by Alan Hunter
He pushed the photograph across to Whitaker. It showed a good-looking man with sharp-cut features. He had dark hair, dark eyes, a toothbrush moustache and a delicate chin. He was wearing a plain bow tie and was facing the camera with confidence.
‘How do you know this is him?’ Whitaker asked.
‘I don’t know,’ Empton said. ‘I’m following my nose, old man. I want this photograph shown to Madsen. The description he gave is pretty sketchy, but such as it is it fits Kasimir. And Kasimir limps, that’s the point. I read of the limp and remembered Kasimir.’
Gently removed his pipe, and coughed.
‘Is a question in order?’ he asked.
Empton flickered a look at him. ‘Of course,’ he said. ‘Fire away.’
‘Do you know that Teodowicz was an agent?’
‘No.’
‘But you would have done – if he were playing double?’
Empton showed his teeth precisely. ‘Nicely taken, old man,’ he said.
‘It naturally occurred to me,’ Gently said. ‘The line you’re taking seems to rest on it.’
‘It does indeed,’ Empton said. ‘On that, and the rather familiar pattern. No, we don’t know he was an agent, and he had not made any approach to us. But he may have been meditating an approach, and was perhaps killed for that reason.’
‘I see,’ Gently said.
‘And the pattern remains,’ said Empton.
‘Yes, the pattern,’ Gently said.
Empton didn’t say anything.
‘One other thing,’ Gently said. ‘Is the way he was killed quite typical? I don’t meet this sort of thing very often, and I thought the number of bullets impressive.’
‘Perhaps unusual,’ Empton said.
‘Less than good professional standard?’
‘It depends on the purpose,’ Empton said. ‘We may find a reason for it later.’
‘Two hundred bullets,’ Gently said. ‘Where one would have served the same purpose. An overall burst of about forty seconds. Scything the victim up and down.’
‘That’s what struck us,’ Whitaker said. ‘We felt certain it was a case of a revenge killing. Or the work of a maniac, one or the other. Nobody could be sane to do that.’
Empton lifted one eyebrow. ‘Thank you,’ he said, ‘for your reactions. But agents are liquidated in various ways, according to the exigencies of the moment. I agree that this instance looks unprofessional. I thought at first it was to conceal identity. But I have no doubt it was done for a purpose other than emotional catharsis.’
‘I’m not so sure,’ Whitaker said.
‘Yes,’ Empton said. ‘Is Madsen handy?’
‘He’s been waiting since ten,’ Whitaker said.
‘Right,’ Empton said. ‘Have him in.’
Felling fetched Madsen in. He was a pale-haired Scandinavian who kept nervously smiling. He had a long straight nose, a girlish mouth and fair complexion, but his frame was bony and solid and he walked with a springing step. He was given a chair by the desk, and sat in it awkwardly, stooping forward. He smiled at Gently and Whitaker. The smile drooped when it came to Empton. Empton stared at him, apparently casual. But the smile faded right away.
‘So you’re Madsen,’ Empton said. ‘Come from Bekkestua, don’t you?’
‘Yes,’ Madsen said. ‘Bekkestua.’
‘Skansenveien.’
‘Yes, Skansenveien.’
‘Number twenty-two,’ Empton said.
‘Yes, number twenty-two,’ Madsen said.
‘A nice place to live,’ Empton said. ‘Why didn’t you go back there, Madsen?’
Madsen tried to make his smile. It ended up in a twitch.
‘My people,’ he said. ‘They are all dead. My father was shot by the Germans. My mother, my sister, my fiancée . . . there is nothing to go back to. The house was burned to the ground. I went back once, to make my claim.’
‘Touching,’ Empton said. ‘The claim was thirty thousand kroner.’
‘It is about fifteen hundred pounds.’
‘Hardly worth claiming,’ Empton said.
Madsen tried the smile again, but it just wouldn’t come. He moved his hands inside his knees; big, powerful-looking hands.
‘What is it you want?’ he said suddenly. ‘There is nothing I try to hide. I am a Norwegian by birth, that is so, I don’ make any secret of this.’
‘Just as well,’ Empton said. ‘We know all about you, Madsen.’
‘But what do you know? I do not mind!’
