The Crime of Huey Dunstan Read Online Free PDF

I can suck. How long have you been blind? Somebody told me you’d gone blind. D’you want to talk about it? No? Good. Tell me about this case you’re on.”
    “No, first you tell me how you’ve been,” I said to him when the waiter had taken our order.
    “Fucking terrible.” He let loose a string of obscenities. “Prost, Ches.” He clanged his glass against mine, burped and said in a voice so fierce I became alarmed, “I’m going to kill that woman.”
    I knew something about the loss of inhibitions and the uncharacteristic use of expletives that often accompanies senile dementia in old age—I remembered Peggy Ashcroft’s portrayal of Barbie in The Jewel in the Crown. But I had not met the phenomenon head-on before. What struck me was how Andrew’s swearing emerged in the accents of an afternoon tea-party with the Feilding aristocracy where his people, immigrants from Norfolk and Hamburg, had once farmed and he had grown up. I was trying desperately to find a way of deflecting the flow of coprolalia when it subsided of itself.
    “Felicity died,” he said, in German. “ Felicity ist tod .” Now he was weeping. The table shook with his sobs. “We had some lovely times, didn’t we, Ches?” He reached across the table and took my hand. I nodded, smiling. Felicity was his wife, a lovely creature several years his junior, with raven tresses which she had worn long. I had fancied her myself once.
    “I didn’t know you spoke German, Andrew,” I said.
    “I don’t. My mother did. When are you going to tell me about this case?”
    “All right,” I said, and talked for fifteen minutesnon-stop. The waiter refilled our glasses. Andrew didn’t interrupt. At one point he grabbed my wrist, saying, “Go on. Go on.”
    “You know what riles me,” he said at length. “That woman. She wants to paint my toenails blue.” He hadn’t heard a word.
    “Do you remember the medal,” I said. “That boy you acquitted?”
    “What? No. Sutherland, was it? Some Scottish name?”
    Presently I excused myself and went to find the lavatory. Returning to the table, I was intercepted by the waiter.
    “Your mate, sir. The old gentleman’s fallen asleep. He’s broken a glass. He’s also ordered another bottle.”
    “That’s all right,” I said. “Hey, Andrew! Schultz!”—I tapped the table-top with my cane. “Wake up. Court’s in session.”
    “Was I asleep?” He woke abruptly. “Funny thing, Ches. I could have sworn it was a Maori name. Chap in your case.”
    “My case? D’you mean my case or your case?”
    “No, no, your case. Duncan, was it?”
    “Dunstan. Huey Dunstan.”
    “Dunstan, that’s right. Told you. The chap I acquitted had a Scottish name.” He had muddled the two cases in his mind.
    “Coffee, Andrew?”
    “I’d like some more pud. Waiter,” he shouted. “I hope you don’t mind, Ches. I’ve ordered another bottle. Please tell that young woman,” he said to the waiter when the bottle arrived, “her name’s Emily by the way. Please tell my bleeding drill sergeant Emily, when she returns at 8.30, that I am enjoying myself. She is to go away and come back at 9.30. Got that? Good. Now Ches—” He had grabbed my wrist again. “Let’s be serious.” I heard his chair scrape. He was sitting forward.
    “Yes?”
    “Nothing,” he said, and lapsed into silence.
    Suddenly he said, “Why didn’t you tell me you were in the paper?”
    “What paper?”
    “This morning’s paper, of course. Front page. Boy in caravan, unusual case. I’ve been following it. Now don’t tell me you weren’t there yesterday giving evidence!”
    “I wasn’t. It was today,” I said. But he took no notice.
    “Provocation, eh. The smile on the face of the Mona Deceased?” Andrew gave a hoot of laughter. “Listen—” He let go my arm and grabbed it again. “ Sadistic? Whatever made you say that? Not like you to be so unprofessional. I hope you’re not losing it, Ches.”
    I realised that subconsciously