Gently French (12 page)

‘On a job?’

‘Well, that’s what she infers, sir. And she’s the one who should know. But the point is he’s been gone for three or four days now, and she reckons that something must have happened to him.’

‘Then she knows more than she’s saying.’

‘Dainty thinks not, sir. She’s sure Bilney would have rung her before now. All the other jobs he’s done have been in the locality. He’s never been away so long before.’

‘Any inkling of what job?’

‘Afraid not, sir.’

‘Had she any idea of where he was heading?’

Dutt shook his head. ‘I did put some questions, sir. But what I told you was all Dainty had got.’

I drew invisible lines on Frayling’s desk. The picture was growing.

‘It would be on Thursday that Bilney left the note.’

‘Yes, sir. Dainty did go into that. Treadwell says the note wasn’t dated. She’d last seen Bilney on Wednesday evening.’

‘So on Thursday someone called him up here, and we assume he was the man who booked in at the Three Tuns. His first move then was to contact Deslauriers. There can’t be much doubt about what the job was.’

‘Not very much, sir.’ Dutt looked glum.

‘Then Deslauriers installed him in Freddy’s hideaway. On Friday the trouble with Rampant provided an opportunity, and Deslauriers phoned Bilney with instructions. Straightforward so far?’

Dutt nodded.

‘Bilney did the job and returned to the hideaway. But now we have a problem. Bilney stayed put. He didn’t hurry back to home and Mavis. Why would that be?’

Dutt puckered his eyes. ‘Could he have been on the same lark as Rampant?’

‘You mean blackmail?’

‘He might have had a bash at it. His sort don’t go in much for brains.’

I considered it. ‘It’s the simple answer, and it fits with Deslauriers secretly meeting him. But she must have warned him yesterday that I nearly caught her with him. You would think he would be back home by now.’

Dutt hunched a shoulder. ‘Some of them are thick. Perhaps he thinks the pressure will make her cough up.’

‘The alternative is that Bilney is her boy-friend. Which raises another problem. I can’t believe it.’

A tap at the door interrupted the conference; semi-handsome Hanson stalked in. He was looking happy. He leered at each of us before sprawling himself on the third chair.

‘Are you still wanting Bilney?’

I stared. ‘Have you got him?’

‘Well, maybe not yet under lock and key. But we’ve found his little paw marks at Raynham. I thought you might like to come along.’

‘P
AW MARKS
’
WAS
a metaphor: at that precise juncture all Hanson had was a missing person. But the person was missing from a riverside inn, and the description mentioned a scar and an amputated finger-joint. Furthermore, Raynham was the next village downstream from Sallowes; the inn, the Reed-Cutters, stood opposite the staithe. Bilney, now using the pseudonym of H. Wilson, had booked in there on the Friday evening.

‘One of the County men called there yesterday,’ Hanson explained. ‘We thought the description sounded interesting. But chummie was out. When we called this morning the publican told us he hadn’t come back.’

‘Did he leave his gear?’

‘So I’m told. He must have got word from the lady and skarpered. But this description of Bilney is a snap fit. There can’t be two like him swanning around. Is Friday right?’

‘Friday is right.’

‘Then it looks like this case is falling together.’ He plucked his lip. ‘A pity, really. I was tipping you to get round to Rampant in the end.’ He got to his feet. ‘Shall we go?’

‘First, I want a man and a car.’

‘Huh?’ Hanson looked aggrieved.

‘We’ll need to leave this place covered. If Bilney’s on the loose, this is where he may head for.’

In the end I got a van and two men, with a third man to cover the river approach. Dutt I left with the special mission of keeping his willing eye on Mimi.

Raynham was nine country miles from Haughton. It was a small village on a bluff by a broad; its handsome church tower stood high among trees, with below it pantiled cottages and infillings of bungalows. The broad was small and fly-blown with hire craft, a handful of yachts in a slum of motor-cruisers. An ugly beard of battered craft fringed the tiny staithe, which was itself parked solid with the cars of day-visitors. Facing the stage was a cramped junction and in one of its angles stood the Reed-Cutters. Two police cars were parked on the handkerchief of frontage, leaving bare room for us to slot in too. Hanson rammed us home. We got out.

‘Welcome to Mug’s Corner,’ Hanson said sourly. ‘Once I kept a half-decker in the dyke here. The second time they sank it I gave up.’

‘But it looks a good spot for a chummie to hole-up in.’

‘Oh sure.’ He stared about savagely. ‘These are the conditions of crime, sonny. Greed-pollution. Maybe it’s time we had another war.’

