by Hunter Alan
Gently turned the statement towards him, Lidney took a pen from the penstand, dipped it, wrote splutteringly, made a blot, swore. He threw down the pen.
‘Is that the bloody lot?’ he said.
‘Not quite,’ Gently said. ‘We haven’t heard from our man yet.’
‘Do you think I’d sling my hook, is that it?’ Lidney said.
Gently didn’t reply, took the statement, countersigned it, relit his pipe. They waited. Joyce rang. Lidney had begun to sweat again. His eyes were sharp on the phone, he leaned his head forward towards it. Gently hung up, looked at Lidney, said:
‘All right. You’re clear for the moment.’
‘So I should bloody think,’ Lidney said.
‘We’ll run you home,’ Gently said.
‘Oh no,’ Lidney said, ‘you’re not running me home.’ His eyes needled at Gently. ‘I’ve had enough of you buggers,’ he said. ‘I’m taking a bus. I’d walk home sooner. I’d sooner bloody crawl home.’
Parfitt said: ‘You’ll crawl into a cell Lidney if you give us any more of that sort of language.’
‘You don’t count,’ Lidney said. ‘You’re just the boy. Pipe down. Listen to what he tells you.’
Parfitt got to his feet.
‘Get out,’ Gently said to Lidney.
The uniform man took Lidney’s arm. Lidney kicked the chair aside, went out. When he was outside he reached round the uniform man and slammed the door. Parfitt rushed to the door.
‘No,’ Gently said.
‘I’ll smash his ugly face in,’ Parfitt said.
‘Then you’ll do what he wants you to do,’ Gently said. ‘Come back and sit down, let him go.’
‘But why are we letting him go?’ Parfitt said. ‘I’ll slap a bloody charge on him if you won’t.’
‘It wouldn’t do any good,’ Gently said, ‘come back and sit down. We’ve got what we want. Let him go.’
Parfitt turned, looked across at Gently.
‘Order up some coffee,’ Gently said.
‘I don’t want coffee,’ Parfitt said. ‘I want to hit someone.’
‘But there’s nobody to hit,’ Gently said. ‘Nobody.’
CHAPTER TEN
THUS GROWING LATE on the night of Saturday August 8th being a clear night with stars and the adumbrating glow of two cities being the night when yesterday’s empty moorings were full and today’s packed quays were empty when the same boats had gone to the same places though with different people but with the same ineptitudes; on such a night as was this Superintendent Gently took Harry French’s launch took it unlighted out of the yacht basin into the river through the bridge. Because there were few boats not yet set forth because the people in them were fresh to it and so self-absorbed because Reuben had moved his fair to Wraxstead and because Gently used no lights Inspector Parfitt he only observed Gently’s passage through the bridge watched the launch pull over to its left moor a faint shadow on the glimmer of water. Then Inspector Parfitt having looked long and hard lit a cigarette strolled off the bridge went to sit in the car as he had been instructed and took no more part in that matter at that time; while Superintendent Gently after mooring at the rond looping his orange painter where Harry French had looped the painter he crossed the rough ground turned left down the cinder path came to the gate of the Speltons’ house went through it through the garden to the door of the house which was closed though lights showed in the office window; and knocked quietly twice on the door.
David Spelton answered the knock. He said nothing to Superintendent Gently but stood looking at him. Superintendent Gently after a few moments made to enter through the door and David Spelton fell back. Superintendent Gently went into the office and David Spelton followed him after closing the outer door. Behind the desk in the office Jack Spelton was sitting. He had a handmade cigarette in the corner of his mouth a tin of papers and cigarette roller in front of him also a box of matches and a full ashtray; he was squinting at the ashtray breaking spent matches into it didn’t look at Gently when Gently entered didn’t say anything to Gently drew at the cigarette broke matches. David Spelton threw himself on a chair. Gently sat on another chair. Apart from the snapping of the matches and David Spelton’s breathing there was silence in the office for upwards of a minute. Then David Spelton jumped up, said:
‘Are you just going to bloody sit there?’
Gently was watching Jack Spelton. Jack Spelton nostrilled smoke broke matches.
‘You’ve been at John French,’ David Spelton said. ‘You’ve been at Sid Lidney all day. You’ve had him in Starmouth giving him hell, he’s just back. Now you’re here. So what’s it about, why can’t you tell us, why are you sitting there like a bloody post, why can’t you say what you’ve got to say, do you think we’re going to knock your block off ?’