Empton said: ‘We’ve been talking to Kasimir.’
Madsen’s eyes were tugged to him, flinched, fell away again. Empton sat in a lazy poise, his eyes lazy. But unblinking.
‘Who – who is that?’ Madsen asked.
‘The one they sent here. Who brought the terms.’
‘I do not know what you mean.’
‘Oh yes you do. Kasimir talked.’
‘But I do not know any Kasimir – this is double Dutch, about Kasimir!’
‘Stop acting innocent,’ Empton said. ‘It’s a waste of time. We know what you did.’
Madsen was trembling. He smiled at the desk, at Gently, at Whitaker, at the desk again. Gently was sitting hunched and expressionless. Whitaker was frowning. Felling stood by the door. Madsen lifted his big hands.
‘I tell you, I know nothing,’ he said. ‘I have never heard of a man, Kasimir. What you are saying doesn’t mean anything.’
‘Oh, forget the act,’ Empton said. ‘If you play ball, you won’t get hurt. We’re calling the tricks now, Madsen, you’d better get that fixed in your head. Who’s the contact?’
‘I don’ know—’
‘Answer the question!’
‘I tell you—’
‘You’ll tell us a lot of lies, no doubt.’
‘It is the truth – I just don’ know!’
‘Very well then,’ Empton said. ‘Play it your way if you like, Madsen. Teodowicz made the same mistake. An operator only makes it once.’
‘I’m telling you everything!’ Madsen cried. ‘I am trying to help. What else can I do? You ask me these questions which don’ mean nothing, what can I say? I didn’ kill Tim!’
‘But you know who did,’ Empton said.
‘I don’. I was not anywhere here.’
‘You were in the garage when the man walked in.’
‘The garage?’ Madsen stared a moment. ‘I saw that man, yes, I said so – I tell you everything I know about that man. All the questions I answer about him. And it is true – he did come in.’
‘Oh, he came in all right,’ Empton said. ‘And you know his name, don’t you, Madsen?’
‘But I did not speak to him at all!’
Empton let his teeth show.
‘Let’s see how truthful you are,’ he said. ‘I’ve got a test for you here, Madsen. The man you know about is in this stack of photographs. We know which one – now let’s see if you do.’
He handed the photographs over the desk. Madsen took them from him uncertainly. He raised his eyes to look at Empton, dropped them quickly, began to fumble the photographs. Empton’s eyes stayed fixed on Madsen’s face. Madsen’s fingers were big and clumsy. The photographs showed a number of men who appeared to be of un-English extraction.
‘Take your time, Madsen,’ Empton said. ‘You may find some other friends of yours.’
‘No,’ Madsen said. ‘I don’ know them. I don’ know any of these men.’
‘You surprise me,’ Empton said. ‘Don’t you have any friends, Madsen?’
‘I’ve got some friends,’ Madsen said.
‘Well, well,’ Empton said softly.
Madsen came to the end of the stack.
‘It isn’ no good,’ he said. ‘I don’ know them.’
‘Can’t you have a stab at it?’ Empton said. ‘Look better that way, wouldn’t it, Madsen?’
‘I didn’ see that man properly,’ Madsen said.
‘Couldn’t you take a chance?’ Empton said.
/> Madsen laid the stack on the desk. His mouth was tight, turned down at the corners.
‘Perhaps I made a mistake,’ Empton said. ‘Perhaps he wasn’t in that pack after all, Madsen. Maybe he’s still back here in the envelope. I’ll play the cards. You call.’
He picked up the envelope the pack had come from, took out another photograph, threw it on the desk. Madsen eyed it, made no motion. Empton threw down another, and another. Then he stopped. Madsen had bent forward. The Kasimir photograph had appeared.
‘Your call,’ Empton murmured.
‘That one,’ Madsen said. ‘Perhaps that could be him.’
Empton smoked: a straw-coloured tube containing a grey and pungent tobacco; leaning far back in his chair and letting the smoke arise from his mouth. He took no notice while Gently was putting his few routine questions to Madsen. He had packed his papers in the briefcase and stood the case on the desk. Whitaker, on the other hand, was giving his attention to the questions. He had his back half-turned to Empton as though the better to observe the interchange. Felling continued by the door. He was also watching and listening keenly.
