Jury walked into the cafe.

‘You found it?’ Platt said.

That made Jury smile for some reason. It was as if the grotto had a tendency to move around. ‘I did, yes. I can’t say I’m much enlightened by the find, though.’

‘Yes, well, the boss just wanted to put you in the picture, you know. He was talking about atmosphere. Having a look round. You know.’ Platt frowned a little, seemingly pained by his not finding exactly the right words to describe what Macalvie had meant.

‘And he was right. I should see it; I’m glad I did. Enlightenment, let’s hope, will come some time down the way.’

‘You want some tea or something?’

‘I could use some food. Maybe we can just move along to Launceston. ‘

‘Right. South Petherwin, actually. A little village before Launceston. There’s a pub there.’

Good. A pub lunch. Jury was starving. Except for those dozen or so cups of tea, he’d had nothing all day. ‘Fine.’

7

The Winds of Change was located in the village of South Petherwin and, given the size of the car park, was set up for a brisk business. The lack of it was probably owing to the time of year or the time of day. At the car park’s far end, a large space was marked off for tour buses. Jury wondered what it was about the village that would attract tourists.

Brian Macalvie, who had driven there from Devon and Cornwall police headquarters, was sitting at the bar, drinking, smoking and watching the door. When Jury and Platt walked in, he waved them over as if picking them out over the heads of a crowd and as if he’d been sitting here for hours - days, even - waiting for the congenitally late.

Jury sat down and pulled out the menu. Cody ordered a club soda.

‘What took you so long?’ asked Macalvie.

Cody opened his mouth to answer, but Jury got there ahead of him. ‘Most people say a simple ‘Hello, how are you?’ when greeting old friends. Your standard greeting has always been ‘What took you so long?’’

Macalvie drank from his pint and stared at Jury, expressionless. Jury repeated it: ‘Every time it’s ‘what took you so long?’’ Macalvie wiped a trace of foam from his mouth. ‘What did?’

Cody’s snort of laughter got him club soda up the nose. Then he said, ‘My fault, boss; I let him go off.’

‘Me, the old pensioner leaning on his zimmer bar.’

To Cody, Macalvie said, ‘You were supposed to show him the place, not let him go wandering all over.’

Cody mumbled some half-baked apology and took his club soda into the room on the left with a billiard table.

Jury looked around for the barman. ‘I’m glad this is a pub. I’m starving.’

‘Lunch has gone off.’

‘Oh, terrific.’ When the barman came, Jury asked for a pint of Pride and tossed the menu aside, saying, ‘Let me get this straight. You discovered this dead woman is - was - an acquaintance of Scott’s wife, Mary, according to the husband?’

‘Declan Scott. The one I told you about. You’d wonder he could live there with so many memories.’ As if he knew the limit on memories, Macalvie looked away. ‘He wants to be where the memories are.’

‘Does anyone have a choice?’

There came a click of billiard balls from the room next door.

The barman set down Jury’s pint.

‘Probably not. But don’t some people feed on them?’ said Macalvie.

Jury thought Macalvie might be one of them. ‘Perhaps. And this is the man you want me to talk to?’

‘That’s right.’

‘Didn’t you say you didn’t like him for this murder?’

Macalvie shook his head. ‘I don’t. I don’t think he did it, but I can’t point to any hard evidence. He certainly doesn’t have an alibi. He was alone, asleep.’

‘But you think this case is connected to the disappearance of the little girl. Flora?’ Jury drank his beer, hoping it would fill him up.

Macalvie nodded, staring at the row of optics as if the name were so potent he had to find an antidote. When Macalvie didn’t go on, Jury had to prompt him. ‘She was four? Five?’

‘Four.’ Macalvie cleared his throat.

A brief answer, as if brevity could block out some part of this bleak scene. Again, Jury prompted him. ‘She was abducted from a point around this Crystal Grotto. Correct?’ Jury was trying to coax him into responsiveness. Seldom did he have to do that.

