The Cherry Blossom Corpse (24 page)

And I would have liked, still more, to have confirmation of the reason why Mrs. Zuckerman had had her companion kill Amanda Fairchild.

Stein and Svein had kept Lorelei and Felicity longer than the others at Kvalevåg, but eventually they had had to let them go. I rang them to tell them my information about Felicity's mother, which they in fact already had a version of. I asked when the two women were travelling home, and was told next day: they were flying SAS to Heathrow, then PanAm from Heathrow to New York. I found this interesting. I thought it might be only when they were out of London, practically on home territory, that they would do any talking about the subject that must be closest to them—if, indeed, they did any talking at all.

I got on to the travel people at the Yard, to find out if there were any of our people due to travel to New York in the near future. I found that there were two due to go by BA the next day, to take part in an on-the-streets investigation into an international drug ring. One was Melvin Porter, of the Drugs Squad, the other was a relatively new policeman called Dexter, or Charlie Peace. I knew Charlie well, from the time when he had helped me enormously in the investigation into the minor massacre at the
Bodies
office. He was new in the Force to be chosen for an international assignment, and the fact that he was black had obviously helped.
Why
it had obviously helped an investigation into the New York drug scene I had better not say, lest this book be accused of negative stereotyping, or some such crime.

Their booking was changed, and I arranged with PanAm that they were to be placed beside and behind Zuckerman and Maxwell, and arranged with Charlie and Melvin Porter how they were to act, how be dressed. I rather thought that Charlie, being black, would be treated by la Zuckerman as lower than dirt, hardly worth
consideration as part of the human race. This is what I was counting on, and this was how it turned out. I heard from Charlie briefly by phone when he arrived in New York, more fully by letter a few days later. I give you the relevant part of what he wrote.

I didn't enjoy this dame's choice of airline, for a start. To have to
pay
to watch the in-flight movie! I didn't want to watch it, and I had my assignment from you anyway, but it's the
principle
that counts, and the principle is lousy. Mel tells me all airline food tastes the same, so I'll say nothing about that. Anyway, I got to my seat early, in my young executive suit, clutching my initialled briefcase on my lap—they weren't my initials, but it all added to the picture.

They came on the plane almost last. They could have got on first, she being an invalid, but I guess she likes to make an entrance. It was very hot, and she was wearing this shiny black dress, and she was helped along the gangway from behind by Miss Maxwell, having ignored the stewardess's offers of help. I was on the gangway, and they had the seats nearest the window. I got up to let her through. She'd shot me a look when she saw she was sitting next to a black, then she ignored the politeness. Miss Maxwell took the window seat, because Zuckerman said there was nothing to see anyway. As she got herself into her seat, she said:

“When I joined up in the army, they only greased the trucks and carried the garbage. By the time I got out they'd practically taken over . . . Now they wear suits and carry briefcases.”

So that put me pleasantly in my place.

I sat myself down again, put my briefcase under my legs, and pretended I wasn't there. It's an ingrained racial gift, you know. I loved my first take-off, and
endured the first serving of food. Zuckerman and Maxwell ate, in silence. Zuckerman demanded a brandy, then another. It didn't seem like nerves, though, just habit. After they'd taken away the trays I settled down to pretended sleep. Though I needn't have bothered, because the Zuckerman never looked my way or gave the slightest sign that she was aware of my presence. The seat next to her might have been empty. I was a non-person.

It was when we had been in the air a couple of hours—boy, this flight was more gruelling than I had expected!—that the Maxwell girl spoke, quite low.

“Well, that went off all right.”

Long silence. The Maxwell girl seemed used to that, and she just sat there. Zuckerman was smoking a cigarillo. Eventually she spoke.

“Of course. I knew it would.”

The Maxwell girl sipped at her drink, and looked out on to the cloud.

“I feel I've worked out my sentence.”

Zuckerman like a flash leaned across and hissed:

“Remember, you can have no hold over a dying woman.”

A long time later, when most people around were watching the film, and I was apparently in deep sleep, the Maxwell girl said:

“You know, I never understood
why.”

There was a long pause, then Zuckerman said, quite distinctly:

“Because it was something I'd never done . . . And you had. Murder is
the
ultimate thing to have done, don't you find?”

Felicity Maxwell said sadly: “No. I don't find that.”

They were mostly silent for the rest of the flight.

BY THE SAME AUTHOR

Bodies

Political Suicide

Fête Fatale

Out of the Blackout

Corpse in a Gilded Cage

School for Murder

The Case of the Missing Brontë

A Little Local Murder

Death and the Princess

Death by Sheer Torture

Death in a Cold Climate

Death of a Perfect Mother

Death of a Literary Widow

Death of a Mystery Writer

Robert Barnard (1936-2013) was awarded the Malice Domestic Award for Lifetime Achievement and the Nero Wolfe Award, as well as the Agatha and Macavity awards. An eight-time Edgar nominee, he was a member of Britain's distinguished Detection Club, and, in May 2003, he received the Cartier Diamond Dagger Award for lifetime achievement in mystery writing. His most recent novel,
Charitable Body
, was published by Scribner in 2012.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
www.SimonandSchuster.com

Barnard, Robert.

The cherry blossom corpse.

I. Title.

PR6052.A665C4  1987  823'.914  86-31619

ISBN 0-684-18825-2

ISBN 978-1-4767-3719-5 (eBook)

Originally published in Great Britain under the title
Death in Purple Prose
by William Collins Sons & Co. Ltd, 1987

Copyright © 1987 Robert Barnard

All rights reserved

Composition by Crane Typesetting Service, Inc.

Manufactured by R.R. Donnelley & Sons, Harrisonburg, Virginia