Gently by the Shore

by Alan Hunter

  Louey’s chuckle continued. ‘How else could you have known about it? You admit that Streifer meant nothing to you on Friday night, so you could hardly have been making inquiries after him, Inspector …’

  They had passed by the Wellesley, its wrought-iron fantasia washed and gleaming, and were approaching the weirdly incongruous skyline of the Pleasure Beach. High over all reared the Scenic Railway, a miniature Bass Rock fashioned out of painted canvas and paper mache, and under it, like a brood of Easter chicks under a hen, the gay-painted turrets and roofs of side shows, booths and the other mechanical entertainments. Harsh strains of music through the rain suggested that the Pleasure Beachers, like lesser mortals, were assuming a custom though they had it not.

  Louey gestured comfortably towards the gateway. ‘Rivals of mine … but they don’t have a licence! Shall we stroll through?’

  Gently nodded drippingly. ‘I want to see the place. It’s where Streifer dropped the man who was tailing him on Friday.’

  ‘Which shows he knew his job, Inspector. Isn’t this where you would come to shake off a tail?’

  ‘I can’t say I’ve had much experience …’

  They passed under the flaunting portal with its electric jewellery. The close-packed attractions within wore a rueful look, unsupported by the crowds. Larger and more expensive pieces were frankly at a standstill – the Caterpillar had postponed its gallop, the Glee Cars their jaunting – while the smaller roundabouts and rides were operating at a profit margin which was doubtful. Booth attendants stood about in each other’s stalls. They were drinking tea and staring around them morosely. The owner of the Ghost Train, for want of something to do, was riding round in his own contraption, but all its promised thrills seemed unable to raise the siege of boredom which had invested his countenance.

  ‘Of course there’s Frenchy,’ brooded Gently, obstinately undiverted by all these diversions.

  ‘Frenchy?’ echoed Louey indifferently, ‘is she mixed up with the business too? She took a hint the other night, Inspector. She hasn’t been near the bar since then.’

  ‘Stratilesceul was a client of hers … she went off to the North Shore with him in a taxi just before he was murdered.’

  ‘Ah, that accounts for a rumour I heard that she had been arrested.’

  ‘You heard such a rumour?’

  ‘We’re for ever hearing them in our business.’

  ‘Undoubtedly … you are very well placed.’

  Gently halted to inspect the front of a sideshow. It was an exhibition of methods of execution through the centuries and was advertised by some particularly lurid illustrations. He seemed to be strangely fascinated.

  ‘And she will have given you some useful information?’ suggested Louey, moving on a step impatiently.

  ‘She knows a good deal … she’ll be a devastating witness.’

  ‘There would be some danger in it for her.’

  ‘Danger? With police protection?’

  Louey turned his back on the sideshow and busied himself with lighting a cigarette. ‘If this murder was the work of an organization – and you don’t seem to be in any doubt about it now – then there would be a very real danger for anyone bearing material witness. Men can be hanged, Inspector, but organizations cannot. And my feeling is that a person of Frenchy’s kidney wouldn’t risk too much for pure love of our excellent police force.’

  Gently stooped to get a closer view of a gentleman who had been given too long a drop, with the usual top-secret result. ‘You know Frenchy well?’ he asked carelessly.

  ‘I? Not apart from running her out of my bar on several occasions.’

  ‘Dulton … Dulsome Street is where she lives.’

  ‘Dulford Street, Inspector.’

  ‘That’s right. You’ve been there?’

  ‘Not visiting Frenchy, if that’s what you mean.’

  ‘You’re sure of that? Not in the last day or two?’

  ‘Quite positive, Inspector. My tastes have never been that way inclined.’

  Gently straightened up slowly. ‘Odd,’ he said, frowning.

  ‘What’s odd about that?’

  ‘These two cigarette ends.’ Gently felt in his pocket and produced a crumpled envelope. ‘There … you see? Your blend of Russian. I found them in an ashtray in Frenchy’s bedroom yesterday afternoon.’

  Louey poked at them with a gigantic finger and nodded heavily. ‘You’re right, Inspector … it is my blend.’

  ‘I was sure of it … I was feeling positive you’d been there.’

