Gently French (8 page)

‘Yes, sir. But you can’t help admiring it. I reckon you admire the mostest in anything.’

I finished, and lit my unromantic pipe. ‘Now, if we can, let’s get back to Colby.’

Dutt sighed and dragged his eyes away. He cleared his throat, trying to sound like business.

‘Colby is the big, bald-headed man, sir. I got him remembering about last Thursday. How the deceased and the lady went out in a launch with a couple called Silverman, man and wife. They came back again about four-ish and sat in the lounge, like now. Then, after dinner, Colby went for a drink and remained in the bar for half-an-hour. He says Quarles was in there along with the Silvermans, but he doesn’t recall seeing the lady.’

‘He could scarcely have overlooked her.’

‘It seems the bar was pretty full, sir. Colby was sitting with a mate in a corner.’

‘And everyone else would have been sitting round Mimi.’

‘So there it is, sir. She was missing.’

But missing where?

‘What time was this?’

‘Colby says from nine till half-past.’

‘Did anyone else see her during that time?’

‘Nobody I’ve had a talk with yet, sir.’

I puffed expansively. It was fitting all right. At eight Peter Robinson had arrived at the Three Tuns. Had booked in and gone out, say at eight-thirty. Half-an-hour to contact Mimi. How had he done it?

‘Are any of the staff very friendly with the lady?’

‘Reckon all of them are, sir. The men especially.’

‘These young waiters. Is there one with a crush?’

Dutt looked blank. ‘As much one as another, sir. Though I did hear of one she sort of makes use of, gets to run errands, fetch things to her room.’

‘Who?’

‘The Bavents kid, sir. But he was off this afternoon. I haven’t talked to him yet.’

Dutt was using the reception office for interrogation, and there I had Bavents brought when he returned. He was looking even furrier in a T-shirt and jeans: like a narrow-faced Jesus fresh back from the wilderness. I pointed to a chair and he sat nervously. I had his statement to Hanson on the desk before me.

‘You are Adam Bavents?’

‘That’s me.’

‘I see it says here that you are a student.’

Bavents flicked back a lock from his nose. ‘I told the other man all about that.’

‘Now tell me.’

‘So that’s w-what I am, then. A third-year student at Norchester U.’

‘If you are a student, what are you doing here?’

‘I’m just filling in time till next term.’

Oh yes. ‘And why is that?’

He jerked a look over his shoulder. ‘I got sent down. It isn’t a secret. They said I was ring-leader of a demo.’

‘And were you?’

‘I might have been. I’m not ashamed of it. They were trying to sack a tutor for speaking out against racialism.’

‘Wasn’t that when the students smashed up a lecture-hall?’

He stared through his hair. ‘We had to make our point.’

‘But by violence.’

‘If you call that violence.’

I nodded. ‘Yes, I call that violence. And violence is what I have come here about. So I seem to have reached the right quarter.’

His tresses rustled. ‘But that’s just talk! I don’t know anything about the other.’

‘But about anti-racialism you know something. Tell me, what are your feelings towards the French?’

A sweaty silence. His hair fondled the T-shirt, showed his nose through a Gothic window. A pink nose: and pink hands rucking the fade-spots in his jeans. Then his mouth loosened.

‘I didn’t kill him!’

‘Fine. What happened on Thursday evening?’

‘Th-Thursday?’

‘In the evening. When the men wanted a word with Madame Deslauriers.’

‘I – I—’

‘Where were you that evening?’

‘I – I was w-working on my car!’

‘You have a car?’

‘Yes! A Mini—’

‘And you were working on it – in the yard?’

‘Yes, but—’

‘You were handy then. Handy for this man coming into the yard. Who wanted a message slipped to Madame Deslauriers. Fair hair, sideboards. What name did he give?’

‘He d-didn’t – I wasn’t—’

‘Oh come on, now. He was staying at the Tuns. Did you know that?’

‘I tell you—’

‘Drives a blue Viva. Come on, the name’s on the tip of your tongue.’

‘But I s-swear—’

‘You say you didn’t kill Quarles?’

‘No! I don’t know anything about it!’

‘So then let’s have the name of this man.’

He went into a huddle with his hair.

‘Listen,’ I said. ‘You’ve let something slip. Now I know you ran the message for that man. And if you get nicked on a conspiracy charge you’ll be filling in time for longer than a term. So you’d better talk while you still have the chance.’

