Gently Floating

by Hunter Alan

  ‘You were lying,’ Gently said. ‘You didn’t go for a sail in a half-decker. That story won’t stand up for a moment, we can trap you all along the line. You couldn’t have got to Hickstead in the time. You don’t know what happened at Hickstead that evening. You can’t produce a witness who saw you there or on the way there, going or coming. You have given a false account of your movements from early evening till midnight on Tuesday.’

  John French didn’t say anything.

  ‘So where were you?’ Gently said.

  ‘I was where I said I was,’ John French said. ‘I can’t help about speedboats. It’s like I told you, I don’t notice them.’

  ‘And you can’t help about the wind?’ Gently said.

  ‘You can’t prove there wasn’t enough wind,’ John French said. ‘I don’t need much. I can sail. You can’t prove I didn’t go to Hickstead and back.’

  Gently said: ‘Let’s put it another way. This is a very serious matter. We know you didn’t get on with your father and that there was persistent trouble between you. Your father was killed. You will have to give an account of your movements at the time he was killed in court. The story you have told us won’t be believed. If you know of a better one, you’d better tell it.’

  John French didn’t say anything.

  ‘Have I made it plain?’ Gently said.

  ‘I know you’re against me,’ John French said. ‘Keep saying I’m lying when I’m telling the truth.’

  ‘I’m not against you,’ Gently said. ‘I’m warning you. You won’t be believed. And we’ll get the truth of it, you can depend on that. You’re a fool if you think you can lie your way out.’

  ‘Prove I’m lying,’John French said. ‘I don’t care what you think.’

  ‘It’s what a jury thinks that matters. You may find yourself caring about that,’ Gently said.

  John French crouched a little on the settee-berth, let his head sink into his shoulders. The heat in the saloon of the Kiama was due to her having no awning rigged. She smelled of dry timber and dry paint and sour upholstery and cigarette smoke, but she did not smell of rot. A tin on the table held many cigarette ends.

  ‘Let’s get back to Tuesday morning,’ Gently said. ‘What was the row about before you came to the yard?’

  ‘What row?’ John French said.

  ‘You had a row with your father,’ Gently said.

  ‘Oh no I didn’t,’ John French said. ‘You aren’t going to talk me into that. We just had breakfast and came down here, that’s all it was. There wasn’t any row.’

  ‘Perhaps about your working at the yard,’ Gently said.

  ‘You can perhaps all you like,’ John French said. ‘I’m not such a fool as you think I am.’

  ‘Perhaps about Rhoda Lidney,’ Gently said.

  John French’s head lifted. His eyes met Gently’s. They stared into Gently’s very hard. They were chocolate-brown eyes without streaks in them.

  ‘Was she the trouble?’ Gently said.

  ‘Don’t know what you’re talking about,’ John French said.

  ‘About you and Rhoda Lidney,’ Gently said. ‘And about your father cutting up rough over it.’

  John French kept meeting Gently’s eyes. ‘There’s nothing about me and Mrs Lidney,’ he said. ‘He couldn’t have cut up rough because there’s nothing to know. And if anyone says there is they’re liars.’

  ‘So you don’t even know Rhoda Lidney,’ Gently said.

  ‘I didn’t say that,’ John French said. ‘I know her, all right. I know Sid. But that’s not the same as the other thing.’

  ‘You’ve been to their house,’ Gently said.

  ‘Not to do that I haven’t,’ John French said. ‘I’ve been with Sid. There’s nothing in that, is there? Sid and me get on together.’

  ‘You’re a friend of his?’

  ‘Yes,’ John French said, ‘I suppose I’m allowed to have some friends. Sid taught me how to sail a boat. I haven’t got many friends round here. And I’ve been up to his once or twice and we’ve gone fishing and babbing together. I’ve never been there except with Sid. It’s all lies if they say I have.’

  ‘We’ve been hearing lies, then,’ Gently said. ‘And perhaps your father heard them too.’

  ‘I tell you he didn’t,’ John French said. ‘There was nothing to hear and he wouldn’t have cared anyway.’

  All this time he was looking straight at Gently though his chin was sinking down to his chest.

  ‘You might have been with Rhoda Lidney Tuesday night,’ Gently said.

  ‘I, I was out sailing,’ John French said.

  ‘Following a row about her in the morning,’ Gently said.

