Gently Go Man (11 page)

‘Come out here,’ Gently said to him.

‘Like that’s an order?’ Deeming grinned.

‘It’s an order,’ Gently said.

Deeming rose, stretching himself leisuredly. ‘It’s getting tame, anyway,’ he said. ‘Sid and the gent who was indecent were like the star turns this morning.’

‘Come out here on the landing.’

‘Sure, sure,’ Deeming said. ‘I always like to oblige a screw. But you’re sweating, man. What’s the action?’

The courtroom door closed behind them. Gently shepherded Deeming along to the end of the landing. He stood him under one of the bulbs, gave him a long, silent look.

‘Mysteriouser,’ Deeming grinned, ‘and mysteriouser, this gets. What’s all the steam and puff about? Like perhaps you thought I wouldn’t be here?’

‘We’ve still got Sid,’ Gently said.

‘Congratulations,’ Deeming said.

‘And eight of the others,’ Gently said. ‘And all twelve of their bikes.’

‘I’ll catch on,’ Deeming said. ‘Don’t tell me, just keep on talking.’

‘Sid had a knife,’ Gently said. ‘He put it into one of Setters’s men.’

The grin went off Deeming’s face. ‘I don’t like that bit,’ he said. ‘Where would Sid get a blade from?’

‘I’d like to know,’ Gently said.

Deeming’s face was right blank. ‘Jeebies don’t use blades,’ he said.

‘Sid had a blade,’ Gently said.

‘Yeah,’ Deeming said. ‘You keep giving it to me. But where did he get it from, then – like you searched him when he was pinched?’

‘He was searched,’ Gently said. ‘He didn’t have a blade then.’

Deeming’s slate eyes smiled. ‘So,’ he said, ‘what’s the
curve? You think I slipped Sid a knife from up in the gallery this morning?’

‘I think he was slipped a knife,’ Gently said. ‘And I think I know when it was slipped. And I’ve been asking myself why – what was the reason for slipping him a knife?’

‘Like to give him a weapon,’ Deeming said.

‘Yes,’ Gently said. ‘To give him a weapon. And right at the psychological moment when he might be tempted to use it.’

‘You think that?’ Deeming asked.

Gently nodded. ‘I think that. So he might have killed a man. So he might have been going to swing anyway.’

‘Subtle,’ Deeming said.

‘Yes,’ Gently said, ‘subtle.’

‘Like someone had got it in for Sid,’ Deeming said.

‘Just like that,’ Gently said.

‘And you know why?’ Deeming said. ‘Don’t be a square and leave me hanging.’

‘I thought you could give me the reason,’ Gently said. ‘Why someone should make us a present of Sid.’

Deeming chuckled. ‘You’re a crazy screw. I get a wild kick out of you, man. Like what should I know about this action, sitting up here and minding my business? Like when did Sid start carving up the screws?’

‘And that’s your answer?’ Gently said.

‘Yuh,’ Deeming said. ‘That’s about my answer. I don’t go for mixing in screw-fights, screw.’

‘We’ve taken them in,’ Gently said. ‘There’ll be twelve interrogations.’

‘Sounds like work,’ Deeming said. ‘I hope it’s worth what you put into it.’

‘Then there’s Bixley,’ Gently said. ‘He hasn’t smoked for fourteen hours.’

‘Tough,’ Deeming said, ‘tough. Like I hope you’re treating him right otherwise.’

‘He could talk,’ Gently said.

‘Yuh,’ Deeming said, ‘Sid can talk. Maybe not now so’s a jury could believe him, but you can’t expect it, after carving screws. Leaves a bad taste in people’s mouths. Like they think you’re maybe lying your head off.’

‘Still, we can listen,’ Gently said.

‘It’s what screws are for,’ Deeming said. ‘And its sad, all this about Sid. I’m really grieved, in my way.’

He slid up his sleeve, looked at his watch, dropped his hand again.

