Gently Heartbroken

by Alan Hunter

  Gently lit the pipe, shrugged. ‘My information related to the cottage. Unfortunately it came too late.’

  ‘You’ve nothing that could help us now.’

  ‘Nothing.’

  After a moment Empton showed his teeth. ‘Well, well,’ he said. ‘So after all there wasn’t much to be coy about, old man. Of course it might be useful to know the source.’ His chill eye rested briefly on Gently’s. ‘But doubtless all that’s academic. And in the meantime we do have Petrie.’

  Gently puffed.

  ‘Yes, Petrie,’ Empton said.

  ‘What charge are you holding him on?’ Guthrie asked.

  ‘Oh nothing special,’ Empton said. ‘In fact none at all. I believe he expressed a wish to make himself helpful.’

  It was past ten when a car parked in the yard and a man was hustled up to Guthrie’s office. In charge of two blank-faced Special Branch men, he looked dazed and staggered when pushed towards a chair. About thirty-three or -four, he had fleshy features, greasy fair hair, big, clumsy hands. He was sweating; he had a bruise on his jaw. When he sat down he did so wincing.

  ‘And has he been a good boy?’ Empton said to the men.

  ‘He’s a good boy now, Chief,’ one of them said. ‘Cooperative, I think you’ll find him.’

  ‘That’s the name of the game,’ Empton said.

  He drew out the gold cigarette case, lit a straw-coloured cigarette and inhaled several times. He lounged against the desk, crossing his legs. He gazed down on the prisoner almost tenderly.

  ‘Ah, Petrie,’ he said.

  Petrie shrank on the chair. He was smelling of fear. Empton blew smoke in his face.

  ‘Petrie,’ he said. ‘You’re in trouble I think.’

  Petrie coughed and rubbed his eyes. Empton blew more smoke in his face. Petrie tried to duck away from it. One of the men held him straight in the chair. Empton blew more smoke.

  ‘Listen, Petrie,’ he said. ‘This is the way of it. I shan’t bother to put you away, that would be a waste of taxpayers’ money. Instead I’ll drop word that you were bought and leave the opposition to make arrangements.’ He blew smoke. ‘I’m like that,’ he said. ‘Always an eye to the public funds.’

  ‘But I haven’t done nothing—!’ Petrie gasped.

  Empton clicked his tongue. ‘My dear old chap. We have it on tape, we have it on film. Don’t waste my time with comic remarks.’

  ‘But I tell you I haven’t!’

  Empton inhaled a deep lungful and sprayed it steadily at the coughing Petrie. ‘The playback,’ he said. ‘Run it for him, Curtis. We don’t want to smell his sweat all night.’

  A recorder was produced, placed on the desk and set going. Hissing changed to dialling clicks, to the continental ringing tone, to a final harsh click.

  ‘Clichy nine-one, nine-six, seven-six.’

  ‘This is Robert the Bruce,’ Petrie’s voice said. ‘I’ve a message for Burgundy. You’re to tell him that the market was busy and we’ve transferred the shares.’

  ‘Understood, Robert the Bruce. Here is market news for Stockbroker. Dollar shares are strong but Bastille stock still to be negotiated.’

  ‘Understood, Burgundy.’

  Curtis rushed tape, restarted the playback. This time there were no preliminaries, just the click of a picked up phone.

  ‘Kelvin three-treble-six-three,’ Petrie’s voice said.

  ‘Stockbroker here,’ a plangent voice replied. ‘Have you news from Burgundy?’

  ‘Aye, there’s a message. Dollar shares are strong but the other stock’s sticking.’

  ‘Ach, tell them to get on with it!’ the plangent voice said. ‘Tell them I say we’re on a kittle market. And Robbie.’

  ‘Aye?’

  ‘Watch your back, my man. The longer it goes, the tighter it gets.’

  Curtis switched off. Empton inhaled.

  ‘Any comment?’ he said to nowhere.

  ‘It wasn’t my voice there!’ Petrie whined.

  ‘Oh dear,’ Empton said. ‘Oh dear.’

  ‘But I’m telling you it wasn’t.’

  ‘Yes,’ Empton said. ‘We had a camera on your office window, old chap. You’re only hearing the sound effects. What excellent advice that was from McGash.’

  ‘I don’t know any McGash!’

  ‘McGash,’ Empton said. ‘Who’ll love to hear you sold him down the river. You’d better start begging for a charge, Petrie. I can promise you twenty safe years in Barlinnie.’

  Petrie’s eyes were starting. ‘But what have I done! It isn’t a crime to talk to a broker.’

