Gently Go Man

by Alan Hunter

  ‘You didn’t want to know where he’d got them?’

  ‘Don’t be silly,’ she said. ‘Where do kids always get them from – off each other, that’s where.’

  ‘They don’t make them themselves, Mrs Bixley.’

  ‘Didn’t say they did, did I? One of them buys them in a pub or a street corner or somewhere. You know how it is. They will go for these things. Me, I tried one when I was that age, it made me spew something rotten.’

  ‘How many have you seen him have at one time?’

  ‘Only the one,’ said Mrs Bixley. ‘Then it was the stink what made me notice it, I’d come in here and niff the stink.’

  ‘You haven’t seen him have a box of them?’

  ‘No I haven’t,’ she said.

  ‘Have you seen him with boxes of Melton chocolates?’

  ‘What, Sid?’ she said. ‘Do us a favour.’

  Gently paused, let her think about that for a moment. In the next room they could hear the squeak of furniture being moved on linoleum. Mrs Bixley sat saggingly with her slippered feet placed apart, her elbows dug into the arms of the chair, her chin jutted out towards him.

  ‘How often do you hear from your sister, Cissie?’ Gently asked.

  Her eyes jumped at him. Well,’ she said, ‘we know a few things, don’t we? And what’s Cissie got to do with it?’

  ‘Have you seen her lately?’ Gently asked.

  ‘Not since we come here,’ said Mrs Bixley. ‘And that was two years in August. Her and me don’t get on since that business about Mum’s furniture. Took the blinking lot, she did. And the sewing machine. And the canary.’

  ‘Too bad,’ Gently said. ‘When did you last see her son?’

  ‘Him,’ Mrs Bixley said scornfully. ‘We don’t have no truck with young Perce. A proper tulip he is, he takes after his old man. Our Sid would make two of him. Perce is a nasty bit of work.’

  ‘Were Sid and he pals?’

  ‘Yers, likely,’ said Mrs Bixley. ‘Well they were in a sort of way, when we was home in Bethnal. I reckon it was Perce who was to blame when Sid had his little bit of trouble. Led my boy on, he did. Sid’s all right if he’s left alone.’

  ‘How did Perce lead him into trouble?’ Gently asked.

  Mrs Bixley rounded her eyes. ‘Go on,’ she said. ‘You know about that. You can’t tell a copper nothing about a boy who’s been in trouble.’

  ‘I’d like you to tell me,’ Gently said.

  ‘Here, what’s this?’ Mrs Bixley demanded. ‘All that there is over and done with, you can’t pin that on Sid again.’

  ‘Sid was a gang-boy,’ Gently said. ‘Was it Perce who introduced him to the gang?’

  ‘That’s as may be,’ said Mrs Bixley. ‘Just you leave Perce out of this.’

  ‘But that was what you meant, wasn’t it?’

  ‘Suppose it was.’ Mrs Bixley glared. ‘That’s finished with, that is. Why do you think we come out this way? So’s we could get Sid away from them lot, that’s the blinking reason for it.’

  ‘Have you heard of a man called Leo Slavinovsky?’

  ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘So has everyone in Bethnal.’

  ‘In connection with Perce?’ Gently asked.

  ‘Never you mind,’ Mrs Bixley said.

  ‘He ran that gang, didn’t he?’ Gently said. ‘He ran it when Sid was one of the gang. He planned the job when Sid was arrested. He was the big noise in Bethnal.’

  Mrs Bixley dug at the chair-arms. ‘I ain’t saying nothing about him,’ she said. ‘It’s up to you coppers to handle blokes like Leo. Just don’t ask me questions about him.’

  ‘He was arrested today,’ Gently said.

  Mrs Bixley said nothing.

  ‘Perce was arrested too,’ Gently said. ‘On a charge of trafficking in reefers.’

  ‘Sid—’ Mrs Bixley began. She stopped.

  ‘Sid’s in it, too, isn’t he?’ Gently said. ‘We’ve found a depot for the reefers over at Castlebridge. Sid’s been the one who’s distributed them here.’

  She jammed her lips tight shut, sat perfectly still. A tramp of feet overhead indicated that Setters was in the bedrooms. They could hear drawers opened and closed, the faint creaking of bed-springs, then Arter’s whining voice as he answered a question. The expression on Mrs Bixley’s face grew tighter and tighter.

