Gently with the Ladies

by Alan Hunter

‘It was during this row that Siggy killed her?’

  ‘She was killed at about that time.’

  ‘And it was over the Sarah woman?’

  ‘In substance, yes.’

  She shook her head slowly. ‘No, it doesn’t make sense,’ she said. ‘Clytie just wouldn’t have cared about that, there must have been something else behind it. But I’m beginning to understand why he did it. He was quite infatuated with this woman at Rochester. If Clytie provoked him about her and threatened to ditch him then she was asking for what she got.’

  Gently said: ‘He didn’t know it, but his wife had willed her money away from him.’

  Brenda Merryn fumbled a section of apple. ‘Of course, you’ll have seen the will,’ she said.

  ‘It’s very much what you might expect. The housekeeper gets a small legacy.’

  ‘And – the rest?’

  ‘To Mrs Bannister. They made their wills in each other’s favour.’

  The section of apple fell to the plate. ‘The bitch!’ Brenda Merryn exclaimed. ‘The dirty bitch! And not a penny to her own sister – oh my God, can you credit it?’

  Gently permitted his brows to rise. ‘But you weren’t very intimate, were you?’ he asked.

  ‘Not very intimate – she’s my sister! Oh! I’m glad now what Siggy did to her!’

  ‘It doesn’t make so much difference, Miss Merryn.’

  ‘I’ll fight that tramp. She shan’t have it.’

  ‘Neither of those wills is in existence.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Mrs Bannister has destroyed them.’

  Brenda Merryn stared at him, her eyes narrowed, her mouth drooped at the corners. She snatched a cigarette from a packet on the table.

  ‘Just what are you trying to tell me?’ she demanded.

  ‘The will is destroyed,’ Gently said. ‘Mrs Bannister burned it in my presence. Which means that the money will go to your brother-in-law, unless he’s found guilty of killing his wife.’

  ‘Unless he’s found guilty!’

  Gently hunched his shoulders. ‘In that case, it will follow the rule of succession.’

  ‘Meaning me?’

  ‘Your father or you.’

  ‘He won’t touch it. It’ll come to me.’

  She snapped a lighter, lit the cigarette, rose and began pacing up and down. She seemed for the present to have forgotten Gently: her eyes were fixed and seeing nothing. The dressing-gown, its skirt swinging, showed belted thighs pressing past each other. As she paced she smoked fiercely, expelling the smoke through her teeth.

  ‘But why did she do it – what’s her game?’

  ‘Mrs Bannister . . . ?’

  ‘Of course! Don’t tell me she’d throw away money like that without some dirty trick behind it. So what is it?’

  Gently said nothing.

  ‘Listen – what was that bitch doing on Monday?’

  ‘She was in her flat.’

  ‘Yes – and I’ll tell you something: the maid has every Monday off! Don’t you see? She was alone in there. She could have done it as well as Siggy. And they weren’t so sweet together, those two, they had their rows like everyone else.’

  ‘And you’re suggesting . . . ?’

  ‘She destroyed the will – that was an act put on to impress you. She could see you weren’t quite swallowing Siggy, so she had to duck out from under the will. Because Siggy might not have done it, might he? That’s why you’re still asking questions!’

  ‘You’re a perceptive woman, Miss Merryn.’

  ‘Oh, I’ve got La Bannister taped. And Siggy denies it?’

  ‘He denies it.’

  ‘I suppose he’d have to, the poor fool.’

  She leaned her hip against the table and stared scathingly at Gently. Her body moulded in an elegant foundation garment, emerged through the separating dressing-gown.

  ‘Watch La Bannister,’ she said. ‘She’ll put one over you unless you’re careful. You’re only a man, understand me? She’ll know how to kid you along all right. A woman can always kid a man because he’s always ready to believe her: there’s always a bed just behind her, and saying Yes is the way towards it. Oh, I’m not saying that’s what you have in mind, but it’s the psychological attitude. The pattern. When you talk to a woman it’s always the first step up the stairs. So just watch out, that’s my advice, because I’m telling you – she’s a bitch.’

  She pushed smoke through her teeth.