‘How long had you known Teodowicz?’ Gently asked.
Madsen’s smiles were beginning to return. They were not deliberate, not insincere, but seemed to well up in him like a sunny child’s. You looked at him, spoke to him, and he smiled.
‘It will be over six years, I think, now . . . I knew him when he drove for GUS, then I used to meet him on the road. And when I told him about my money he said, buy a truck and join him here. So that is what I did with my money, and we have a ver’ good business.’
‘You were good friends with him?’
‘Oh, yes. Good friends.’
‘You spent your free time together?’
‘Yes, when we were off together. But I am in Plymouth sometimes, say, and he is in Norwich or Glasgow, like that. We do not see ver’ much of each other, just in the weekends, perhaps.
‘What did you do when you were off together?’
‘Oh, we have a drink, have a meal. Go to the pictures, pick up two women. We don’ do anything ver’ special.’
‘Was Teodowicz fond of women?’
‘Oh, yes, he liked the women. Wherever he goes he pick one up . . . you know. Not particular.’
‘But wasn’t there one special woman?’
‘No, Tim liked them all. He only want the one thing from them – then mm, mm! Goodbye.’
‘What about men. Did he mix with them?’
‘Oh, other drivers he talk to.’
‘Did he have any special men friends?’
‘No, he like the ladies best.’
‘Did he have any men friends at all?’
Madsen thought. ‘No, not really friends. I don’ think he get on so well with the men. He don’ talk so much, don’ laugh and joke.’
‘No Polish friends he used to see?’
‘No, he would not talk to a Pole. He say he want to forget Poland, he is ver’ unhappy back there.’
‘Did he talk about that?’
‘He tell me they would hang him if he went back. Something he did in the war-time, selling things. You know.’
‘Anything else?’
‘No, nothing else.’
‘Not about them trying to make him go back?’
‘Nothing about that at all. He never talk about himself much.’
‘After this man had been to visit him – didn’t you ask him what it was about? You were partners, and good friends. Surely something must have been said.’
Madsen’s smiling was embarrassed. ‘Yes . . . you know . . . I do mention it. Tim wouldn’ speak to a Pole as a rule, this one he take upstairs and have a chat with. So I mention something.’
‘What did he say?’
‘Oh, he say forget about it. It was just somebody passing through who stop by for a chat.’
‘Did that square with what you saw of him?’
Again the embarrassment. ‘I don’ know . . . At first he seem nervous, speak ver’ low . . . and Tim don’ say anything for a moment.’
‘Then?’
‘Then Tim give a shrug, say something quick to him in Polish. Then they go out of the garage and I hear them go up the steps to the flat.’
‘What happened when they came down?’
‘Oh, nothing at all. They are not saying anything. This man go straight out of the garage and Tim, he get out a cigar and light it.’
‘Do you know who wanted to kill Tim, Madsen?’
‘No. I don’ have any idea.’
‘Was he never in trouble over his women?’
‘No. They are prostitutes. You know?’
Gently sucked some more on the empty pipe. Empton drove smoke towards the ceiling. His legs were stretched out by the desk, an expensive brogue by an expensive brogue. The street below was stirring a little. The clock said ten minutes to one. Felling appeared to be still perspiring, since he had just wiped his face again.
Gently said: ‘Have you any knowledge that Teodowicz was engaged in espionage?’
‘Esp’nage?’ Madsen looked puzzled.
‘That he was a spy, selling secret information.’
‘A spy? Oh, no . . . that is ver’ ridiculous! You cannot be thinking Tim was a spy.’
‘What makes you so positive?’
‘It is so unlikely! You do not know Tim at all. He is – what do you say? He want to forget it, to turn his back, to live quiet on his own. He don’ want to be mixed up with anything like that, it is ver’ ridiculous. You do not know him.’
‘Ha, ha,’ Empton said.
‘But yes, it is true,’ Madsen said. ‘He have all this trouble back in Poland, now he just want to live quiet.’
‘And that was your picture of him,’ Gently said. ‘Now he just wanted to live quiet.’
‘But yes. It is the same all the time I know him.’
‘Thank you,’ Gently said. ‘That’s all for the moment.’
The door closed.