‘I d-don’t have anything to tell you.’

‘Because you love Madame so much?’

‘That isn’t t-true!’

‘I’ll remember to ask her.’

He jumped up from his chair.

‘Hold it,’ I said. ‘Is this your signature on the statement?’

‘Of course it’s m-my signature!’

‘That surprises me. Just do a specimen underneath.’

His eyes sparkled through his mane, baffled. Then he grabbed a pen from the desk and jerked off a signature. The same, of course, less a margin for nerves. He slammed down the pen in feeble triumph.

‘Now may I go?’

‘For the present.’

He towed his hair out of the office. Dutt, a silent spectator, gave me a wink. I fanned myself with the twice-signed statement.

‘An interesting customer.’

‘Yes, sir. I’d say that ties in our Peter Robinson.’

‘There’s something else.’

‘The signature, sir?’

I shook my head. ‘He’s left-handed.’

L
EFT-HANDED; BUT SO
is every tenth person, according to a reliable set of statistics; and adding it together, there didn’t seem much ground for placing Bavents on the list of suspects. He might have loved Mimi and loathed Quarles, but that scarcely qualified as a live motive. He had no prospect of stepping into Quarles’ shoes, and without such bait his interest was marginal.

Or did he have a prospect. . .?

I played with the thought, giving it a chance to attract credibility; trying to visualize his hairy highness as a demon lover for whom Mimi would be content to risk her all. But it wouldn’t focus. Mimi was too sophisticated. She had too much emotional poise. She might give him a tumble for the novelty of it, but that would be the summit for Master Bavents. The Quarleses were her taste, suave and tough: men who didn’t know how to stutter. The rest were to run and serve: lackeys and go-betweens: Baventses.

Which didn’t mean I had lost interest in Bavents, who certainly hadn’t told us all he knew; or that it would be unprofitable to probe there a little, seeking out a perhaps-unsuspected conjunction.

I met Frayling in the hall and invited him into the office.

‘How did you come to employ Adam Bavents?’

Frayling flickered me his harassed, ingratiating smile: a promise of satisfaction in exchange for modest patience.

‘He applied for the job. I’m always short of waiters.’

‘How did he know the job was vacant?’

‘Oh, they run an employment section in the students’ magazine. It lists details of jobs going in the vacations.’

‘You knew why he was sent down?’

‘Of course. I asked him. But things like that don’t count much these days. He seemed a decent sort of youngster, and I haven’t had any complaints.’

‘What are his hours?’

‘Seven to eight-thirty. Two afternoons and one evening off.

‘Which evening?’

‘The evening varies.’

‘Which was it last week?’

Frayling wriggled. ‘Friday.’

One conjunction.

‘Would you know if he went out?’

Frayling’s smile became more harassed. ‘I imagine he did, that’s what one would expect. But he might well have been studying in his room.’

‘Where’s his room?’

‘It’s off the back landing. A room we keep free for temporary staff.’

‘How close to Madame Deslauriers’ room?’

Well . . . next-door, I suppose! But a door shuts-off the landing.’

Two conjunctions?

‘Isn’t Bavents Madame’s favourite?’

‘No, really! That’s putting it too strong. He serves at her table, that’s all. Guests tend to adopt their regular waiter.’

‘But something of that sort?’

‘No, I protest. You must have been listening to staff gossip.’

‘Wouldn’t the staff know?’

But Frayling still protested, so I let him go to get on with ushering dinner.

At dinner I had an opportunity of studying Madame and her waiter together. Mimi had one of the best tables, with a view of the river: rather remote from our late-comer’s corner. She sat alone, but this didn’t prevent her from conversing merrily with her nearest neighbours. Bavents came, went, and did his duty: if anything special passed, I failed to notice it. Had Frayling cautioned him? More than likely. But Frayling could scarcely have cautioned Mimi. Mimi must have taken her own counsel to preserve distance, a circumstance not without significance.

Once or twice she glanced at our table, but each time managed to avoid my eye. Then she would eat silently for a few moments before engaging in some fresh sally with the neighbours. She was as conscious of me as I of her; her rattle of small talk was a screen; through the subdued busyness of the peopled room a strand of tension stretched between us. Excellent: it gave me appetite. Madame was not so confident after all. I had begun to tread a little on her skirt, might have set it fraying at the edges.

