Gently Sinking

by Alan Hunter

  Gently shook his head. ‘Not eau-de-Cologne. Whatever it was cost more than that.’

  ‘Something the woman wore?’

  ‘Perhaps. But she’d need to have been here more than once.’

  ‘Like she was his regular.’

  ‘Yes . . . regular. That dressing-table isn’t exactly masculine.’

  He went to the wardrobe. Beside the stock of clothes were six, eight empty hangers. Two of the fitted drawers were empty. In the tallboy, two more.

  Tallent gave a low whistle. ‘I ought to have spotted that,’ he said. ‘So she was living here.’

  Gently shrugged. ‘More likely commuting, or she’d have been spotted. What do the dabs tell us?’

  Tallent looked at Makin.

  ‘Several dabs of another person,’ Makin said. ‘Scattered about. Mostly in here. One or two in the kitchen.’

  ‘Not on record?’

  ‘No, sir.’

  ‘With us – or the Immigration Department?’

  ‘I—’ Makin’s incipient jowls flushed. ‘Didn’t try them, sir,’ he admitted.

  ‘Blast,’ Tallent said. He gave Makin a look that promised no sweetness for the future. ‘Bloody obvious, isn’t it, when you come to think. A black woman. It has to be.’

  ‘A black woman,’ Gently said. ‘Of course, she may not be on record. May not necessarily be black. But we’ll check right away.’

  Tallent leered at Makin, who left hastily. Soon they heard the Viva start below. Tallent took out cigarettes, offered them to Gently, lit one, dragged smoke thirstily.

  ‘A black girl,’ he said. ‘You get the picture. I’d say he was asking for it, messing with them. Do you reckon she did it – or just set him up, then whistled the boyo in with his knife?’

  ‘She could have done it,’ Gently said flatly.

  ‘Yeah,’ Tallent said, his eyes imagining it. ‘But in the back – you think of that. Was he surprised? Was he sent?’

  ‘Perhaps she wasn’t in on it, sir,’ Stout suggested. ‘We don’t know for a fact she was.’

  ‘Likely,’ Tallent said. ‘He was still naked. You think he hung around that way all evening?’

  ‘How were his clothes left?’ Gently asked.

  ‘Stacked on the chair by the bed. Pretty neat. Trousers folded. He’d slipped out of the shirt quick, didn’t undo the cuff-links.’

  ‘And the bedclothes?’

  ‘Quilt on the floor, the rest mussed up but not turned back. They didn’t get in it. Guess he was impatient. Quite a bit of blood soaked through.’

  He sieved out smoke.

  ‘Any luck with the knife?’

  ‘Not yet. Too many of that sort around. We’re checking the manor, but everyone sells them. Fifty per cent go to immigrants.’

  ‘Just the cheapest sort of job, sir,’ Stout put in. ‘Even toy-shops, newsagents stock them.’

  They moved out of the bedroom. Everywhere in the flat you had the sensation of time standing still, as though these rooms had died too when Blackburn’s life was snuffed out. Suddenly their meaning had been arrested. Dead rooms, dead furniture. A bottle of milk in the kitchen had curdled. A calendar still showed the 17th.

  ‘These are the steps down,’ Tallent said, opening a door in the kitchen.

  At the back of the house was a strip of garden with, at the bottom, a huge horse-chestnut. A garden on the right was vivid with dahlias, on the left apples dripped among sodden leaves. Blackburn’s steps were a fire-escape, doubtless added before the house was converted. Near the foot was an iron gate. It gave access to a footway between a wall and a wooden fence.

  ‘Leads to the service road at the back.’

  That way Blackburn’s killer had come.

  ‘You’ve searched that area?’

  ‘We searched. Blackburn’s dabs on the gate, the stair-rail.’

  The service road was unlit. Soon after six it would be dark down there, with only light from uncurtained windows to show how dark the darkness was. On the kitchen door a Yale lock, easily sprung with a thin knife-blade.

  ‘Give me some background,’ Gently said. ‘You’ll have had time to get on to it by now. Who did he know? Where did he eat? What pub did he go to?’

  Tallent shuffled a brogued foot. ‘That’s just what we haven’t got on to,’ he said. ‘Seems he didn’t pal up with his neighbours, have friends. He was a loner. He looked in the office most days, but they were only working this one ship. He’d go up Soho some place to lunch. Sometimes he’d meet his partners in the evening. They’d go to a show, eat out, maybe chat up some birds in a pub. Then he’d come home, alone. He never brought the other two here.’

