Alan Hunter - Gently where the roads go

‘Have you seen him and Teodowicz here together?’

‘Yes, perhaps. Once or twice.’

‘Were they friendly?’

‘They were partners, weren’t they? As far as I could see they were good chums.’

‘How often did they meet Albert here?’

Wanda’s face had no expression.

‘Who are we talking about now?’

‘Let’s go and fetch the ladder,’ he said.

She followed him without pursuing the question and they went out again into the yard. The ladder was suspended from the brackets of a shelf by pieces of cord which were extravagantly knotted. They untied them, carried the ladder in. The opening in the loft was above the toilets. It was closed by a grimy panel of hardboard which was laced to its frame with spiders’ webs. Gently pushed it up, flashed his torch in the loft. He was placed at the junction of the L. The torchlight showed a recession of dusty joists as far as the gable ends, in both directions. Beside him, mounted on cross-pieces of timber, stood a galvanized tank marked by rusty dribbles. He climbed up to it, shone his torch inside. It contained water above a deposit of sludge. He went down.

‘That’s all,’ she said. ‘Except the two rooms off the parlour. But if you’re not satisfied you can always come back in daylight and root around where you like. I’ve got nothing to hide here.’ The eyes smiled. ‘That’s the truth,’ she said.

‘You’re not surprised?’ he asked.

‘What have I got to be surprised about?’

‘That I should be searching your premises to find if you are harbouring someone here.’

‘Is that what you’re doing?’

Gently nodded. ‘Have I been looking in drawers and places?’

She screwed up her mouth. ‘You’re the police. How should I know how your minds work?’

‘When did you last see Albert?’

‘Albert Sawney?’

‘Yes.’

‘He came in one night last week.’

‘He slept here?’

‘Yes.’

‘With you?’

‘Of course.’

‘Did he have Teodowicz and Madsen with him?’

‘I don’t’, she said, ‘go in for orgies.’

‘Were they with him here any of the time?’

‘No. I’m pretty certain Albert doesn’t know them.’

‘Have you had a message from Albert?’

‘No.’ She hesitated. ‘He just comes in.’

‘Do you think he’ll get in touch with you?’

‘No,’ she said. Adding: ‘Why should he?’

Gently nodded again. ‘I’ll just see those other rooms.’

‘I’ve been waiting,’ she said. ‘One is my bedroom.’

The ladder was returned, the outer door re-bolted. She waited while Gently refilled his pipe and stood again for some moments listening. She showed no impatience. There was no sound in the premises except the tick of a meter, which was mounted over the entry. Outside the plunge of the traffic had grown less continuous but without ever quite giving moments of silence. She watched the smoke eddying from the pipe. She was breathing shallowly but evenly.

‘Right,’ he said. ‘Let’s go.’

She turned and preceded him along the corridor. Through the kitchen, into the parlour, to a closed door at the back of the parlour. Behind it was a long narrow room with a further door at the end of it. The narrow room appeared half a junk room but had a divan behind the door.

‘Who sleeps here?’

‘You may, tonight. Sleeping with me is a figure of speech. I’m fastidious in some things, please understand, and I don’t like sharing my bed with people.’

‘Did Sawney sleep here?’

‘He did if he stayed.’

‘What happened with Sawney last week?’

‘That was one of the times he stayed.’

‘Did he come in his van?’

‘No. He had a bike.’

She went straight on into the second room, which was smaller and squarer than the first. It contained a single iron bedstead, a wardrobe, a dressing-table and a chair. Under the bed was a rectangle of linoleum but the boards surrounding it were bare. There was a brush and some cosmetics on the dressing-table, and that was all the room contained. A high small window was ajar. It was curtainless. There was a faint smell of cigarette smoke.

‘Do you mind if we have a light on?’

‘I don’t use a light in here.’

She pointed to an empty socket over the bed. The only light came from the dim bulb next door. He felt in his pocket.

‘Cigarette?’

‘No, thank you. I don’t smoke much.’

She glanced quickly at an ashtray which stood on the dressing-table. It was empty. She looked away.

‘All right, then. Give me one.’

‘Sorry… I seem to have come out without them.’

She didn’t look at him. ‘Oh, never mind. I had one here when I was doing my hair.’ Then she looked at him. ‘Are you through questioning? I didn’t really bring you here to smoke.’

Gently puffed, took the chair and reversed it, seated himself on the chair.

‘How did you know that Sawney was missing,’ he asked, ‘if Sawney hasn’t been in touch with you?’

‘Oh hell,’ she said. ‘I’m tired of this. Can’t you give it a miss for tonight? I want a man, not a policeman. Give me a break, for Christ’s sake.’

She breathed hard. She pulled off the dress. She was wearing a pair of drawers under it. She sat on the edge of the bed, leaning towards him, her breasts swelling between her arms.

‘Look it over,’ she said. ‘I’m not voluptuous, but the men go for me. Close the hangar doors for a moment. We can always pick it up later.’

Gently looked. She was not voluptuous. She had narrow thighs and thickish calves. Her forearms, too, had a heavy appearance, and the breasts in repose would have been flattened. She looked a little like an athlete, spare, but cast with heavy bone. There was no tenderness about her. Her eroticism was not physical. They stared at each other.

‘Well…?’ she said. ‘Are we going to be friends? I’m not a kid, you understand, I’m well up in the business.’

‘You could say that Johnny told you.’

‘Blast Johnny. He did, as it happens.’

‘Sometimes you don’t think very quickly.’

‘Put that pipe away,’ she said.

Gently puffed.

‘You’re a bastard,’ she said.

They went on staring at each other.

‘Look,’ she said. ‘All right, suspect me. I don’t know why or what about. You’re a cop, and that’s your business. But I’m a woman. And this is mine. I might have had Johnny, you know that, but I froze him off because of you.’

‘What was the sweet you gave Tim?’

‘Damn Tim and damn all of them.’

‘He had egg and chips on Monday night, and some sort of a sweet — trifle, was it?’

‘How the hell should I know what he had?’

‘Isn’t this where he had his meal?’

‘He’s had meals here, but not on Monday.’

‘What time did he get here?’

‘Go to hell,’ she said.

She let herself go backwards across the bed, pulling down the pillow to make her head comfortable. Now her breasts were obviously flat though the nipples were prominently tumescent. She let her feet remain close together. She gave a kick with her hips to settle her position.

‘Can’t you forget about it?’ she asked. ‘I’m not holding anything back from you. Tim didn’t eat here on the Monday night, I don’t know where you got that idea. You’re simply on the wrong track altogether. Just because Tim got shot near here. It’s a political thing, isn’t it? — they wanted Tim to go back to Poland. For Christ’s sake be your age, lover. I’m ready for any damned thing at all.’

She stared at him from back on the bed, her eyes closing, her teeth showing. She squared her arms each side of her head and moved her feet a few inches apart. Gently formed a ring of smoke.