  ‘La B. was too much for Siggy,’ she said. ‘Clytie was still sleeping with him when dear Sybil arrived on the scene. She’s the one he ought to have bashed, because then he might have patched it up with Clytie. But he’s not the sort to work things out. He’s just impulsive and weak.’

  ‘Impulsive?’

  She nodded. ‘There’s nothing solid in Siggy.’

  ‘You seem to know him pretty well.’

  ‘Pretty well.’ Her mouth twisted.

  ‘In fact . . . ?’

  ‘Nothing. I should think it’s obvious the poor fool had to talk to someone. That’s why he slept around so much. But I was different. I was always there.’

  ‘And you were his confidant.’

  ‘If you like. I understood him better than anyone. And I wasn’t surprised when I heard what happened. For him, I’d say it was the only way out.’

  ‘I suppose you didn’t see him on Monday, Miss Merryn?’

  She hissed smoke down towards him.

  ‘No,’ she said. ‘Does he say I did?’

  Gently shrugged without replying.

  She made a gliding movement with her hips. ‘I’m a working girl, Superintendent,’ she said. ‘On Monday I had my two surgeries, facts which you can easily check.’

  ‘But in the afternoon?’

  ‘I was here resting. I like my bath in the afternoon. In fact, I was not long out of it when you came knocking at my door.’ She tilted the watch again, and sighed. ‘I’m afraid I must push you out, Superintendent. It’s time to dress and become formidable – that’s my profession as well as yours.’

  Gently rose. She held out a hand with its perfect and finely-polished nails. When he ignored it she shrugged faintly and flickered a smile with her eyes.

  ‘I’m not dangerous,’ she said. ‘Fairly human, but not dangerous. And don’t be so damned impregnable, because it piques a girl in her undies. You weren’t having me on about that will?’

  ‘No, Miss Merryn.’

  ‘The name is Brenda. Then I’ll be rich . . . and I like the idea. Though of course, it’s a rotten shame about Siggy.’

  CHAPTER FIVE

  THERE WAS A phone-box near where Gently had parked, and when he came down he rang the office. This was insurance, because his rank relieved him of the stricter forms of supervision, but on the present occasion he was switched directly to the C.I.D. Assistant Commissioner.

  ‘Ah, Gently. What are you up to?’

  Gently propped himself against the parcel-bin. It wasn’t worth while even trying to fool this thin-faced man with his big spectacles. He ran an inter-office espionage system which was second to none in Whitehall, and if he didn’t this moment know what Gently was up to, he could have the information one minute later. So Gently told him.

  ‘Yes . . . I see. There was a rumour of this going the rounds. But I’m not sure I like it, you sticking your oar in. How close a relative is he . . . a cousin?’

  ‘My brother-in-law’s cousin,’ Gently said.

  ‘Did you know him?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘So what’s the interest?’

  ‘It was me he came to in the first place.’

  The A.C. made impatient noises. ‘See here, Gently,’ he said, ‘let’s get this straight. I want a perfectly honest answer – do you think he did it, or don’t you?’

  ‘I think he did it.’

  ‘Then what’s the beef? Why can’t the Chelsea lot handle it?’

  ‘Because he’ll probably get off,’ Gently said. ‘And I’d like to make that poi
nt before he’s charged.’

  The Assistant Commissioner paused, and Gently smiled at the roof of the phone-box. He could see quite plainly the great man’s face, its eyes narrowed and suspicious. But he’d have to play along with that one: there had been too many failed prosecutions lately. Better give Gently his head for a bit than risk another expensive acquittal . . .

  ‘Gently.’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘You’re not having me on – there’s a genuine chance of Fazakerly getting off?’

  ‘I’d say it was a sixty-forty chance.’

  ‘But damn it, he did it – you’re sure of that!’

  Gently hunched a shoulder. ‘I’m pretty certain, and so will the jury be, too. But not certain enough. The detail evidence is all consistent with his innocence. Then there’s the character of the deceased, and alternatives with opportunity and motive. No, unless Fazakerly confesses I can’t see us winning this one.’

  ‘Would he confess?’

  ‘Most unlikely.’

  ‘Have you talked to him since this morning?’

  ‘No. But he was decided enough then. And he’s a long way from being stupid.’