  ‘Don’t I keep telling you there wasn’t one?’ John French said. ‘You’re making all this up, you think it’s clever or something, but it’s a lot of bull, that’s what. You can’t prove it. I’ve told the truth.’

  ‘Where do the Lidneys live?’ Gently said.

  John French said nothing.

  ‘Perhaps in the bungalows,’ Gently said, ‘upstream of the bridge?’

  John French flung his book on the table. ‘What’s the use of talking to you?’ he said. ‘You’re going to blame it on to me somehow, that’s all they’ve fetched you down here for. And it’s a damn shame, that’s what it is, you think I’ve no one to stand up for me. But I’m going to get a lawyer, my father’s lawyer. I’m not going to be bullied around like this.’

  ‘You might as well tell me,’ Gently said, ‘I can find out from the next yard-hand.’

  ‘And why has it got to be me?’ John French said. ‘There’s dozens of people had it in for my father.’

  ‘Such as who?’ Gently said.

  ‘Dozens,’ John French said. ‘Nobody liked him. Dozens. Dozens! What about the Speltons – why aren’t you going after them?’

  ‘Why should I be?’ Gently said.

  ‘You don’t even know,’ John French said. ‘And you don’t care. You’re just after me. Because I’m his son and come in for the money, that’s the only reason, you can’t prove anything. But I can tell you something, the Speltons stand to gain, they knew I’d sell to them like a shot. And Dave threatened to belt my old man. Just put that in your pipe and smoke it.’

  John French panted, and sweat gleamed on his forehead. He was leaning forward and his chin was pushed out.

  ‘I see,’ Gently said. ‘What is it you’re going to sell them?’

  ‘Why not go and ask them?’ John French said. ‘It’ll make a change from bullying me. See how you get on with Dave Spelton.’

  ‘Yes,’ Gently said. ‘But why are you lying?’

  ‘I don’t have to sit here like this,’John French said. ‘I don’t have to answer any of your questions. I can have a lawyer. I’ve got the money.’

  ‘Do you think you’re shielding someone?’ Gently said.

  ‘Just don’t talk to me like that,’John French said. ‘You can talk to my lawyer, that’s what.’

  ‘You seem to be in need of one,’ Gently said.

  He was sweating too. It was very hot. His trousers were clinging behind his knees. The sun was over the edge of the Kiama’s hatchway and reaching his ankles and feet. He rose, stepped out into the well. In the well one felt a little breeze. From the well one saw the rise of the Kiama’s sheer to the line of her out-thrusting bowsprit. The bowsprit stood proud above the nettles. The Kiama was very still.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  THUS: SUPERINTENDENT GENTLY went across to the Country Club and there changed his tweed jacket for a fawn linen jacket which he had been providential enough to pack. He also exchanged his shoes for strap sandals and removed his tie and unbuttoned his shirt and after inquiry went into the Bridge Stores where he purchased a straw hat of Italian manufacture. Then he returned to the Club and ordered an iced lemonade shandy which he drank through two straws; but before allowing the rather pretty waitress who brought it to depart he asked her:

  ‘Where do the Lidneys live, miss?’
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  ‘Oh, them,’ the waitress said. ‘They live up the cinder path.’ She nodded where it was.

  ‘How far up?’ Gently asked.

  ‘Oh, just past Speltons,’ the waitress said. ‘Marshways, that’s the name of the bungalow. I wouldn’t live up there if you paid me.’

  ‘I’m not going to pay you,’ Gently said.

  ‘Well,’ the waitress said, ‘it’s a dump. Though I dare say it suits some people, probably you’ve heard about the Lidneys.’

  ‘About Mrs Lidney,’ Gently said.

  ‘I don’t know I’m sure,’ the waitress said. ‘A man must be a drip to let his wife carry on like that. They say he just goes out when she’s got a bloke there. I don’t know. There may be something wrong with him.’

  ‘Is it anyone in particular?’ Gently said.

  ‘Not from what one hears,’ the waitress said.

  ‘I heard young French had been round there,’ Gently said.

  ‘Oh, him,’ the waitress said.

  ‘So I heard,’ Gently said.

  ‘Well,’ the waitress said, ‘it might do him some good. You know his trouble. He sits here making eyes at us. Hasn’t got the pluck to speak up. The way he was brought up, I don’t know, I shouldn’t be running him down when he’s in trouble.’

