by Alan Hunter
‘Has a man come by here?’ Gently panted.
‘What sort of a man?’
‘Any sort of a man!’
‘Not in the last ten minutes,’ said the speaker. ‘We haven’t seen nobody, have we, Ted?’
‘No,’ Ted said. ‘We haven’t seen nobody.’
Gently rounded on Felling and the constables. ‘One of you run back to the top of the lane. Stop anybody entering or going out. We’re looking for a man of medium build, about forty, darkish colouring, dark grey lounge suit, black trilby, probably speaks with a slight accent. Detain him by force if necessary.’
The younger constable sprinted back up the lane.
‘You stay here,’ Gently said to the other man. ‘Same instructions. Stop anyone coming or going.’
He paused a moment to get his wind, watched while the younger constable reached his station. Then he said to Felling: ‘You take that side. We’ll work up the lane and flush him out.’
‘Is it this Kasimir bloke?’ Felling breathed.
‘We’ll see when we get him,’ Gently said. ‘Take your time and search thoroughly, and don’t use kid gloves if you tangle with him.’
‘I don’t own kid gloves,’ Felling said. ‘A chummie comes quiet or a chummie is carried.’
They began to search. There were seven entries off the lane. They served a metal scrapyard, a wholesale fruit warehouse, a cardboard-box manufacturer’s warehouse, a paint store, a tyre store, a signwriter’s and a building contractor’s. In six of these seven premises men were working. They gladly left off working to answer questions and watch. They had not seen a man running, had not admitted any stranger. They pointed out places where he might have hid. He was in none of those places. At the top and bottom of the stretch of lane the two constables rocked slowly on their heels. There remained the metal scrapyard with its wire-mesh gates, which were ten feet high. Felling frowned at the gates.
‘It’s here or nowhere, sir,’ he said. ‘But chummie was a bit of a spring-heeled Jack if he sailed over those gates.’
‘Who has the keys to these?’ Gently asked.
‘They’ll be in Cambridge,’ said one of the watchers. ‘Dukey and Son, that’s who owns it. They’ve got a big place in Cambridge.’
‘A big help,’ Felling said. ‘A big help.’
Gently went to the gates, began examining the mesh. The mesh was galvanized but was beginning to rust and at one place the rust had been chafed and showed orange. He examined the mesh a little higher. He found another chafed spot. It was two-and-a-half inch mesh into which a toe could not be effectively inserted. He stood back, ran an eye over the watchers.
‘You,’ he said to a slim youth in a boiler suit. The youth edged forward. ‘Could you climb those gates?’
‘Reckon I could,’ the youth said. ‘Give me time.’
‘You haven’t got time,’ Gently said. ‘You’re in a hurry. You’re belting down the lane with the cops behind you and you see these gates and you want to get over them.’
The youth looked at the gates, narrowing his eyes. ‘Reckon I could,’ he said.
‘Right,’ Gently said. ‘Show me. Go up the lane and take a run at them.’
The youth stared a little, then spit on his hands and stalked some paces up the lane. He came flying back, threw himself at the gates, scrabbled desperately at the mesh and hauled himself up. He waved some bleeding fingers at Gently.
‘Nothing to it,’ he said.
‘The saucy young devil!’ Felling said. ‘Those gates are supposed to be prowler-proof.’
‘Thanks,’ Gently said. ‘You did that nicely. You’d better come down and have the cuts seen to. And perhaps some of you will find us a couple of ladders so we don’t have to tackle the gates the hard way.’
The youth came down and stood sucking his fingers. Two ladders were fetched from the contractor’s yard. Since the gates were on the side which Felling had been searching he took the initiative in climbing over. But he had barely got to the top when Gently said ‘Hold it!’ and the watchers went quiet. Felling stared into the yard. A figure had appeared there. It stood across by the far wall and was brushing the dust from its grey lounge suit.
‘You over there!’ Gently shouted.
The man looked towards them, kept dusting himself. He was standing at the foot of a mound of old gas cookers which may have been thirty feet high. The suit fitted him very well and showed that he had a neat, athletic figure, and as his hands moved the sun glinted from the big stone of his ring. Finally he picked up his hat and dusted that too, settled it squarely on his head. He looked at his hands, flexed the fingers. He began to walk towards the gates.
