Gently Instrumental

by Alan Hunter

  ‘But he’d give it to me – he had!’

  ‘He’d given you nothing and never would have.

  And you had time to think it over, waiting for him there at the gate. He was playing you for a mug, but you weren’t such a mug as all that. So you were going to get even with him. You were going to thump him – there’s no risk in thumping queers, is there?’

  David Crag’s mouth was sagging lower than ever and his eyes had lost focus. He was taking great gulps of breath and grinding his calloused hands together.

  ‘Oh . . . no!’

  ‘Oh yes. Because that’s the way it happened,

  wasn’t it? You fetched a handy tool from the tool shed, waited behind the laurel bush, then let him have it. Only Virtue wasn’t so easy. He dodged away and picked up that flint. He could have killed you – most likely would have done – and so you had to put him down. And when he was down, there it was – the watch he had tempted you with in the first place. He deserved to lose it. You whipped it off him and hurried back down again to your bike shed.’

  ‘I didn’t . . . I never . . .’

  ‘You were found with the watch.’

  ‘I keep telling you . . . he give it to me!’

  ‘And we don’t believe you.’

  ‘Oh, my Lord.’ He crammed his fist in his mouth and whined.

  ‘Why not get it over?’ Gently said quietly.

  David Crag bit the fist and moaned. His eyes were glazed and half-closed, with tears squeezing from the corners. But he pulled himself together for a last try.

  ‘There was someone else . . . up at the cottage.’

  ‘We know that,’ Gently said. ‘Mr Meares was there. He saw what happened.’

  ‘I never saw Mr Meares!’

  ‘Quite likely you didn’t.’

  David Crag’s messy eyes had a doubtful expression. He wet his lips and took several swallows, the fist still held close to his mouth.

  ‘It . . . wasn’t him.’

  ‘Then who was it?’

  ‘I couldn’t see proper . . . it was dark.’

  ‘You’re lying again.’

  ‘No I ain’t!’ He rocked a little, eyes starting to roll.

  ‘It was . . . that man.’

  ‘I want a name.’

  ‘Him . . . the one I saw before . . .’

  ‘Either give me a name or forget it.’

  His mouth jogged uncontrollably. ‘It . . . was . . . him.’

  Then the mouth shut with a snap and David Crag began to slide. It may have been the heat, but they were going down like flies in the interrogation room that morning.

  Out in the charge room Meares sat on a bench, staring at a cutie on a pin-up calendar. Seeing Gently he made to rise, but Gently motioned him to stay put. He crossed and sat down beside Meares. Meares regarded him apprehensively.

  ‘We’ve got young Crag in there,’ Gently said.

  ‘David . . . ?

  ‘He was found in possession of the watch.’

  ‘But . . . that’s impossible!’

  ‘Is it?’

  Meares drew back in consternation.

  ‘You can’t seriously believe that David did it.’

  ‘Why can’t we?’ Gently said.

  ‘Because he wasn’t there.’

  ‘How would you know that – when you didn’t arrive until the killer had left?’

  ‘Because – because—!’ Meares floundered. He jerked his face away from Gently’s. ‘What you are saying is quite incredible. There must be some other explanation.’

  ‘Listen,’ Gently said. ‘David Crag has admitted being there. He denies having seen you there, and now you’re denying having seen him. But you did see someone who wasn’t him, and he claims to have seen someone who wasn’t you. There was a third man at the cottage. And that’s the man I want to talk to.’

  ‘But I saw nobody.’

  ‘We’re holding David.’

  ‘No. You can’t put it on him!’

  ‘So talk, Mr Meares.’

  ‘I’ve . . . told you everything.’

  ‘Then David walks into a cell.’

  Meares jumped up in agitation and went to stare hard at the calendar. The cutie, though suffering from a high rate of inflation, continued to smile back unmoved.

  ‘I can’t – I won’t change my statement.’

  ‘I’m tired of guessing, Mr Meares.’

  ‘The position I’m placed in is impossible!’

  ‘You’ll have to judge how much loyalty is worth.’

  ‘Look . . . Superintendent.’ He turned appealingly. ‘Can’t you see that no sort of justice would be served . . . ?’

  Gently shook his head and stared the look of appeal down.