‘You finished with me, screw,’ he said, ‘or like you’re going to sound off some more?’

‘I haven’t finished with you,’ Gently said. ‘But you can get to hell out of it.’

‘Subtle,’ Deeming said. ‘I take a hint. You’re too suspicious screw. By half.’

He lounged away, down the stairs, gave the man on the door a cheery good morning. Gently spent a second staring after him, then he whisked along to the courtroom again.

‘Where’s the phone?’ he demanded.

‘In the office, sir,’ the constable told him.

He showed Gently into an icy room which had a roll-top desk and an old safe in it. On the back of the desk stood an upright instrument. Gently unhooked it and asked for Police H.Q.

‘Has Inspector Setters got back yet?’

‘Yes, sir … he’s just come in.’

‘Put him on.’

In a couple of moments Setters snarled ‘Yeah?’ into his instrument.

Gently said: ‘I want a couple of men with a car to tail Deeming. He’s just now left the guildhall and is probably walking back to his rooms. They needn’t be clever about tailing him, in fact I’d like him to know they’re there, but they’ve got to stick with him, on or off his bike, and keep in R.T. contact with H.Q. If he gets away from them on his bike they’re to alert the patrols to intercept him. And it’s urgent. I want your men to pick him up right away.’

Setters hesitated. ‘For how long,’ he asked, ‘am I losing these two men and a car?’

‘Not very long,’ Gently replied. ‘Not very long is the way I see it.’

D
URING THE WHOLE
of the incident in Tungate Street the street had been completely deserted, but now, when Gently went back for his car, the place was crowded with sightseers. The bikes had not yet been taken away and were being guarded by two uniform men, and on the spot where Baynes had lain bleeding some sawdust had been hastily strewn. The two reporters from the courtroom had got there and had been joined by a photographer. His flashbulb hissed as Gently came up and the two reporters jumped in eagerly.

‘Can you give us a statement, Superintendent?’

‘Try Inspector Setters,’ Gently said.

‘But this is your car – you were here when it happened?’

‘No comment,’ Gently said.

‘What was the name of the wounded man?’

‘No comment,’ Gently said.

‘Is it true that this connects with the Lister case?’

‘I’ll give you a statement later,’ Gently said.

‘Then we can assume there is a connection?’

‘No comment,’ Gently said.

He pushed them aside, got in his car, backed off the kerb, and drove away. The crowd parted to let him through, each one peering to get a glimpse of him. At Police H.Q. there was another crowd, more reporters and photographers. He shouldered through them, head down, deaf to the fresh questions flung at him.

Setters was sitting alone in his office, his face pale, trembling still. He didn’t look up when Gently came in. His hand was resting on his telephone.

‘They’ve got him up in the hospital,’ he said. ‘Simpson is with him. They’re giving him a transfusion. It just happens he’s one of those types that keep on bleeding. It could be fatal to him. Simpson’s in the same group.’

‘That’s the way things happen,’ Gently said.

Setters looked at him. His eyes were glittering.

‘You didn’t hit that bloody slob hard enough,’ he said. ‘He’s spewing his guts up in the cell. Christ, if he’d come at me with a knife!’

Gently gave him a slow nod.

‘I’m not responsible,’ Setters said. ‘When a slob like that cuts loose with a knife I don’t want law. I stop being a cop.’

‘Did you pick up the knife?’ Gently asked.

Setters pointed to a scrap of paper on the desk. Folded in it was the bloodied flick-knife with some dirt and fluff stuck to the blade. It was a common pattern and appeared to be new. It had a fibre handle with diamond embossings.

‘Could that have been bought locally?’ Gently asked.

Setters shrugged faintly. ‘I’ll check it,’ he said. ‘I could bloody weep. I’m no good as a cop. I think for sure I’d have killed that slob.’

‘You wouldn’t have killed him,’ Gently said.

‘Look at me,’ Setters said. ‘Look at the way I’m shaking. I’m a Detective Inspector, me, I’ve got thirty years’ service. And I’m just finding out I’ve got murder in me.’

