Alan Hunter - Gently where the roads go

Going northwards was a Commer truck squarely loaded with wooden crates. The truck was overtaken by two cars, then by the 105, touching the sixties. The sound of the truck vanished behind. About ten seconds later came another sound. It was a persistent rattle which seemed to shake the car and which ended in the shattering of the rear offside-door window. Along with this rattle was a background noise. It sounded like a very fast pneumatic drill. The 105 swerved. There was a thudding patter behind it. Gently went on driving fast, pulled in half a mile down the road. In the driving mirror he saw the Commer following him. It slowed, braked. A man got down.

The man came running round to the 105, a hard-framed man with a sunken-cheeked face. He grabbed the door and hauled it open, stared at Gently with white-rimmed eyes.

‘Blimey!’ he said. ‘Are you all right, cock?’

Gently said nothing, got out of the car.

‘You were bloody strafed, cock!’ the man gabbled. ‘Christ, what’s it coming to on this sodding road?’

‘Did you cop any?’ Gently said.

‘Not for want of him trying,’ the man said. ‘He was in the bushes. Up at the lay-by. I was shitting myself, I daren’t stop.’

‘Did you get a look at him?’

‘Not bloody likely. Just the smoke, I could see that.’

‘Get back in your truck,’ Gently said. ‘Drive to Everham phonebox. Inform the Offingham police.’

The man stared, his mouth open. ‘What are you going to do, cock?’ he said.

‘Police,’ Gently said. ‘I’ve got a job here. Get back in your truck and warn Offingham.’

He walked round the car. The nearside panels were perforated in a line that slanted upwards. The line began at the bottom of the front door and wavered uncertainly to the smashed rear door window. At the back of the car was a scattered group of deep dents, but no penetration. None of the tyres had been punctured. Only the one window was broken.

‘Blimey!’ the man said, coming to look. ‘You’re a lucky bastard, you are. If he’d held that frigger straight you wouldn’t be worrying about the bomb.’

‘Go and get that call made,’ Gently said.

‘You’re going after him?’ the man said.

‘Just do what I ask you,’ Gently said.

The man looked at him, frowning. He shook his head. ‘You’re mad,’ he said. ‘But I’m a mad bugger too, I was in the Parachute Regiment. It’ll need a couple of us, I reckon, if we’re going to stand a chance. You lay for him, I’ll draw him. I’ve got a wrench in the truck you can have.’

Gently said: ‘You’ll get in that truck and you’ll drive straight to Everham phonebox. You’ll ring the Offingham police and you’ll tell them that a wanted man is in the vicinity of The Raven roadhouse. Tell them that the message is from Superintendent Gently and that he wants roadblocks and a cordon round the area. Tell them that the man is armed with a Sten gun and that revolvers are to be issued. Have you got all that?’

The man swallowed. ‘I’ve got it,’ he said.

‘Do it directly,’ Gently said. ‘I may be prevented from getting to a telephone. What’s your name?’

‘Sam Ives. I come from Harlow New Town.’

‘On your way,’ Gently said.

Ives went back to the Commer, jumped in.

Gently got in the 105, backed it on the verge, swung it round. He drove slowly towards the lay-by. He watched the traffic coming north. There was a big articulated with other traffic hung behind it. He put on speed. He passed the lay-by almost square with the articulated. He kept accelerating. He didn’t hear anything. He braked by The Raven, cut across to it, parked. He went to the door and wrenched at the handle, drove his foot into it. The door fell open. Wanda came running from the kitchen. She was dressed. She carried a handbag.

‘You!’ Wanda said. Her eyes were fearful. ‘You aren’t hurt — he didn’t hurt you?’

Gently brushed past her. He grabbed the phone, began to spin off a number.

‘You bloody fool,’ Wanda screamed. ‘He’s coming back. He’s going to kill you. Get to hell out of this place, you can’t stop in here.’

‘You can’t stop here either,’ Gently said. ‘Take the car. Drive to Baddesley.’

‘Oh God, oh God,’ she cried. ‘He’s going to kill you, he’s going to kill you.’

‘Take the car,’ Gently said. ‘Police. Superintendent Gently speaking.’

‘Oh God,’ Wanda sobbed. Her stub heels pattered out through the kitchen. The car door slammed, the engine started. The car didn’t pull away.

‘You’ve had a message from Ives,’ Gently said. ‘If you haven’t, this is the message.’

He held the receiver away from his ear, listening, watching, his back to the wall. He spoke softly.

‘Right. You’re getting it. I’m at The Raven. He’s somewhere close. Come straight to The Raven. Put a cordon round it. Take special care to cover the fields. Set up roadblocks at Everham and Huxford to stop all traffic. Send them armed.’

He stopped speaking. The black-and-white kitten had run in from outside. It ran up to Gently, rubbed against his ankle, purred, whisked its tail, stalked away. He hung up the receiver very quietly, began to move along the corridor. He could hear nothing except the 105’s engine filling in the gaps in the traffic.

He came to the toilets, listened, slid into them, came to the back door. It was unbolted. The kitten was following him. It went to the door and looked up at it. He moved across to the door, listened again, eased the bolts home. The kitten still looked at the door. There was no sound from outside it. He moved back into the corridor, looked along the doors of the bedrooms. They were closed. He returned to the kitchen. The cafe was empty. The parlour was empty. The kitten ran ahead into the narrow room, stopped, looked back at Gently. It didn’t look about the narrow room. Gently went in. The kitten proceeded. It entered the bedroom, stood switching its tail. Gently approached the door of the bedroom. He looked into the bedroom.

The bedroom was not as he had last seen it. The bed had been moved to one side. The lino from under the bed was rolled up and a section of the floorboards had been lifted. There was a cavity below the floorboards which was about four feet deep. Its walls were supported by rough timber baulks and the floor was covered with dirty floorcloth. On the floorcloth stood a camp bed and on the bed lay an electric lantern, and beside the bed was a jug of lemonade and a glass and a stuffed ashtray. A section of six-inch drainpipe projected from one of the walls and a faint light showed in it. The removed floorboards lay on Wanda’s bed. They were a section which matched the existing cross-fit of the floor.

He didn’t go into the room but stood looking. The kitten moved around, sniffed at the cavity. The yellow curtains of the square window were drawn back. The window was part open. There was a faint draught from it. Then the window darkened a little and Gently looked at the window. The face of a man was squinting through it. Their eyes met. The man was a stranger. He began to fire through the wall as Gently leaped backwards. The gun kept firing, raking splinters off the doorframe. Gently wasn’t hit. He ran back into the parlour. Wanda was screaming ‘This way, this way.’ He ran out into the park. The gun had stopped firing. Wanda had the 105’s door open. She was screaming. He jumped into the car. She crashed home the clutch, bucked the car away.

‘Not too far!’ Gently shouted at her. ‘The gun doesn’t have any range.’

‘He’ll kill the pair of us. He’ll kill us.’

‘Don’t go further than the bend!’

She was driving madly, her foot down, swerving the 105 dangerously. He reached for the key, turned it, withdrew it. The car slowed, came to a rest, finished partly on the verge. She was sobbing and screaming. ‘No — no!’ He slapped her face. It had no effect. ‘He’ll kill us — he will — he’ll kill us, he’ll kill us!’