  Meares groaned. He stood in torment, scowling at a rent in the charge room’s lino. His neat hands clenched and unclenched, tightened at last into fists.

  ‘Then – you must do what you think best!’

  ‘You won’t give me that man’s name?’

  ‘No, I won’t.’

  ‘You may be liable to a charge of accessory after the fact.’

  ‘Then I’ll be liable to it.’ His chin rose stubbornly.

  ‘And meanwhile David Crag will stay inside.’

  Meares’s mouth jammed in a tight line and he aimed his scowl at the charge room’s light-fixture.

  Just then Mason and a DC entered lugging holdalls and a bundle of sticks. They were followed by William Crag also laden with a bag and stick. Crag’s eye fell on Meares. He came to a stand. The two men eyed each other. Meares’s face had suddenly become blank. Crag’s face expressed scorn and a sort of furious satisfaction. He opened his mouth, then closed it again. He turned abruptly to Gently.

  ‘I’ll need a word with you, old partner.’

  ‘You seem to be having it,’ Gently said.

  ‘In private, my man.’

  Gently stared. He nodded to the door.

  The sun was off Leyston’s office again, which was probably worth a few degrees. Another bundle of sticks, Mason’s haul from Meares’s house, lay waiting on the table like some auctioneer’s job lot. William Crag stumped in and threw down his hat. He dropped his bag and stick on the desk. From his pocket he drew a clean white handkerchief and proceeded to pat his face and bald crown.

  ‘This blessed weather!’

  Gently said nothing. He took his seat behind the desk. Crag finished his toilet and put away the handkerchief; though there was a chair, he remained standing.

  ‘So you’ve been chastising the sinful, have you?’ he said.

  Gently shrugged and stayed silent.

  ‘Ah. And I reckon his tongue has prevailed, do you wouldn’t have laid hands on my boy. Aren’t I right?’

  ‘You’re right,’ Gently said.

  ‘Ah.’ Crag’s pebbly eyes gleamed at him. ‘And now you’re putting the boy through it – on account of some rubbishy watch, they tell me.’

  ‘Virtue’s watch,’ Gently said.

  ‘What matter whose – you’re saying he stole it.’

  ‘Are you saying he didn’t?’ Gently asked.

  ‘Yes – twice over! My boy isn’t a thief.’ He moved closer to the desk. ‘So what did Dave tell you?’

  ‘Your grandson insists that the watch was a present.’

  ‘Then you’d better believe him!’ Crag said violently. ‘Dave would never lie about a thing like that.’

  ‘Though he lies about other things?’ Gently said.

  Crag’s eyes were bitter. ‘Well, never you mind!

  Dave’ll be forgiven, in another place.’ He got out the handkerchief again, patted himself and blew his nose. ‘He spoke up, did he?’

  Gently hunched. ‘He told as many lies as came into his head.’

  ‘You weren’t over-harsh with him?’

  ‘It isn’t my method.’

  Crag nodded glumly. ‘I reckon not.’ He stood gazing for a spell, beamy-eyed, his moon-like face wretched. Then he sighed heavily. ‘Well, you can let the boy go n
ow.’

  ‘Let him go . . . ?’

  ‘That’s what I said. He never stole that watch, and all.’

  ‘You don’t seem to understand Mr Crag.’

  ‘It’s you who don’t understand, my man.’ He levelled a stern stare at Gently and leaned his hands on the desk. ‘Dave was never at the cottage,’ he said. ‘Not when that lot was going on. I laid my stick athwart his stern and sent him hollering home again.’ He pointed to his eyes. ‘I can still use these. And you’ll find the bruise-marks on his behind.’

  ‘You – sent him home?’

  ‘Ah, I did. He wasn’t where he could steal no watches. When I was through with Master David there was nothing left but go to bed.’ He picked up the stick. ‘Here. This is the one you should have been looking for. My old dad’s quietening-stick, this is. He was a copper, just like you.’

  He handed the stick to Gently. It was an ash stick with a knob that felt unduly heavy. Gently ran his nail across the top of the knob: a silver streak showed. The stick was loaded with lead.

  Crag was patting his face again. ‘This heat! It’s enough to make a parson swear. I reckon the Good Lord has got his back turned, leastways he’s busy with other things.’

  ‘What’s in the bag?’

