Джон Пристли - Salt is Leaving

"In other words," said Alan, "you really think we"re making a fuss about nothing."

"In these particular circumstances, sir – Mr Culworth being the sort of man you say he is – I don't think we come into the picture yet."

"But why is he not telling us anything?" This was Maggie, who felt she had to make one last protest.

Then she wished she'd kept quiet, for now the sergeant gave her a bleak look. "He's not a child, miss. He's a responsible middle-aged man, and if he doesn't choose to tell you everything he does, that's not a police matter. Unless, of course, you haven't told me all you know about him."

"What do you mean?" Maggie began furiously, but Alan, loud and clear, said, "But we have, Sergeant. Goodnight," and swept her out.

"I'm sorry, Alan, but you saw how quite suddenly he stopped pretending to be so kind and fatherly. And that's how they really are, I suppose."

"It's how they have to be, Mag. But let's stop all this fussing around. You heard what he said. Father's all right. He's minding his own business. We'll mind ours."

"That's all right for you. But I'm not just indulging in Mother's kind of fuss. You forget that it's his shop I've got on my hands, and unless he comes back soon, I shan't know what the hell to do next." And then, to her disgust, she found herself noisily bursting into tears. And three youths, monsters from other planets, stopped and cried "Hoy – hoy!" or something, and she grabbed Alan's arm and broke almost into a trot – hurrying forward, we might say, into the maze.

1

That same Tuesday, but during the morning, not in the evening, Dr Salt was also calling on the police. Their headquarters occupied one end of Birkden Town Hall, a very large building that looked as if an Italian palace was trying to get out of a warehouse. Dr Salt ran his car into a parking space labelled For Official Use Only . It was an old grey-green Citroen, not unlike an enormous battered frog. While Dr Salt was examining a crack across one of the headlights, a policeman arrived and told him he couldn't park there.

"I'm Dr Salt," he replied. "And I have an appointment with your Chief Constable. Now where do I go in – um?"

Respectful now, the policeman showed him. Dr Salt had no appointment with the Chief Constable, had never even exchanged a word with the Chief Constable, but when a quick lie was called for, he believed in lying firmly and well. Moreover, he did want to talk to some police officer.

The sergeant who seemed to be on desk duty was a man he knew called Broadbent. Mrs Broadbent had been a patient of his.

"I didn't expect to see you here, Doctor," said Broadbent, a smiling man. "And I heard you'd left us."

"Not yet – though I'll be leaving quite soon. I've already handed over my practice – to Dr Baldwin – pleasant young fellow. Your wife will like him. Now I want to talk to somebody about a former patient of mine – young girl – who's missing."

"Do you think it's important, Dr Salt?"

"Yes, I do. If I didn"t, I wouldn't be here, Sergeant Broadbent. And I don't want one of your ordinary CID chaps. I want to go as high as possible – please."

"I'll see what I can do, Dr Salt. Take a seat, won't you?" Dr Salt did, realizing that the tactful Broadbent was putting him out of earshot of the telephone. But having very good ears, he was able to make out that Broadbent was telling somebody he was a clever and reliable doctor, who had been kind to Mrs Broadbent, and there wouldn't be any harm in listening to what he had to say even if it turned out to be something and nothing, sir.

"You"re going as high as possible, Dr Salt," said Broadbent, pleased with himself. "Superintendent Hurst will see you. Straight along the corridor – last door but one on the left." He leant forward and became a conspirator. "And you'll be doing me a favour, Doctor, if you make it sound important – even if it means piling it on a bit – you know-"

"I don't need to pile it on," said Dr Salt, not using the same whispering tone. "I suspect that everything's been piled on already."

Superintendent Hurst was a big beefy man in his fifties who made his desk, the two chairs, his whole room, look too small. "Dr Salt? Think I've seen you in court once or twice, haven't I? Giving evidence, I mean, not in the dock – eh?" He followed this with one of those mechanical laughs that the other man is supposed to echo.

Dr Salt didn't even produce a smile. He stared steadily at a point somewhere between the superintendent's eyes and his moustache.

"Well, let's sit down-" The superintendent's manner was not quite so hearty now – "then you can tell me what we can do for you – that is, if it's any business of ours-"

"If it isn't yours, it's somebody"s," Dr Salt told him firmly. "I've disposed of my practice here and I'll be leaving Birkden shortly. I want to leave everything nice and tidy-"

"I'd feel the same. In fact, I will be doing in a couple of years – when I retire. But what's wrong?"

"A patient of mine – a young girl called Noreen Wilks – is missing-"

"Noreen Wilks." Hurst made a note of it, or at least pretended he did. "Can't say I know that name. Give me a few particulars."

"Age nineteen, perhaps twenty now. Mother died about a year ago – sarcoma. Never mentioned her father. Probably cleared out and left them years ago. After her mother died she lodged with a Mrs Pearson – I have the address." Dr Salt pulled out a rather fat and untidy pocketbook. "Yes, Mrs Pearson – 45 Olton Street-"

"Now just a minute, Doctor. I think that rings a bell. Hold on." He spoke on his intercom to an Inspector Frith and asked him about Mrs Pearson of Olton Street. And it was soon obvious that neither of them cared for her. "That's it," he continued to Dr Salt. "Nothing much wrong with my memory. Yes, we've had her here twice, screaming her head off – half pissed each time, I gather. And about this same Noreen Wilks, who's gone off somewhere, not telling anybody. What sort of girl would you say she was, Dr Salt?"

"What you'd expect from a bad background and the kind of muck the papers and magazines feed these girls now. Not vicious, as she might have been with that background, no real harm in her, but empty-headed, sloppy, silly."

"Just another of these little fly-by-nights," cried Hurst triumphantly. "And Birkden's full of "em these days. I'm sorry, Dr Salt, but if you"re looking for her, then you"re just wasting your time."

"I don't think so, Superintendent-"

"Now look – we've no evidence she's really missing. Girls of this sort – and we know she was on the loose – go rattling off anywhere with anybody. They don't tell their mothers, sisters, brothers, landladies – or their doctors – when and where they"re going. It's all gin and impulsiveness and sex with them. Go anywhere, do anything – except steady work. We've had scores and scores of "em through here. So don't waste your time asking about this Noreen Wilks. She might have gone to Birmingham – London – anywhere. So just you forget about her." He stood up and held out a hand.

Ignoring the hand, Dr Salt didn't even get up. "I haven't finished yet, Superintendent."

"Now look – unless they"re involved in a criminal offence, we can't begin tracing these little fly-by-nights." He was annoyed now and didn't sit down again. "I agreed to see you because of something that Sergeant Broadbent said – but I'm a busy man-"

" Sit down , Superintendent." This came out with such astonishing ferocity that Hurst found himself back in his chair without meaning to move. He was about to protest when Dr Salt broke in sharply: "Now let me explain why I'm here. And don't give me any more about little fly-by-nights going to Birmingham. I know what goes on in Birkden. I ought to, after seven years of it. So just listen, please. It's more urgent than anything else you'll hear today."