We pushed into the bar, where there was standing-room only, and through a door to the back premises. Hanson introduced me to the licensee, Silkin, and the County C.I.D. man, Inspector Breckles. Silkin was a heavy, fresh-faced countryman, Breckles a cherub with watchful eyes. We pulled up seats round a massive table; I spread out the Bilney photographs in front of Silkin.

‘Is this your customer, H. Wilson?’

Silkin looked them over. ‘Yes, that’s him, sir.’

‘What made you notice his little finger?’

Silkin blew out his cheeks. ‘Don’t rightly know, sir.’

‘Did you see it when he filled in the register?’

‘No. Because I filled it in myself.’

‘Did you see him write anything?’

Silkin looked puzzled. ‘Now you mention it, I don’t think I did. I reckon I noticed that finger when he was sinking a pint, that’s the time when I saw most of him.’

A left-handed drinker.

‘Was he in the bar a lot?’

‘I’m telling a lie, sir. He wasn’t in often. Just last thing he’d come in for a couple, and then go straight up to bed.’

‘Did he talk to anyone?’

‘That’s difficult to say, with all the crowd we get in here. But I can’t say I noticed he was very sociable. He never said much to me or the missus.’

‘What about phone calls?’

‘He didn’t make any here.’

‘Did he receive any?’

Silkin shook his head. ‘But there’s a phone-box a few yards up the road. He could have used that if he wanted to be private.’

For out-going calls . . . but the others?

‘What did he do with himself all day?’

Silkin puffed his cheeks. ‘I reckon you’ll have to tell me, sir. He was out of here each day after he’d had his breakfast.’

‘He went out in his car?’

‘He did if he had one.’

‘But surely you know if he had a car?’

‘The guests park over the way, sir,’ Inspector Breckles put in. ‘There’s no room this side. I’ve sent a man to make enquiries.’

‘They leave their cars on the staithe?’

‘That’s right,’ Silkin said. ‘And that’s where this man would’ve left his. But there’s always a dozen or more left across there, so whether he had one I couldn’t say.’

‘A blue Viva,’ Hanson said. ‘Of course the bloody car was across there.’

Silkin stuck out his chin mulishly. Hanson never had charm to spare for the natives.

‘Let’s go back to Friday,’ I said hastily. ‘When did this fellow arrive here?’

‘It was three to three-thirty,’ Silkin said grumpily. ‘We were having a bite after the bar closed. He came through the yard and knocked on the door. Asked if we could put him up for a few days.’

‘A few days?’

‘Those were his words. Told me he was here on a bit of business. He offered to pay me in advance, but like a fool I didn’t accept it.’

‘Did he have his case with him?’ Hanson snapped.

Silkin sniffed. ‘He fetched it afterwards.’

‘So like that wouldn’t he have had a car outside?’

Silkin humped his shoulders. ‘It must have been my dull day.’

Hanson snorted: I shot him a quick look.

‘What happened after you had booked him in?’

Silkin sniffed again. ‘He went out, didn’t he? Said he’d see us later, then he went out.’

‘When did he come back?’

‘Well, it was latish. He came into the bar near closing-time. He had his couple, the way I told you, and went up while I was still doing the till.’

I paused. ‘You are sure you didn’t see him earlier?’

His eye met mine. ‘Quite sure of it, sir.’

‘Your wife?’

‘She wouldn’t have seen him till closing. She was in the back when he came in.’

‘You understand what these questions are about. That you may have to repeat what you’re telling me on oath?’

‘Yes, sir. Inspector Breckles informed me. But that fellow wasn’t back here till turned ten.’

So there it was: barring an alibi, which Bilney wouldn’t find easy in a strange manor.

‘Did you notice anything special about him that night?’

Silkin hesitated. ‘He may have looked a bit untidy.’

‘How, untidy?’

‘Well, his hair was ruffled, and maybe his clothes a bit creased.’

‘No blood on his sleeve?’ Hanson cut in.

Silkin looked shocked. ‘I didn’t see blood. I’m trying to tell you what I can remember. I can’t do better for you than that.’

‘What about his manner?’ I asked.

Silkin blew into his cheeks. ‘I just served him. I didn’t notice.’

‘Was his hand trembling?’

‘I didn’t notice. When I think of any more, I’ll tell you.’ I silently cursed Hanson.

‘Now I’d like you to tell me about yesterday. What time did Bilney go out?’

