Alan Hunter - Gently Does It

Susan grinned, cat-like. ‘I daresay he had some, but they won’t be coming off. Miss Gretchen can pick and choose now… even though she is in trouble.’

‘Ah well… it’s a strange world.’ Gently thumbed the bowl of his defunct pipe and relit it. ‘When was the last time they saw each other?’

‘You mean the last time they…?’ queried Susan innocently.

‘Yes.’

‘Wednesday.’

‘Wednesday, eh?’ Gently brooded.

‘That’s the night Mrs Turner goes to the pictures. She doesn’t know anything about it, of course. Miss Gretchen went to bed early and I was there to let him in through the kitchen.’

‘Saturday one of his days?’

‘Afternoons on a Saturday — I’m out myself after tea.’

‘I don’t suppose you saw anything of him last Saturday?’

Susan wrinkled her brow. ‘I thought maybe he’d slipped in while I was out of the kitchen… I felt sure he’d be up there with her. But then, you see, she’d gone out on her own and he stopped at home… well, I suppose they had a row. Anyway, she’s finished with him now.’

The cakes were finished and the coffee drunk. Susan eased back into her chair and explored her painted lips with the tip of an angelic tongue. ‘I like to have a talk,’ she said confidentially, ‘it makes you feel better.’

Gently said: ‘What are you going to do now?’

‘Oh… I don’t know.’

‘I was thinking of going to the pictures myself. There’s still time.’

Susan unfolded herself another peg and embraced him with a liquid smile. ‘I’ve never been out with a policeman before,’ she said.

‘It’s quite safe,’ said Gently.

‘We-ell!’ She inclined her head coyly.

Poker-faced, Gently paid their two bills and helped Susan on with her flaming red coat. Across the way was a taxi rank. Gently shepherded her through the traffic and handed her into the first car. ‘Regent,’ he said to the driver, then paused. Over by the Princess foyer stood somebody, watching them, a tall, broad-shouldered figure in an American-cut jacket. Gently shrugged and got in.

‘Who was that?’ asked Susan.

‘Could have been one of our men.’

‘I thought it looked like Fisher.’

‘Could have been him, too.’

Susan laughed and snuggled against him silkily. ‘I’ve never been out with a policeman before,’ she repeated.

At Charlie’s the proprietor was in the back helping Elsie with the washing-up. The snack-bar had a sordid, end-of-the-day atmosphere, with dirty cups on the tables and litter on the floor. Its only occupants were the tug-skipper and his mate, who sat talking interminably in low tones, and Fisher, who sat by himself with a cup of tea before him. Outside the street was deserted and silent. Inside there was an occasional clink of cup and saucer from the back and the drone of the conversation, on and on, like an audition from another world. A coffee-stained evening paper carrying Peter Huysmann’s photograph shared a table with a half-eaten bun.

Fisher played with the spoon in his saucer. His mouth was small and tight, his dark eyes angry and furtive. They glanced at the two tug-men, at the door, at the clock, which showed eleven. He pulled over the paper, limp and dirty, and stared at it. Why had Charlie looked at him like that when he came in? Why had he said: ‘What — you?’ in that sort of way? Charlie was in with the police, he knew that. Suppose they’d dropped something to him — something about Fisher? But he was safe there, as long as he kept his trap shut… they might suspect, but they couldn’t prove anything.

Fisher crumpled the paper and threw it into a corner, done and finished with. He looked across at the two tug-men. They were completely absorbed in their conversation… or was it that they didn’t want to speak to him? Had Charlie said something to them? He could imagine Charlie bending over and whispering: ‘Stay clear of Fisher — the police have got something on him!’ And so they talked and talked and pretended he wasn’t there. He got up and went over to them. They stopped talking and looked round. A movement from the back suggested that Charlie had put his head round the door.

‘I’m Fisher,’ he said defiantly.

The tug-skipper shrugged his lean shoulders. ‘What about it, mate?’ he retorted.

‘I’m Huysmann’s chauffeur.’

‘Well… what are we supposed to do… clap?’

‘I could tell them a few things they don’t know, if I’d a mind to

… things they’re never going to find out without me.’

Charlie said from the door: ‘Well — why don’t you tell them? What are you afraid of?’

Fisher swung round to face him. ‘I’m not afraid of nothing — see? They can’t pin anything on me, whatever they think — and whatever they say they think!’

‘What do they think, mate?’ put in the tug-skipper.

‘Never you mind… it isn’t your business.’

‘Then why come barging in with it?’

Fisher clenched his fists and looked ugly. ‘Here… stop that!’ exclaimed Charlie, coming round from behind the bar.

‘Let him be,’ said the tug-skipper, ‘I know how to handle his type

…’

‘I won’t have fighting here.’

Fisher turned furiously on Charlie. ‘Policeman!’ he burst out, ‘bloody policeman! I’m not a policeman, whatever else I am. And you watch out for yourself, that’s what I say. Things are going to change round here… you may not be so high and mighty, for one!’

Charlie took him by the sleeve. ‘What do you mean by that?’ he demanded.

‘Get your hands off me — get them off!’

‘I’m asking you what you mean by what you just said.’

Fisher wrenched himself away. ‘You’ll find out, don’t worry! You’ll find out that you can’t treat some people like dirt…!’

The doorbell tinkled and the bulky figure of Gently entered. He glanced at Fisher with mild surprise. ‘We seem to be following each other about…’ he said.

‘Rotten cop!’ shouted Fisher, ‘coming here trying to find out things… but there’s nothing you can find out. Ask your pal Charlie, here!’

Gently ignored him and went over to the counter. ‘A cup of coffee,’ he said. Charlie, with a dangerous glance at Fisher, went to serve him. ‘Look at him!’ cried Fisher, trying to include the tug-men, ‘a bloody know-all cop! A rotten sneaking policeman! Treating us as though we were something out of a drain!’

The second tug-man shifted uneasily. ‘If he’s a policeman you’d better button your mouth up, chum,’ he said. But Fisher would not be silenced. ‘You’d think he was clever to look at him — he thinks he’s clever himself! But he isn’t — not really! There’s as clever people as he is about and they aren’t chief inspectors…’ Encouraged by Gently’s passive acceptance of his taunts, Fisher moved closer to the counter. ‘You took Susan to the pictures, didn’t you? I know — I was watching you! And what did you get out of her, I’d like to know? How much do you think she knows?’

Gently turned about and surveyed him expressionlessly. ‘Why did Leaming turn her up tonight?’ he asked.

‘Leaming!’ Fisher spat on the floor. ‘How should I know why he did it? What’s it got to do with me?’

‘I was just asking…’ replied Gently smoothly.

‘Bloody coppers — always asking questions! But you won’t get anything out of me. And if you’ve got any sense you won’t listen to Susan’s lies… dirty little bitch!’

Gently turned his back and stirred his coffee. Charlie looked at him questioningly, but Gently’s lips framed a negative.

‘What’s she been saying about me?’ blustered Fisher, pushing up and trying to make Gently look at him. ‘She’s been lying… I’ve a right to know!’