  Another pause. By now the A.C. would have swivelled his chair a little, would be resting his elbow on the desk and throwing a dirty look at the window. He had played much mental chess with Gently. These days he studied the board with care.

  ‘I think you’d better talk to him again, Gently.’

  ‘Yes, I’ve one or two things to ask him.’

  ‘I daresay you have. But what I’m suggesting is putting pressure on him for a confession.’

  ‘I’m not the man to do that—’

  ‘Oh yes you are, Gently, no one more so. He obviously trusts you or he wouldn’t have come to you, so he’ll perhaps respond to your advice.’

  ‘But that’s doing the dirty—!’

  ‘He’s guilty isn’t he?’

  ‘He’ll get the verdict if he keeps his mouth shut!’

  ‘Tsk, tsk,’ the A.C. said. ‘A mere technicality, Gently. I assume you are still interested in villains getting their deserts? Anyway, that’s what you’ll do.’

  ‘I’ll suggest a confession. No more.’

  ‘And I trust you’ll get it, with your ability. My best men usually get results.’

  Gently left the phone-box without his smile and stood glowering some moments at the kerbside. The A.C. had come back very neatly – Gently really should have foreseen that one! Not that Fazakerly was likely to confess, either under pressure or treachery, but it was a stinging quid pro quo and the A.C. was probably still chuckling.

  Gently got in the Sceptre, his current enthusiasm, and belted away with a surge of gas. Outside a café two streets away he spotted a parking-space, and slammed into it under the bumper of a Mark 10 Jaguar.

  ‘You’re not still kicking it around are you?’

  He was alone with Fazakerly in the interrogation room. Reynolds, who’d brought Fazakerly in, had caught a stony glance and had hastily bowed himself out of the presence. Fazakerly was looking sprucer, more wholesome. They’d fetched him some clothes from the flat. He’d shaved, and the abrasion across his forehead was covered with a strip of pink plaster. His eyes were still ringed and looking tired but now there was more life in them. His suit was expensive. He wore a Yacht Club tie of dark blue silk, perfectly knotted.

  ‘Take a seat,’ Gently said.

  ‘But I thought you’d washed your hands of me. You should, you know. I’m a lost soul. It’s really not worth your wasting time on me.’

  ‘All the same, I’m doing just that.’

  ‘I should never have come to you in the first place.’

  ‘But you did.’

  ‘Yes, and now I feel bad about it. I’d sooner you forgot the whole thing.’

  ‘Just sit down.’

  Fazakerly sat. He had a feline grace of movement. In the suit he appeared more slender and it revealed an elegant slope of the shoulder. Colour had returned to his sallow cheeks and the absence of fuzz hardened his jaw-line. He had curious, fine-boned, bred-out good-looks of the sort which other men find irritating. His assurance had returned.

  ‘Did you know they haven’t charged me?’

  ‘Don’t pin any hopes on that,’ Gently grunted.

  ‘Oh, I don’t. I haven’t any hopes. I know they’re only digging my grave a bit deeper.’

  ‘So what are you pleased about?’

  ‘I’m damned if I know. I’m feeling a tremendous sense of release. It’s as though – yes, that’s it! – as though I’m being reborn. And all that’s happened is I’ve killed my wife.’

  ‘You – did kill her?’ Gently said.

  ‘Yes. I mean, as far as everyone knows. They think I did it, which amounts to the same thing. When they look at me they see a wife-killer.’

  ‘And that gives you release?’

  ‘I can’t describe it. You’d need my background to understand. To have been a worthless, degraded bum without a shred of self-respect. And then suddenly you’re not a bum, it’s all forgotten and swallowed up, you’re someone different, a wife-killer, and that’s the only way people think of you. Can’t you see that? I suddenly don’t care. Or rather, I want to go on being that thing.’

  ‘You didn’t want to go on being it this morning.’

  ‘Not this morning. I was scared stiff. When you can see your life about to come apart you grasp at anything, like a drowning man. But even then I could see there was no hope, I mean of holding the bits together. Only just at that moment I was scared. I didn’t have the nerve to let go.’

  ‘And now you’re content to be a wife-killer.’

  ‘Better than that. I don’t care.’

  ‘In that case, you may as well confess.’

  ‘It doesn’t matter. They’re sure I did it.’