Gently looked at David Spelton, said: ‘You’re well abreast of our movements.’
‘Christ and why not?’ David Spelton said. ‘What do you do round here that nobody notices? We know, everyone knows, you’ll read it in the Press tomorrow morning, the pubs, the yards, the boats, the lot, why can’t we know like everyone else.’
‘Then you know as much as I can tell you,’ Gently said.
‘Then why don’t you do something about it?’ David Spelton said.
‘I am doing something about it,’ Gently said.
‘Oh Christ then get on with it,’ David Spelton said.
Jack Spelton opened the tobacco tin fed tobacco into the machine fed in a paper licked the paper rolled a cigarette.
‘You’ve eliminated that lot haven’t you,’ David Spelton said. ‘You thought it was Sid who did it for a long time. You’ve been trying to break him down, get a confession, but it didn’t work, you couldn’t hang it on him. And young French, it’s the same with him, you tried hard but it wouldn’t fit. That leaves us. It’s got to be us. We’re the only ones left. It’s me or Jack. Why can’t you make your mind up and get it over and pull out your bloody handcuffs and take us away?’
‘Dave,’ Jack Spelton said, ‘Dave.’
‘I don’t care, that’s what he’s after,’ David Spelton said. ‘I knew from the first how it was going to be, right from them pulling him out on our slipway. We were too bloody handy on the spot, they had to bring it home to us. We were right there, motive, opportunity, hammers, and he comes back into our slipway, points us out, it was us.’
‘No Dave,’ Jack Spelton said.
‘Yes what could be neater?’ David Spelton said. ‘It’s poetic justice, it’s credible, rational, just get rid of the other suspects and there we are. Yes, that’s justice, it’ll look like justice, it’s what they’re paid for, they’ll get congratulated. I’ll congratulate them. Congratulations. You’ve done a wonderful job. Call the Black Maria.’
Jack Spelton lit the fresh cigarette broke the match in three dropped the pieces.
Gently said to Jack Spelton: ‘Was your shed door open that night, around eleven or a few minutes after?’
‘Of course it was bloody well open,’ David Spelton said. ‘How else did we get out to smash his skull?’
‘Was it open?’ Gently said.
Jack Spelton looked into the ashtray. He nodded.
‘Now you’ve made him happy,’ David Spelton said. ‘That was the last link. Case complete.’
‘Why was it open?’ Gently said.
Jack Spelton shook his head over the ashtray.
‘Oh tell him tell him,’ David Spelton said.
‘It was open,’ Jack Spelton said.
‘So now you know the truth,’ David Spelton said. ‘Jackie never told a lie in his life, did he?’
‘Dave,’ Jack Spelton said.
‘And it was me who went through that door,’ David Spelton said.
Gently said nothing. Jack Spelton broke matches. David Spelton stood fronting Gently, swayed on his toes. David Spelton’s brown hands were clenching and unclenching and his lips were quivering his nostrils expanded. Gently took no notice of David Spel
ton. Jack Spelton took no notice of his brother. A fretwork clock ticked on the wall. Jack Spelton squinted at the clock, said:
‘You come here for someone.’
‘Yes,’ Gently said.
‘Maybe they don’t want to go,’ Jack Spelton said.
‘I could call in help,’ Gently said.
‘Maybe you could,’ Jack Spelton said.
‘Maybe you’d better,’ David Spelton said. ‘You won’t take me in like a bloody lamb. I reckon you slipped up coming here on your lonesome, there’s plenty of hammers in this establishment.’
‘I’m only interested in one hammer,’ Gently said, ‘and that’s probably in the river just out there.’
‘Maybe we could arrange for you to look for it,’ David Spelton said. ‘I could arrange it, I know how it’s done.’
‘Dave, Dave,’ Jack Spelton said.
‘Yes,’ David Spelton said, ‘it’s a quiet night. It was quiet on Tuesday when the fair shut down. It’s quieter tonight. Nobody about, very quiet.’
‘You go and sit down Dave,’ Jack Spelton said.
‘I’d better go and be looking for a hammer,’ David Spelton said.
Gently said: ‘Yes you do that. Go and look for a hammer.’
