Gently with the Ladies (11 page)

‘To Carlyle Court, sir. About half an hour ago.’

‘What was he after?’

‘He didn’t say, sir.’

‘Right,’ Gently grunted. ‘I’ll be in his office.’

He went on up, yielding to a compulsion to flick one of the rubber plants as he passed it, and let himself into the fluorescent brightness and bleak unhospitality of Reynolds’ office. His eye searched for a palliative, and found an evening paper spread on the desk. He dumped himself down by it. The paper, predictably, was open at an account of Fazakerly’s apprehension.

Walks Into Yard

Fazakerly Assists Police

John Sigismund Fazakerly, 38, husband of the woman whose battered body was found in a luxury flat in Chelsea, today walked into Scotland Yard and offered the Police his assistance. They had been searching for him since Monday when the body was found. He has been taken to Chelsea Police Station where he is helping the Police investigation. According to one source Fazakerly claims to have spent the past three days on a sea trip. A police spokesman said that an arrest was probable ‘within the next few hours’.

Gently was mentioned cautiously as having visited Divisional H.Q. after the transfer, and Reynolds was pictured striding sharp-eyed down the steps of Carlyle Court. No picture of Fazakerly was apparently available. Instead they had one of the Murdered Woman. She was wearing a sack coat of two seasons ago and had a bemused, almost imbecile, expression. It had no hint of that strange nakedness which was the essence of her identity. She was merely another woman in another press picture, illustrating another story, by accident this one. Gently lit a pipe and smoked and stared at the vacuity of the picture.

Reynolds, when he returned, actually tapped at his own office door. He came in subduedly, followed by Buttifant, and was carrying a manilla envelope which bulged slightly.

‘Sorry to keep you, Chief.’

Gently grunted. Reynolds took the chair reserved for visitors. He had an air of awkwardness about him, as though he had something unpleasant to get off his chest. He opened his mouth, changed his mind, then said at last in a hurry:

‘Chief, I’ve come round to your point of view. I’ve decided not to charge Fazakerly.’

Gently’s brows lifted. ‘Come again?’

‘I’ve decided we don’t have a case. Not a case we could win, that is. So I’ve put a tail on him and let him go.’

‘You’ve done what?’

‘I couldn’t hold him, not after I decided not to charge him.’ He rustled the envelope nervously. ‘I’ve been having a word with Macpherson,’ he said.

Gently fumbled a light for his pipe. This wasn’t what he’d expected at all! He had an uneasy sensation of having pushed too hard, and of now having the tables turned on him. Perhaps till now he’d failed to realize how strong was his conviction of Fazakerly’s guilt: he’d counted on Reynolds to uphold it staunchly, even while he himself was flirting with doubts.

‘Macpherson was here about another matter,’ Reynolds explained. Macpherson was attached to the Public Prosecutor’s office. ‘I thought I’d ask him for an opinion. And you were right, Chief. He didn’t like it. He said I’d better hang on for a bit and try to sew it up tighter. He didn’t like Mrs Bannister for a witness. He seemed to think we were concentrating too hard on Fazakerly.’

‘Macpherson,’ Gently said. ‘Yes . . . he’s canny.’

‘He took the same line as you did, Chief.’

‘And so you let him go.’

‘Isn’t that what you’d have wanted?’

Gently shrugged. Now he wasn’t so certain!

‘But you had the sense to put a tail on him.’

Reynolds looked perplexed. ‘Yes . . . I thought . . .’

‘Where did he go?’

‘At first to his sister-in-law’s, then he took a room at the Coq d’Or in Vincent Street. He’s in there now, having a meal. Thompson phoned a few minutes ago.’

‘Have the Press got on to him?’

‘Don’t think so, Chief.’

‘There’ll be some pretty hot copy when they do.’

Reynolds squirmed. ‘But I couldn’t go on holding him. Macpherson said outright he wouldn’t recommend the case. And anyway, I’ve come up with a new lead since then, and this one doesn’t point to Fazakerly.’

He hastily jerked open his envelope and shot the contents on the desk.

What fell, or cascaded, from the envelope was a necklace composed of diamonds and emeralds.

