The Black Cat by Martha Grimes Read Free Book Online

before. South Ken. I expect I liked London a lot more than Chris-”
    “I expect you did,” said Chris with a small laugh. “It was never much good for a wheelchair.”
    There was no rancor in her voice, but there was still a message there.
    And the expression on his face was oddly like that on Bobby Devlin’s, as if David Cummins, too, missed a language that had meant a lot to him.
     
    The cabbie who’d picked up Mariah Cox at the station told Jury no more than Cummins himself. Cummins had organized a meeting at the police station in Chesham.
    “All dressed up like a dog’s dinner, why, right off I thought she was headed to that swank party at Deer Park House. Took several fares there from other parts of town. So I was a mite s‘prised when she said the Black Cat. Course, like I tol’ ’er, I couldn’t get to the pub’s door. There’s that roadworks out in front. Gone now, but it was a mess for a couple days, cars detourin’ and business at the pub a shambles, and how she could walk in them high heels-” He shook his head, and that was all.

    It was on the way to the train that Cummins told Jury about Chris. “It happened in London, Sloane Square. There are a lot of zebra crossings there, and drivers just bloody hate them. You can’t assume they’re going to stop. Chris doesn’t assume, she insists. Pedestrians have the right of way, after all, so Chris just walks right on. Well, she did it this time, and the car didn’t or maybe couldn’t stop. It was going at a good clip. He hit Chris. But he did stop and call for an ambulance, so it wasn’t a hit-and-run. He got nicked for it, huge fine and served some time. The thing is, Chris was pregnant and she had a miscarriage.”
    “God. How awful.”
    “Worse, we can’t have kids now.” He sighed and pulled up to the station. “Why can’t drivers see that car crashes can be absolute bloody hell?”
    Jury thought of Lu.
    “We got a fairly hefty settlement out of it.” Wanly, he smiled.
    “Does that explain the shoe collection?”
    “Oh, no. Or not wholly. Chris’s family had money, quite a bit. She was always indulged, being the only child: nannies, good schools-that pricey one on the coast-and when she left there she could have gone to Oxford, Cambridge, you name it, but she chose not to. Instead, she married me.” Bleakly, he smiled. “Some trade-off, right?”
    “I’d say she got the best of the bargain, David.”
    That Jury’s saying this pleased DS Cummins no end was very clear.
    They sat in the car awhile, a no-parking zone in front of the station. Jury asked him if he’d lived all of his life in London. Was that why it seemed home to him?
    “No. Northumberland’s where I was born. We moved to the south, first to Portsmouth, then to Hastings. Mum loved the coast. Bit of a gypsy she was, liked moving. Hastings, Brighton, Bexhill-on-Sea, and back again. Drove poor Dad crazy.” Cummins laughed, apparently in tune with the craziness.
    “What kind of work did he do?”
    “Greengrocer. Funny, isn’t it? Back then I’d have done anything to get away from aubergines and apples. Now, I’m not so sure.”
    “You made the move from London because of Chris, then?”
    Without answering directly, David said, “Well, you have to make small sacrifices, don’t you? Like giving up my pack-a-day habit.”
    Jury gave a short laugh. “That’s no small sacrifice. I know; I stopped three years ago myself.”
    David said after a pause, “I’m afraid I haven’t done it yet. You know, the odd fag out behind the dustbins? Did you use any of the crutches-I mean, like those holders that let you down gradually? Or nicotine patches?”
    “No. I always figured it was more than nicotine.”
    “Me, I’m waiting for a Stoli patch. Or a Guinness one. Something that’ll really do me some good.”
    Jury laughed.
    David went on, apparently fond of the subject. “It’s hard for a woman, I mean, another person, a nonsmoker, to be around a guy who smokes. I