by Alan Hunter
‘But what’s the end going to be?’ Gently said. ‘Do you even know the next step? You’re right. I like you. I don’t think you’re dirt. But you’ll be over the edge if you run from here.’
She dragged back from him, pulling on her knees. ‘I go where I like, screw,’ she said. ‘I don’t ask anyone what I do, and I don’t want to hear anyone telling me. I’ve had a lot of that from people, from my father, my husband, divorce court judges – men, the whole bloody bag of them! Filthy bastards. Filthy men. Men who invented bloody morals so they could sneer at women they couldn’t get – that’s the long and the short of morals. Have you ever thought about it, screw?’
Gently shrugged. ‘You could be right—’
‘Too true I’m right,’ she interrupted. ‘I’m not dumb. I don’t just take it. I can see through their dirty tricks. If I believed them I’d hang myself for being outside the pale – some bloody sub-creature who shouldn’t breathe. That’s what I’d do with myself. But it’s a lie. A stinking lie. And I’ll ram it back down their throats. To hear a man talk of morals is enough to make an angel puke.’
‘I’m not talking of morals,’ Gently said.
‘You sounded like it,’ Wanda said. ‘And I’m just warning you not to do it, I’ve had all I can take of that sort of thing. Always I’ve had it, right from the start. From men as randy as old toms. You lock your bedroom door on a man and he begins to be moral. You know’, she said, ‘what I think of men? I think of men as bits of stuff. That’s what, bits of stuff. That’s how men rate with me.’
‘That’s your privilege,’ Gently said.
‘Bits of stuff,’ Wanda said. ‘Here and there a decent one, but the rest, bits of stuff.’
Gently said: ‘And because of that you refuse your dues to society.’
‘What dues,’ Wanda said. ‘Society stinks and you know it. Top to bottom it’s all this.’ She made a grasping gesture with her hand. ‘A fat lot of dues I owe society and its paid thugs, like you.’
‘You have protection from it,’ Gently said. ‘The least you can do is pay it back.’
‘I don’t owe it anything,’ Wanda said. ‘It isn’t me who’s in the red.’
‘A man was killed. You might be killed. His killer is loose. So might be your killer. That isn’t morality, it’s the main chance. You want to stop alive, don’t you?’
‘Why should he kill me?’ Wanda said.
‘Because you know too much,’ Gently said. ‘And you’re very vulnerable although you’re so useful. I don’t think you’re intended to leave this place.’
‘You shut up,’ Wanda hissed. ‘I don’t like that kind of talk.’
‘You’re not intended to leave,’ Gently said, ‘because you’re a liability as well as a threat. One can disappear more easily than two, especially when the other one is a woman. Look at it straight. Society stinks. Why are you hoping to be the exception?’
‘Just button your mouth up, you bloody screw!’
‘Why?’ Gently said. ‘Can somebody hear us?’
‘I told you,’ she hissed. ‘I don’t like that kind of talk. It isn’t so clever, scaring a woman.’
‘You went in with your eyes open,’ Gently said. ‘You don’t have any illusions when it comes to men. So I’m not telling you anything you don’t know, you must be conscious of where you stand.’
She jumped up off the bed. ‘And you,’ she said. ‘Are you never scared? When you know such a bloody sight more than is good for you – aren’t you scared of winding up in a ditch?’
He shrugged. ‘It wouldn’t be wise to kill me. I’m part of a large organization. But you’re alone. That’s your boast. You don’t wear society’s clothes.’
‘Get out of here,’ Wanda said. ‘I’m tired of listening to you, screw. You don’t kid me, I’m not playing your game, just take yourself out of my house.’
‘You know where you stand,’ Gently said.
‘Yes,’ she said. ‘I know that. And society and the lot can go to hell. And you too. I’m not playing.’
Gently shook his head. ‘You’re not a cynic, you’re a romantic,’ he said. He got up. ‘The second one I’ve had to do with today.’
‘Clever, no doubt,’ Wanda said. ‘Next time remember to bring a warrant.’
‘I hope I’ll need it,’ Gently said. ‘This is a very quiet place.’
She flung out of the bedroom. He stood listening. Only the pad of her bare feet. He went after her. She’d got the door open. He paused on the threshold. She eyed him angrily.
‘Put some clothes on,’ he said. ‘You know I’m not trying to kid you.