  ‘That leaves gaps,’ Gently said.

  ‘Yeah,’ Tallent frowned. ‘When he didn’t go to shows. Maybe his black bird took up his time. Perhaps we’ll fill in the blanks later.’

  ‘You’ve been questioning immigrants?’

  ‘Oh sure. We’ve got our quota round here.’

  ‘And?’

  Tallent blew a raspberry with cigarette-smoke. ‘You know how the black community clams up. Push them hard and they give you the silent treatment. No dice. We’re still trying.’

  ‘I don’t think they know anything, sir,’ Stout said. ‘I’ve got contacts with the local immigrants. They’re pretty scared. They know we’re gunning for them. My impression is that chummie comes from elsewhere.’

  Tallent blew smoke.

  ‘Still background,’ Gently said. ‘How much was Blackburn worth when he died?’

  ‘Plenty,’ Tallent said. ‘It’s in three accounts, and notes stashed away in deposit boxes. We got all that from his hideyhole. It adds up to eleven, twelve thou. There was a wad of three hundred, along with the papers and twenty-fivers in his wallet. They were charging the illegals two-fifty a trip, out of which Blackburn was netting one hundred. Then they hit them for another hundred later when they started regular work. Average twenty clients a month the year round. Tax free.’

  ‘For five years,’ Gently said.

  ‘The last big spender,’ Tallent said. ‘Perhaps there’s more stashed away. That’s why I’m taking the flat apart. He was also getting payments from some source not identified in the record, a matter of two, three hundred a month. Hardly worth him sending round for.’

  ‘Any sign of a search?’

  ‘No,’ Tallent said. ‘Nor they didn’t touch his wallet.’

  ‘His partners don’t stand to collect?’

  ‘Not any way we can figure yet.’ Tallent hissed smoke at the ceiling. ‘I’ve been working that angle, sir,’ he said. ‘I wanted it cleared out of the way. I buzzed Sheffield, asked them to make discreet inquiries about Blackburn’s family. There’s just his father, age seventy, and he hasn’t been away from Sheffield for years.’

  ‘A shock for the old man,’ Gently said.

  ‘Yeah,’ Tallent said. ‘But gilt-edged. And that answers that. Blackburn wasn’t put away for his money.’

  ‘Leaving revenge-murder.’

  ‘As you say, sir.’

  ‘By illegals.’

  ‘By illegals.’

  Tallent ground out his cigarette-butt, making the tobacco-shreds spill around.

  ‘What I aim to do now, sir,’ he said, ‘is put some pressure on Osgood and Grey. They have to know more than they’ve been saying, and maybe the cells will have loosened their tongues.’

  Gently nodded slowly. ‘I’ll sit in on that.’

  Tallent closed the door on the garden. Stout switched off lights. The sudden dimness filled the flat with heavy, unexpected shadows.

  As they went out to the cars Gently felt Tallent touch his arm. On the other side of the street a black man was passing. He felt their eyes on him, ducked his head, made his step a shuffle.

  Tallent stood rigid, watching.

  ‘Yeah,’ he murmured. ‘Yeah. Yeah.’

  CHAPTER TWO

  DIVISIONAL HQ WAS a fussy Edwardian building faced at ground-floor level with glazed brown brick. Perhaps bec
ause of this the round-arched entrance seemed to belong to a public lavatory. Some half-hearted modernization had replaced hanging lamps with fluorescent strip, but in effect this had made more emphatic the inherent gloominess of the rooms. Old-fashioned central-heating, employing massive radiators, produced a temperature that was almost unbearable.

  Tallent’s office was at the back, overlooking a courtyard used by M/T. He ordered coffee to be sent in and found a comfortable chair from somewhere for Gently. His office was exceedingly tidy and the buff lino fat with polish.

  ‘Sorry about Makin and the dabs.’

  Such a slip would obviously needle Tallent. His office made it plain he’d have no mercy on inefficiency.

  ‘It was outside usual routine,’ Gently shrugged.

  ‘But it bloody shouldn’t have been,’ Tallent said. ‘Makin knew what the case was about. He’s not as dumb as all that.’

  ‘Do you have much trouble with the black community?’

  ‘Used to,’ Tallent said. ‘Not now. We’ve got to know one another. They’re pretty civil round here, now.’

  ‘Meaning?’

  Tallent’s pale eyes were sharp. ‘I reckon prevention beats cure, sir,’ he said. ‘I’m not one for cluttering up the courts. That’s no answer.’