  The grey eyes rested on his firmly, the flecked pupil seeming curiously larger than its neighbour. ‘Isn’t it a shame, Inspector,’ purred Louey, ‘I thought my cigarettes were exclusive. And now, in the commission of your duty, you’ve proved that someone else in Starmouth smokes them too … at least, I take it, it was in the commission of your duty?’

  Gently shrugged and shoved the envelope back into his pocket.

  The Scenic Railway had its shutters up, though someone was tinkering with one of the trolleys. It wasn’t quite so impressive on a nearer view. Its cliffs and crags were so palpably props, its tunnels and bridges so contrived. And the rain made it look sorrier still, a great, hollow, sodden mockery. Gently took refuge in a peppermint cream as they squelched past it. If only he’d thought to bring a more reliable pair of shoes …!

  ‘I suppose I don’t have to ask you to account for your movements last Tuesday night?’ he growled, as they got out on to the promenade again.

  ‘But of course!’ Louey chuckled, as though he welcomed the inquiry. ‘I was having a little party in the back … Peachey, Artie, Tizer and some more of the boys. You ask them, Inspector. They’ll all remember my party on Tuesday night.’

  ‘I’m sure they will. And of course it went on till late?’

  ‘Not terribly late. I cleared them out at two.’

  ‘Just late enough, in fact.’

  ‘Well … it was late enough for me.’

  ‘And that would be your story – supposing you had to have a story?’

  ‘Certainly, Inspector. Why should I tell any other?’

  ‘There’s no knowing what Frenchy may say.’

  ‘She’s a woman without character.’

  ‘Or Streifer, for example.’

  ‘Streifer?’ Louey hung on to the word, as though expecting an explanation.

  ‘And then there’s your car,’ continued Gently, ignoring him. ‘Was that borrowed or something on the Tuesday night?’

  ‘My car …?’ This time the inquiring tone had an edge of anxiety.

  ‘You lent it to someone – and they went up to North Shore?’

  ‘I don’t understand, Inspector. My car would have been in its lock-up in Botolph Street.’

  ‘Even though it was seen somewhere else?’

  ‘That would hardly be possible …’

  ‘Then you didn’t lend it to anyone?’

  ‘No. It was never out of the garage.’

  ‘So the people who saw it at North Shore would be liars?’

  ‘They were certainly under a misapprehension …’

  Gently flicked briskly at his over-worked trilby. ‘You’ll have got rid of the ring, of course … that was too much of a coincidence.’

  The big features relaxed and there was a glimpse of gold. ‘If you don’t mind me saying it, Inspector, I think we had better consider that ring to have been an illusion.’

  ‘I’m not subject to illusions, Louey.’

  ‘But just once, perhaps, in a long career?’

  ‘Not even once, and certainly not prophetically. I didn’t know the TSK or its secret sign existed when I saw your ring, but I knew where I’d seen it before when it turned up a second time.’

  ‘A trick of the memory, perhaps.’

  ‘The police aren’t much subject to them.’

  ‘Well, shall we say rather dubious evidence?’

  In a court of law it would be for the jury to decide.’

  Louey
laughed his low, caressing laugh. ‘How we talk, Inspector … how we do. But I like these examples of your official approach to a problem. It’s comforting to feel that the guardians of our law and order work so efficiently and so intelligently. As I said on a former occasion, I could only wish you had more promising material to deal with in the present instance.’

  ‘I’ll make do,’ grunted Gently, ‘it doesn’t seem to be running out on me at the moment.’

  Louey shook his head with a sort of playful sympathy. ‘I respect your attitude … it’s the attitude one would expect and look for in such a man as yourself. But honestly, Inspector, when one takes stock of the situation … for instance, this Streifer. What can you do about him? You can connect him with the murdered man in a dozen ways, you can show he was the most likely one to have done it – but what’s all that worth when you haven’t got a scrap of proof that he did it? I don’t have to remind you of our careful court procedure. In some countries Streifer would be executed out-of-hand on a tenth of the evidence … and perhaps you’ll allow, without too much injustice. But here you have to convince your jury. Here you are obliged to go to fanatical lengths to show proof and double proof. And you don’t seem to have it, Inspector. You are faced with a planned execution, the details of which have been efficiently erased. I’ve no doubt that a jury would convict Streifer of something – there must be several lesser charges you could bring – but as a betting man, Inspector, I’m willing to give you ten to one they never convict him of murdering Stratilesceul.’

