Gently in Trees (15 page)

‘And didn’t leave the flat all that time?’

‘Yes, sir. They went for a drive on Sunday. Into Lewes then down to Eastbourne, and a picnic on the downs at Beachy Head.’

‘But no witnesses.’

‘None, sir. Unless they were spotted at Beachy Head. But it’s pretty thick there on Sundays, and that was the only place where they’re supposed to have stopped. I checked with the other residents in the block and with the occupant of the flat overlooking the garages. Then I hunted up Chance’s milkman, to see if he’d ordered extra on Sunday.’

‘And had he?’

‘No, sir. The usual two pints.’

‘That would do, if they skipped the cornflakes.’

‘But it was his regular order for Sundays, sir,’ Lyons said patiently. ‘You’d have expected him to increase it, if he had a guest.’

Gently grunted. ‘He could have forgotten! We still can’t prove Walling wasn’t in Brighton.’

‘And he can’t prove he was, sir,’ Lyons said firmly. ‘And that’s all I’ll need when I pull him in.’

Gently asked him about Webster. Lyons had put a D.C. on it. Webster’s account of his movements tallied. His car, the Volvo, had been seen parked in its usual slot outside his flat, on Saturday evening. At about eleven p.m. he called at the Capri, and there had picked up Nina Walling. He had dropped her at Campden Hill soon after midnight, and then, presumably, had returned to Battersea. His car was seen parked there at six a.m.

‘I’d say that wrapped him up, sir,’ Lyons said. ‘Messiter saw him when he dropped off Miss Walling. Theoretically, he could have got out there and done the job, but he would have to have driven like the clappers. And what would be his motive?’

Gently sipped tea. ‘How much do we know about the people he mixes with?’

‘Well – not a lot, sir. They’ll be the usual sort of crowd – TV, theatre, and hangers-on.’

‘Perhaps we ought to know more.’

He could sense Lyons’s silent groan. ‘You want me to chase it up for you, sir?’

Gently nodded to himself. ‘Yes, chase it up. And especially any part of it that mixed with Stoll, too.’

He hung up and finished his tea; then lifted the phone and dialled again. This time it was Keynes’s unhurried voice that responded to the ring.

‘Deerview Cottage. Edwin Keynes.’

‘Chief Superintendent Gently,’ Gently said.

‘Oh . . . yes.’ There was a brief, muffled period when Keynes had certainly covered the mouthpiece. Then he came back. ‘Sorry – getting breakfast! Had to switch off the kettle. What can I do for you?’

‘I want a word with you. Let’s say ten sharp this morning.’

‘Hold on, please.’ Another muffled period, this time longer than the first. ‘Right – that’s better! Ten is fine. Shall I come to you, or will you come to me?’

‘I’ll come to you.’

‘Then here’s a suggestion. I like a stroll through the trees after breakfast. Suppose you join me? We can be quite private, and a stroll through the trees clears the brain.’

Gently hesitated. ‘Through Mogi’s Belt?’

He heard Keynes chuckle. ‘Not unless you want to! I suggest you meet me at St Mary’s church, which is on the left before you reach the village. How’s that?’

‘Very well.’

‘Fine,’ Keynes said. ‘I hate missing my walk. It’s a glorious day. If our talk disappoints you, you’ll still have the pleasure of breathing pure air.’

Gently laid down the phone slowly – had he just let Keynes get away with something? A stroll in the forest meant he wouldn’t visit the cottage; wouldn’t encounter the vulnerable Turner. Was that the object . . . protection of Turner, who by now might be ready to sing a little louder? Well, it could be circumvented simply enough by a prior visit to the cottage. . .

Gently hunched a pyjama-clad shoulder. No, he would go on playing it Keynes’s way! Turner was available; and if he was needing protection, then he’d be none the worse for extra stewing.

And meanwhile . . . a study of Keynes’s tactics.

Perhaps the forest
was
a good idea!

St Mary’s church was a small flint building, at least a mile from West Brayling Village. It was reached by a short, sign-posted lane, departing from the road near where it left the forest. The church stood by the trees, and rather under them, since they overtopped its round Saxon tower; the little nave had thick-fluted Norman windows with dog-tooth carving, and a blue pantile roof. There was a massive and sunny quietness about it as it stood silently in its scythed churchyard, where the tombstones were patched with lichens and carved with the cherubs of earlier centuries.

