Gently to the Summit

by Alan Hunter

  Stanley sank into his palms. ‘Perhaps,’ he said.

  ‘Hmn.’

  Gently knew the symptoms of obstruction when he met them, and this had the appearance of a calculated obstruction. He had no doubt that Stanley knew whom the inquiries concerned, and it was plain that they had been anticipated, and probably prepared for. But to what credible purpose? It seemed like straining to swallow a gnat. After all, the information they sought was harmless enough, surely …?

  ‘So you can’t produce any records?’

  ‘Now, I didn’t say that, Superintendent. But I thought it only fair to warn you that they might be difficult to come at. It may take us a long time to find them.’

  ‘I can call back tomorrow.’

  ‘No … I don’t think you fully appreciate the difficulties involved. But I’ll help you as much as I can. I’ll call in our personnel manager.’

  Gently shook his head abruptly. ‘It seems hardly worthwhile, does it?’

  ‘I thought you wanted to talk to him?’

  ‘I find I’ve changed my mind about that. Under the circumstances, I don’t believe he can help my inquiries much.’

  ‘Then what …?’

  Stanley extended one hand from under his chin. He was doing his best, it seemed to say: he would be cooperative if he could. By way of reply Gently rose and crossed to the other side of the room, where, housed in a walnut bookcase, was an extensive collection of reference books. He took down the copy of Who Was Who and returned with it to the desk. Then he leafed through it to a reference, picked up a pencil and marked the page.

  ‘Take a look at this … in case you haven’t seen it before.’

  Stanley stared at him hard before condescending to read the paragraph. Then he gave an exclamation.

  ‘Good Lord! The chappie the stink was about.’

  ‘And you notice something else?’

  ‘Yes, of course. And I’m amazed.’

  ‘Amazed that he worked for this firm, Mr Stanley?’

  ‘I never knew of it until this moment.’

  Gently nodded very slowly and behind him Evans shuffled a foot. ‘You’re a bloody liar, man!’ was what the shuffle seemed to convey. Stanley continued to gaze at the entry, his eyebrows pushing up his forehead; then he thrust the book aside and met Gently’s eyes firmly.

  ‘Well, Superintendent, you’ve taught me something by calling here.’

  Gently’s head continued to nod. ‘I’m learning something, too,’ he said.

  ‘This happened before my time, of course. I was with Intrics before the merger. But I must say I’m surprised not to have heard about it before.’

  ‘So naturally you didn’t know Kincaid?’

  ‘No. I couldn’t have done, could I?’

  ‘And in spite of all the publicity he’s had you never learned that he was once employed here?’

  ‘I – what do you mean, Superintendent?’

  ‘I’m just considering probabilities.’

  Stanley coloured. ‘Look here,’ he said. ‘I’m not so sure I like this.’

  Gently went back to his chair. He let his eyes rest on the open book. He said:

  ‘Mr Stanley, you go out of your way to make yourself interesting. First you try to stop me obtaining some apparently innocent information, then you pretend not to have known to what the information related. Don’t you think I’ve got grounds for being a little bit curious?’

  ‘That is perfectly fantastic.’

  ‘I don’t think so, Mr Stanley.’

  ‘I deny absolutely having tried to prevent your inquiries!’

  Gently gave a faint shrug. ‘Then why are we sitting here now? Why wasn’t I taken to the personnel manager, who was the man I asked for?’

  There was a pause; Stanley shot him a number of most unfriendly looks. He obviously would liked to have flown at Gently and was preventing himself with difficulty. Finally he threw out a couple of ‘Tchas!’ and stalked across to a cabinet. There he poured himself a whisky, which he tossed back with a sweeping gesture. He returned to the desk.

  ‘All right,’ he said. ‘I was foxing. I admit it. I knew about Kincaid all along, and I was afraid this would happen.’

  ‘Afraid what would happen, Mr Stanley?’

  ‘Why – you, the press, everything! Do you think I want Met. L dragged into it, and to have it spread all over the papers? It’s – it’s senseless, that’s what it is.’ He swept the air with two large hands. ‘It’s been a scandalous business from start to finish. You take my tip – you hang the fellow.’