‘Play the tune somewhere else,’ she said. ‘This is the way I like to be.’
‘Men don’t always fall on the bed.’
Some are bloody eunuchs,’ she said.
‘Not when the hangman is round the corner.’
‘Go to hell,’ Wanda said. ‘Ponce.’
He went out. She slammed the door. He heard the bolt shot, the brush of her feet. The noise of the traffic was suddenly loud, dulling the sensitivity of his ears. He went slowly to the 105, unlocked it, got in, left the door open. The heat inside made his skin prickle and brought out a fresh lacing of sweat. He sat with one leg out of the door. He took his pipe from the stowage, filled and lit it. The traffic kept rolling by, self-intent, pounding trucks, impatient cars. Few of the drivers looked at The Raven. The Raven stood by itself. Tired timber, rusting red roof, untidy park, derelict pumps. By itself under the sun. A few yards away from the Road’s thunder. The windows blind with faded curtains, the notice on the door saying CLOSED. Gently smoked, wiped his face. None of the curtains showed movement. No sound came from the building that could be heard above the traffic. He went on smoking till the tobacco was burned out. Still the silence beside clamour. He knocked out the pipe on his palm, closed the door, pressed the starter.
Going northwards was a Commer truck squarely loaded with wooden crates. The truck was overtaken by two cars, then by the 105, touching the sixties. The sound of the truck vanished behind. About ten seconds later came another sound. It was a persistent rattle which seemed to shake the car and which ended in the shattering of the rear offside-door window. Along with this rattle was a background noise. It sounded like a very fast pneumatic drill. The 105 swerved. There was a thudding patter behind it. Gently went on driving fast, pulled in half a mile down the road. In the driving mirror he saw the Commer following him. It slowed, braked. A man got down.
CHAPTER TEN
THE MAN CAME running round to the 105, a hard-framed man with a sunken-cheeked face. He grabbed the door and hauled it open, stared at Gently with white-rimmed eyes.
‘Blimey!’ he said. ‘Are you all right, cock?’
Gently said nothing, got out of the car.
‘You were bloody strafed, cock!’ the man gabbled. ‘Christ, what’s it coming to on this sodding road?’
‘Did you cop any?’ Gently said.
‘Not for want of him trying,’ the man said. ‘He was in the bushes. Up at the lay-by. I was shitting myself, I daren’t stop.’
‘Did you get a look at him?’
‘Not bloody likely. Just the smoke, I could see that.’
‘Get back in your truck,’ Gently said. ‘Drive to Everham phonebox. Inform the Offingham police.’
The man stared, his mouth open. ‘What are you going to do, cock?’ he said.
‘Police,’ Gently said. ‘I’ve got a job here. Get back in your truck and warn Offingham.’
He walked round the car. The nearside panels were perforated in a line that slanted upwards. The line began at the bottom of the front door and wavered uncertainly to the smashed rear door window. At the back of the car was a scattered group of deep dents, but no penetration. None of the tyres had been punctured. Only the one window was broken.
‘Blimey!’ the man said, coming to look. ‘You’re a lucky bastard, you are. If he’d held that frigger straight you wouldn’t be worrying about the bomb.’
‘You’re going after him?’ the man said.
‘Just do what I ask you,’ Gently said.
The man looked at him, frowning. He shook his head. ‘You’re mad,’ he said. ‘But I’m a mad bugger too, I was in the Parachute Regiment. It’ll need a couple of us, I reckon, if we’re going to stand a chance. You lay for him, I’ll draw him. I’ve got a wrench in the truck you can have.’
Gently said: ‘You’ll get in that truck and you’ll drive straight to Everham phonebox. You’ll ring the Offingham police and you’ll tell them that a wanted man is in the vicinity of The Raven roadhouse. Tell them that the message is from Superintendent Gently and that he wants roadblocks and a cordon round the area. Tell them that the man is armed with a Sten gun and that revolvers are to be issued. Have you got all that?’
The man swallowed. ‘I’ve got it,’ he said.
‘Do it directly,’ Gently said. ‘I may be prevented from getting to a telephone. What’s your name?’
‘Sam Ives. I come from Harlow New Town.’
‘On your way,’ Gently said.
Ives went back to the Commer, jumped in.