  ‘So what’s your method?’

  Tallent smoothed one hand with the other. ‘Gentle persuasion, sir,’ he said. ‘When they get out of line, I have a talk with them. And I let it be known I’m a peaceful copper who likes to live in a peaceful manor. And that’s how it is, sir. The immigrants remain civil. They understand I’m a man of peace.’

  The coffee came in. Tallent took his and carefully stirred in one lump of sugar. He sipped, looked at Gently. Gently paused over his cup.

  ‘Did you know that black man we saw?’

  ‘You bet. There aren’t many I don’t know.’

  ‘Has he a record?’

  ‘Not up till now. But I caught him once running around with a white girl.’

  ‘So?’

  Tallent smiled. ‘A personal talk one evening, sir. It did the trick. He was quite co-operative. All that his sort need is gentle persuasion.’

  ‘He certainly looked persuaded,’ Gently said.

  Tallent drank some more coffee.

  ‘I thought we’d have Osgood in first, sir,’ he said. ‘I’d say he was the dumbest of the two. We can probably crack him soonest.’

  * * *

  Laceless, tieless, Osgood shuffled in and was given a seat in front of the desk. He wore a well-cut suit in Irish tweed but it hung ungracefully from his lumpish shoulders. He had sandy hair and broad, coarse features and stumpy hands with hairy backs. You might have taken him for a navvy hauled in off a pay-night carouse.

  He sat heavily, spreading his knees and squinting at the occupants of the office.

  ‘All right,’ Tallent said. ‘You’ve been charged, Osgood. I’m going to ask you questions, but you don’t have to answer them. You don’t have to answer them, but you can do. Am I getting through to you, Osgood?’

  Osgood squinted at him, then away. ‘Yeah,’ he said. ‘I can hear you. I’m a good listener, that’s me. Perhaps you’d better get hold of my lawyer.’

  ‘Never mind your lawyer, Osgood,’ Tallent said. ‘I’m going to talk to you now off the record. Like I was your brother talking to you, Osgood. I’ve got better advice for you than any lawyer.’

  ‘Maybe you think so,’ Osgood said.

  ‘Yeah, I do think so,’ Tallent said. ‘And if you’re hip you’ll think so too, because you’re up to here in trouble, Osgood. We’ve got you fixed. You were Blackburn’s driver. You fetched the illegals in from the coast. We’ve found the pantechnicon you used down at Poplar, the one with the seats in the back, Osgood. And the garage man knows you, and his mechanics know you, and they can remember the last time you were out. And that time was the night of 1 October. And we all know what happened that night, don’t we?’

  Tallent paused, rustled some papers. ‘Then there’s what Grey’s been telling us,’ he said.

  ‘Grey . . .?’ Osgood said.

  Tallent said nothing, got out his cigarettes, lit one. Osgood watched, his mouth slack, hands clamping on his knees.

  ‘Yeah,’ Tallent said. ‘You’re really in trouble. Maybe I did ought to ring your lawyer.’

  ‘You get him,’ Osgood said. ‘I want him here.’

  ‘On the other hand,’ Tallent said. ‘What good can he do you?’ He issued smoke. ‘It’s this way,’ he said. ‘No lawyer can dig you out of this one, Ozzie. We’ve got the goods, and you know it. You’re going away for a number of years. Grey knows it too. He’s clever. Blackburn had a good man there, Ozzie. Grey isn’t kidding himself he’ll walk out of here, he’s playing it smooth. A bright kiddo.’

  Osgood’s eyes clung to Tallent. ‘Fred . . .’ he said.

  Tallent watched him.

  ‘Fred wouldn’t say nothing . . .’

  Tallent turned over papers, found one, seemed to be reading.

  ‘Look—’ Osgood said.

  Tallent flipped smoke at him. ‘No, Osgood,’ he said. ‘You look here. We couldn’t care less about your immigrant clients – what we want is Blackburn’s murderer!’ He struck the desk. ‘And what are you doing about it? How are you helping us to find him? You’re just clamming up and bleating about your bloody lawyer!’

  He got up, leaned across the desk.

  ‘Now listen to me, Osgood,’ he said. ‘Either you tell us what you know or by Jesus it’ll go rough with you. I’m not an easy man, Osgood, and I’ve got you where I want you. You’d better give. Because if you don’t, getting sent away will be the least of it.’

  He took a big lungful of smoke and jetted it straight into Osgood’s eyes.

  Osgood pulled back, sneezing, coughing, scrubbing at his eyes with his short-fingered hands.

