by Alan Hunter
‘But why did the bloody fool do it?’ exclaimed the super at last. ‘He might just have faded away – nobody would have looked too hard to find him.’
‘You’re forgetting his wife … she would have looked.’
‘It isn’t motive enough!’
‘Yes … when you remember how he loathed Hicks. But she was the cause of it. She pushed him over. It’s the cold-hearted ones who menace society.’
‘The cold-hearted ones!’ The super mused over the phrase. ‘You can’t make that criminal. I suppose you wish we could?’
Gently’s head shook slowly. ‘They’re not to blame either. They didn’t choose themselves. Society’s crude, you know … it’s a brutal piece of work! All we’ve achieved so far is done with force … there must be other and better ways of living together.’
‘“Christ knows!”’ the super quoted.
‘Christ knew – but society didn’t.’
‘We were just a lot of policemen – that’s what he was trying to say. We wouldn’t understand – the jury wouldn’t understand – the judge wouldn’t, either. It was only Christ he stood a chance with.’
‘You’re leaving out the hangman!’
Hansom wasn’t soft with killers.
Gently shrugged his bulky shoulders. ‘Christ might understand him, too!’
The money was under the floorboards in the houseboat and in the cracks of the same floorboards they found deposits of blood under deposits of soap-sud. The bullet that killed Annie had been removed, but a freshly puttied hole in one of the cabin doors showed where it had lodged.
Along with the money was a black japanned tin containing Lammas’ make-up outfit. It was an expensive collection with numerous etceteras. There were two sticks of carmine liner, one of them virgin and unused.
The tin was contained in a waterproof bag, since neither the space under the floorboards nor the shack in the carrs had been dry situations. It had spent nearly three months in that shack while Lammas was leading his double life. It had been cached amongst the nettles along with Thatcher’s paunch and costume. It was in the same cache that the blood-stained jacket and cap had been found … Lammas had donned them after the murder in case he was seen driving away the Daimler.
‘I’m going to cadge a day out of this!’
Gently had finished his report at last.
‘They had our Sunday, didn’t they? Well, they owe me a day’s fishing!’
He folded up the report and shoved it into an envelope. Dutt glanced at him apprehensively – he knew Gently’s state of mind when his chief wanted to score off authority.
‘Daresay they’d let you have it, sir, wevver they knows about it or not.’
‘I don’t care a damn if they would, Dutt. I’m going to have it, and they can go to hell!’
He threw the report down on Mrs Grey’s parlour table and stalked over to the window. There were vacant moorings in the Dyke where the houseboat had been towed away.
‘And I’m not going to buy a licence, Dutt!’
‘No, sir. You won’t buy a licence.’
‘I’m just in the mood to talk to some river police – I should enjoy a little bit of prosecution!’
‘Make you feel like a civvy, sir.’
‘Yes, Dutt – it’d redress the balance!’
Still the sun was burning down, the last sun of June. On the dreamily throbbing hire boats they were reading of the murder. The biggest thing since Christie! ‘Gently Arrests A “Murdered” Man.’ Lammas was a myth already … he’d stopped being human when they clipped on the handcuffs.
‘On second thoughts …’
Dutt waited. Gently often had second thoughts.
‘Let’s catch the next train back to town – I’m fed up with this part of the world!’
Dutt grinned at his superior. How many times had it happened like that? Gently’s kicking never lasted – that was Chief Inspectorial nature.
‘It’ll be shocking hot in the city, sir.’
‘I know. But never mind.’
‘And I reckon we’ve missed the express—’
‘I’d like to sweat on a stopper!’
His eyes met the Cockney sergeant’s. For a moment he couldn’t react. Then he grinned back and shrugged, and patted Dutt’s burly arm.
‘Come in and see the kids, sir,’ said Dutt sympathetically, ‘you’d be surprised the way they grow!’
Gently nodded. ‘I think I’ll do that. It’s a mistake, my being a bachelor.’
About the Author
Alan Hunter was born in Hoveton, Norfolk in 1922. He left school at the age of fourteen to work on his father’s farm, spending his spare time sailing on the Norfolk Broads and writing nature notes for the Eastern Evening News. He also wrote poetry, some of which was published while he was in the RAF during the Second World War. By 1950, he was running his own book shop in Norwich and in 1955, the first of what would become a series of forty-six George Gently novels was published. He died in 2005, aged eighty-two.
The Inspector George Gently series
Gently Does It
Gently by the Shore
Gently Down the Stream
Landed Gently
Gently Through the Mill
Gently in the Sun
Copyright
Constable & Robinson Ltd
3 The Lanchesters
162 Fulham Palace Road
London W6 9ER
www.constablerobinson.com
This paperback edition published by Robinson, an imprint of Constable & Robinson Ltd, 2010
Copyright Alan Hunter, 1957, 1996, 2010
The right of Alan Hunter to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by him in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988
All rights reserved. This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, re-sold, hired out or otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.
A copy of the British Library Cataloguing in Publication data is available from the British Library
ISBN: 978–1–84901–789–3