  ‘Ha, ha,’ Empton said. ‘No doubt you have several. Between ringing cars and collecting pay-offs.’

  He lit a second cigarette from his first. He leaned forward till his face was a foot from Petrie’s. He sucked long and thoughtfully then drove smoke full into Petrie’s eyes.

  ‘Now,’ he said. ‘We’ll talk, Petrie.’

  Petrie dashed at his streaming eyes. ‘I’ve nothing to say.’

  ‘Oh yes,’ Empton said. ‘I think you’ll be saying quite a lot. For one thing I’m a man of my word, and if McGash gets clear you’ll be on his list. You’ll be a scared man, Petrie, and then a dead man, Petrie, and maybe not dead as soon as you could wish. One night a door will open and there he’ll be standing and that will be the start of an interesting evening. So that’s why you’ll be talking, old chap, even if you talk yourself into Barlinnie.’ He drew smoke and blew it over Petrie’s head. ‘On the other hand,’ he said, ‘I’m a reasonable bastard. A bit of a knockabout man perhaps, but nothing you can’t limp away from. Do me a favour and I’ll do you one. A couple of words may be enough. I’m not a vindictive man, Petrie – just a bastard who gets what he wants.’ He nostrilled smoke. ‘So what about it?’

  Petrie sat with muzzy eyes, yellow teeth showing between gapped lips. His coarse face was wet with sweat and sweat shone on his freckled hands.

  Stupidly he shook his head.

  ‘How I waste my breath,’ Empton said. ‘But one more attempt at sweet reason before I return you to Curtis and Meaker. You like their company don’t you, Petrie?’

  Petrie shuddered; he hugged the chair.

  ‘Yes,’ Empton said. ‘So once again – what about it?’

  ‘I can’t – I can’t.’

  ‘Easily,’ Empton said. ‘In so many words – where is McGash?’

  ‘I don’t know where.’

  ‘Better,’ Empton said. ‘Then let’s have a very accurate guess.’

  ‘I don’t know – I daren’t!’

  ‘Oh, I think you dare. He’ll never come back to ask who told us.’

  Petrie shrank into the chair, mouth quivering. But at last he clamped it tight and shook his head.

  Empton scrubbed his cigarette on the desk.

  ‘Right,’ he said. ‘What a pity, Petrie. You seem to have trouble in understanding me, but doubtless a breath of night air will clear your head.’ He nodded to Curtis and Meaker. ‘Take him for a drive.’

  ‘No!’ Petrie gasped. ‘You can’t do that.’

  ‘Take him,’ Empton said.

  ‘Those bastards will kill me!’

  ‘Not they,’ Empton said. ‘I trained them myself.’

  ‘I won’t go – you can’t—!’

  The two men grabbed him. He held on to the chair. One of the men jerked it from him. He threw himself down, was snatched up again and his arms twisted hard behind him. Guthrie jumped up.

  ‘That’s enough!’

  ‘Don’t interfere, old man,’ Empton said.

  ‘I’m in charge here,’ Guthrie said. ‘If that man is in custody he’s in my custody.’

  ‘Oh no,’ Empton said. ‘My authority pre-empts you. Sit down, old man, or you’ll be in trouble.’

  ‘It doesn’t’, Gently said, ‘pre-empt me, nor the rules for the proper treatment of those in custody.’

  ‘Oh halleluiah,’ Empton said. ‘If you sing Rule Britannia I’ll throw up. That bastard can tell
us where McGash is, if he talks we can have that wolly-blaster tonight.’

  ‘What is Petrie charged with?’

  ‘Crap on charges,’ Empton said. ‘The AT Act doesn’t need any charges.’

  ‘Neither does it set aside the constituted authority,’ Gently said. ‘When Petrie leaves this room he goes to a cell.’

  ‘So a drive, so a cell – with Curtis and Meaker!’

  ‘With’, Gently said, ‘a duty officer. To this authority he has been brought and responsibility for him is with this authority.’ He turned to Guthrie. ‘We’ve done with Petrie. He can be admitted and given a cell. Should he be reinterrogated it will be in the presence of a senior officer.’

  ‘You bet,’ Guthrie said. ‘You bet.’ He rapped an order through the intercom.

  ‘By God I’ll break you for this,’ Empton said. ‘I’ll have you recalled. Your feet won’t touch.’

  Gently hunched. ‘You can try,’ he said. ‘The French have a consul in the town.’

  ‘Never mind the French, old man. Any more dead wollys are down to you.’