  ‘Just a few of my things. You can send the boy’s gear back along with him. I’ve had a word with my sister, that’s Nellie, and she’s coming in to keep an eye on him.’

  He dropped suddenly on a chair. A step sounded outside: Leyston’s long face appeared at the door. For a moment he stared at the two men, then quietly withdrew, closing the door. Crag leant elbows on the desk.

  ‘I never meant to harm him, you know,’ he said. ‘Not above fair and just chastisement, such as the Lord might visit on a sinner. But the Lord was vexed with him and me. The Lord put a stone into his hand. Then I had to guard my head, like my old dad taught me a long time ago.’

  ‘And Meares . . . he caught you at it?’

  Crag paused a long time. He shook his head. ‘I can’t say nothing about Mr Meares, except that perhaps now he’s wishing his sins away.’

  ‘You can’t – or won’t?’

  ‘The same thing, my man, for all you’re getting out of me.’

  ‘You may need his testimony.’

  ‘Then I’ll want for it. But I shan’t ask him for it, and that’s flat.’

  They stared at each other across the desk, across the loaded stick lying on it. Crag’s eyes were slightly protrusive and grey as the shingle: flinten eyes.

  ‘And . . . the doctor?’

  ‘No, no, old partner!’ The eyes took on a gleam.

  ‘Here I am, and I’m your man. But that’s all I have to say.’

  ‘It’s not enough.’

  ‘It’ll have to do.’ He rose and picked up his bag.

  ‘And now I reckon it’s time you locked me up, do you’ll be late for your lunch, my man.’

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  ‘SUPERINTENDENT . . . ?’

  Tanya Capel’s voice had assumed the neutral tones of a trained receptionist and, though faintly, one could catch behind it the evensong of some bird. Gently in fact was lying naked on his bed, having just come out of the bath; a tiny breeze was playing through the window and deliciously drying his damp skin. He mumbled a reply.

  ‘Henry is back, Superintendent. He would like to see you in say – half an hour? If that wouldn’t put you out for dinner.’

  ‘It won’t put me out.’

  ‘You could have a bite with us.’

  ‘No, but thanks all the same.’

  ‘In half an hour then? It can’t be later, because

  Henry has a rehearsal at eight.’

  He clamped the phone down, stayed prone for a moment, then grudgingly swung his feet to the floor. The breeze was coming from a sea already irradiated by the western sun. Its long seams were articulated and dream-like leagues showed on the horizon. Gilded coasters, no longer silhouettes, were moving like chessmen across a board. Evening again . . . and a sky with some blueness. But what hope dared one draw from that?

  He dressed, went down to the Marina and drove the short distance to Capel’s house. The Volvo was back, looking dustier than ever, and parked beside it an MGB. The latter also sported a doctor sticker and another that read: Guy’s Resident; Virtue’s understudy, no doubt. The car was untidy and had a doubtful tyre.

  ‘Henry is in the shower, Superintendent . . .’

  Tanya Capel’s smile was less warming this evening. She led him down the echoey tiled hall to a room with French doors into the garden. It was furnished as a library. Its tall, varnished oak bookcases were of the period of the house. On a long, matching table, beside a vase of roses, lay a couple of Uffa Fox quartos.

  ‘Can I bring you a beer?’

  ‘Not for the moment.’

  ‘Henry will only be a few minutes.’

  She paused briefly then swept out, leaving a faint odour of sandalwood.

  Gently shrugged to himself. Outside, the doctor’s lawn looked greener than most people’s. It was bordered by beds of colourful annuals and by roses denuded of every dead head. A crazy-paved path, bright with rock plants, led to a sundial and a pool, and a square-cut beech hedge hid the kitchen garden and all but the roof of a large greenhouse. A garden where everything grew, everything flowered, kept its place . . . Red Admirals, plentiful that summer, played around the annuals and a rampant buddleia.

  ‘Ah . . . Gently.’

  Through an arch in the beech hedge one could glimpse earthed rows of potatoes, tented frames of runner beans, a wheelbarrow with a hoe leant against it.

  ‘Sorry to have kept you waiting.’

  Also, by the wheelbarrow, a watering can: large and green, with a long, fine spout that ended in a flattened rose.