It was an expensive necklace. It flashed and iridesced with a fire that was unmistakable, and the principal stones were of a size to silence deprecatory conjecture. They were set in baroque platinum settings dusted with chips and seed pearls, alternate diamonds and emeralds, in the form of a gorget linked with a chain. It was formidable. One knew at a glance it transcended the common extravagances of jewellery.

Gently gazed at it, lying tumbled on the desk.

‘So,’ he said, ‘where did this come from?’

‘It came from a dustbin.’

‘From where?’

‘From a dustbin. A dustbin in the back area of Carlyle Court.’

‘Did it now,’ Gently said. ‘Well, I knew they were pretty well-heeled in that district. But if they’re tossing this sort of thing in their dustbins there’s going to be a rush to sign-on the dust-wagon. Who turned it in?’

‘Old Dobson, the porter. He makes a point of sorting over the rubbish.’

‘I’m not surprised. There’s a future in it. And of course, this belonged to Mrs Fazakerly?’

Reynolds nodded. ‘Dobson took it to Stockbridge, who got on the phone to us in a hurry. He knew who it belonged to because he used to keep it for her. There’s a safe in his office where tenants deposit valuables. She had this out on the Monday morning ready for some function in the evening.’

‘And it wasn’t in the flat when you took over?’

‘No. Buttifant and Thompson checked the flat.’

‘There were some bits in a jewel-box, sir,’ Buttifant said.

‘But they’re still up there. We’ve just had a look.’

‘And the flat’s been sealed.’

‘You saw it was, Chief. Nobody’s been monkeying there since. So this must have been removed prior to our going there, that is, between about noon and four-forty-seven p.m.

‘Which irresistibly suggests that the murderer took it.’

‘Well, yes, Chief, I think it does. An ordinary thief wouldn’t have thrown it in the dustbin. It had to be someone who knew it was too hot.’

Gently picked up the necklace and let it run through his fingers.

‘Odd,’ he said. ‘Fazakerly suggested a burglar. Yet a burglar doesn’t fit any better than he does, because all a burglar had to do was to sneak out.’

‘But if she caught him at it—’

‘Sitting on the settee?’

‘He may have been lurking on the veranda.’

‘So why didn’t he lurk there a bit longer, instead of murdering Mrs Fazakerly on his way out?’

‘Well, he was in full view of the street—’

Gently clicked his tongue impatiently. ‘And so he must have been for over an hour, from when Mrs Fazakerly came back from lunch. But he wouldn’t have been there in the first place. You don’t look for jewellery in the lounge. He’d have been frisking her dressing-room down the hall – that’s where the jewel-box was, wasn’t it?’

Reynolds nodded reluctantly.

‘So that’s where she’d trap him when she came back. And if he hadn’t made his getaway sooner, he’d have done it while the row was going on in the lounge.’

‘But then why did he get rid of the necklace, Chief?’

‘That’s my point. He doesn’t fit.’

‘But someone did—’

‘Someone did. And I agree it doesn’t point to Fazakerly.’ He gave the necklace a little toss. ‘Did you show this to Mrs Bannister?’ he asked.

‘No. Stockbridge identified it positively. I didn’t see any need to bother her. You don’t think . . .’

Gently hunched a shoulder. He laid the necklace back on the desk. For a few moments he sat silently studying it and teasing out its shape with a reverent forefinger. Then he said:

‘Right. Get her on the phone, will you? Tell her you want her here for something important.’

Reynolds hesitated. ‘We could soon run it round, Chief—’

‘No.’ Gently smiled. ‘I think I’d like to have her here.’

She arrived. Reynolds had sent an Imperial for her, after much humility over the phone, but still she had kept them waiting and could be heard expostulating on her way up the stairs. She was wearing a green satin evening dress and a mink cape and elbow-length gloves and carried a snake-skin bag with a gold chain, gold frame and jade studs. She swept into the office, then saw Gently.

‘Oh,’ she said. ‘You’re behind this, are you? I might have guessed it needed someone with less consideration than Inspector Reynolds.’

Gently inclined his head.

‘And since I’m here, I may as well tell you that I’m furious. You’ve let Siggy loose. And I won’t stand for it. If you don’t prosecute him, I will.’

‘You know about that, Mrs Bannister?’