Empton got up, stubbed the cigarette, flexed his hands.
‘Probably genuine,’ he said. ‘Lacked the savoir-faire of a professional. Teodowicz strung him along nicely with his I-want-to-be-alone act. Teodowicz was probably a useful man. A pity he put a foot wrong.’
‘I don’t know,’ Whitaker said. ‘I’m still as puzzled as I was before. There doesn’t seem anything to get a hold on, it’s shuttered up all round.’
Empton’s teeth. ‘We’re used to it, old man. It’s the view these cases always present. You get a murder happening out of the blue, no motive, no angles. Then you know what you’re up against and you begin to look in certain directions. The real break has been that limp. Your man did well to get Madsen to remember it.’
‘Felling’s my best man,’ Whitaker said. ‘But what do you want us to do now?’
‘Nothing whatever,’ Empton said. ‘There’s nothing further you can do. I’ll go back to town and pick up Kasimir and apply various forms of pressure. Then we will decide what we will decide. Some results may appear in the morning paper.’
‘Well,’ Whitaker said, ‘it’s beyond me. And you apparently know how to handle it.’
‘Leave it at that,’ Empton said. ‘As of now it’s our pigeon.’
He took hold of the briefcase. He looked squarely at Gently.
‘And what’s your theory, old man,’ he asked.
Gently shrugged. ‘I don’t have a theory. I’m only here to make up the party.’
‘You still think it’s one of your amateur killings?’
‘I’m only at the stage of collecting facts.’
‘It’ll be a labour of love, old man, I think.’
‘Taxpayers’ money,’ Gently said.
Empton’s teeth. Then he shook hands. He had a curiously unsubstantial grasp. Whitaker went with him down the stairs and stood a moment chatting in the doorway. Gently rose and moved over to the window. He saw Empton walk swingingly across to his car. It was a Jaguar coupé enamelled red and pr
obably of a mark number known to the enthusiast. Empton slid into it and surged away. Whitaker came back up the stairs. Gently moved back to the desk to reclaim his pipe and his trilby.
‘Are you driving back too?’ Whitaker asked.
Gently shook his head. ‘Just going to lunch. I’d like to have Felling show me round this afternoon – unless you have a back-log of amateur crimes.’
Whitaker chuckled. ‘No. You can have him. I just wondered if you thought it worthwhile to stay.’
‘Purely routine,’ Gently said. ‘And probably idle curiosity.’
Whitaker said: ‘I can’t get over that fellow. Are they all like that in the Special Branch?’
‘A few.’ Gently sucked his pipe. ‘It’s a split world,’ he said.
CHAPTER THREE
OFFINGHAM, OFFGMS. (A.S. Offa & ham, home). 16,129. Map 12 C5. Mkt. Sat. E.C. Weds. London 52¼, Northampton 37¼, Bedford 19½, Leicester 57. 1 mile E. of A1. On R. Ound, crossed here by Med. bridge of 12 arches. Church St Lawrence Perp., carved oak roof; also St Olaf, Dec., traces of fan vaulting, painted screen. Traces of 12th c. priory near R. Med. house in Mkt. Pl. Inds: printing, furniture mfg., light elec. products. Centre of a considerable Agri. area & county town of Offgms.
Gently took Felling to lunch with him at Fullton’s Restaurant in the Market Place. The dining-room was on the first floor and looked across market stalls to St Lawrence’s. At lunchtime Offingham came out of its trance; in its small-town way it looked crowded. The pavements were busy. In the Market Place people stood eating fish-and-chips out of newspapers. Clerks, shopkeepers, businessmen crowded the tables in the restaurants. There was little motion of traffic. All the shops had their doors locked. A communal atmosphere pervaded the town; everyone turned out for lunch.
Gently ordered a mixed grill, Felling a modestly priced chop. At a word from Felling they had been found a secluded table at the very end of the range of windows. Gently said nothing until he had eaten and the sergeant took his cue from Gently. Felling was around forty. He was dark, had a ruddy complexion and humourless good-looks. He watched Gently as they ate. Gently looked out of the window. They had both ordered iced lager and it went down very well.
At the coffee Gently said: ‘Have you any ideas you haven’t put on record?’
Felling looked up sharply from his coffee, then back to it again.