  Louey took a farewell puff at his cigarette and seemed about to toss it away. Then he changed his mind and with a gilded smile handed it to Gently.

  ‘Another one for your collection!’

  Gently nodded and extinguished it carefully.

  ‘The previous remarks,’ continued Louey, watching him, ‘supposing you have in fact arrested Streifer …?’

  Gently tucked away the sodden end without replying. Louey nodded as though that were sufficient answer.

  ‘And I don’t think you will, Inspector … I don’t really think you will. If he was, as you say, a member of the … what was it? A secret police? I imagine he will know his way out of a country … don’t you? Especially with the assistance we must assume he will get from his organization over here.’

  Gently stuck his hands in his pockets and plodded on. He seemed completely immersed in something taking place over the pale sea-horizon.

  ‘It’s wrong of me,’ mused Louey, ‘I shouldn’t say it … but I can’t help feeling a little sympathy for the man.’

  ‘Sympathy? For a cold-blooded murderer?’

  ‘Not a murderer, Inspector … an executioner, I think you must call him.’

  ‘Stratilesceul’s hands were tied – do you sympathize with that?’

  ‘You’re forgetting, Inspector, we also tie a man’s hands for execution. If killing is the order, one may as well kill efficiently.’

  ‘But we don’t torture, Louey. Stratilesceul was burned with cigarettes.’

  ‘Our torture is mental, Inspector … it lasts longer, and it isn’t done for useful ends, such as eliciting information. No … I’m sorry. You must permit me to feel some sympathy for Streifer. He did what he did in the service of an ideal, rightly or wrongly … you really mustn’t equate him with even the common hangman.’

  Gently’s shoulders hunched ever higher. ‘He was paid, wasn’t he … just like the common hangman?’

  ‘Naturally, a labourer is worthy of his hire. But the pay wasn’t his motive, you know. It wouldn’t be an adequate incentive to such risk and responsibility. Your hangman is a mere assassin … you hand him his thirty pieces of silver and say Murder; we have bound your victim. And he murders, Inspector. He has your full protection. His crime is written up to humanity and he departs to spend the blood-money. Is this the way of the man you want to hang? Is this the way of any of the men you hang?’

  ‘At least we kill only the killers …’

  ‘Is that better than killing for an ideal?’

  ‘It is an ideal – to protect people on their lawful occasions.’

  ‘If only it protected them, Inspector … if only it did! But your ideal is a pathetic fallacy, I’m afraid. Of course it’s wrong to say this … I understand your position. Your duty is to catch a criminal and judgment is elsewhere. But I want you to understand me when I say I feel a little sympathy with Streifer … we can talk together, Inspector. You are a man of intelligence.’

  They had come to the end of the town, a straggle of houses on one hand, wasteground and the beach on the other. Louey paused as they came abreast with a decaying pill-box.

  ‘This is as far as I go, fair weather or foul.’

  Gently nodded woodenly and gave his trilby a further flick. Then he turned to face the two grey eyes which rested on him confidently, almost affectionately.

  ‘I’m glad you made the point …’ The eyes were interrogative. ‘… about my duty. It is to catch the criminal.’

  Louey’s enormous head tilted backwards and forwards almost imperceptibly.

  ‘And since I’m in betting company, Louey, I’ll take you at the odds. Wasn’t it ten to one you quoted?’

  ‘At ten to one … and Louey always pays.’

  ‘I’ll have a pound on. You can open my account.’

  The grey eyes flashed and the big man burst into laughter.

  ‘You’re on, Inspector … the first policeman I ever had on my books!’

  Gently quizzed him expressionlessly from the depths of his comfortless collar. ‘Let’s hope you’re lucky,’ he said, ‘let’s hope I’m not the last.’