He came up to the gates. He stood looking through them at Gently. He had walked with a very slight limp. He had dark hair and black-brown eyes and wide cheekbones and a narrow chin. The chin was not a receding chin. The mouth was thin and the corners drooped. The nose was handsome and large. He had no moustache. His tie was not a bow tie. He stood looking through the meshes at Gently. His eyes were steady. But his hands trembled.
‘What’s your name?’ Gently asked.
His lips opened, then he said: ‘Campbell.’
‘Donald Campbell?’
‘Campbell,’ he said.
‘A Scotsman, are you?’
‘That is right. A Scotsman.’
‘Have you any proof of identity?’
‘I am Campbell,’ he said.
‘What were you doing in this yard?’
He shook his head, saying nothing.
‘Good,’ Gently said. ‘So have you any objection to accompanying me to the police station?’
‘No,’ he said, ‘of course. No objection.’
‘Then perhaps you’ll climb over that gate.’
He went to the ladder which was placed his side and mounted it with quick, jerky movements. Felling came down the other ladder and the man stepped over to it and descended into the lane. He looked at nobody. He straightened his suit, felt for the brim of his hat. Then he was suddenly bolting up the lane, slipping by Felling’s clumsy lunge for him.
‘Stop that bastard!’ Felling roared.
The constable at the top held out clutching hands. The man raced towards him till he was a dozen yards short, then seemed to give up the idea, checked, came to a stand. Felling and the constable closed in on him. Before they could touch him he was bolting again. But this time Felling managed to kick his heels together. He went to the ground. They grabbed him and held him.
‘You treacherous so-and-so!’ Felling was panting. ‘I’ll teach you to play that kind of trick.’
He was twisting the arm of the man behind him. The man had gone white. His eyes were closed and squinting.
‘Let him get up,’ Gently said.
‘The cunning bastard!’ Felling panted.
‘Let him get up all the same,’ Gently said.
Felling yanked the man to his feet. He and the constable held him. The man sagged against them, pale, breathing hard. He opened his eyes. He stared fearfully at Gently.
‘You value your liberty,’ Gently said.
The corners of the mouth pulled down, trembled.
‘All right,’ Gently said. ‘Let’s get him to the station.’
The constable picked up the man’s hat. They took him away.
CHAPTER EIGHT
WHAT’S YOUR NAME?’
‘I am Campbell.’
‘Show me your wallet.’
The man produced it. A stiff, pigskin wallet, nearly new, very slim. It contained fourteen one pound notes and two ten shilling notes but nothing else. The notes were new notes with consecutive numbers, except the two ten shillings.
‘Where’s your driving licence?’
‘It is not with me.’
‘Where is it?’
He shook his head.
‘Put the contents of your pockets on the desk.’
He emptied his pockets. He made a neat pile.
The pile consisted of five half-crowns,
a florin, two sixpences, two threepenny pieces, five pennies, three halfpennies, a cheap penknife, a ball pen, a clean handkerchief, a packet of Chesterfield cigarettes, a box of Swan matches, a Yale key on a ring, and a silver charm shaped like a rabbit’s foot, also attached to the ring.
‘What’s the key for?’
‘It is for my flat.’
‘What’s the address of it?’
He shook his head.
‘Don’t you know where you come from?’
‘Yes,’ he said.
‘Is it far from West Hampstead?’
He sat still.
‘What are your Christian names?’
‘I am Campbell.’
‘Jan Campbell?’
‘Yes, John.’
‘I said Jan.’
‘John,’ he said. ‘I am always called John.’
‘Not Jan?’
‘No. Not Jan.
‘Jan Campbell?’
The mouth drooped.
‘All right,’ Gently said. ‘You can smoke, Jan. Have a cigarette, Jan. Relax, Jan.’
‘I do not want to smoke now,’ the man said.
‘Just as you like, Jan.’
He sat still.
Felling, Whitaker sat in the office, Whitaker beside Gently and Felling near the door. Felling had his arms folded, looked through the window. Whitaker’s pale eyes went from Gently to the man. Whitaker was frowning as though trying and wanting to understand. He had a large face. His face looked childish. Behind it he was shrewd. Felling’s eyes looked vacant. The man sat tensely. His eyes never left Gently. Gently was removing the photograph of Jan Kasimir from its file. He propped it up. He looked at the man.
