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Authors: Alan Hunter
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eyes.
‘I’m not dangerous,’ she said. ‘Fairly human, but not dangerous. And don’t be so damned impregnable, because it piques a girl in her undies. You weren’t having me on about that will?’
‘No, Miss Merryn.’
‘The name is Brenda. Then I’ll be rich . . . and I like the idea. Though of course, it’s a rotten shame about Siggy.’
CHAPTER FIVE
T HERE WAS A phone-box near where Gently had parked, and when he came down he rang the office. This was insurance, because his rank relieved him of the stricter forms of supervision, but on the present occasion he was switched directly to the C.I.D. Assistant Commissioner.
‘Ah, Gently. What are you up to?’
Gently propped himself against the parcel-bin. It wasn’t worth while even trying to fool this thin-faced man with his big spectacles. He ran an inter-office espionage system which was second to none in Whitehall, and if he didn’t this moment know what Gently was up to, he could have the information one minute later. So Gently told him.
‘Yes . . . I see. There was a rumour of this going the rounds. But I’m not sure I like it, you sticking your oar in. How close a relative is he . . . a cousin?’
‘My brother-in-law’s cousin,’ Gently said.
‘Did you know him?’
‘No.’
‘So what’s the interest?’
‘It was me he came to in the first place.’
The A.C. made impatient noises. ‘See here, Gently,’ he said, ‘let’s get this straight. I want a perfectly honest answer – do you think he did it, or don’t you?’
‘I think he did it.’
‘Then what’s the beef? Why can’t the Chelsea lot handle it?’
‘Because he’ll probably get off,’ Gently said. ‘And I’d like to make that point before he’s charged.’
The Assistant Commissioner paused, and Gently smiled at the roof of the phone-box. He could see quite plainly the great man’s face, its eyes narrowed and suspicious. But he’d have to play along with that one: there had been too many failed prosecutions lately. Better give Gently his head for a bit than risk another expensive acquittal . . .
‘Gently.’
‘Yes?’
‘You’re not having me on – there’s a genuine chance of Fazakerly getting off?’
‘I’d say it was a sixty-forty chance.’
‘But damn it, he did it – you’re sure of that!’
Gently hunched a shoulder. ‘I’m pretty certain, and so will the jury be, too. But not certain enough. The detail evidence is all consistent with his innocence. Then there’s the character of the deceased, and alternatives with opportunity and motive. No, unless Fazakerly confesses I can’t see us winning this one.’
‘Would he confess?’
‘Most unlikely.’
‘Have you talked to him since this morning?’
‘No. But he was decided enough then. And he’s a long way from being stupid.’
Another pause. By now the A.C. would have swivelled his chair a little, would be resting his elbow on the desk and throwing a dirty look at the window. He had played much mental chess with Gently. These days he studied the board with care.
‘I think you’d better talk to him again, Gently.’
‘Yes, I’ve one or two things to ask him.’
‘I daresay you have. But what I’m suggesting is putting pressure on him for a confession.’
‘I’m not the man to do that—’
‘Oh yes you are, Gently, no one more so. He obviously trusts you or he wouldn’t have come to you, so he’ll perhaps respond to your advice.’
‘But that’s doing the dirty—!’
‘He’s guilty isn’t he?’
‘He’ll get the verdict if he keeps his mouth shut!’
‘Tsk, tsk,’ the A.C. said. ‘A mere technicality, Gently. I assume you are still interested in villains getting their deserts? Anyway, that’s what you’ll do.’
‘I’ll suggest a confession. No more.’
‘And I trust you’ll get it, with your ability. My best men usually get results.’
Gently left the phone-box without his smile and stood glowering some moments at the
‘I’m not dangerous,’ she said. ‘Fairly human, but not dangerous. And don’t be so damned impregnable, because it piques a girl in her undies. You weren’t having me on about that will?’
‘No, Miss Merryn.’
‘The name is Brenda. Then I’ll be rich . . . and I like the idea. Though of course, it’s a rotten shame about Siggy.’
CHAPTER FIVE
T HERE WAS A phone-box near where Gently had parked, and when he came down he rang the office. This was insurance, because his rank relieved him of the stricter forms of supervision, but on the present occasion he was switched directly to the C.I.D. Assistant Commissioner.
‘Ah, Gently. What are you up to?’
Gently propped himself against the parcel-bin. It wasn’t worth while even trying to fool this thin-faced man with his big spectacles. He ran an inter-office espionage system which was second to none in Whitehall, and if he didn’t this moment know what Gently was up to, he could have the information one minute later. So Gently told him.
‘Yes . . . I see. There was a rumour of this going the rounds. But I’m not sure I like it, you sticking your oar in. How close a relative is he . . . a cousin?’
‘My brother-in-law’s cousin,’ Gently said.
‘Did you know him?’
‘No.’
‘So what’s the interest?’
‘It was me he came to in the first place.’
The A.C. made impatient noises. ‘See here, Gently,’ he said, ‘let’s get this straight. I want a perfectly honest answer – do you think he did it, or don’t you?’
‘I think he did it.’
‘Then what’s the beef? Why can’t the Chelsea lot handle it?’
‘Because he’ll probably get off,’ Gently said. ‘And I’d like to make that point before he’s charged.’
The Assistant Commissioner paused, and Gently smiled at the roof of the phone-box. He could see quite plainly the great man’s face, its eyes narrowed and suspicious. But he’d have to play along with that one: there had been too many failed prosecutions lately. Better give Gently his head for a bit than risk another expensive acquittal . . .
‘Gently.’
‘Yes?’
‘You’re not having me on – there’s a genuine chance of Fazakerly getting off?’
‘I’d say it was a sixty-forty chance.’
‘But damn it, he did it – you’re sure of that!’
Gently hunched a shoulder. ‘I’m pretty certain, and so will the jury be, too. But not certain enough. The detail evidence is all consistent with his innocence. Then there’s the character of the deceased, and alternatives with opportunity and motive. No, unless Fazakerly confesses I can’t see us winning this one.’
‘Would he confess?’
‘Most unlikely.’
‘Have you talked to him since this morning?’
‘No. But he was decided enough then. And he’s a long way from being stupid.’
Another pause. By now the A.C. would have swivelled his chair a little, would be resting his elbow on the desk and throwing a dirty look at the window. He had played much mental chess with Gently. These days he studied the board with care.
‘I think you’d better talk to him again, Gently.’
‘Yes, I’ve one or two things to ask him.’
‘I daresay you have. But what I’m suggesting is putting pressure on him for a confession.’
‘I’m not the man to do that—’
‘Oh yes you are, Gently, no one more so. He obviously trusts you or he wouldn’t have come to you, so he’ll perhaps respond to your advice.’
‘But that’s doing the dirty—!’
‘He’s guilty isn’t he?’
‘He’ll get the verdict if he keeps his mouth shut!’
‘Tsk, tsk,’ the A.C. said. ‘A mere technicality, Gently. I assume you are still interested in villains getting their deserts? Anyway, that’s what you’ll do.’
‘I’ll suggest a confession. No more.’
‘And I trust you’ll get it, with your ability. My best men usually get results.’
Gently left the phone-box without his smile and stood glowering some moments at the
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