  ‘And Barentin’s safety to both of us,’ Gently said.

  ‘Ha, ha,’ Empton said. ‘Watch your back too.’

  A sergeant and a constable came. Petrie was marched off to be booked in. Empton stood glaring. Finally he snarled:

  ‘So we’re guessing again. Fetch in maps!’

  The girl in the canteen poured their coffee, yawned, went back to her paperback. A couple of patrolmen with plates of egg and chips were the only other occupants of the place. The atmosphere was warm, smelled of coffee, frying; an Espresso machine murmured behind the counter. Guthrie carried the cups. They sat down by a wall poster exhibiting a topless nude.

  ‘Holy Andrew,’ Guthrie said. ‘But we both stuck our necks out there, man.’

  Gently stirred in sugar. ‘It isn’t the first time we’ve crossed swords.’

  ‘Can he do what he says?’

  Gently drank, shook his head. ‘He’s got too much sense to try. Empton isn’t stupid.’

  ‘For certain he isn’t.’ Guthrie’s eyes were rounded. ‘And that’s what frightens me about him, man. He’s clever as sin and twice as immoral. He’d have had me shooting McGash at sight.’ Guthrie paused. ‘Not that I mightn’t.’

  ‘You wouldn’t,’ Gently said.

  ‘I’d be tempted. And that black-hearted heathen knew it. He was all for egging me on and giving me reasons why I should.’

  Gently drank. ‘We must get McGash first.’

  ‘Aye,’ Guthrie said. ‘So I’ve been thinking. But how, man?’

  After a while Gently said: ‘It may be I’ll have another tip.’

  ‘Another tip!’

  Gently drank. Mechanically Guthrie drank too. The two patrolmen took their plates to the counter and, with a quip to the girl, left. The Espresso machine gurgled: the girl came languidly to fetch the plates.

  ‘Hénault wants out,’ Gently said.

  ‘The devil,’ Guthrie said. ‘Then the chiel came close to it.’

  ‘Close enough. Hénault didn’t know the score, thought he’d been chartered for a smuggling run. Now he’s playing along but convinced that he’s for it at the end of the ride.’

  Guthrie whistled softly. ‘Sooner him than me! But am I to be told how he’s making contact?’

  Gently considered his cup for some moments, drank, said: ‘Through his former wife.’

  ‘My stars. He was closer still.’

  ‘Hénault got to a phone at Invergarry. He rang her, asked for help, told her to wait at Invergarry Hotel. There was another call, indicating the cottage. She passed it to Frénaye, who passed it to me. That was late last night, after the shooting. Today we went to find the cottage.’

  Guthrie gazed at him. ‘That former wife sounds a bit of a lassie.’

  ‘I’m not supposed to know she’s here,’ Gently said. ‘Her contact’s Frénaye. She won’t see me.’

  ‘But does she know what she’s playing with?’

  ‘She does now,’ Gently said. ‘Frénaye warned her off anything reckless. But there’s a complication. Barentin has been kind to her. She might take risks for him that she wouldn’t for Hénault.’

  Guthrie kept gazing. ‘You know her well, this lass?’

  Gently’s shoulder moved. ‘It’s a long story. She was implicated quite innocently in the Starnberg affair, so getting to know Frénaye, Barentin, myself.’

  ‘And you would not see harm come to her?’

  Gently said: ‘No.’

  Guthrie dropped his eyes to his cup. ‘Perhaps I should talk to her.’

  ‘Then we’ll lose our contact. After the last time she doesn’t trust counter-Intelligence agents.’

  ‘Ach,’ Guthrie said. ‘Then that makes two of us.’ He drained his cup, glanced to the counter. The girl was washing plates, a cigarette stuck to her lip. Guthrie leaned closer. ‘So what’s it to be?’

  ‘We wait for a fresh call,’ Gently said. ‘It may or may not come. But Hénault will be desperate after the shooting.’

  ‘And when it comes?’

  ‘Discreet reconnaissance.’

  ‘Aye,’ Guthrie nodded.

  ‘That will be my job. When we’ve cased the set-up we can see if a rescue bid is possible.’

  ‘It’ll be a tricksy business,’ Guthrie said.

  ‘We had our warning at the cottage,’ Gently said. ‘Perhaps nothing will be possible, and Empton’s right so far – I don’t want other Dickies on my conscience. What we have to plan is a way to draw them off, to trick them into leaving Barentin with Hénault. But they may not trust Hénault that far. Unless we’re clever they may shoot him first.’

  Guthrie kneaded his cup. ‘Do you have such a plan?’