‘When did you shave your moustache, Jan?’
‘I have not a moustache.’
‘Not since when?’
He shook his head.
‘You had one there, Jan.’
‘My name is John.’
‘Jan. That’s what it says.’
‘I don’t know what it says.’
‘It says Jan Kasimir.’
‘I am Campbell.’
‘Jan Kasimir.’
‘Campbell.’
Gently shrugged. ‘It’s quite a good photograph of you, Jan,’ he said. ‘Don’t you like it?’
‘Is not of me.’
‘Perhaps you don’t like the moustache?’
‘I have not ever a moustache.’
‘Oh, I think it was a nice touch. When did you shave it?’
His knuckles were white.
‘Before you saw Teodowicz?’
‘Who is Teodowicz?’
‘The man whose inquest you went to, Jan.’
‘I do not know him.’
‘Your fellow countryman.’
‘I am Scotsman.’
‘Timoshenko Teodowicz.’
‘No,’ the man said. ‘I do not know him. I do not know anything about Teodowicz.’
‘Don’t you read the papers?’
He sat still. He bit his lips together very hard.
‘And Teodowicz is dead,’ Gently said. ‘And the way he died wasn’t pretty, Jan. There was nothing parsimoniously Scottish about the number of bullets that went into him. Over two hundred of them, did you know that? Somebody stood there pumping them into him. Not long after you’d been to see him. The man whose inquest you attended today.’
He sat still.
‘Unpleasant,’ Gently said. ‘Haven’t you any comment to make, Jan?’
The lips bit tighter.
‘A pity,’ Gently said. ‘Somebody is going to hang for Teodowic, Jan.’
The man was trembling. He leaned forward. His eyes stretched wide, showing rings of white. ‘Hypocrite!’ he screamed at Gently. He crumbled in the chair. He began to cry.
Well,’ Gently said. ‘A comment after all. Why am I a hypocrite, Jan?’
The man was sobbing to himself words not in English. He didn’t pay any more attention to Gently.
Whitaker flinched, looked unhappy, asked: ‘What are we going to do about him?’
Gently watched the man crying. He had covered his face with his hands. The hands were pale hands and the fingers were sensitive. They too had been bleeding. The blood had dried on the fingers.
Gently chucked his head. ‘We’ll have to unleash Empton. I’m afraid we’ve strayed into his department.’
‘Empton,’ Whitaker said.
Gently picked up the phone. The man continued to cry, Felling to stare through the window.
Friday August 16th in a small town, in a small country, in a small world, in a large universe, Friday August 16th. A certain point in space-time with a very local description, unaccepted as an event by the electronic expression containing it. Perhaps emotion, no more, an alien wanderer in the curvatures; the burden carried by those other lonely aliens, men. Giving them local habitation where they were strangers gone foreign, a detailed assurance of identification, a comfortable shadow on their blank chart. Friday August 16th in a small town, in a small country. A point negligible in space-time. A man crying. Other men.
The door opened to admit Empton. He didn’t come into the room immediately. He stood in the doorway, hand on the knob, peering at the man who sat drooped in his chair. Empton’s blue eyes didn’t flicker and he stood as still as the door. He didn’t look anywhere except at the man. Finally, his teeth began to show.
‘Little Jan!’ he said softly. ‘We wondered where you’d got to, little Jan.’
He closed the door without a sound, and reaching behind him, shot the snack.
The man twisted round at the sound of Empton’s voice, crouched a little, didn’t say anything. Whitaker rose, pushing his chair back clumsily. Empton came across the room.
‘Is he the – one?’ Whitaker asked.
‘But of course, old man,’ Empton said. ‘This is little Jan, the West Hampstead instrument maker. We’ve met before, haven’t we Jan?’
‘My name—’ the man began.
‘Oh, don’t let’s be formal, old fellow,’ said Empton. ‘You’re with friends, don’t you remember? My little visit and advice I gave you?’ He ran the tips of his fingers over his knuckles. Kasimir kept his eye on the knuckles. ‘I sometimes look in on these chaps,’ Empton said, ‘when they first arrive here. A purely courtesy call. What’s he been telling you?’
