Alan Hunter - Gently where the roads go

PROPERTY MARKET

Messrs. Owles, Stangate amp; Oliver offered a varied selection of properties for sale at The Lamb Hotel, Offingham, yesterday. They included The Raven roadhouse, Everham,?1300 (Mr George, for a client)

… PUBLICAN ATTACKED XMAS CLUB FUNDS STOLEN

An intruder with a cosh last night attacked Mr Percy Billington (51), licensee of The Black Boy Public House, Norton Street, Stoke Newington, and got away with nearly?200 of Xmas Club funds. The attack occurred soon after closing time when Mr Billington was making up the club ledger. Police believe that the intruder had concealed himself in the toilets.

Wednesday, December 24th. Big Ben striking four times. A gloomy mist settled in Whitehall and over the muddy tides of the Thames. The great exodus proceeding by way of traffic jams and crawling trains. Frost forecast. Frost apparent in the sparkle of the lights in County Hall.

Gently looked around his office, pulled on his coat, wrapped his scarf. The basket was emptied, the desk neat, the trays vacant, the chairs aligned. The calendar read two days in advance, Saturday, December 26th: he had pulled a string in the AC’s office and two days had grudgingly been given him. Bridget, his sister, was spending Christmas with him, and along with Bridget her son and daughter-in-law. He would be meeting them in the Leicester Square Corner House in twenty minutes and later they were going to the Coliseum. A Christmas break. He looked round again. The office was warm, tidy and bare. He stuck his pipe in his mouth, reached for the door handle. The telephone rang. He looked at it, sucking.

He went to the desk, picked up the phone.

‘Yes?’

‘Hullo, old man.’ It was Empton. ‘Hoped I should catch you,’ Empton said. ‘I’ve just come in from something amusing.’

‘I’m just leaving,’ Gently said.

‘Shan’t keep you a moment,’ Empton said. ‘It’s to do with our Polish expedition, remember? The bloke who fired his gun so much.’

‘What about him?’ Gently said.

‘He’s in the morgue,’ Empton said. ‘We found him stiff and stark in Hackney. He’d been holing up there since last August.’

Gently sucked. ‘How did it happen?’

‘Gas,’ Empton said. ‘In his bedroom.’

‘Was it suicide?’

‘Not quite,’ Empton said. ‘The door had been sealed on the outside. There was a rubber tube led in from the kitchen and poked underneath the door. He’d got the window closed, of course, the nights being rather chill. A very crisp little job. No prints, no witnesses.’

‘Do you know who did it?’ Gently asked.

‘But of course, old man,’ Empton said. ‘Nothing we can prove in the CCC, but we don’t do much of that in our line of business. Watch your papers after Christmas.’

‘Was it this Razek?’ Gently said.

‘Strictly sub judice,’ Empton said. ‘But you can draw any conclusions that seem good to you.’ He paused, and Gently heard him chuckle. You remember Mrs Lane?’ he said.

‘Yes.’

‘She was with him,’ Empton said. ‘Two single beds. She was on the other one.’

‘She was dead too?’ Gently said.

‘Yes, strangled,’ Empton said. ‘Yesterday, according to the medic. Been dead for thirty-six hours.’

Gently stared out at the mist. ‘Any clothes on the body?’

‘None,’ Empton said. ‘Damned un-bourgeois, wasn’t it? Merry Christmas, old man.’