The Stargazey by Martha Grimes

Author:Martha Grimes [Grimes, Martha]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: Literature & Fiction, Mystery; Thriller & Suspense, Mystery, British Detectives, Cozy, Animals, Thrillers & Suspense, Suspense
ISBN: 9781476732985
Amazon: B00BW4OLG2
Publisher: Scribner
Published: 2013-07-15T18:30:00+00:00

21

Another twenty-four hours, and we’re going to have to charge her, Jury.” Chilten was clearly uncomfortable. “What surprises me is she hasn’t got herself lawyered up by now. Says she doesn’t need one, since she hasn’t done anything. How naive. But she’s been here since Thursday night; you’d’ve thought she’d be screaming the bloody station down.”

“Unless she’s extremely clever.”

“Especially with the old lady punching holes in her alibi.”

“That’s what I mean. Kate McBride hasn’t been pressing it.”

Chilten expelled a long sigh. “You might be mistaken about that bus ride. It happens.”

Jury smiled. “It does. Only it hasn’t happened here.”

Chilten shrugged, started banging desk drawers in and out.

“I’ll talk to her again, Ronnie.”

• • •

She vanished. Jury had been carrying that around all day; it was never far from his thoughts, even when he’d been in the Pastis woman’s flat or in the Fabricant Gallery. What had happened to this child, Sophie?

When the constable brought her into the room, Jury was standing by the small window that looked out over the spindly tree and the square of frozen grass in which it sat. He turned to say hello to her, feeling all of this had happened before, probably because they were meeting in the same place: window, table, chairs exactly the same as they had been the morning before. Or was there something else to this sense of déjà vu?

She said hello, offered him a smile that looked worn-out, and sat down at the table.

Jury sat in the same chair, not that there was much of a choice. He asked, “Did you go there to meet someone?”

Her eyes widened. “Go where? What do you mean? Who would I meet?”

“The priest. Charles Noailles.” He watched her face for a reaction, but the face remained as still as undisturbed lake water. “He keeps an office at the palace, for his writing.”

She looked at him with a smile he supposed could be called resigned. “You didn’t see me, Superintendent. You saw her.”

Jury ignored this. “He said he knew your husband quite well when you lived in Paris. He didn’t know you very well.”

She bent her head, seemed to be studying her hands, and was silent for a few moments. “Michael, my husband—yes, he was friendly with this priest. I didn’t really know him. Michael needed a measure of spiritual sustenance. He was dying of leukemia.”

There was a silence.

“I’m sorry. Go on about your daughter, Sophie.”

Sadly, she looked at him. “Do you want to hear about it?”

“Yes, of course.”

She looked at him steadily. “It was in Paris. I stayed on there after Michael died.”

“In Saint-Germain-des-Prés.”

She nodded. “It happened one day in the Madeleine district. There’s that famous grocery Fauchon; it’s a swank market, food laid out like art, and every kind of fruit and vegetable you can imagine. The different kinds of food are sold in different buildings. It was Sophie’s favorite place to go. We’d make a day of it. First to the Tuileries, and then Annebelle’s in the rue de Rivoli for hot chocolate, then the Métro to the Madeleine and Fauchon’s.

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