Keynes was lounging at the wrought-iron gate as Gently glided the Lotus to a stop. He was chewing a stem of Timothy grass, and he ran an appreciative eye over the white car. He grinned as Gently got out.

‘Your trade pays better than mine,’ he said. ‘If you know any villains who make films, put in a word for Edwin Keynes.’

Gently slammed the door and locked it. ‘How much do you make in a year?’ he asked.

Keynes’s grin widened. ‘About as much as a dustman. And they tell me I’m one of the lucky ones.’

‘So you’re short of money.’

Keynes laughed. ‘Who isn’t?’ He chewed his stem, his eyes amused. ‘But not currently. A fortnight ago I had an advance payment from America.’

‘Which makes you about solvent.’

Keynes nodded. ‘About. And much too indolent to murder for more.’

‘Unlike someone who was here lately.’

Keynes chewed equably. ‘Unlike someone.’

He met Gently’s stare impishly. He was dressed in a faded sports-shirt, jeans and sandals. He had a tanned, sturdy, outdoors look, with a poised strength in his lounging frame.

‘Do I look like someone who needs money?’

‘Like someone without it,’ Gently said.

‘But someone who needs it?’

Gently shrugged. ‘When you have a purpose, then you need it.’

‘Right,’ Keynes smiled. ‘For a purpose you need it. And really I have very little purpose. I use the lumps that turn up travelling, and that’s about the only purpose I have. For the rest, I’m too rich to bother with money. It’s too expensive for me to earn. It doesn’t buy anything that I have a mind to. I’m a millionaire without lifting a finger.’ He chewed for a moment. ‘Look, compare the two of us. You must earn at least twice as much as I do. You arrive at this spot in an expensive car, and wearing a suit that would take me to Athens. Yet, why have you come? You’ve come out of duty, hoping to catch yourself a murderer. And I have come because of the trees, and the effect of sunlight on a wall. The pound in your pocket won’t buy you what I possess with my pocket empty.’

‘But it will pay the rent,’ Gently said. ‘And take care of people we may be fond of.’

‘Oh, granted,’ Keynes laughed. ‘Though that doesn’t need a fortune, either. But take my point. I’m a man of some freedom. The money motive is too weak for me. I might stray into unlawfulness by other paths, but not this. It lacks credibility.’

‘Then what would be credible for you?’ Gently said.

Keynes shook his head, grinning. ‘Let’s walk,’ he said. ‘We may stumble on the truth among the trees – or enough for our mortal purpose.’

He tossed his stalk into the churchyard and set off along the lane. Within a hundred yards it entered the forest at a ride, numbered eighty-seven. The sections here were Corsican pine. The ride sloped down gently to a green distance. As one approached, and then entered the trees, the sweet smell of resin seemed to expand one’s lungs.

‘My favourite stroll,’ Keynes said, breathing deeply. ‘Beginning and ending at the church. Walking before work is a habit of years. Not that I’m writing a book just now.’

‘What are you doing?’ Gently asked.

‘Lazing and thinking,’ Keynes grinned. ‘I finished a book two months ago – alas, you can’t turn them out like sausages. But now some money has come I’ll away to Scotland, which is the only place to go in summer. Then, in the autumn, I’ll beat my head, and trust that inspiration will result.’

‘Were you working last week?’ Gently asked.

‘Just reading review books,’ Keynes said. ‘Which would give me plenty of time to plot Adrian’s downfall – though none to persuade him to film badgers.’ He chuckled. ‘I could perhaps help you. But you’ll have to think of intelligent questions.’

Gently was silent. They walked on through the continuous cathedral of the trees. There was a beaten track down the centre of the ride, and faint tracks of a vehicle on the rough verges. All along the path fluttered Speckled Wood butterflies, seeking the sunned patches of greyish sand; they rose irritably at the approach of footfalls, danced a few figures, then settled again. Wildflowers were scant: a few white campions and yellow-green cushions of wild mignonette; but brambles trailed confidently under the trees along with colonies of fragile, over-tall nettles. Birds were more plentiful. A variety of tits were hunting, mouselike, among the twigs. Tree-creepers shuffled around the trunks, and now and then a wren popped up flirtatiously. Then, from some distant glade, echoed the demented tatting of a woodpecker, oddly resonant: and occasionally his mocking, uncanny cry.