‘Nothing,’ Gently said.
Empton showed his teeth. ‘They don’t,’ he said. ‘That’s one of the oddities of the profession, old man. There’s really only two ways of getting anything out of them.’
‘What’s the other way?’ Gently said.
‘Money,’ Empton said. ‘And we’ll try that first. Purely out of deference to bourgeois prejudices. I don’t think it will work, not in the present company. I think he killed Teodowicz. I think your presence will be inhibiting.’
‘I think it probably will,’ Gently said. ‘So I’ll stay here.’
‘Just as you like,’ Empton said. ‘It doesn’t matter. If you took him to court you’d never get a conviction.’
He looked round the office, picked up the chair Felling had used, placed it so he sat opposite to Kasimir with their knees nearly touching. He flicked Kasimir’s chin. Kasimir jerked his head back. Empton leaned forward slightly, stared hard, flicked him again. Whitaker seated himself uneasily. He sent glances at Gently. Gently sat with half-closed eyes, hunching back in his chair.
‘Little Jan,’ Empton said.
Kasimir sat very straight.
‘Little Jan,’ Empton said, ‘you’ve got something we want. We’re going to have it, little Jan, and you know we’re going to have it. That’s the situation, little Jan. I think you appreciate it, don’t you?’
He flicked. Kasimir winced, didn’t try to avoid it.
‘Yes,’ Empton said. ‘You’re a man of intelligence, you appreciate the situation. We know too much to be played with, Jan, and I’m sure you won’t waste our time by trying it. You’re going to give us what we want, Jan, because there’s no
other way out. You’re going to cooperate, Jan. You’re going to tell us everything, Jan.’
He flicked.
‘Now’, he said. ‘We’re going to be generous with you, Jan. We could hang you, Jan. You know that? We could put up a case that would hang you for certain. And you’ve come such a long way, Jan, you’ve been through so much, Jan, it would be a pity, wouldn’t it, Jan, if we had to hang you at the end of it. All strapped up with a hood over your face. Such a long way from Poland. It isn’t nice, Jan. Not being hung. You wouldn’t want us to do that, would you?’
He flicked twice at Kasimir’s throat. Kasimir gasped, didn’t move.
‘And we don’t want to do it, Jan,’ Empton said. ‘We’re soft-hearted. It would grieve us. And you’re a useful man in your way, Jan, it would be a waste to hang you. So we’re going to be generous with you, Jan. We’re not going to hang you, Jan, unless we have to. We’re going to be terribly nice and English, and hope that you’ll be nice to us. You’re in a free country, Jan, you know that?’
He flicked.
‘You know that?’ he repeated.
Kasimir swallowed, nodded his head.
‘Yes,’ Empton said. ‘A free country.’ He touched his knuckles with his fingers. ‘And we hope that you’ll be nice to us, just like one Englishman to another. And useful, Jan, to your new country. Cooperative, Jan. Patriotic, Jan. And not too bloody expensive, Jan. Remembering how easily we could hang you. The taxpayers pay their money grudgingly. We have to be sparing of it, Jan.’ He flicked Jan. ‘How much do you want?’
Kasimir didn’t move a muscle.
Empton flicked. ‘You heard me, Jan?’
Kasimir breathed hard, didn’t speak.
Empton laid his fist on Kasimir’s chin and pushed Kasimir’s head first one way, then the other.
‘Little Jan,’ he said. ‘How much?’
Kasimir stared at him. He said nothing.
‘Perhaps little Jan is afraid,’ Empton said. ‘Perhaps he doesn’t trust us with his secrets. Thinks if he told us how he killed Teodowicz we might write it down and use it as evidence. But that’s because little Jan is a wog. He doesn’t understand our English justice. He doesn’t know that a confession of murder obtained by a bribe is inadmissable. But he’s hearing it now, isn’t he, Jan?’ Empton gave Kasimir a double slap. ‘And he knows he can deal, doesn’t he, Jan?’ Empton feinted a slap, let his hand fall. ‘So what’s the price, little Jan?’