  ‘Surely,’ Gently said, ‘you wondered where Sid got his money from? How he paid for that bike and his expensive riding clothes? He doesn’t work very often from what I’ve heard, yet he acts as though he’s got plenty of money to throw about.’

  ‘I give him some,’ she said.

  ‘How much, Mrs Bixley?’

  ‘How should I know?’ she said. ‘I give him some now and then.’

  ‘How much does your husband earn?’

  ‘I got some money of Mum’s,’ she said.

  ‘You keep it in the bank, Mrs Bixley?’

  ‘You rotten bastard,’ she said.

  Gently shrugged, went on listening to the sounds upstairs. A muffled voice from far above suggested that Ralphs was in the loft. Then there was a clink of metal as somebody uncovered the flush cistern, and finally steps on the stairs and a draught from the back door.

  ‘You stinking lot,’ said Mrs Bixley. ‘Coming in here like this. We ain’t got nothing to hide. Sid wouldn’t keep nothing here. But you rotten bastards come nosing in here as though we’d pinched the Crown Jewels. You rotten sods. You rotten sods. We come here to keep Sid away from them.’

  ‘You knew he was up to something,’ Gently said.

  ‘I didn’t know nothing,’ said Mrs Bixley. ‘He got a job too, and all. It was going to be different up here. And Arter, he’s doing all right. We got the telly and a washer. And Sid worked for a bit. I reckoned it was going to be all right.’

  ‘How long did he work?’ Gently asked.

  ‘That don’t matter,’ said Mrs Bixley. ‘He got a job, he did, and he worked for a bit. I didn’t like it when he slung it, but Sid had always been restless. And things was going all right. We been up here two years.’

  ‘Did he get letters from Perce?’ Gently asked.

  Mrs Bixley shook her head.

  ‘Has he been back to Bethnal since he came here?’

  ‘Once,’ she said. ‘He went to Cissie’s.’

  ‘When would that have been, Mrs Bixley?’

  ‘Oh, a long time ago,’ she said.

  ‘About when he gave up his job?’ Gently asked.

  She dug at the chair, her mouth drooping.

  ‘And when was that?’ Gently asked.

  She was staring at the floor as though she didn’t hear him.

  Time passed. Setters came back. He made a negative gesture with his hands. Ralphs and Arter came in behind him, the latter with a yellowish tab-end gummed to his lip. Gently got up.

  ‘That’s that,’ he said. ‘Sorry we had to pay you a visit.’

  ‘I’ll bet you are,’ Arter said. ‘All fun and games for you, this is.’

  ‘I’ve spoken to your wife,’ Gently said. ‘I’m afraid we’ll be taking your son in for questioning.’

  ‘Much obliged, I’m sure,’ Arter said. ‘That’ll be very nice for Sid.’

  Mrs Bixley didn’t say anything, kept staring at the floor.

  They sat in the car, Setters with Gently, Ralphs silent in the rear. Setters’ hands were very dirty and he’d picked up some rust on his trousers.

  ‘The First and Last,’ Setters said slowly.

  ‘It’s a good bet,’ Gently said.

  ‘But they’ll be moved by now,’ Setters said. ‘If Bixley’s as smart as we think he is. So where would he move them from there? Where would he think we wouldn’t look? Or is he out of stock now, owing to a hitch in supplies this morning?’

  ‘He won’t be out of stock,’ Gently said. ‘He wasn’t working hand to mouth. There’ll be a hoard of the stuff somewhere, you can put your promotion on that. We’ll have to check the First and Last because it stands out a mile – and
because chummies are sometimes stupid. Though I don’t think this chummie is.’

  He told Setters what he had elicited from Mrs Bixley about Bixley and Waters, about the coincidence between Bixley’s London visit and the giving-up of his employment. Setters kept nodding sapiently.

  ‘You’re doing well down here,’ he said. ‘I wish it was getting us closer to Lister, but either way you’re doing well.’

  ‘Bixley is close to Lister, very close,’ Gently said.

  ‘Elton paddled in Lister’s blood,’ Setters said. ‘You can’t get much closer than that.’

  ‘Think,’ Gently said, ‘think a moment. Lister was killed on the way back from Leach’s café. Bixley was there. He was collecting his chocolates. And on the way back from there, Lister is killed. Is it just one of those strange coincidences, or is it a tie-up we can’t overlook?’

  Setters thought. ‘It’s a tie-up,’ he admitted grudgingly. ‘But don’t forget that Elton is right in the middle of it. He didn’t love Lister. He was a side-kick of Bixley’s. And he was there where he could do the job, which you haven’t proved that Bixley was.’