  ‘Mmn.’ Gently kept watching the book. ‘And that’s your reason for being uncooperative?’

  ‘Good Lord, what other reason do you want? Should a firm like us be dragged through the mire?’

  ‘You wouldn’t be dragged very far, I hope.’

  ‘Quite far enough, when you’re doing our scale of business. How do you suppose our customers are going to react to it – Met. L linked with a scandal and a murder? People in America – Europe – Asia: hundreds of thousands of pounds’ worth of contracts! Why, the market is as sensitive as a piece of raw flesh. A thing like this could do us incalculable damage.’

  ‘All we want are a few facts about Kincaid’s past.’

  ‘A few facts!’ Stanley’s hands fell chopper-like on the desk. ‘And tomorrow, in all the papers, “Murder Hunt at Met. L” – that’s what your few facts are going to do to this firm. I ask you, gentlemen, see it my way for a moment! Look at it purely as business, as exports, as wage-packets. You’ve got your man and presumably you’ve got a case against him: is it worth what it’s going to cost to come scandalmongering here?’

  Carried away by his own rhetoric, Stanley went to fetch another drink. He brought it back, sipping it slowly, like a man who felt he’d made his point. Gently’s shoulders hunched higher; he angled a glance towards Evans. Further and further did Mr Stanley go out of his way to be interesting …

  Gently said: ‘Did you happen to know Fleece personally?’

  Stanley resumed his surprised look. ‘Actually, yes. I have met him.’

  ‘Was that recently?’

  ‘Fairly recently. We’re in the same line of business. His firm is Electroproducts – domestic appliances, mainly goods for the home market. He’s subcontracted once or twice, so I’ve met him in the way of business.’

  ‘And you know Mrs Fleece?’

  The surprise yielded to a frown. ‘I think so. In fact, I’m certain. I must have met her at social functions.’

  ‘So you knew the Fleeces socially?’

  ‘Good Lord no! Not in the way you imply. But being in the trade you attend the same functions, and so you meet a lot of people on – what shall I call it? A limited social basis. Now I think of it, I do remember her. She’s a rather attractive dark woman.’

  ‘Strong … energetic?’

  Stanley laughed. ‘I couldn’t say. But she’s the feminine sort of woman. And, as I say, rather fetching.’

  ‘What is Mrs Kincaid’s colouring?’

  Stanley went completely still. His grey eyes seized on Gently’s, probing, thrusting at the detective’s blankness. Then his eyes switched away.

  ‘Of course, I never met either of them.’

  ‘Her name was Paula. Paula Kincaid.’

  ‘I can only repeat that I never met them.’

  ‘But you remember now that Kincaid was employed here?’

  ‘I admitted I did. But dash it, only as a wage clerk.’

  ‘Thank you for the information.’ Gently inclined his head politely. ‘I didn’t know that. But now I do, we’ll be getting along to the appropriate department.’

  Stanley’s lips compressed tightly. He seemed about to defy Gently. Instead, he shrugged well-tailored shoulders and rose without another word.

  The wage-accounts department of Metropolitan Electric was housed on the second floor of the new executive block. They went up to it in a lift which was heated and quite noiseless; it bore the company’s trade-plate on
its chaste ivory panelling. Stanley, still saying nothing, led them into the brightly lit offices, down an aisle between banks of desks and into a smaller, glass-partitioned room. Here, at desks of weathered sycamore, sat the head accountant and his lieutenants; the former a heavy-built, grey jowled man with sleeked black hair and a small moustache. At Stanley’s approach he rose. He gave them a deferential smile.

  ‘This is Dunmore, our wages chief, Superintendent. Dunmore, Superintendent Gently of the C.I.D.’

  Dunmore seemed trying to decide whether this called for a handshake, but after a tentative movement with his hand he dropped it again nervously. Stanley congratulated him with a grunt. He said:

  ‘The superintendent has a query. He appears to think we can tell him something about this Kincaid who used to work here. I feel certain we’ve nothing for him, but of course we must assist the police. So if you know anything about Kincaid, don’t be afraid to come out with it.’

  Dunmore looked worried. ‘But wasn’t he here rather a long time ago, sir?’

  ‘He was, Dunmore. Twenty-two years ago, I’m told.’