‘Not murder,’ Gently said. ‘Blind hate, that’s all.’

‘Murder,’ Setters said. ‘Murder. I know what I feel. When I saw him go for you with that knife I wanted to smash the life out of him. I wanted to do it then and there. And I’d have done it, I’m bloody certain.’

Gently shook his head. ‘You wouldn’t be talking about it now,’ he said. ‘The ones who’ll do it don’t talk about it. They only talk with their hands.’

Setters looked at his hands. He moved the fingers, crooking them.

‘I could bloody weep,’ he repeated. He jammed his hands into his pockets.

Gently sat on the desk, filled his pipe, gave one or two puffs.

‘Did you notice who slipped Bixley the knife?’ he asked.

‘Nope,’ Setters said. ‘I was bawling into the R.T. It must have been after they pulled out Brewer, after the window was smashed.’

‘Brewer didn’t see it?’

‘Didn’t have a chance,’ Setters said. ‘Baynes must have seen it slipped, but we can’t talk to him. How
would he have recognized him, anyway, when the slob had a mask?’

‘He might have said something,’ Gently said. ‘Baynes might have recognized the voice.’

‘Yes,’ Setters said. ‘There’s a chance of that. And we’ll get whoever it was if I have to use a rack on them. I want that chummie in the dock along with Bixley.’

‘There’ll be no prints on that handle,’ Gently said. ‘But we might be able to trace the purchase.’

Setters gave the knife a glare. ‘I don’t think it was bought here,’ he said. ‘There’s only two shops would sell them, and I keep an eye on what they stock. It’s ten years since we had any knife business in Latchford. Maybe you can buy them in Castlebridge.’

‘You can buy them in Bethnal,’ Gently said.

‘Yes,’ Setters said, ‘that sounds more likely. But I’ll check, don’t worry. I want every screw in Bixley’s coffin. And I’m telling you this, too. I’ve forgotten that Elton ever existed. Just nail that Lister job on Bixley, and Elton can go chase his tail.’

Gently smiled distantly, puffing. ‘I may oblige with that,’ he said.

‘He’s the chummie,’ Setters said. ‘I can see it now, the murdering slob. Elton was just a mixed-up kid, he didn’t have it in him to kill. But Bixley’s a killer, a filthy killer. He did that job, and he’s going to swing.’

‘Yes,’ Gently said, ‘it was subtle.’

‘Subtle my foot,’ Setters snarled. ‘Just subtle him along to the eight o’clock walk, that’s subtle enough for a thug like him.’

The phone belted. Setters snatched it.

‘It’s for you,’ he said. ‘I’m crossing my fingers.’

It was Pagram on the other end, he was sounding smooth and allusive. Gently moved his pipe across and kept puffing while he listened.

‘Yes,’ he said at last. ‘Thank you. My congratulations to Narcotics.’ He paused some puffs. ‘No,’ he said. ‘Just send the report up by dispatch.’

He hung up. ‘That’s it,’ he said. ‘Another screw for Bixley’s coffin. His cousin came clean after an all-night session, and we’ve chapter and verse for the
dope-peddling
charge.’

‘Fine,’ Setters said. ‘But it’s not enough, now.’

‘Mmn,’ Gently nodded. ‘It’s the link we wanted. It was only surmise up till now, but now the surmise is proved. We’ve got a motive for the Lister killing. Lister was interfering with the trade.’

‘They won’t hang him on the motive,’ Setters said.

‘No,’ Gently said, ‘but we’ve got our link.’ He went on smoking, looking at the knife. ‘We’ve got to clinch it now,’ he said.

‘So?’ Setters said.

Gently rose from the desk. ‘I’ll back a hunch,’ he said. ‘Have them send in Hallman for a little chat. I’m guessing he knows as much as anybody.’

Hallman was sent in. He wasn’t looking very happy. He’d got a bruise on his cheek and a strip of plaster on his chin. He’d got plaster on his hand as well, across the lower palm of his left hand. He was trying to stare at people defiantly. He wasn’t managing it too well.

‘Sit down, Hallman,’ Gently said, pointing to the
chair they’d placed for him. This time the chair was close to the desk and only the light from the window fell on it. Setters had kept sitting behind the desk. Gently had resumed his perch on it. He had refilled his pipe and was now lighting it, talking with his pipe in his mouth.

Hallman sat, clasping his hands between his legs. Gently put out his match, puffed, looked at Hallman.

‘You’ve hurt your hand,’ Gently said to him.

Hallman clasped it a bit tighter.

‘Is it badly cut?’ Gently said.

Hallman didn’t give an answer.

Gently went on surveying him mildly, giving regular, thoughtful, puffs. He clasped his hands round one knee, leaning a little closer to Hallman.

‘You’re in a bit of trouble, Hallman,’ he said. ‘I think you’re going to get sent to jail. We know quite a lot about you and Bixley, more than you’re giving us credit for. You know what I’m talking about, Hallman?’

Hallman kneaded his clasped hands.

‘Yes,’ Gently said. ‘You’re in pretty deep. So it’s no use your hiding that hand up.’

‘I ain’t hiding it up,’ Hallman said, but without displaying his hand.

‘How did you cut it?’ Gently asked.

‘It ain’t cut,’ Hallman said.

Gently stuck out his hand. ‘Show it to me,’ he said.

‘It ain’t cut,’ Hallman persisted. ‘Like I tore it on something.’

‘On what?’

Hallman pulled on his hands, writhed his shoulders from side to side.

‘On my handlebars,’ he said. ‘Yuh, on my handlebars, that’s what.’

‘You’ve got something sharp on your handlebars?’

‘Yuh, something,’ Hallman said. ‘Like I threw my bike down quick and cotched my hand on something.’

‘Are you left-handed?’ Gently asked.

‘No,’ Hallman said. ‘Right-handed, I am.’

‘So you threw your bike down to your right – yet you tore your left hand.’

‘Yuh,’ Hallman said. ‘Yuh, that’s how I did it. Yuh.’

‘You’re a poor liar,’ Gently said.

‘Yuh, it ain’t a lie,’ Hallman said.

Gently puffed smoke over his head. ‘Remember I was there,’ he said. ‘I was watching you, Hallman. I saw every move you made. It was you who smashed the window with a brick. It was the rear window on the car’s right. Then you had to reach in and forward to unlock it, and you used your left hand to do that. You’ve got a clean cut on your palm, Hallman. You cut it on the jagged edge of the window.’

‘No, I never,’ Hallman said. ‘Like on my handlebars I did it. Nor I didn’t throw no brick, you didn’t see me do that.’

‘Perhaps you weren’t there?’ Gently said.

‘Yuh,’ Hallman said, ‘I was there.’

‘You’re sure of that?’ Gently said.

‘Yuh,’ Hallman said. ‘Yuh.’

Gently flipped open the paper on the desk, revealed the knife with its blood and dirt. He just held his finger on the paper for a moment, watching Hallman stare at the knife.

‘What would that be?’ Gently asked.

Hallman swallowed. ‘That’s a blade,’ he said.

‘What blade would it be?’ Gently asked.

‘Yuh, I don’t know,’ Hallman said.

‘You don’t know?’ Gently asked.

‘I ain’t never seen it,’ Hallman said. ‘Yuh, never seen it I haven’t. I don’t know nothing about that.’

‘You aren’t trying,’ Gently said.

‘It’s true what I’m saying,’ Hallman said. ‘I ain’t never had a blade, nor I don’t know nothing about that one.’

‘Somebody got hurt,’ Gently said. ‘You know about that, don’t you, Hallman? He’s in the hospital, Hallman. He’s having a blood transfusion. And he may not recover from it, Hallman. That knife there may have killed him. So that will make it murder, Hallman. That will make it capital murder.’

‘I tell you I ain’t never seen that blade – I didn’t do it!’ Hallman yelped.

‘But you know who did do it,’ Gently said. ‘Who was it stuck this knife into Baynes?’

‘I never saw that!’

‘Yes, you did,’ Gently said. ‘You were right on the spot when it happened.’

‘Sid,’ Hallman said, ‘he was sitting next to Baynes.’

Gently nodded. ‘But where did Sid get the knife from?’ he asked.

Hallman twisted about on the chair. ‘How should I know?’ he said. ‘I didn’t have no part in that – it’s the truth, I never!’

‘Who gave you that knife?’ Gently asked.

‘Nobody didn’t give it to me.’

‘Who gave you that knife?’ Gently asked.

‘I ain’t never seen it. I ain’t. I ain’t!’

‘You’re in trouble,’ Gently said. ‘You’re in very grave trouble. You’d better start thinking about getting out from under it, Hallman. Lying isn’t going to help you, we know too much about it for that. Only giving us cooperation is going to help you now. So I’m asking you again – who gave you that knife?’

‘Nobody didn’t, I tell you – not nobody!’ Hallman screamed.

‘Who planned this business?’

‘Nobody. Nobody planned it.’

‘It planned itself?’

‘We got together, we just got together!’ Hallman wailed.

‘You just got together, and nobody planned it. Nobody said it would be a wild kick. Nobody pinpointed Tungate Street, or suggested that Sid should be slipped a blade.’

‘Yuh, nobody, nobody!’ Hallman gulped. ‘Just to give him a break, that’s all it was. There wasn’t no blades, no nothing about it. Not nobody didn’t give me that blade.’

‘So where did it come from?’ Gently asked.

‘I don’t know where it come from. I ain’t never seen it.’

‘Who opened the door and slipped it to Bixley?’

‘I wasn’t never near the door,’ Hallman wailed.

‘You weren’t made for a liar,’ Gently said. He let the paper fold back over the knife. Still Hallman couldn’t take his eyes from it, they stared at the paper, distended,
unseeing. Gently put a fresh match to his pipe, broke up the match, dropped it in the tray. He directed a stream of smoke at Hallman.

‘What do you know about Lister?’ he asked.

Hallman jerked. His eyes jumped from the paper.

‘Nothing about him I don’t know,’ he said.

Gently made a clicking sound with his tongue. ‘Not anything at all about Lister?’ he asked.

‘Yuh, like I saw him around,’ Hallman said. ‘That’s all it was. I saw him around.’

‘You saw him around,’ Gently said. ‘You saw a great deal of Lister. Maybe you saw him on Tuesday night. Did you see him on Tuesday night, Hallman?’

‘No,’ Hallman said. ‘I never. I was at home. I didn’t see him.’

‘Nor any time on the Tuesday?’

‘Not any time Tuesday,’ Hallman said.

‘Lister,’ Gently said, ‘didn’t like Bixley, did he?’

‘Yuh,’ Hallman said. ‘He liked him.’

‘I don’t think he did,’ Gently said.

‘Yuh, so what if he didn’t?’ Hallman said.

‘Why didn’t he like him?’ Gently asked.

‘He just didn’t like him,’ Hallman said.

‘Because of the reefers?’ Gently asked.

‘Yuh,’ Hallman said. ‘It might have been that.’

‘Why because of that?’ Gently asked.

‘I don’t know,’ Hallman said.

‘You’d better know something,’ Gently said. ‘In case we find your prints on this knife.’

Hallman flinched, dragged on his hands. ‘Yuh,’ he said. ‘It could have been the girl.’

‘Betty Turner?’ Gently asked.

‘Yuh, Betty Turner,’ Hallman said.

‘You’re telling me that Bixley was jealous about her?’

‘Yuh,’ Hallman said. ‘Could be.’

Gently sighed, picked up the knife. ‘We’d better get this to prints,’ he said.