  ‘His father was strict with him?’ Gently said.

  ‘So they say,’ the waitress said. ‘I’d better go.’

  Then Gently drank the iced lemonade shandy. He watched the waitress serving. She was rather pretty.

  Gently went out, took the cinder path which ran past the back of Speltons’ sheds. The back of Speltons’ sheds had three various doors, but each was locked or bolted inside. However, a notice pointed across the path to the gate of a redbrick house with newly painted woodwork. The notice said: Spelton Bros. (Jack Spelton–David Spelton) All Enquiries At The House. Gently went through the gate to the house. The front door of the house was standing ajar. Through it Gently saw a hall and stairs and a door lettered Office – Ring And Wait. He rang and waited. Time passed. He rang again, waited again. While he waited he noticed that the hall was laid with Turkey-carpet pattern lino and that the stairs were laid with blue velour carpet and the walls papered with fawn and green urn-patterned paper. He noticed also that the woodwork was painted broken white with peppermint green trim and he had leisure to examine a photograph of some yachts which hung facing the office in an elaborate fretwork frame. The name Spelton was worked into the fretwork along with bulrushes, a windpump and a heron. Then Gently rang the bell for some twenty seconds, after which he heard a soft movement at the top of the stairs. He looked up the stairs. A girl stood on the landing. She was leaning on the guard rail. She was staring at Gently. Gently said:

  ‘Hullo, there.’

  ‘Hullo,’ the girl said. She didn’t move. Her eyes seemed very large, stared at Gently without winking.

  ‘Are you in charge here?’ Gently said, nodding his head at the office.

  ‘Oh yes, I’m in charge,’ the girl said. ‘I look after everything. I’m in charge.’

  ‘Well, would you mind coming down?’ Gently said.

  The girl didn’t move for some moments. Then she straightened herself suddenly, came gliding, almost dancing down the stairs. She was smiling brilliantly.

  ‘Who are you?’ she said.

  ‘I’m a policeman,’ Gently said. He returned the smile.

  ‘Oh,’ she said, ‘you’ll be wanting a boat. And we haven’t got one left. What a pity.’

  ‘I’m not after a boat,’ Gently said.

  ‘Yes,’ the girl said. ‘They’re all out. We’re Speltons, we’re always booked right up. I’m extremely sorry. We’ve nothing for you.’

  She smiled again. It was a flashing smile. She had large china-blue eyes and they were opened wide. She had curling golden-brown hair that fell loosely, nearly to her shoulders. She was wearing a flowered knee-length dress and white ankle socks and tennis shoes. But she wasn’t a girl, Gently now saw. Her age would be nearer to thirty.

  ‘Well,’ Gently said. ‘I’m glad to hear you’re booked up.’

  ‘Oh, that doesn’t matter,’ she said. ‘You can come into the office. I don’t mind. Only I can’t let you have anything, of course. All the booking’s done through Hookers, but you’d know that, wouldn’t you, if you’re a policeman.’

  ‘What’s your name?’ Gently said.

  ‘V,’ she said. ‘It stands for Vera. Miss Vera Spelton. Dave and Jackie call me V.’

  She opened the door of the office, went gliding through, stood holding it. She had a slim, narrow-hipped figure with a slight bust, but well-rounded limbs. Her nose was blunt, a little snubbed, had freckles round the bridge. Her mouth was wide and smiling. She was tanned. She smelled of sunwarm hay. She pushed a chair towards Gently.

  ‘Do sit down,’ she said.

  Gently sat. Vera Spelton skipped to a chair behind an old walnut writing-table. There were two other chairs in the office and a filing cabinet and a chest of drawers, and on the walls hung many photographs of yachts and each photograph was in a fretwork frame. In addition there was a fretwork case containing a stock of burgee-badges in the Spelton colours, and a fretwork holder of coloured yacht postcards and a fretwork perpetual calendar on the writing-table. Vera Spelton picked up the calendar, adjusted it, replaced it, smiled at it.

  Now,’ she said, ‘about the yacht you’re having. You can’t have Victor. Victor’s out. You can’t have Damsel, Tomboy or Maid or any of the Breezes, they’re all out. Then there’s Melody, Insignia, Eclipse, Flame, Ensign, Novice and Dolly. Nothing there. Then there’s the Bird class, one to six. Fully booked. You don’t seem very lucky, do you?’