‘What?’ David Spelton said, ‘what? What?’
Gently glanced at him. David Spelton’s eyes were staring. He went back on his heels, flat-footed. His mouth was dragged, had a wisp of foam on the lips.
‘Dave,’ Jack Spelton said, ‘the bloke’s only doing his job.’
‘I’ll,’ David Spelton said, ‘I’ll . . .’
‘He isn’t being kidded,’ Jack Spelton said.
‘He’s alone here,’ David Spelton said. ‘Just like Harry French was alone. He doesn’t have some bloody magic on account of he’s a ferret. He’s an enemy, like Harry French was. He’s my enemy. He wants to lock me up. Why have I got to sit around waiting for it, why have I, why have I?’
‘It isn’t good enough Dave,’ Jack Spelton said.
‘It’s got to be good enough,’ David Spelton said.
Jack Spelton lisped smoke. ‘It had to pan out this way,’ he said. ‘You knew it, I knew it, you’re only spitting blood Dave.’
David Spelton looked at his brother. Jack Spelton broke a match. His thin face was long, the cheeks indrawn, hollow. He squinted suddenly at David Spelton, didn’t hold his eye. David Spelton groaned. He fell into a chair, went slack.
Gently said to Jack Spelton: ‘Is there anything you want to tell me?’
Jack Spelton shook his head. ‘Reckon it’s your job,’ he said.
‘You could make it easier,’ Gently said.
‘Don’t want to make it easier,’ Jack Spelton said. ‘You just work it out old partner, I’m not going to draw lines for you.’
‘Let’s say you’d make it easier for everyone,’ Gently said.
Jack Spelton shook his head, said nothing.
‘If that’s how you want it then,’ Gently said. He rose slowly, stood looking at Jack Spelton. ‘I’m going down to Lidney’s for a few minutes,’ he said.
Jack Spelton squinted towards him, towards his chest. He poked ends of matches into the filled ashtray, looked at his brother. His brother was still.
‘There’s something Lidney can tell me,’ Gently said, ‘I don’t think we’ll need anything else. Then I’ll be back. I’ve a car waiting at the bridge. Perhaps you’ll help me just a little bit. That’d be best.’
Jack Spelton said nothing, went on poking. The fretwork clock fizzed, chimed tinnily. The hands of the clock pointed to eleven hours. Gently turned to the door, went out of the office.
He walked firmly, didn’t look about him, listened to his steps crunching on the cinders. There were stars but there was no moon and there were no lights except back at the bridge. Across the rough rond where the launch was moored the river lay dark as a river of ink and very low and very indistinct on the surface curled and twisted the phantom mist. He heard no sound but his footsteps. He came to the seventh bungalow, pushed open the gate. A room was lit in the front of the bungalow and light spilled on the mooring cut but the cut was empty. Gently rapped at the door. He heard a man’s voice inside. Steps came towards the door, the door was opened. Lidney stood inside the door. His eyes peered out. He stood heavy and large with the light behind him. Gently said:
‘I’ll step in for a moment.’
‘You,’ Lidney said hoarsely, ‘you again.’
‘I shan’t be here for long,’ Gently said. ‘Not as long as Harry French was here on Tuesday.’
Lidney stepped back. The light fell on his face. His face was yellowish, he was snatching at his breath. Behind him down the hallway stood Rhoda Lidney her hair in curlers her mouth sagged open. Gently went in, closed the door after him. He went down the hallway past Rhoda Lidney. Rhoda Lidney’s eyes stared at him, she said nothing. He went into the parlour, stood, took out his pipe. Lidney came in. Lidney stood not looking at Gently. Rhoda Lidney came in. Gently lit his pipe. Lidney said:
‘You’re going to pinch me after all.’
‘No, nothing of that sort,’ Gently said.
‘Not a pinch?’ Lidney said.
‘Just ten minutes to smoke my pipe,’ Gently said.
‘Smoke your pipe,’ Lidney said. ‘Why do you have to smoke your pipe here?’
‘That’s all I’m going to do,’ Gently said, ‘you don’t have to stand around and watch me.’
‘It’s some bloody game,’ Lidney said.
‘I told you you were in the clear,’ Gently said.
‘Yes, it bloody looks like it, doesn’t it?’ Lidney said.
‘Are you going to turn me out?’ Gently said.