  ‘Forget Elton a moment,’ Gently said. ‘Think of Bixley and the chocolates.’

  Setters nodded again. ‘I begin to see where you’re getting,’ he said. ‘You think there was trouble over those chocolates. You think maybe Lister half-inched them. Then could be Bixley busted him off, trying to stop him to get them back. Is that the angle with Bixley?’

  ‘It suggests itself,’ Gently said.

  ‘And Elton maybe took a side road?’

  ‘Elton was there,’ Gently said. ‘Elton was there because you proved it and because the facts all prove it. But the part he played in what happened is something we still have to guess at.’

  ‘Bixley had a passenger,’ Setters said. ‘And a passenger is a witness. And Bixley was a quarter of an hour behind. I can’t see Bixley doing the busting. But Elton didn’t have a passenger and Elton left right after Lister, so if this chocolates angle holds I’d say that Elton was told to recover them. Which gives me another motive for Elton. And lets Bixley out of the picture.’

  ‘You’re missing something,’ Gently said.

  ‘I’m doing my best,’ Setters said.

  ‘Bixley is an expert rider,’ Gently said. ‘I’m told locally he’s the mostest.’

  ‘Yeah,’ Setters said. ‘So what does that prove? That Elton bungled it when he busted-off Lister. I’d say he did it trying to stop him and not knowing a better way to do it. And that still adds up to Elton having done it, whether by accident or with malice aforethought. And I like that accident angle best, I never could see Elton as a deliberate killer.’

  ‘Nor could I,’ Gently said. ‘Especially with Betty Turner on Lister’s pillion.’ He pulled the starter, brushed the gear in. ‘We’ll get a warrant for the First and Last,’ he said. ‘Also one for Mr Deeming’s rooms, just in case Mr Deeming is being quixotic.’

  CHAPTER NINE

  THEY DROVE BACK to Police H.Q. Bixley had been cooling his heels there for an hour. He’d been picked up straight away at the First and Last café where two detective constables had found him engaged in the usual jukebox session. Deeming wasn’t among those present and there had been a little trouble. Bixley had collected a black eye to add to his thick lip. He had been abusive as well as violent. One of the detective constables was attending him.

  ‘A pity,’ Setters observed, ‘we drew a blank at his house.’

  He got on the phone to the local magistrate to request the new warrants. Gently lit his pipe, sat smoking, drawing patterns on Setters’ desk-pad. Ralphs, who had missed his tea, had departed to make a quick meal.

  ‘It’s going to be tricky,’ Setters said. ‘If we keep drawing a blank. We’ve got no handle for Bixley, he can laugh in our face.’

  ‘Yes,’ Gently said. He kept drawing on the pad.

  ‘We can’t hold him,’ Setters continued. ‘And it would be a good idea to hold him.’

  ‘Very good,’ Gently agreed.

  ‘So what’s the routine?’ Setters said.

  ‘I’ll have a chat with him,’ Gently said. ‘Now. I’ll leave you to look after the searches.’

  ‘Hmn,’ Setters said. ‘Well, if you think it will do any good. But me, I’d sooner have a charge to throw at him before I tried to go to work. But then, I’m just a bucolic. I’ll leave you Baynes to sit in.’

  ‘Is he a shorthand writer?’ Gently asked.

  ‘Yeah,’ Setters said. ‘Expecting a confession?’

  ‘Window-dressing,’ Gently said. ‘It never hurts to dress the window.’

  Setters went out to collect his warrants and sent in Detective Constable Baynes. Baynes was a heavy-featured man with a fresh complexion and slow, blue eyes. He had a bruise on the side of his chin. He grinned sheepishly when Gently noticed it.

  ‘Chummie copped me a fourpenny one, sir,’ he said. ‘Didn’t take to the idea of coming down here.’

  Gently gave him his instructions, sent him to fetch in Bixley. While he was gone Gently placed a chair in the centre of the floor in front of the desk. Setters had got an adjustable desk-lamp. Gently trained it on the chair. Then he switched off the overhead light and retired to the gloom behind the desk.

  A few moments later he heard Baynes’s footsteps marching briskly down the corridor. The door was tapped and thrown open and Baynes clicked his heels.

  ‘Bixley, sir.’