‘You’ll see a deer here sometimes,’ Keynes said. ‘Though usually only the flash of his rump. And further on, in the Scots, there are plenty of red squirrel. I’ll show you their drey when we come to it. We may just catch a glimpse of one in flight.’

Gently snorted. ‘A strange place to kill a man!’

Keynes glanced at him sidelong. ‘Yes. The plains and the deserts are the killing grounds. Here you have the moral influence of the trees.’

‘The moral influence?’

Keynes nodded. ‘Trees are a sort of dolphin of the vegetable world. They love men. If you can walk in a forest and not feel that love, you are past redemption.’ He laughed suddenly. ‘Don’t take my word for it. Cast your mind back over history. The cruel and warlike people have lived in plains, the cruellest of all in the deserts. Men need trees. When they are deprived of them they become decadent and savage. If we are to become like gods, and not like devils, it will be through the influence of trees.’

‘But trees are insensate things,’ Gently said.

Keynes shook his head. ‘Never. When Wordsworth spoke of flowers enjoying the air they breathe he was half-way to the truth – in his simpering fashion. Trees, flowers, all the slow-livers, are as sensate as you or I. It is only our arrogance that makes us blind to it, and our power to dispose and destroy. If you wound a tree, it bleeds. If you injure it, it falls sick. And if you protect and encourage it, it shows its pleasure, and tries to respond by pleasing you. They live more slowly than we, but not differently, and perhaps are greater than us in love.’

‘Well,’ Gently shrugged.

Keynes chuckled. ‘I see I’m talking too earnestly,’ he said. ‘After all, we came here to discuss lesser matters, like whether you can believe I killed Adrian. Are you any further with that yet?’

‘Should I be?’ Gently said.

‘I’m clearly next on your list,’ Keynes smiled. ‘Since Lawrence was a cock that wouldn’t fight. What turned you against him, by the way?’

Gently said nothing. Keynes watched him smilingly.

‘You must have had a fairish go at the lad,’ he said. ‘Lawrence usually talks to me, but after his session with you he simply shut up shop. Didn’t want to tell me, didn’t want to meet the others. He went off on his own, then went to bed.’ He paused. ‘I even got the impression that you had sold him the notion that I was guilty.’

His eyes sought Gently’s. Gently met them woodenly. ‘He would be seeing the facts squarely,’ he said.

‘Only that isn’t a fact,’ Keynes said. ‘And him seeing them squarely would show him it wasn’t.’ He walked on some paces, then sighed. ‘Never mind. One is pretty resilient, at twenty-two. Lawrence was more himself this morning. He took the day off and went into town.’

Gently stopped dead. ‘He did what?’

Keynes glanced surprise. ‘Went into town. To London. He borrowed the car. I thought he needed a break, after yesterday.’

‘Was this before or after I rang you?’

‘After.’ Keynes grinned. ‘Do you think he was dodging you?’

‘I think he was. And I think you suggested it.’

‘Oh, come on, now!’ Keynes smiled.

He plucked another stem of grass and began to chew it unhurriedly, with a tickled expression.

‘You want him out of the way,’ Gently said. ‘Either he knows something, or he’s guessed it.’

‘Of course, you would think so,’ Keynes said. ‘It would fit in neatly with your theories. But you’re quite wrong. It was Lawrence’s idea that he should go to town, not mine.’

‘At your suggestion.’

‘Just his idea.’

‘It didn’t occur to you to prevent him.’

‘Prevent him? Why should I? You placed no restriction on his movements.’ Keynes laughed shortly. ‘He hasn’t run, you know. He’ll be back again this evening. His gear and pictures are still at the cottage, and he didn’t pack as much as a toothbrush.’

‘Then if he’s coming back, why did he go?’

Keynes shrugged. ‘Your guess is as good as mine. He didn’t tell me. But if you say he’s dodging you, I’m ready to go along with that. There can be no doubt that you shook him up yesterday, and he wouldn’t be looking forward to a repetition.’