  ‘You getting the idea, Ozzie?’ Tallent said softly.

  ‘You – you can’t treat me this way!’ Osgood sobbed.

  ‘What do you mean – treat you?’ Tallent said. ‘I’m just giving you advice, Ozzie, showing you the easy way. Nobody has to take it on the chin, not with me, Ozzie. I’m a peaceful man. People co-operate, don’t howl for their lawyers, we get along fine. Like brothers.’

  He took another big lungful of smoke. Osgood cringed, put up his hands. Tallent held the smoke for a moment, then let it trickle through his nose. He sat down again. Osgood watched him. His watery eyes couldn’t get away from Tallent. Tallent took a few more drags, ran his fingers across his knuckles.

  ‘So like I was saying, Osgood,’ he said. ‘You’ve been charged, don’t have to answer questions. Don’t have to answer them, but you can do. You still want to call your lawyer?’

  ‘No,’ Osgood said. ‘I don’t want him.’

  ‘You’re sure of that?’

  ‘Yeah,’ Osgood said.

  ‘You can have him,’ Tallent said. ‘That’s the rule.’

  ‘I don’t want him,’ Osgood said. ‘I don’t want my lawyer.’

  ‘You know,’ Tallent said. ‘I think we’ll get along. I think you’re a pretty good fella, Ozzie. You like a cigarette?’

  ‘No,’ Osgood said.

  ‘Ah, you’re giving them up,’ Tallent said. ‘That’s wise.’

  He blew smoke towards Osgood.

  ‘So who did it, Ozzie?’ he said. ‘You can tell me, we’re good friends. Who stuck that knife into Blackburn?’

  Osgood pulled aside from the smoke, his hands lifting, fanning nervously.

  ‘I don’t know nothing about that,’ he said. ‘Not who killed him. Nothing.’

  ‘Nothing at all, Ozzie?’ Tallent said.

  ‘Not about who killed him,’ Osgood said.

  ‘That’s very disappointing, Ozzie,’ Tallent said. ‘And me prepared to be so friendly. You didn’t do it yourself, I suppose, Ozzie?’

  Osgood shuddered. ‘I didn’t do it.’

  ‘No?’ Tallent said. ‘Where were you, Ozzie
– when that knife was going into Blackburn’s back?’

  ‘I was at home.’

  ‘You were at home.’

  ‘Yes,’ Osgood said. ‘I bloody was. I was at home. I was in my flat. I was watching TV. I was at home.’

  ‘Like when would that be?’ Tallent said.

  ‘It was all the evening,’ Osgood said. ‘I had a meal out in a caff, then I went home. All the evening.’

  ‘All the evening,’ Tallent said. ‘That must have been lonesome for you, Ozzie. Or did you have friends in?’

  ‘No, I didn’t have friends in.’

  ‘A pity,’ Tallent said. ‘Isn’t that a pity?’

  ‘Look, I can prove it,’ Osgood said. ‘The old girl next door, she see me come in. She can hear my TV through the wall. I can bloody prove it. I was in all the evening.’

  Tallent kneaded his hands together. ‘You’re not proving anything, Osgood,’ he said. ‘You’re just telling me you faked an alibi, like leaving the TV switched on.’

  ‘But I didn’t fake no alibi!’

  ‘Yeah,’ Tallent said. ‘That could be the answer. You didn’t love Blackburn, did you, Osgood – with him only paying you in peanuts?’

  ‘I never killed Tommy!’

  ‘It could stand up.’

  ‘I tell you I never!’

  ‘The jury might go for it. A stupid berk with a big grudge. Oh yes, they’d go for it.’

  ‘But I never did it!’

  ‘I can hear you,’ Tallent said. ‘You don’t have to tell me three or four times. Only the way things are I can’t believe it, there’s nobody else fits in so well. You don’t know anybody, do you?’

  ‘It was an illegal what did it!’ Osgood blurted. ‘You bleeding know it was – they was all agin him after what happened.’

  ‘An illegal, was it?’

  ‘A bleeding illegal.’

  ‘Like what was his name?’

  ‘I dunno.’

  ‘You don’t know enough,’ Tallent said. ‘Not nearly enough, Ozzie boy.’

  Osgood gulped breath, his hands working. His pale eyebrows were hooked high. Sweat glinted on his forehead. You could smell him. He was afraid.

  Gently said, ‘You say the black community had it in for Blackburn?’

  Osgood’s fishlike stare switched to him.