  Dunmore brightened. ‘Then I’m afraid I couldn’t know anything about him, sir. I was with Intrics, like yourself, sir. I didn’t come here until the merger.’

  ‘What about Wilson, Dunmore?’

  ‘No, sir. He was with me at Intrics.’

  ‘Spence? Baker?’

  ‘We can ask them, sir. But I feel positive you’ll find …’

  He went through the farce of summoning his junior assistants, but one saw at a glance that they were strictly post-Kincaid. Baker, a man of forty, remembered hearing about him when he joined the firm, but even hearsay was dead by the time Spence had arrived there. Gently tried a pass at Baker.

  ‘When did you join Met. L?’

  ‘In nineteen-forty. I escaped war service on medical grounds.’

  ‘Who told you about Kincaid?’

  ‘Oh, it was just general talk. He was famous in a sort of way, and his having been here gave us a kick.’

  ‘Name some people in this department who were here in nineteen-forty.’

  ‘That isn’t easy … there were a lot of changes made here during the war. People left and didn’t come back; most of the clerical staff were temporaries. Bayntun, he knew Kincaid, but he went west at Tobruk …’

  ‘Give me just one name.’

  Baker glanced uneasily at Stanley. ‘I don’t think I can. The war changed things so much …’

  ‘You see?’ Stanley broke in smilingly. ‘We’re being reasonable, Superintendent. But we just seem to lack the information you require.’

  Gently stared at him; then he turned his back and stumped over to the door. Through it came the clatter of typewriters and the rhythmic cadence of computers. There were fifty employees in the room at least, sitting at desks, moving about with papers; girls, youths, men of Baker’s age: they seemed a positive conspiracy of youth. Then a flash of light caught Gently’s eye, reflected from the far corner of the room. The head of someone wearing glasses projected above a glassed-in cubicle. A thin face, steel-rimmed glasses, meagre hair turning grey: the man suddenly caught his eye and the head was abruptly withdrawn. Gently turned to the group behind him.

  ‘Inspector, there’s something I left in the car …

  As Evans approached Gently muttered in his ear:

  ‘Talk to the bloke in the cubicle there!’

  He strode back to Stanley, who was watching him intently.

  ‘You know, I could make myself awkward about this. If I thought it was worthwhile I could put a squad of men in here. There’d be a stink, I can tell you. You’d make the headlines all right.’

  ‘But, Superintendent, we’re trying—’

  ‘What do you keep in those files?’

  ‘There’s nothing, I feel certain—’

  ‘How am I to know that? You started off by lying to me, and you’ve done your best to head me off. As far as I can see you’ve prepared for this visit very thoroughly …’

  It was a row and an enjoyable row, because indulged in deliberately. With a dozen deft touches Gently brought his man to the boil. It was the more humiliating for Stanley because his employees stood about him, wholly fascinated by the sight of their managing director being bullied. Certainly, nobody had seen Evans disappear into the cubicle, nobody had a moment to spare to interrupt his proceedings …

  ‘I’ve a good mind to make a complaint to your superiors, Superintendent!’

  When he was angry, Stanley’s lips trembled and he snatched his head as he spoke.

  ‘Good Lord, to come in here, trying to play the little Hitler – do you realize, do you understand—’

  ‘I understand that you want to hide something.’

  ‘In heaven’s name, hide what?’

  ‘I’d like to know that too, of course.’

  ‘You’ve got an obsession, Superintendent! This is persecution, nothing less …’

  For ten minutes Gently kept it going with a malicious pleasure. Stanley had asked for something of this sort and Gently was delighted to oblige. Then he saw Evans leave the cubicle and make a rounded sign with his thumb and finger; it was time to call a halt, to round off the entertainment gracefully …

  ‘In any case, I’m dissatisfied with the result of my inquiries. I shall expect those records found without further delay.’

  ‘We shall find them, make no mistake. I’ll not have this sort of thing twice.’

  ‘And on another occasion I suggest you don’t play clever with the police.’

  He marched off; not failing to catch the gleam of relief in Stanley’s face; into the lift, over the carpets and down the steps to the waiting Wolseley. Evans pushed open the door for him; the driver backed them out of the courtyard. Behind them, high in the murky gloom, Met. L’s neon sign blazed sinisterly.