  Gently stared at him blankly. ‘All right,’ he said. ‘You can smoke. I suppose the new Fazakerly does smoke?’

  ‘I’ve got the feeling I can do anything.’

  Reynolds had evidently leant over backwards to bend the rules for Gently’s protégé, for Fazakerly immediately produced a full cigarette-case and a gold-plated lighter. He offered the case to Gently. Gently quickly shook his head. Fazakerly sprang a light and lit his cigarette carefully.

  ‘You know, if you’re still trying to help me,’ he said, ‘don’t bother. I don’t want to be helped any more. I’m not sure that anyone could help me. If I got off, if I had Clytie’s money, I might drift back into being a bum. And just now I’m beyond all that. So let the balls run how they’re played.’

  ‘You’ll like being a prisoner?’ Gently said.

  Fazakerly puffed and shook his head. ‘It’s so difficult to make you understand. You wouldn’t believe me if I said I looked forward to it. You see, it’s not a prison, not to me. I shall be sentenced to freedom. It’s up till now I’ve been in prison, up till they fetched me away from your office. I was a prisoner in myself, a terrible solitary confinement, and I could see them coming to open the door and I was frantic to stop them doing it. It was you who kicked me through that door. You were the last thing I was clinging to. But you broke the hold and kicked me out, and suddenly I was outside the prison. Because you don’t think I’m innocent, do you?’

  Gently shrugged, watching him curiously.

  ‘No, you don’t. And that was the kick. When I knew that, I simply stopped struggling.’

  ‘You’re in a state of shock, Fazakerly. It won’t seem the same later on.’

  ‘You can’t see it. This isn’t hysteria, my mind is quite as calm as yours is.’

  ‘You know what your sentence would be, do you?’

  ‘Fourteen years, less remission.’

  ‘So you may be fifty before you come out.’

  ‘But – how can I put it? – that doesn’t signify!’ He leaned forward on the table. ‘You must see it: I’m a free person. Whether I’m quarrying stone on Dartmoor or sailing down-Channel I’m equally and inalienably fr
ee. You can’t do anything to me. What I am you can’t lock up. I’ve escaped. It’s all the same. I just let go, and I was free.’

  ‘You won’t find any women in Dartmoor.’

  Fazakerly shook his head. ‘You’re still not with me. And anyway, I never really wanted women. It was just compulsive, just pacing the cell.’

  ‘Prisons smell. They’re not pleasant places.’

  ‘Did you sniff around in the flat?’

  ‘You’ll find the life there degrading.’

  ‘I’ll find life. The rest is words.’

  ‘So if you’re looking forward to it so much, what’s the point of giving us trouble? Why not confess?’

  ‘Because I didn’t do it. And I’d simply rather not tell a lie.’

  Gently drew a deep breath. ‘Right,’ he said, ‘you didn’t do it. And if you didn’t do it, it’s still up to us to find the person who did. And you can’t mind us doing that, even though it dashes your prospects of Dartmoor, because on your own admission it’s the same to you whether you’re breaking stones or off on a spree. So perhaps you’ll come to earth for a moment and try to give us some assistance.’

  Fazakerly shrugged his neat shoulders. ‘I certainly owe you something,’ he said. ‘And you’ve every right to be annoyed with me. This must be very awkward for you.’

  ‘First, I’m not happy with the quarrel you had with your wife. There’s something about it doesn’t ring true. Half an hour earlier she was in a good mood and thinking only about dresses.’

  Fazakerly smiled faintly. ‘That sounds like Clytie,’ he said. ‘She spent the best part of her life chasing fashion trends. And mannequins.’

  ‘But when you came in she was in a rage.’

  ‘She was in a filthy temper. She was sitting there working it up, ready to clobber me when I walked in.’

  ‘And about this Rochester woman – nothing else?’

  ‘She was the text of the sermon.’

  ‘Then what could have happened during the previous half-hour to put her into that temper?’

  Fazakerly shook his head. ‘She could flare-up in a moment,’ he said. ‘But this wasn’t that sort of row, it was something she had on the boil. I don’t know. I’m puzzled too. She was really putting the boot in. This whole business has just suddenly exploded without a reason, out of nowhere.’