  Gently said: ‘It may involve an open approach.’

  Guthrie hissed through his teeth. ‘You, man?’

  ‘It would be a job for a senior officer.’

  Gently drank up; the Espresso machine simmered; Guthrie kept trying to balance the cup. Some men came in laughing, indulging in horseplay. Then they saw Guthrie and shut up.

  Guthrie said: ‘It’s me for that job.’

  Gently shook his head. ‘Me. I was instrumental in the Starnberg affair. Talking to me may throw McGash off his guard.’

  ‘But you he’ll never spare.’

  ‘I shall hope to be covered.’

  ‘Man, you’ll be dead before you can blink.’

  ‘If McGash feels secure he’ll want to talk first. If only to gloat at having me at his mercy.’

  Guthrie slammed down the cup. ‘No, man! I cannot permit such wildish schemes. Dickie was enough, we’ll think of other ways. I will not see a man like yourself gunned down.’

  Gently shrugged. ‘The alternative is Empton’s.’

  ‘Aye – and perhaps it’s best after all!’

  ‘Barentin’s death could trigger many more.’

  ‘Even so,’ Guthrie said. ‘Even so.’

  Gently stared at his cup. The men had got their plates. They were eating in silence at a table across the room. They kept their eyes averted from Gently and Guthrie. Humming to herself, the girl was wiping down the counter.

  ‘But there’ll still be liaison?’ Guthrie said.

  Gently said: ‘I must stay in charge.’

  ‘Aye,’ Guthrie said. ‘But I’ll be informed?’

  After a pause, Gently nodded.

  ‘My God, what a business,’ Guthrie said. ‘And dumped down from nowhere on my doorstep. Why the hell did those bastards pick my manor?’

  ‘It’s one world,’ Gently said. ‘Old man.’

  * * *

  The desk in hotel reception was deserted and the public rooms were dark, but one caught the aroma of Frénaye’s tobacco; he rose from a settee as Gently came in.

  ‘Monsieur has had no trouble . . .?’

  Gently grunted. ‘Have you seen Empton?’

  ‘He came in half an hour since, monsieur. He asked me a number of questions,
but I had difficulty in understanding his French.’

  ‘Huh,’ Gently said. He plumped down on the settee and lit his own pipe, which tasted foul. Frénaye remained hovering. Reception was shadowy, lit by one bulb.

  ‘Well?’

  ‘No message, monsieur. In the morning I will try again.’

  ‘Did you pass on the news?’

  ‘I thought it best, though I regret to say that it caused great concern.’

  Gently puffed fiercely. ‘Look, Frénaye! I saw that car this afternoon.’

  ‘A car, monsieur . . .?’

  ‘Her car. She was up the glen and you know it.’

  Frénaye also sat; he kept his face to the shadows.

  ‘Monsieur, the call I made was of some length. I spoke with great feeling of a certain matter, and pointed out the difficulty of further concealment. Thus I was empowered, if pressed, to acknowledge my informant’s identity, but, at the same time, to make you understand that you must refrain from seeking a meeting. Monsieur, this fills me with great sadness. But I could exact no other concession.’

  ‘You spoke to her this afternoon?’

  ‘Briefly, monsieur. She was in fear of a confrontation.’

  ‘What was she doing there?’

  ‘She had grown impatient at receiving no further message from Hénault. She did not know where he was, but guessed it was somewhere in Glengarry.’

  Gently drew bitter smoke. ‘How did she seem?’

  ‘Very nervous, monsieur,’ Frénaye said. ‘One must not forget that she spends her time alone in the hotel, waiting for a call.’

  ‘Did she mention me?’

  ‘To ask where you were.’

  ‘And – this evening?’

  Frénaye sank his head. ‘I spoke of your great attachment, monsieur. She did not interrupt, but made no reply.’

  ‘Suppose I . . . rang her?’

  Frénaye gestured a negative. ‘Monsieur, my counsel must still be patience. The wound will heal, but as yet it has not. Monsieur’s regard is best shown by forbearance.’

  Later he stood by his window again, looking out at the river and sleeping town. Rain made the streetlights tender; it fell from a sky like black velvet.

  SIX

  IT WAS STILL raining on Friday morning when Gently crossed the bridge into town. A dreary wrack, like greasy smoke, was puffing across the sky and out to sea. Tourists, shoppers, wore ‘impermeables’ and hovered in doorways to raise umbrellas; from traffic queued at the lights came the steady thud of wipers. Buildings looked sullen and grimy; the slate roofs had a glint like slime.