The Stargazey Read Online Free PDF Page B

“Lavender.” He nodded toward a section beside the feverfew. “That where you found her?” He watched Chilten pause to take out a pack of Chiclets.
    Chilten held the pause long enough to put the gum in his mouth and crunch it around, as if even the Chiclet was part and parcel of the overall mystery. Finally, he nodded. “That’s it. Face up in the lavender.” He stepped back, backed up to the wisteria vines. “From about here, we figure, given the trajectory.” He moved back to the lavender patch. “She was found Saturday night before midnight. That’s when the caretaker said he saw her. But you saw her as early as nine, nine-thirty.”
    Jury waited. Nothing. “Who found her? The caretaker?”
    Another piece of gum went into Chilten’s mouth. He chewed. “Uh-huh. Or he reported it to Fulham HQ, anyway, says he found her around midnight.”
    It was Wiggins who helped out, filling in. “You mean, it sounds like the caretaker didn’t actually find her?”
    â€œWell, he did and he didn’t.” Chilten smiled slightly as he went on chewing.
    Jury wanted to chew nails.
    â€œDid and didn’t, sir? What’s that mean?”
    â€œIt was Linda Pink the caretaker said actually found her.”
    Ah, thought Jury. Finally got around to Linda Pink. In name only. He sighed. “Look, Ron. You know we don’t know who Linda Pink is, so why not enlighten us?” Having to ask the direct question, that was the price you paid for getting information out of Chilten.
    â€œOh. Didn’t I tell you? Linda Pink lives out there, along Bishops Park Road. She comes over here all the time, according to the caretaker. Day and night. Miss Pink found the body, she says, around seven-thirty, seven-forty-five. But she didn’t tell anybody about it. Not until this morning, when she found the caretaker in the porter’s lodge having a cuppa. Said she saw in the paper about finding the woman in the herb garden. My guess is, she probably wouldn’t have said anything even then, except she wanted to be disputatious.” Chilten slid Jury a look. He stopped talking, studied the crime-scene tape.
    Jury waited. He was good at waiting.
    It was Wiggins who couldn’t stand it. “Disputatious? I don’t understand.”
    â€œLinda Pink claims she found her in the lad’s-love, not the lavender. But the caretaker is sure it was the lavender.”
    Jury frowned. “Lad’s-love? What—”
    Wiggins helped. “It’s an herb for nervous problems.”
    â€œNever mind what it’s for. Where?” He looked down at the patch of lavender.
    â€œRight here,” said Chilten, shoving the toe of his brown shoe into a wild and weedy dry patch that looked just like the patches on either side of it. “That’s lad’s-love.” He shrugged. “Hard to tell the difference.”
    â€œThen,” said Jury, “it’s simple, isn’t it? The caretaker would know one patch of herbs from another. Miss Pink is mistaken.”
    â€œYeah?” Chilten lit a cigarette. He still chewed his gum. “Tell that to Miss Pink.”
    â€œYou don’t mind if I talk to her?”
    â€œDelighted. She’s ten.”
    Jury blinked, looked at Wiggins, who looked rueful. And as if mood were an herb indicator, he looked round for it, the rue. “Ron. This dead woman was found by a kid ?”
    â€œMmm-hmm.” Chilten trebled the sound, and with obvious pleasure, as he exhaled a thin stream of smoke and watched Jury’s expression.
    For once, Jury didn’t give a bloody damn if someone else got to smoke and he didn’t. As Chilten puffed away, Jury said, with mock sweetness, “Whenever you’re ready, Ron.”
    â€œOh? Thought I told you: Linda lives over on Bishops Park Road”—he watched Wiggins taking notes; gave him the number, added—“with her aunt.