  ‘Shouldn’t we sit down?’

  From somewhere in the house sounded the clear, chuckling notes of a clarinet. Gently turned to face Capel who had come forward from the door.

  Capel’s greying hair was dank and he was buttoning the cuffs of a fresh white shirt. His angular face wore a cautious smile as he shepherded Gently to one of two chairs that faced the French doors. He took the other and, still smiling, finished his business with the cuffs.

  ‘Are you going to jump on me from a great height?’ Gently stared but said nothing.

  ‘I’ve been phoning around, you know, since I got back, so there isn’t any bombshell for you to spring on me. But I sense a certain dissatisfaction – as though pinching my gardener hadn’t made you happy.’ He made a wry mouth. ‘To tell you the truth, it hasn’t made me very happy, either.’

  Gently’s stare was inflexible. ‘I’ve come for the truth.’

  ‘Oh now, now!’ Capel smiled. ‘Jesting Pilate and all that. What more can you possibly need to know?’

  ‘You’ve got my witness and I want him back.’

  ‘I don’t think I comprehend, old lad.’

  ‘You comprehend,’ Gently said. ‘I’m asking you to take the gag off Meares.’

  ‘Well now, well!’ Capel was keeping his smile amused. He tilted his unusual face and eyed Gently a little askew. The notes of the clarinet sounded again, a long trill, falling and rising. Capel’s eyes switched in their direction and he sketched the phrase with his finger.

  ‘If I could have your attention,’ Gently said.

  Capel shrugged. ‘Carry on, dear soul.’

  ‘Then listen. William Crag has confessed and his confession will stand up in court. It is confirmed by his grandson and by a positive report on his stick from the lab. But Crag won’t go beyond that. He won’t admit the presence of Meares. And Meares agrees that he was present but won’t admit the presence of Crag. Crag chooses not to involve Meares. Meares won’t bear witness against Crag.’

  ‘Good for Craggy!’ Capel smiled. ‘But how do you know that Leonard was a witness?’

  ‘I know, because you told me.’

  ‘I!’

  ‘Yes,’ Gently said, ‘you. Last
night you reconstructed the killing exactly as Crag describes it in his statement. You’d talked to an eyewitness – Meares. Meares came to confide to you the morning after. He saw it happen. He told you. You’ve known who the culprit was all along.’

  Capel examined his long fingers. ‘I’d be a fool to admit that, wouldn’t I?’ he said. ‘You’d be at my throat with an accessory charge, and Leonard’s too. Isn’t that the game?’

  ‘But about your gardener you couldn’t care less?’

  ‘How do you mean – about my gardener?’

  Gently grunted. ‘For such an intelligent man you have some amazingly dense moments! If we charge Crag on his confession the charge will be murder with the alternative of manslaughter. If his account is confirmed by a credible witness the charge could be reduced to unlawful killing.’

  ‘You mean he might get off?’

  ‘There’s a fighting chance – with the sort of counsel you can afford.’

  ‘He’s going to have that anyway,’ Capel said slowly. ‘But what about us – me and Leonard?’

  Gently stared bleakly. ‘That’s up to Leyston.’

  ‘You’ll leave it to him – old mutton-chops?’

  ‘It’s his decision.’

  Capel’s smile crept back. ‘I must declare an interest. Leyston’s a patient.’

  ‘So.’

  Capel’s smile became a grin. ‘I think it’s time we had a beer,’ he said. ‘I’ve had a hectic day in committee, and I daresay you’ve been having one, too.’

  They drank lager from misted glasses while outside the sun dropped behind the beeches. Quite definitely the sky had a bluer tint, and the sea breeze was stirring the scorched leaves. Down the lawn a wagtail was dipping at the pool. The clarinet had fallen silent. Instead one heard conversation and occasional laughter in another room.

  ‘I expect you’ve pumped Leonard dry,’ Capel said musingly. ‘He’ll only be sticking at the one point.’

  ‘We know of his association with Virtue and of Virtue’s attempt to blackmail him.’

  Capel drank. ‘Leonard was an idiot. Of course, he should have gone straight to you people. But that, in his case, meant going to Leyston – and Leyston happens to be a customer. Rather off-putting. Then there’s his wife.’ He paused. ‘Have you met Leonard’s wife?’