Silkin’s eyes were sullen. ‘His usual time. After breakfast.’

‘Wasn’t it a little later yesterday?’

‘No, it wasn’t. It was how I said.’

‘Didn’t he receive a phone call?’

‘I told you he didn’t. Now I want to go through there and help the missus.’

‘You’d better go then.’

Silkin hesitated briefly before hauling himself up and clumping out. Hanson stared after him evilly. Breckles gave me a quizzical glance.

We went up to the bedroom by a crooked stair that had a rope for a hand-rail. A different dabs-team was at work there, and this time no check-printing was necessary. On the door, the tooth-glass and Bilney’s Remington razor were prints matching those that had come over the wire. Bilney was in. Hanson had already sent out a general W.F.Q. alert.

We turned over Bilney’s gear, which suggested that he hadn’t anticipated a lengthy stay out of town. In a squash-top suitcase were a soiled change of underwear, a screw of bennies and two pornographic paperbacks. No spare shoes, ties or socks. A raincoat he might have kept in the car. His toilet stuff was the bare minimum and didn’t run to talcum or after-shave.

Hanson sprawled gracelessly on the bed. ‘What does Scotland Yard make of it?’

I shrugged and fed Erinmore into my pipe. I wasn’t quite sure what I was making of it: my intuition was failing to click. But I had a feeling of sadness about that little room, about the paltry possessions Bilney had abandoned there. Almost feeling sorry for the stupid jerk: an emotion he wouldn’t have wasted on me.

Hanson lit a cheroot. ‘Do you want my opinion?’

I borrowed his matches. ‘Why not?’

‘I’d say chummie came out here to do a quick job, but then he got hooked with a different angle.’

Hanson and Dutt, both.

‘Of course, you mean blackmail.’

Hanson horsed smoke. ‘What’s wrong with that? Deslauriers has money. She ordered a killing. Which left her wide open for a big touch.’

I tossed back the matches. ‘No touch is worth a lifer. Bilney could only shop her by shopping himself.’

‘Yeah, that’s how you think, that’s how I think. But we’re talking of a buster with his brains in his knuckles.’ He spat some cheroot. ‘Look, chummie does his job, but he doesn’t go home the way he planned to. Then what’s holding him here? What’s the attraction? With the police busting a gut all around?’

I puffed twice. ‘Say he’s sweet on the lady.’

‘Ha bloody ha,’ Hanson jeered. ‘You know there’s only one attraction for a louse like Bilney, and that’s the stuff that comes out of banks. He’s putting the black on, and this is the place for it, where the lady has to act all sweet and innocent. She’s wanting him gone and long gone. Every day he stops here is a boost to the pressure.’

‘It fits some of the facts.’

‘You bet it fits them. Bilney wasn’t risking any lifer. She had to pay him to go away, to stop giving us notions. That was the deal he was sitting in with.’

‘And now he’s gone.’

‘Yeah, now he’s gone.’ Hanson sucked and spat out more leaf. ‘So either the lady paid him off, or more likely your coming on the scene scared him.’

‘You’re saying she warned him.’

‘Yeah.’

‘How?’

Hanson stared. ‘How should I know how? You let her go back to the hotel before you. She would have had time to put in a call.’

I shook my head decidedly. ‘It can’t be that simple. Bilney didn’t return to base after meeting her. And he wouldn’t spend his days camping-out in a call-box, waiting for the lady to ring him warnings.’

‘Then she used a messenger. Maybe that long-hair.’

‘Bavents?’

‘Yeah. Didn’t I hear he was wet on her?’

I sieved a puff; Bavents was a possible. I wasn’t at all sure of my ranking of Bavents.

‘It would mean letting someone else into the know, and the lady is too intelligent to want that to happen. In fact, the lady is too intelligent, period. She would never let Bilney get away with blacking her.’

‘Balls. She would be in a cleft stick.’

‘So she would get on the phone. But not to Bilney.’

Hanson smoked ferociously, but it was a point. Cheaper to buy muscle than pay black.

‘All right, then. Suppose I’m wrong. You tell me why chummie hangs on here.’

I launched smoke at the small lattice window that overlooked the road, the jammed staithe, the jammed broad.

‘I don’t know. I’ve been wrong too. Deslauriers didn’t send Bilney to Freddy’s hideaway. And according to Silkin Bilney received no phone calls, yet Deslauriers must have phoned him at least once. That could have been a call by appointment, but if so the timing was strangely felicitous. And if it happened again yesterday, after she met me, then felicitous stops describing it.’