Macalvie’s eyes were now on the rings his glass was sweating onto the old bar. He pulled over a coaster advertising Johnnie Walker Black and slid it carefully beneath the pint. ‘Flora - ‘ Again, Macalvie cleared his throat. ‘Flora and her mother liked to walk there. On this particular day - well, it was no different from the rest - at one point Flora got a little way behind her mother on the walk. Mum had gone round to look at some New Zealand plants for a few moments and then realized Flora wasn’t right there. But she didn’t panic; the girl was quite familiar with the layout and she was used to Flora’s stopping along the way, just as she herself did. She called her name. No answer. She went on calling, retracing her steps and still no answer. Then she got anxious, then frightened. This had now been going on for a good ten minutes and of course those gardens are immense. She stopped people, asked them if they’d seen a little girl on her own, but no one had. Finally, she got hold of some of the staff and told them and they in turn got one of the administrators, who immediately called the local police. Before they came, the staff was searching, even some of the visitors were on the lookout. Cody can give you details about the search. This was three years ago. He was a DC then, detective constable.

‘There were a lot of tourists, which made the search that much harder. Anyone could have come in, seen her alone and snatched her.’

‘She would have resisted - yelled, screamed, something.’

‘‘Probably. But how many times have you seen a parent pulling a crying, screaming child along. Last time you were in a Safeway, maybe? Mum looking stony, or maybe a dad trying to cajole the kid, and he or she keeps on yelling? I see you don’t like that theory.’

Jury had been shaking his head. ‘There has to be something seriously different about those instances and this one. Flora would have been yelling for help. I’m not saying a snatch wasn’t possible, but it’s probably more likely she was drugged, chloroformed, maybe. And then something got thrown around her - a coat, a shawl. Then she could have just been carted out like a sleeping child, head over the perp’s shoulder.’

Macalvie stirred his coffee. ‘You’re good at this; maybe you should do it for a living.’

‘Thanks.’

‘There being no ransom demand finally made Mary Scott think it was the ex-husband, Viktor Baumann.’

‘I talked to him. I couldn’t come to any conclusion. I mean other than that he’s arrogant and a number of other things.’

‘Back then he looked like a dead cert. Another possibility was it was one of those snatches that happen when the perp, who’s nine times out of ten a woman, wants the baby, not the money. So there wasn’t much we could do. Hell, there wasn’t anything we could do because the trail stopped.

‘Mary Scott blamed herself for letting Flora out of her sight.

Parents always seem to do that, don’t they? I told her there’s no way you can watch your child twenty-four hours a day. No way. If someone was determined to take Flora they would have found a dozen ways to do it.’

Macalvie was silent for a moment, then he said, ‘The dead woman looked familiar to Scott himself and that’s when he remembered seeing her once with his wife in London. He and Mary had driven up for the day to do Christmas shopping. They booked a room at Brown’s. They returned the next day. Scott had been visiting the galleries, looking for a painting to give his wife. He found one, probably set him back a year’s salary - I mean, for you, not me –’

‘Very funny.’

‘- and when he walked into Brown’s, he saw Mary sitting in the lounge having tea with a woman he didn’t know. He didn’t want to intrude, and besides, he didn’t want her to see what he was carrying - obviously a painting, given the shape and size of the parcel - so he fixed it up with one of the porters to wrap it in some unrecognizable form and stash it in the trunk of their car, which they hadn’t been using anyway. When he finally went back to the lounge, they were gone. That was near five o’clock. Mary must have gone out again, for he didn’t see her until after six; she said she’d been at Fortnum’s and in Jermyn Street. She held up one of those little Links bags. He asked her who her friend was and she played dumb at first, as if she didn’t know what he was talking about. When he said he’d seen her in the lounge, having tea, well, then, she snapped her mental fingers and said, oh, yes. An old school chum she’d run into purely by accident. He asked her from where and she trotted out Roedean.’

‘What was her name?’

Macalvie shook his head. ‘Mary Scott didn’t say. And her husband didn’t ask. He said if she’d wanted to tell him she would have. Scott’s got a real feeling for others’ privacy.’

‘And the husband is the only one you’ve questioned who made any connection?’

Macalvie nodded. ‘The police photo didn’t register with anyone at Roedean; no one remembered the woman. Why would she lie about that, something we could so easily check up on?’