  The lonely phone-box had a tilt in it, due to the subsidence of its sandy foundation. But it was dry inside and Gently took time off to light his pipe before getting down to business. He gave headquarters’ number.

  ‘Get me Inspector Copping.’

  Copping arrived in fairly prompt switchboard time.

  ‘Gently here … are we still entertaining Frenchy?’

  ‘Entertaining’s the word!’ came Copping’s disgusted voice. ‘She’s been yelling her head off since they brought her back … says she wants a lawyer and that we’re holding her under false pretences.’

  Gently grinned in a cloud of pipe-smoke. ‘She’s got her bail … what more does she want?’

  ‘The cash, apparently … you seem to have pinched her at the end of the month.’

  ‘Well … keep her nice and cosy. Has anything else come in?’

  ‘Not a darned thing.’

  ‘Have the lab made anything of that paper?’

  ‘They say it’s manufactured in Bristol and used for packing mattresses. I’ve got a man going round the stores trying to match it.’

  ‘No prints worth having?’

  ‘Nothing anybody’s heard of.’

  ‘You haven’t traced that taxi?’

  ‘Not so’s you’d notice it.’

  Gently clicked his tongue. ‘It’s a wet Monday all right, isn’t it? Is Dutt anywhere handy?’

  ‘He’s hanging about waiting for someone to bail Frenchy.’

  ‘I want him for a job … one of your own men will have to watch our Frenchy.’

  The phone at the other end was laid down and Gently whiled away the odd moments watching two raindrops making tracks down the ebony panel in the back of the box. Then Dutt’s chirpy accents saluted him from the receiver.

  ‘Yessir? You was wanting me?’

  ‘Yes, Dutt … I want you to do a little scouting in your old pitch in Botolph Street. There’s a lock-up garage there where Louey keeps his car. You might find out if anyone noticed the car being used on Tuesday night …’

  ‘Yessir. I think I knows the very garage you’re talking about.’

  ‘Stout fellow, Dutt. And don’t forget your mac.’

  ‘No, sir! Don’t you worry!’

  Gently eyed the rain-swept vista outside his box with a jaundiced stare. ‘And while we’re at it, Dutt, get them to sen
d a car to pick me up at South Shore … I’ve had all the constitutional my constitution will stand for one wet day!’

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  THERE WAS A hiatus in the proceedings and the super, excellent man, had scented it out with his keen, service-minded nostrils. Gently had come to a standstill. His case was bogging down. He had pushed it up the hill with his bulky shoulder until he was in hailing distance of the top and now, with the deceptive vision of arrests and charges dead ahead, he was stuck fast as though he had run into an invisible barrier. It was a sad sight, but not an unexpected one. The super had had a strong intuition all along that this was how it would wind up. Because he knew something about secret agents, did the super. He had come across them before in his long career and he could tell Gently, if Gently was harbouring any illusions, just how slippery these birds inevitably were …

  ‘You see, they plan their murders … that’s the vital difference between them and the ordinary homicide. They know what we’ll do and they take damn’ good care to protect themselves.’

  Gently looked up from a large-scale map and smiled with an irony which the super was unable to appreciate. ‘In fact we’re … “faced with a planned execution, the details of which have been efficiently erased”.’

  ‘Precisely.’ The super cast him a suspicious glance. ‘We may as well face it, Gently. We’re not infallible. We make use of our skill and technique to the best of our ability, but the people on the other side start with an enormous advantage and if they use it intelligently then we’re batting on a pretty sticky wicket.’

  ‘I know, I’ve heard it once before today. We haven’t got Streifer, we can’t prove he did it and’ – he rustled the map on his desk – ‘we don’t even know where it was done.’

  ‘Well – those are the facts, Gently, and you’d better add that we’ve exhausted most of the chances of improving on them. Oh, I don’t want to be discouraging, and I’m certainly not disparaging all the sound work you’ve put in getting this case into perspective, but you are scraping the bottom of the barrel now and getting precious little for it – and every hour that passes makes it less and less likely that we shall lay hands on Streifer. This isn’t his first job here, you must remember. The Special have been after him before without finding hide nor hair of him and there’s no reason to expect they’ll be luckier this time.’