Gently got in the 105, backed it on the verge, swung it round. He drove slowly towards the lay-by. He watched the traffic coming north. There was a big articulated with other traffic hung behind it. He put on speed. He passed the lay-by almost square with the articulated. He kept accelerating. He didn’t hear anything. He braked by The Raven, cut across to it, parked. He went to the door and wrenched at the handle, drove his foot into it. The door fell open. Wanda came running from the kitchen. She was dressed. She carried a handbag.
‘You!’ Wanda said. Her eyes were fearful. ‘You aren’t hurt – he didn’t hurt you?’
Gently brushed past her. He grabbed the phone, began to spin off a number.
‘You bloody fool,’ Wanda screamed. ‘He’s coming back. He’s going to kill you. Get to hell out of this place, you can’t stop in here.’
‘You can’t stop here either,’ Gently said. ‘Take the car. Drive to Baddesley.’
‘Oh God, oh God,’ she cried. ‘He’s going to kill you, he’s going to kill you.’
‘Take the car,’ Gently said. ‘Police. Superintendent Gently speaking.’
‘Oh God,’ Wanda sobbed. Her stub heels pattered out through the kitchen. The car door slammed, the engine started. The car didn’t pull away.
‘You’ve had a message from Ives,’ Gently said. ‘If you haven’t, this is the message.’
He held the receiver away from his ear, listening, watching, his back to the wall. He spoke softly.
‘Right. You’re getting it. I’m at The Raven. He’s somewhere close. Come straight to The Raven. Put a cordon round it. Take special care to cover the fields. Set up roadblocks at Everham and Huxford to stop all traffic. Send them armed.’
He stopped speaking. The black-and-white kitten had run in from outside. It ran up to Gently, rubbed against his ankle, purred, whisked its tail, stalked away. He hung up the receiver very quietly, began to move along the corridor. He could hear nothing except the 105’s engine filling in the gaps in the traffic.
He came to the toilets, listened, slid into them, came to the back door. It was unbolted. The kitten was following him. It went to the door and looked up at it. He moved across to the door, listened again, eased the bolts home. The kitten still looked at the door. There was no sound from outside it. He moved back into the corridor, looked along the doors of the bedrooms. They were closed. He returned to the kitchen. The café was empty. The parlour was empty. The kitten ran ahead into the narrow room, stopped, looked back at Gently. It didn’t look about the narrow room. Gently went in. The kitten proceeded. It entered the bedroom, stood switching its tail. Gently approached the door of the bedroom. He looked into the bedroom.
The bedroom was not as he had last seen it. The bed had been moved to one side. The lino from under the bed was rolled up and a section of the floorboards had been lifted. There was a cavity below the floorboards which was about four feet deep. Its walls were supported by rough timber baulks and the floor was covered with dirty floorcloth. On the floorcloth stood a camp bed and on the bed lay an electric lantern, and beside the bed was a jug of lemonade and a glass and a stuffed ashtray. A section of six-inch drainpipe projected from one of the walls and a faint light showed in it. The removed floorboards lay on Wanda’s bed. They were a section which matched the existing cross-fit of the floor.
He didn’t go into the room but stood looking. The kitten moved around, sniffed at the cavity. The yellow curtains of the square window were drawn back. The window was part open. There was a faint draught from it. Then the window darkened a little and Gently looked at the window. The face of a man was squinting through it. Their eyes met. The man was a stranger. He began to fire through the wall as Gently leaped backwards. The gun kept firing, raking splinters off the doorframe. Gently wasn’t hit. He ran back into the parlour. Wanda was screaming ‘This way, this way.’ He ran out into the park. The gun had stopped firing. Wanda had the 105’s door open. She was screaming. He jumped into the car. She crashed home the clutch, bucked the car away.
‘Not too far!’ Gently shouted at her. ‘The gun doesn’t have any range.’
‘He’ll kill the pair of us. He’ll kill us.’
‘Don’t go further than the bend!’
She was driving madly, her foot down, swerving the 105 dangerously. He reached for the key, turned it, withdrew it. The car slowed, came to a rest, finished partly on the verge. She was sobbing and screaming. ‘No – no!’ He slapped her face. It had no effect. ‘He’ll kill us – he will – he’ll kill us, he’ll kill us!’
‘Shut up,’ Gently said. ‘He’s still back there behind the building.’ She tried to open the door. He knocked her hands away from it. She screamed piercingly in her fear.