He smoked. Rhoda Lidney came further into the room. She looked at Gently, looked at her husband. Lidney was twisting his mouth, his long arms hanging. His eyes were unpuckered, looking at nothing. Rhoda Lidney said:
‘That frigging pipe stinks.’
‘Don’t you come anything,’ Lidney muttered.
‘I’ll say what I like,’ Rhoda Lidney said. ‘He can’t come buggering us about like this.’
‘You button your lip,’ Lidney said. ‘This bastard never does nothing without there’s a reason. Let him smoke his pipe, button your lip.’
‘Well I’m not scared of him,’ Rhoda Lidney said.
She went to a chair, dumped herself on it. Gently looked at his watch, smoked. Rhoda Lidney began twisting more curlers into her hair, her eyes fixed all the time on Gently. Lidney didn’t move from where he stood. There weren’t any sounds from outside the room. Rhoda Lidney finished putting in curlers. Gently looked at his watch again, slipped his pipe in his pocket. He said:
‘Thanks. I’ll be going.’
‘How nice to have seen you,’ Rhoda Lidney said.
Lidney twisted his head, stared up at Gently. He shook his head, said nothing.
Gently went down the hallway, out of the door, closed the door and gate behind him. Outside the gate he paused, listened, waited for his vision to readjust. Then he walked slowly along the cinder path and across the rough ground to the launch. He stood by the launch. He stood facing the river. He stood with his back towards the path. He listened. He heard a faint breeze lifting the leaves of a bush willow. He heard a car come up to the bridge, halt, accelerate over the bridge. He heard a coot-call from up the river and the splash of a rising fish from down the river and the very distant rumble of a train and the whistling flight of a swan overhead. Then for some time he heard only the bush willow and when the breeze failed, silence. He moved. He bent down to untie the painter. He had his hands at the painter. He heard close behind him a tremulous whimper like the whimper of a dog. He turned quickly, turned aside, snatched a torch from his pocket, shone the torch. The torch beam fell on Vera Spelton. Vera Spelton had a hammer raised in her hand. Vera Spelton was frowning flinching dribbling whimpering buzzing through her teeth making feints with the hammer. She came for the light. She struck at the light. Gently wasn
’t behind the light. He grabbed her wrist. She whimpered, twisted free, suddenly threw herself away from him, seemed to vanish. He swung the beam of the torch about, it didn’t find her. It fell on the upturned boat. From beneath the boat came a whimper.
Gently advanced to the boat, played his torch on it. Inside the boat Vera Spelton buzzed and whined. The rond where the boat lay was uneven and below the gunnel at one point was a shallow gap. The gap was no larger than the entrance to a fox earth and it was scuffed and worn bare of grass and when Gently shone the torch on it the whinings increased and retreated further under the boat. He played the torch about the rond, found a length of old plank. He inserted the end of the plank in the gap, got his shoulder under the plank, heaved. The boat lifted. Vera Spelton whimpered. He heaved again, threw his weight against the boat. The boat tottered, came to the point of balance, poised, went over crashingly in the nettles. Vera Spelton set up a high-pitched keening. She was crouched to the ground still clutching the hammer. There were other tools about her. There were pieces of mahogany boat fitments bolts screws a model of a yacht. On a stick thrust in the ground was tied a Spelton houseflag. On an offcut of pegboard were pinned photographs of yachts. Vera Spelton keened at Gently. She held the hammer out in front of her. Her lips were pulled back over her teeth spittle dripped from her chin she hitched herself along the ground away from him held the hammer between them. Gently said:
‘You’re up late Miss Spelton.’
Vera Spelton whimpered, feinted with the hammer.
‘You should have been in bed long ago,’ Gently said. ‘Your brothers will be worried about you. Dave and Jackie will be worried.’
Vera Spelton whined at him. She bubbled spittle.
‘You’re losing your beauty sleep,’ Gently said. ‘Attractive girls like you should go to bed early, they shouldn’t stay out in the night air. You mustn’t do it very often Miss Spelton. You want to stay attractive don’t you? This is really very late, you should think about bed, then you’ll be attractive for tomorrow.’
Vera Spelton stared at the light, didn’t make a noise. Gently let the beam fall between them. He kept an eye on the hammer. The hammer was still. The head of the hammer had sunk a little. Gently said: