Alan Hunter - Gently Go Man

‘Yeah, perhaps,’ said Setters sourly.

‘He’s a beautiful rider,’ Gently said. ‘He’s got courage, a lot of that.’

The phone jangled. He picked it up. After a moment, Pagram came on.

‘This may seem a bit involved,’ Pagram began. ‘But it could be what you’re after. Does the name of Waters mean anything to you?’

‘Nothing whatever,’ Gently said.

‘Well, one of the chummies we’ve caught is called Waters and his mother was a Lemon.’

‘A Lemon?’ Gently queried.

‘Yes,’ Pagram said. ‘You still sound vague. But Cissie Lemon was his mother and she’s got a sister called Ruby. I’ve got some notes here from a P.C. Noble who swears he knows what he’s talking about.’

‘Go on,’ said Gently patiently.

‘We’re coming to it,’ Pagram said. ‘Now Cissie’s sister married a van driver, and this is where we get the connection. The van driver’s name was Arthur Bixley. I rather think he’s Sidney Bixley’s father.’

‘That’s the one,’ Gently said.

‘I thought it could be,’ Pagram said. ‘So like that Sidney is a cousin of Waters’, and Waters is a member of the Slavinovsky gang. Is that what you wanted?’

‘Roughly speaking,’ Gently said.

‘You were right about the cheese rolls,’ Pagram said. ‘I’m having one analysed down in the lab.’

Gently laid the phone on its rest. He pondered dreamily for a moment.

‘Can we get a search warrant done quickly?’ he asked. Setters nodded. ‘I’ve got one on tap.’

‘Right,’ Gently said. ‘We’re going to search Bixley’s house. And while we’re at it, I think we’d better have Bixley picked up for questioning.’

The Bixleys lived in a terrace house in Breck Hill Road, which lay on the furthest edge of the New Town Area. Though the houses were terraced they were neatly crow-stepped up a gentle rise and this gave to each one a faint air of individuality. The Bixleys lived at fifty-seven, more than halfway up. A light showed in their kitchen, which was situated at the front. Gently rang, and the door was opened by a bow-shouldered man in shirtsleeves. He looked startled to find three men on his doorstep.

‘Yes,’ he said. ‘What are you after?’ He kept the door on the balance.

‘Police,’ Gently said. ‘Are you Mr Bixley?’

The bow-shouldered man seemed uncertain.

‘What are you after?’ he repeated. ‘If you want to talk to Sid, he isn’t in just now.’

‘We have a search warrant,’ Gently said, producing it. ‘I tell you Sid’s not here,’ said the man.

‘It’s made out for the premises,’ Gently said. ‘We’ll have to come in, Mr Bixley.’

The man frowned at it, looked puzzled, then backed away from the door. Gently entered with Setters and Ralphs. They stood in a small hall which contained the staircase.

‘You’ll have to wait a mo’,’ the man said. ‘Maybe Ruby ain’t respectable.’

He stuck his head round the kitchen door.

‘Right you are,’ he said.

They followed him into the kitchen. It was a small room with a coke-fired boiler. It contained a dining table, two old armchairs, three straight-back chairs and a television set. From one of the armchairs a woman had risen and she was hastily dragging on a skirt. She stared angrily at the intruders, shoving in her blouse with stumpy fingers.

‘Arter,’ she said. ‘What do you mean letting these men in here, Arter?’

Arter wagged his bow-shoulders. ‘I couldn’t help it, Ruby,’ he said. ‘They got a warrant and everything. I told them Sid wasn’t in.’

‘That ain’t no reason,’ Ruby said. ‘You don’t have to let them in like this.’

She was a big, formidable woman with arms like pale, freckled hams. She was a good deal larger than her husband. Her husband had a sad, colourless face.

Gently said:

‘I’m afraid we must inconvenience you, Mrs Bixley. We’ve reason to think that your son is concealing prohibited drugs in this house. We’ve come to search it, also I’d like to ask you some questions about him. The questions can wait, if you like, till you’ve watched us make the search.’

‘Ho,’ she said. ‘Well, you put it like a gentleman, don’t you?’

She eased the blouse out a little, buttoned it across her straining brassiere.

‘You won’t find nothing here,’ she said, ‘prying into all our little affairs. But you can look, that’s all right. Arter can see you don’t pinch nothing.’

Setters with Ralphs made a businesslike beginning in the kitchen, but apart from the built-in cupboards and a small pantry it contained few likely places of concealment. Setters poked the two armchairs and turned them over to inspect the springs. Ralphs moved a rug, trod heavily about the stained boards which formed the floor. Mrs Bixley watched them aggressively. Arter rolled himself a fag.

‘That’s about it,’ Setters said, after stirring in a flour-bin and replacing it.

Trailing Arter behind them, they went out to continue next door. Mrs Bixley repossessed an armchair, jerked a thumb at the other one.

‘You better sit down,’ she said to Gently. ‘Nothing like making yourselves at home. And there ain’t much I can tell you about our Sid what you don’t know already. You’re the Yard one, ain’t you?’

Gently nodded, sat himself.

‘Thought you were,’ said Mrs Bixley. ‘You got more savvy about you than them two. It ain’t the same down here like it is back home, they just ain’t got the know. Now what’s our Sid been up to this time?’

‘What we told you,’ Gently said. ‘And you know about it, don’t you, Mrs Bixley?’

‘If I did I’d be a fool to let on, wouldn’t I?’ she retorted. ‘But I ain’t saying I’m so blooming innocent. I’ve seen him have them reefers around. But cor love us, I ask you, what’s a thing like that to make a fuss over?’

‘When have you seen him have them around?’

‘When?’ She made her eyes round. ‘Do us a favour, I can’t remember the ins and outs like that. But I’ve caught him smoking one sometimes — pooh, I can’t stand that stink! I told him I wouldn’t have it in here, he’d have to do it somewhere else.’

‘You didn’t want to know where he’d got them?’

‘Don’t be silly,’ she said. ‘Where do kids always get them from — off each other, that’s where.’

‘They don’t make them themselves, Mrs Bixley.’

‘Didn’t say they did, did I? One of them buys them in a pub or a street corner or somewhere. You know how it is. They will go for these things. Me, I tried one when I was that age, it made me spew something rotten.’

‘How many have you seen him have at one time?’

‘Only the one,’ said Mrs Bixley. ‘Then it was the stink what made me notice it, I’d come in here and niff the stink.’

‘You haven’t seen him have a box of them?’

‘No I haven’t,’ she said.

‘Have you seen him with boxes of Melton chocolates?’

‘What, Sid?’ she said. ‘Do us a favour.’

Gently paused, let her think about that for a moment. In the next room they could hear the squeak of furniture being moved on linoleum. Mrs Bixley sat saggingly with her slippered feet placed apart, her elbows dug into the arms of the chair, her chin jutted out towards him.

‘How often do you hear from your sister, Cissie?’ Gently asked.

Her eyes jumped at him. Well,’ she said, ‘we know a few things, don’t we? And what’s Cissie got to do with it?’

‘Have you seen her lately?’ Gently asked.

‘Not since we come here,’ said Mrs Bixley. ‘And that was two years in August. Her and me don’t get on since that business about Mum’s furniture. Took the blinking lot, she did. And the sewing machine. And the canary.’