‘Who is it?’ Gently said. His eyes were hard on the building, isolating it. Nobody had come round either end of it, or through the door, still sagging open.
‘He won’t stop at you. He’ll kill both of us.’
‘What’s his name – who is he?’
‘Oh God let’s go, let’s go.’
‘Tell me who he is,’ Gently said.
She struggled again. He pinned her down. She tried to strike him. She was too weak. She sobbed and cried in frantic panic, making efforts to get the door handle. The moments passed, became minutes. Still nobody came round the building. The kitten appeared for a moment at the door, turned round deliberately, marched in again. Wanda’s struggles became less continuous. Her sobs declined into a moaning.
‘He’s a Pole, isn’t he?’ Gently said.
She whined. She went for the handle again.
‘Is he someone who was here during the war – one of the Poles who were at Huxford?’
‘Find out, you bugger,’ she whined.
‘How long has he been hiding at The Raven?’
‘Find out,’ she said. ‘Find out. I tried to stop him going after you.’
‘How were you going to get away?’
‘I don’t know,’ she said. ‘I don’t know.’
‘Because you weren’t going to leave with him,’ Gently said. ‘He’s a psychopath. He’d kill anyone.’
She moaned, struck at him. Her eyes hated him.
‘You too,’ Gently said. ‘You’d like me to think that you’re man-proof. But he got round you. And he’s a killer.’
‘He’ll kill you,’ Wanda said.
‘Is he your husband?’ Gently asked.
She tugged savagely. ‘Talk bloody sense.’
‘We’ll find out,’ Gently said. ‘He’s shot his bolt.’
Two minutes. Three minutes. Wanda was quiet but breathing heavily. There was a big gap in the traffic coming along, the northbound traffic: the block was operating. The southbound traffic continued to flow. Nothing moved up at The Raven. The door was hanging on one of its hinges, caved inwards, ha
nging still. Gently looked steadily at Wanda. He put the key back in the switch.
‘I’m going back there,’ he said. ‘If he comes this way, don’t wait for him.’
‘No!’ she cried. ‘You can’t do that. He won’t give in, he’d sooner shoot you.’
‘I’m not relying on it,’ Gently said. ‘Don’t take the car except to avoid him. The road is blocked in both directions. Wait here. Unless he comes.’
‘No.’ She clung to him. ‘Don’t go after him. You can’t do anything. He’s got the gun.’
‘Yes,’ Gently said. ‘He’s got the gun.’ He pulled loose from her, got out of the car.
There was a gate in the hedge, into the field. He went to the gate and looked through it. The field was a small crop of turnips and had a cross hedge near to the gate. He climbed the gate, approached the cross hedge, found a gap through which to spy. Through the gap he could see The Raven at about a hundred yards distance. The garden was fenced with wire netting. He could see most of it. At the end of the garden were the fruit trees and from it a hedge extended to the hedge he stood by. He worked up the field to the line of this hedge. It bounded also the field of turnips. He passed through it near a small field oak, proceeded along it till he came to the garden. He looked along it and saw the yard. He saw where the man had stood when he was shooting. A scatter of shells lay about the spot, a few splinters of pinkish wood. Nothing moved. Between the yard and the fruit trees stood a poultry house with a sagged roof. He crept through the hedge, through the trees, came to the poultry house, stopped to observe. Nothing again. He moved rapidly into the yard, tried the door. It was still bolted.
He spent ten seconds listening, then came out of the yard and went to the bedroom window. Beneath it was chewed a savage rent through the wall timber and the hardboard lining. The rent was about the size of a dinner plate. He looked through it. He saw the kitten. The kitten was by the door and stretching its neck to sniff at a scar in the door frame. The room had no other occupant and the only sound was made by the kitten. He looked through the window into the cavity. There was nobody in the cavity. He looked along the wall towards the road, along the strip of ground between the wall and the fence. It was a part of the property not often trodden and was dripped on from the eaves and had a sandy surface. He trod on the surface. It gave a print. There were no other prints towards the road. He moved along it very quietly, came to the end of the short stroke where the gable faced the road. He looked up the road. Wanda was staring at him. There was now no traffic on the road. He picked up a stone, smashed the parlour window, ran quickly into the park, stood listening near the door. No sound. No movement. The kitten ran to meet him. He bent to stroke the kitten. He went in through the door.
