Alan Hunter: Gently where the roads go

‘You want to come in?’ she said.

‘Yes,’ Gently said. ‘I hope it’s convenient.’

‘I haven’t got a man here’, Wanda said, ‘if that’s what you mean, and I presume it is. I was lying down, you woke me up. You can come in, I don’t care.’

She stood back. Gently entered. She closed and bolted the door again. She stopped holding the raincoat closed. It fell open. She was naked under it.

‘Well?’ she said.

‘I’ll just look through the place.’

He walked swiftly through the kitchen, through the toilets, to the back door. It was bolted. He opened it. The garden, the field showed empty. The kitten had gone back to sleep again, didn’t cock its head at the sound of the door. He closed and re-bolted it. He returned quickly to the front door. He lifted the curtain and looked out. The 105 stood quietly shimmering.

‘Satisfied?’ Wanda said. ‘If I had a bloke here I’d show him. I’d like to think you were jealous, of course, only you don’t seem the jealous type.’

He said nothing. He went into the parlour, through the parlour into her bedroom. The bed was dishevelled as though it had been lain on. There was a smell of cigarette smoke. He came out, went to the guest lounge, the toilets, the range of twelve bedrooms. Under its tin roof the building was oven hot and sweat was glistening on his face. He returned to the parlour. Wanda had discarded the raincoat. She lay on the studio couch, smoking a cigarette. She too had a shine on her forehead and on her body a film of perspiration. One knee was crooked, a hand trailing. She blew smoke upwards. Her eyes followed the smoke.

‘Am I bothering you?’ she asked. ‘I don’t think I am, but I could be wrong. This is my own house and it’s a warm day, you have to take me as you find me.’

Gently shook his head. ‘You don’t bother me.’

‘Perhaps you’d rather I was dressed,’ Wanda said. ‘Perhaps you’d like me in fur or with black suspenders. I don’t mind. I have a wide repertoire.’

‘I’m sure you have,’ Gently said.

‘Yes, I have,’ Wanda said. ‘Don’t waste your talent for sarcasm, I know my business, I take a pride in it. Every man is a little different, wants a special twist to make him happy. I like to find out the twist. I’m quite a psychologist in my way.’

‘Who is it smokes in your bedroom?’ Gently said.

‘I smoke in my bedroom,’ Wanda said. ‘Do you find it inhibiting, or something. That’s a new one on me.’

‘I just find it interesting,’ Gently said. ‘There weren’t any ends in the ashtray. And you haven’t any stain on your finger. I don’t think you smoke them much, do you?’

‘Do you want a fag?’ Wanda said.

‘No,’ Gently said. ‘I smoke a pipe.’

‘Of course,’ Wanda said. ‘I like pipe-smokers. A man with a pipe always attracts me.’ She fanned some smoke. ‘There was one bloke I knew who always wanted the radio on. Not in the bedroom, but out here. Did you ever know of a bloke like that? Then there was Pete, he was Irish, it took me a long time to figure him. He liked me to blindfold him with a stocking, but I had to find out, he wouldn’t tell me. Men. There’s no two alike. I could have told Havelock Ellis some new ones. I’m not boring you, by any chance?’

‘You’re not boring me,’ Gently said.

‘I get carried away,’ Wanda said. ‘It’s one of the subjects I never tire of. And men like to talk about it, as a rule, it helps them to shed their inhibitions.’ She sat up, swung her feet to the floor. ‘I’m going into the bedroom,’ she said.

‘Why?’ Gently said.

She shrugged her lean shoulders. ‘Who knows?’ she said. ‘I was never a quitter.’

She rose, went through into the bedroom. Gently hesitated, followed after her. The square bedroom window was closed and curtained and the curtain was yellow and made the room yellowish. She gave a few more puffs to her cigarette and then stubbed it in the tray. She went to the wardrobe and opened the door, stood looking at the clothes inside.

‘Are you sure I shouldn’t dress a little?’ she said. ‘I could bear a girdle, something of that sort.’

‘It would be a waste of time,’ Gently said.

‘I’ve some mink garters.’

He didn’t say anything. He walked across to the inside wall, tapped it, put his shoulder against it. The wall was made of panelled hardboard. He ran his fingers over it. They came away dusty.

‘Positively no deception,’ Wanda said. ‘That backs on the lounge if you want to know. There’s a three-inch air space between the panels, that’s all. No concealed doors.’

‘Thank you for the information,’ Gently said.

‘Oh, no charge,’ Wanda said. ‘But I wish you wouldn’t be so damned professional, even here, in my very bedroom.’

‘I’m here professionally,’ Gently said.

‘We could still be friends,’ she said, ‘while you’re about it. As I said before, I’m not trying to bribe you, you’re welcome to prowl and ask what you like.’

‘Do you take a paper?’ Gently asked.

‘Not The Times. But I take one.’

‘We have a case against Sawney,’ Gently said. ‘If we want to press that case, of course.’

She looked at him. Her eyes were narrowed. ‘Is that supposed to mean something?’ she said. ‘I couldn’t care less what happened to Sawney, your beautiful subtlety is being wasted.’

‘It means we’re not certain that Sawney did it. Though the evidence is stacked against him.’

‘Hurrah for Sawney,’ Wanda said. ‘It’ll make a nice surprise for him when you catch him. Who is the leading suspect now?’

‘Perhaps somebody not very far away.’

‘How exciting,’ Wanda said. ‘No wonder I don’t seem able to hold your attention.’

She closed the door of the wardrobe, came over, stood close beside him.

‘Can’t you forget it for just a moment,’ she said. ‘We can always talk about it some other time.’ She brushed against him, stood firm. ‘It’s so damned hot,’ she said. ‘You look boiled in all those clothes. I shan’t pinch your wallet. Take them off. I’m not boring you?’

Gently shrugged. She moved away from him, sat on the bed. Her shiny face looked up at him. The eyes were smiling. The lips didn’t smile.

‘You remind me of a kid I had here once,’ she said. ‘He was another queer customer. He’d never made any love before. He was stark scared to take his clothes off.’

Gently took the chair and sat on it. She watched him, the eyes still smiling.

‘And Tom,’ she said. ‘There was Tom. He liked me to tie him up with lighting flex. Hand and foot.’ She patted the bed-frame. ‘Then he struggled and groaned all the time. You know about that sort of thing, do you? I should think the police know a good deal about it.’

‘It isn’t my department,’ Gently said. ‘I’m a homicide specialist.’

‘It’s wrong to specialize too much,’ she said. ‘You could be extending your general knowledge. I’m a specialist too, in my way, and my subject isn’t quite so morbid.’

He didn’t say anything, sat quite still, listened to the heavy silence of the building; the silence existing outside the moan of the traffic, which sounded subdued. In the room it was very silent. He could hear the quickness of Wanda’s breathing. Her eyes were narrowing as the pause lengthened. At last she moved, making the springs creak.

‘So I’m a specialist,’ she went on. ‘And this is my laboratory, in here. That’s why it’s a bare little room and why it’s a bare little bed. I want to control all the stimuli when I’m engaged in an experiment, I want to know exactly how they tick. I ought to keep bloody records. What are you thinking about?’

‘Hmn,’ Gently said. ‘I was thinking how quiet it was.’