  He gave Bixley a nudge which sent him staggeringly into the office. Bixley nearly collided with the chair. He stood holding the back of it, blinking furiously.

  ‘Sit down, Bixley,’ Gently said.

  ‘Like what’s this about?’ Bixley began.

  Baynes laid two large hands on Bixley’s shoulders and sat him down on the chair.

  ‘Lock the door, please,’ Gently said.

  Baynes made a business of locking the door. In point of fact there wasn’t a key, but Baynes made a convincing sound with the latch.

  ‘Now if you’ll bring your book to the desk here,’ Gently said, ‘I’d like a transcript of Bixley’s answers.’

  Baynes took a chair to the end of the desk, scuffed through a notebook, laid out three pencils.

  ‘Good,’ Gently said.

  ‘Like what’s going on?’ Bixley broke out again.

  Baynes immediately seized a pencil and commenced a ferocious scribble.

  ‘I think,’ Gently said, ‘you’d better listen to me and simply answer my questions, Bixley. That way you won’t go saying things you wouldn’t like to see in a report afterwards. Do you understand me?’

  Bixley glared at the light. His pupils were contracted and he was sweating.

  ‘Like tell me, screw,’ he said, ‘and tell me straight. What’s this jazz all about?’

  ‘Take it down,’ said Gently unnecessarily.

  ‘Take nothing down!’ Bixley bawled. ‘I ain’t done nothing and like you know it, so why am I hung up in here?’

  ‘Have you finished?’ Gently asked.

  ‘No I haven’t,’ Bixley said. ‘I’m asking you, screw, and I want an answer. You ain’t got no right to keep me down here.’

  ‘When you have finished,’ Gently said, ‘I’ll do the talking if you don’t mind, Bixley. And just remember that this is a police station. It’ll be to your advantage not to forget it.’

  Bixley swore at him obscenely.

  ‘Take it down,’ Gently said.

  Baynes went scribbling down the page, flipped it over and scribbled some more.

  ‘Now,’ Gently said. ‘Is that all?’

  It apparently was. Bixley only glared.

  ‘Right,’ Gently said. ‘You’re being sensible. Let’s see if you can answer a few questions. Where were you this morning?’

  ‘You know where I was,’ Bixley snarled.

  ‘I think I do,’ Gently said. ‘You were in Castlebridge, weren’t you?’

  ‘Like I wasn’t, then,’ Bixley said. ‘I wasn’t nowhere near C
astlebridge. I was out riding like you said. And nobody can’t prove different.’

  ‘Where were you riding?’ Gently asked.

  ‘I was out on the heath,’ Bixley said.

  ‘Where out on the heath?’

  ‘Just out on the heath,’ Bixley said.

  ‘Then you couldn’t have been recognized,’ Gently said, ‘by a man you talked to in Castlebridge?’

  ‘I wasn’t there,’ Bixley said.

  ‘Make sure you’ve got that answer,’ Gently said to Baynes.

  He gave Baynes time for plenty of scribbling.

  ‘Do you know a man named Leach?’ he asked.

  ‘Like suppose I do,’ Bixley said. ‘He only keeps a café, don’t he?’

  ‘He used to keep one,’ Gently said. ‘Just at this moment he’s keeping a cell warm. He was arrested at about nine a.m. this morning, around the time when you weren’t in Castlebridge.’

  ‘So what’s that to do with me?’ Bixley said.

  ‘We’ve been asking him questions,’ Gently said. ‘And we’ve been going through some of his records. Did you know that Leach kept records?’

  ‘He wouldn’t have said nothing,’ Bixley said.

  ‘He,’ Gently said, ‘couldn’t help it. And he wasn’t quite quick enough hiding his records. I got hold of a notebook I shouldn’t have seen.’

  ‘He’s a stupid git,’ Bixley said.

  ‘He knew quite a lot about Tuesday.’

  ‘He didn’t know—’ Bixley began. He stopped, tried to pierce the haze beside the lamp.

  ‘What didn’t he know?’ Gently asked. ‘That some of his chocolates had gone astray?’

  ‘Like I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ Bixley said. ‘What’s this jazz about chocolates?’

  Gently turned in Baynes’s direction. Baynes’s pencil scuttered, halted with a dab.

  ‘Yuh, what’s it about?’ Bixley demanded. ‘I don’t know nothing about his chocolates. Like he used to give chocolates for prizes, he did. Put a spot on someone, that sort of action.’

  ‘And you used to win them,’ Gently said.