‘Yes. The Merryn woman phoned me. And I’m fairly certain of one thing, Superintendent, that it was your meddling that was responsible. I think it’s scandalous. I intend to complain, and if I can show you up I will. There’s too much softness with murderers these days, not to mention very peculiar police action.’

‘Miss Merryn rang to tell you we’d released Fazakerly?’

‘She certainly did. I suppose it’s true?’

‘She told you she’d seen him?’

‘Of course. She was shocked. I believe she was concerned for her personal safety.’

‘Why should she be, Mrs Bannister?’

‘Oh, don’t pretend to be dense. He thinks it was she who told Clytemnestra about the woman, and knowing her I would say he’s right.’

‘Did she say he’d threatened her?’

‘Not exactly that. But if he’s done it once he can do it again. The more so because he seems to be getting away with it this time, thanks to interference from a certain quarter. Now perhaps you can tell me why I’m wanted?’

Gently nodded.‘Won’t you sit down, Mrs Bannister.’

‘First I’d like to know why I’m here.’

‘It’s because of some special knowledge we think you have.’

She stared hard for a moment, then looked about for the chair. Reynolds, who’d been listening unhappily to these exchanges, hastened to slide the chair towards her. She laid her bag on the desk but didn’t take off her gloves. She sat sedately, ankles crossed, skirt arranged and hands together.

‘Well?’

‘Do you remember a Beryl Rogers?’

That was the last question she’d expected. Her eyes widened and then blurred, and a gloved hand twitched towards her bosom. But she said icily:

‘Am I supposed to?’

‘I’m asking you, Mrs Bannister.’

‘Very well then. Yes, I remember her. I remember a Beryl Rogers.’

‘She was a friend of yours.’

‘Not exactly a friend, just a very brief acquaintance. A few weeks. I know nothing about her. It was several years ago.’

‘You’ve lost sight of her completely.’

‘Yes, completely. She went abroad.’

‘She hasn’t, to your knowledge, returned to this country?’

Her eyes jumped to his. ‘No. Not to my knowledge.’

‘Would she have contacted you if she had?’

She shook her head slightly, eyes still fixed on him.

‘But you were an acquaintance of hers, you could probably have helped her. I mean, you might have contacts that would help her professionally.’

She shook her head again. ‘No. I couldn’t have helped her. And she wouldn’t have come after help. I’m sorry, I can’t give you information about her. She simply went abroad about five years ago.’

‘Did you know the friend she was living with?’

Mrs Bannister said sharply: ‘What friend?’

‘Another journalist. A Miss Johnson. They were sharing accommodation at the time you knew her.’

Mrs Bannister’s eyes glinted. ‘No, I didn’t know her. Beryl never mentioned a friend to me. She was living in a houseboat down at the Steps, a frightful old wreck. I never went aboard it. Who told you about the friend?’

‘You don’t know who she is?’

‘Haven’t I already said so?’

‘Or that she lives in Rochester?’

Mrs Bannister went still. ‘Not – Siggy’s woman?’ Gently nodded.

‘Oh my God.’ Mrs Bannister paled, and this time her hand reached her bosom. She stared haggardly at nothing and rocked a little in her chair.

‘Perhaps now you appreciate our interest,’ Gently said. ‘There’s an unusual connexion here with Mrs Fazakerly. And if by chance Miss Rogers has returned to this country we shall be very interested to interview her.’

Mrs Bannister closed her eyes. ‘What a mess,’ she said.

‘Is that all you have to tell us?’

‘Beryl isn’t mixed up with it. She’s in New Zealand. She’d never have come back over here.’

‘You’re quite certain.’

‘Yes.’

‘It wasn’t the reason why Mrs Fazakerly was angry.’

‘No! It couldn’t have been.’

‘Nor, for example, why this was taken from the flat?’

She stared at his slowly-opening hand and at the necklace lying in it. She caught her breath and made a trembling gesture. She was paler than before.

Reynolds also was gaping big-eyed, though not, in his case, at the necklace. Quite apparently the Beryl Rogers angle was fresh ground to him. Gently had produced it, like a conjurer’s silks, from nothing accountable or consequent, and the reaction to it of Mrs Bannister was proof enough of its validity. But where, how, could he have come by this draft of seeming omniscience?