  ‘Did I hear you having a spat, man?’

  Gently’s grin betrayed his satisfaction. ‘A frank exchange of views, perhaps. Did it buy us anything from the man in the corner?’

  ‘Oh yes. It bought us a lot.’

  ‘Who was the fellow?’

  ‘His name is Piper. He’s the senior wages clerk and he’s been with the firm since nineteen-thirty.’

  ‘Ah. And he did remember Kincaid?’

  ‘He worked beside him for nearly three years.’

  Gently snuggled down into his seat, fetched up his pipe, and put a match to it. He compressed the ash with his thumb, puffing. ‘Good, he said. ‘Let me have it.’

  ‘Well, this Piper believes in Kincaid. He says he’s certain that it’s the same man. He says he was always a bit of a card and used to have ideas about religion.’

  ‘That tallies with our Kincaid.’

  ‘So I thought. And there’s more to come. He knew the girl who Kincaid married. She used to work for Metropolitan Electric too.’

  ‘She worked for them too!’

  ‘So he says. She was a comptometer operator in those days. Paula Blackman, he got the name right, and she lived with her mother in a flat on the King’s Road. And Piper was keen on her himself; which is why his memory is so good. But Kincaid was the one she fancied and Piper’s stayed a bachelor ever since.’

  ‘She must have been quite a girl.’

  ‘I got a similar impression.’

  ‘Did he give you a description?’

  ‘You bet he did. I wrote it down.’ Evans brought out his notebook and thumbed over the pages. ‘Here it is, the best I could get from him after a great deal of questioning. She stood five feet seven and a half. She had a fine figure and some glamorous legs. She had a lot of fine hair, a broad forehead, a delicate nose, a pale, clear complexion and a wideish, thin-lipped mouth. Oh, and a cultivated voice.’

  ‘What was her colouring, confound him?’

  ‘Ah, now there’s the big snag, and likewise the reason why Kincaid couldn’t remember it. She used to dye and peroxide her hair. Piper never knew its real colour. He’s seen it everything between b
lack and a strawberry blonde. He thinks – only thinks, mind you – that it ought to have been golden brown; but if you get a hot suspect, never mind about her hair, man.’

  ‘And her eyes?’ Gently grunted. ‘Does she switch those too?’

  ‘No man. They stay grey, as far as Piper remembers.’

  ‘She wouldn’t be using contact lenses, come in six different colours?’

  ‘Well, I didn’t think to ask. But I’ve got Piper’s phone number.’

  ‘And that’s the lot?’

  ‘No, not quite. Here’s another small item. It seems that Fleece used to work for the same firm in those days.’

  ‘Fleece …!’

  Evans winked evilly. ‘I thought you’d like to hear about that. I’ve been saving it up special – a sort of titbit, like.’

  ‘So there is a connection there!’ Gently sucked in long puffs. This had got to be relevant, however awkwardly it fitted in. Kincaid, his wife, and Arthur Fleece had all been contemporaries at Metropolitan Electric, and for reasons unknown the present boss there wanted to hide this. Why? Was he affected by it personally? Or had someone put pressure on him? And if the latter, who had the power to put pressure on Stanley …?

  ‘Was Fleece in wage accounts?’

  ‘No, he was a very junior executive. Assistant manager or some such, in a production department.’

  ‘When did he leave Met. L?’

  ‘Straight after the Everest expedition. Apparently he came into a bit of money; then he started up on his own.’

  ‘And then he married?’

  ‘I wouldn’t know, man. Now you’ve heard everything Piper told me. But it gives me a curious sort of sensation, as strong as any of Kincaid’s.’

  ‘About Mrs Fleece?’

  ‘You’re guessing, man.’

  ‘Where does she live?’

  ‘Out Kingston way.’

  Gently tapped their driver’s shoulder. ‘Cut across to Kingston,’ he said.

  They switched to the North Circular and proceeded southwards towards Kew, the rain pattering down now and beating hard on the windscreen. Quite childishly, Gently began humming the old Air Force song, and immediately Evans chimed in with a strong, practised baritone:

  She’ll be coming round the mountains—