  No,’ Gently said. ‘Perhaps some other time.’

  ‘Oh, I’d fix you up if I could,’ Vera Spelton said. ‘Would you be one of our old customers?’

  ‘Not so very old,’ Gently said.

  ‘I’m not old at all,’ Vera Spelton said. ‘Do you think I’m attractive? Do you like me?’ She leaned across the table. ‘I’ll tell you a secret,’ she said. ‘Some of our customers think I’m attractive.’

  ‘Some of your customers?’

  ‘Shh,’ Vera Spelton said. ‘It’s a secret. You mustn’t let my brothers know. They’re very angry if people think I’m attractive. Silly, isn’t it? That’s how they are.’ She drew back, still smiling. ‘In the boats,’ she said. ‘Some of them have kissed me and put their arms round me and tried to do naughty things. I don’t let them, of course. But they try. They think I’m attractive.’

  ‘Why do you go in the boats with them?’ Gently said.

  ‘Oh,’ she said, ‘there’s lot’s of excuses. To see if they’ve got clean sheets or know about the toilet, any excuse to go in the cabin with them. Then my arm gets round their waist, that’s one of the ways I’m attractive, or I touch them in a special way. It’s very easy when you know how.’

  ‘And your brothers are angry?’ Gently said.

  Vera Spelton pouted. ‘They shout at me. They shout at the customers. That’s not the way to run a business, is it?’

  ‘I’m not a businessman,’ Gently said.

  ‘No,’ Vera Spelton said. ‘It’s silly. But it makes it exciting, knowing they’ll be angry. I don’t mind them shouting at me.’

  ‘I take it you’re only attractive to the customers,’ Gently said.

  ‘Oh, I attract most people,’ Vera Spelton said. ‘Only I can’t go into the boats with other people, you have to go somewhere with them alone.’

  ‘How about somebody else’s boat?’ Gently said.

  ‘No,’ she said. ‘Then I wouldn’t have an excuse. It’s very complicated, really it is. If you don’t know the rules you can’t do it.’

  ‘Did you use to attract Mr French?’ Gently said.

  Vera Spelton’s eyes smiled an inquiry. ‘Who is that?’ she said. ‘I don’t know who you mean.’

  ‘Your neighbour,’ Gently said. ‘The man who kept the yard across the ro
ad.’

  Vera Spelton shook her head. ‘Don’t go there for a boat,’ she said. ‘Their boats are no good, they’re all rubbish. Nobody goes to them twice. Did you just want a boat for yourself, or is it a party you want it for?’

  ‘You’ll know his son, John French,’ Gently said. ‘Harry French the father, John French the son. French’s boat-yard. Harry French. You’d have known Harry French?’

  ‘I’m extremely sorry,’ Vera Spelton said. ‘All our boats are out in any case. We’re Speltons, of course, we’re always booked up. I don’t think we can do anything for you.’

  ‘Harry French,’ Gently said, ‘in his launch.’

  ‘We don’t cater for launch-hirers,’ Vera Spelton said.

  ‘A big man in a launch,’ Gently said.

  ‘We don’t like launch-parties here,’ Vera Spelton said. Suddenly she picked up the calendar, held it out to Gently. ‘You didn’t know I did fretwork, did you?’ she said. ‘I’ve done all this in here.’

  ‘Harry French, who made your brothers angry,’ Gently said.

  ‘Yes, I’m very good at it,’ Vera Spelton said. ‘They won’t let me work on the boats, though I’m just as clever as they are, so this is what I do. I could sell it for money if I wanted. Do you do fretwork?’

  Gently said nothing.

  ‘I really could sell it,’ Vera Spelton said. ‘All sorts of things. Even furniture. I’m just as clever as they are.’

  She smiled at Gently without meeting his eyes, smiled at the calendar, the writing-table. A flashing smile. She had small brown hands with mobile, flat-tipped fingers. The fingers moved about the calendar, feeling the outline of the design. She breathed quickly. The smile lighted every part of her sunned face. Gently’s shoulders lifted.

  ‘Where can I find your brothers?’ he said.

  ‘Oh,’ she said. ‘Dave and Jackie. I don’t know. They’re not here.’

  ‘Aren’t they in the yard?’ Gently said.

  ‘I couldn’t say where they are,’ she said. ‘But it’s no use going to them. I’m afraid you must come back some other week.’