Beside me Dutt ate ploddingly and well, though not without his own eye for the lady. He nudged me once:

‘Do you reckon it’s all natural?’

‘Get on with your dinner.’

He chortled into his trifle.

We had coffee on the lawn, from where we could watch late motor-cruisers raising wash over the quay-headings. While we drank I pondered the utility of tackling Mimi then or of letting her sleep on it. On the whole I favoured the latter (it had been a long day); so I went in to ring Brenda: who for the second time surprised me with quite unpredictable information.

‘George. I’ve been talking to Siggy about your corpse.’

‘Thank you. But it’s still eating hot dinners.’

‘Not that one, idiot! Flash Freddy. Did you know he was going to retire?’

‘Retire?’

‘That’s what I said. He’d been talking of giving up business. He’d bought a villa in the South of France, Cap Ferrat way. Hadn’t you heard?’

‘No, I hadn’t heard.’

‘Well, it’s true, because Siggy borrowed it for a week last summer. He says it’s a super place, perched on a cliff, with a private beach and all the etceteras.’

‘How nice for Siggy. He knows nice people.’

‘George, I think you ought to be grateful. If one of your relatives is chummy with crooks, the least you can do is to profit by it.’

I grunted. John Sigismund Fazakerly is a relative only by marriage. My first act on meeting him was to arrest him, which doesn’t make him my favourite in-law.

‘What was the retiring bit?’

‘Just what I said. Siggy and he were chatting about Riviera properties. About Somerset Maugham, the English set. Freddy said soon, he was going to retire there.’

‘Did he mention a date?’

‘Stupid. He just said he was getting bored with business. I suppose it can happen to crooks like everyone else. The day comes when it doesn’t switch them on. He was rich enough, wasn’t he?’

‘Oh quite.’

‘There you are, then. He wanted to relax. If some imbecile hadn’t gone sticking a knife in him, Freddy would soon have been out of your hair.’

A comforting thought.

‘Only it isn’t quite like that. Crooks don’t find it so easy to retire.’

‘Why not?’

‘They tend to have disapproving associates – men who can make their point with a knife.’

‘Hah.’ She was silent for a moment. ‘Are you saying that’s what happened to Freddy?’

‘I wish I knew. But what you’ve told me does suggest the possibility.’

A further silence. ‘That’s disappointing.’

‘Why?’

‘Because I’ve got a bet on with Siggy. A fiver on Mimi Deslauriers’ nose. Siggy’s fiver is on Rampant.’

‘You could both be wrong.’

‘Not me. Never. Don’t you remember my intuition?’

‘Not as a viable force.’

‘Nuts to you. Just remember to keep your eye on Mimi.’

Followed a slightly more pregnant silence.

‘How are you doing with her?’

‘You could say we understand each other.’

‘Pig! Is she making a play for you?’

‘That wouldn’t single me out in a crowd.’

Brenda made ferocious noises. ‘You listen, George Gently! That woman’ll be poison if she gets you to bed with her. She’ll have you doing somersaults to keep her out of it. And then bang will go my fiver.’

‘Why make these rash bets?’

‘Do you hear me talking to you? Just take a tip from someone who knows.’

‘I’ll keep it in mind when the lights go out. What else did Siggy have to tell you?’

Brenda fumed again. ‘I’m not sure I’ll tell you. I wouldn’t if I thought it was at all important. It’s just that Freddy mentioned some other properties he owned, two in Scotland and one on the Broads.’

‘What!’

‘You needn’t get excited. He didn’t tell Siggy where they were. I expect they’re little bolt-holes where he could lie low when people like you were being unfriendly.’

‘Was there any description?’

‘No, there wasn’t. Only exactly what I’ve told you.’

‘A cottage – bungalow?’

‘Three properties. Think about that when the lights go out.’

I got from her the address of the Cap Ferrat villa, then sat for a while, my hand on the phone. But first things first. I rang H.Q., who gave me Hanson’s private number.

‘Any progress re Peter Robinson?’

‘Hell, I’m watching a programme,’ Hanson said indignantly. ‘There’s nothing in.’

‘Then listen to this. I’ve had a tip that Quarles owned property on the Broads.’

‘What sort of property?’

‘That’s the bonus question. But it will be one only occasionally inhabited. Owned by a Londoner, sure to have a phone, probably in a remote situation.’