Gently Floating

by Hunter Alan

  John French drank coffee. He was trembling. He said:

  ‘I crawled across under the sitting room, the bungalow’s on piles off the ground. There’s a repair done to the floor there and it’s left a gap and I could listen through it. She was trying to get him to see sense. She told him about the Jimpsons and the dance hall. She admitted things about me, tried to make out she was doing him a service. I don’t think she knew I was listening, she said things she wouldn’t have said. It didn’t have any effect. My father was wild, right off his head. She made a sort of pass at him I think, he said something about sooner bathing in a cesspit. Then he went and I could hear her swearing, stamping about the room and swearing, and after I was sure he’d gone I came out and she was still swearing but she was sitting down. I sat down too. I wasn’t feeling well. She swore at me, swore at him. It was getting late. Reuben’s had finished. I didn’t seem to have any strength left. Then Sid came back, I don’t know when. He drank some whisky, quite a lot. Mrs Sid calmed down, gave me some whisky, put her arm round me, said she hadn’t meant it. I said I’d still go to the loan office. She said yes, she was sure I would. Then I said I’d have to think up a story to tell my father, I wasn’t going to admit that I’d been hiding there. Sid didn’t say anything at all. He sat in the armchair drinking whisky. I was feeling a bit better. I left, went home in the outboard dinghy.’

  ‘In the outboard dinghy,’ Gently said.

  John French drank coffee, nodded.

  ‘What did you see?’ Gently said.

  ‘I,’ John French said, ‘I saw my father’s launch.’

  He held the beaker with both hands because the beaker was shaking. He said:

  ‘I, I nearly ran into it. It was on the right-hand side. It was opposite the Speltons’ sheds. It was slantways on, trailing its painter. I pulled up, I could see it was empty, there were lights at Speltons’, they may have heard me. It gave me a fright at first, I thought he was waiting for me, then I could see it was adrift. So I went on.’

  ‘And left it there,’ Gently said.

  ‘Yes,’ John French said, ‘I left it, yes.’

  ‘You didn’t take it in tow,’ Gently said. ‘You didn’t think it worthwhile to look for your father.’

  ‘But I didn’t know,’ John French said. ‘How was I to know what had happened to him? I wasn’t thinking of anything like that, I was thinking he was hanging about trying to catch me. I didn’t want anything to do with his launch. I didn’t care what happened to it. It had got adrift, that’s all I thought about it. I wasn’t going to put myself out bringing it in.’

  ‘It didn’t strike you as at all significant?’ Gently said.

  ‘No,’ John French said, ‘why should it, I was only too glad he wasn’t aboard.’

  ‘Not after the scene at the bungalow, the fighting?’ Gently said. ‘Sid going out before your father left, coming back to drink, the drifting launch . . . ?’

  ‘No,’ John French said, ‘no, it’s true, my God I didn’t think that at the time. I thought about it later but not then. If I’d thought about it then I would have done something.’

  ‘How much later did you think about it?’ Gently said.

  ‘Later, later,’ John French said. ‘When I got to our staithe, when there wasn’t a boat there. Even then he might have walked, had his car.’

  ‘I see,’ Gently said. ‘Go on.’

  ‘That was how it was,’ John French said. ‘I went home in the dinghy, I thought he’d have taken a workboat, I only hoped he wasn’t coming up behind me. But there was nothing at the staithe, nothing coming behind. That’s when I started to wonder about it. And if his launch had gone adrift you’d have thought he’d have gone after it, he’d have had plenty of time before I left the bungalow.’

  ‘You might have been expected to think that,’ Gently said.

  ‘I did think it,’ John French said, ‘I’m telling you I did. But he could just have rung the police, come home by road. I didn’t know. Not till I went to the house. I expected to find him waiting for me.’

  ‘So he wasn’t waiting for you?’ Gently said.

  ‘No he wasn’t,’ John French said, ‘He wasn’t in the house, not in his bedroom, the door was ajar, I looked in. Then I began to think something had happened, it was midnight, he didn’t come. He was in a rage, he might have fallen in. He wasn’t a swimmer, he’d have drowned.’

  ‘So naturally you rang us,’ Gently said.

  ‘How could I?’ John French said, ‘how could I?’

  ‘You’re certainly on the telephone,’ Gently said, ‘and the number of the police station is on the front of the instrument.’

  ‘But I’d have had to have told them everything,’ John French said.

  ‘You’re having to tell it to me now,’ Gently said.

  ‘And you’re not believing me,’ John French said. ‘They wouldn’t have believed me. They’d have said I killed him.’

  ‘Whereas,’ Gently said, ‘you say it’s Sid who killed him. Though it’s only your word against his.’

  John French closed his eyes. The beaker was slanted in his hands. Some coffee spilled out of the beaker, over his fingers, on to his knees. He didn’t straighten the beaker, didn’t brush at the coffee on his trousers. The coffee made stains on the trousers. Gently took the beaker from John French. John French said:

  ‘I, I don’t say Sid killed him. That’s what you, you’re making me say.’

  ‘Is there,’ Gently said, ‘any other way of interpreting the account you’ve been giving me?’

  ‘Yes,’ John French said, ‘Sid didn’t kill him. I know he didn’t. You’ll have to believe me.’

  ‘Then if Sid didn’t, you did,’ Gently said. ‘That’s the position we seem to have come to.’

  John French swayed his head. ‘I’ve talked to him,’ he said. ‘He came to me. He brought it up. After the body was found. We talked about it. He didn’t see my father again. He knew I was thinking he could have done it. He told me where he went, up the cinder path. I think he was wondering if I’d done it, too. I told him everything. He didn’t do it.’

  ‘You’ve a touching faith,’ Gently said. ‘You’d better be wrong for your sake. But nobody said your father was killed before you left the bungalow, perhaps you’re the better suspect after all.’

  John French’s lips moved. He didn’t say anything.

  ‘He may have kept watch outside,’ Gently said. ‘He was certain you were there, that you’d come out later. Perhaps the launch wasn’t so empty when you found it.’

  ‘He,’ John French said. He stopped.

  ‘You know when he was killed,’ Gently said.

  ‘I, I don’t know anything,’ John French said. ‘Just what I’ve told you. I can’t tell you any more. I didn’t see it happen. I don’t know who did it.’

  ‘Yes, that’s what you do know,’ Gently said.

  ‘No,’ John French said, ‘no, I don’t know. I’ve told you all I can tell you, it’s the truth. Sid’ll tell you the same, he didn’t know you’d get it out of me.’

  ‘You know who did it and when,’ Gently said. ‘I’ve got nothing out of you I didn’t have before. It wasn’t worth your while to lie any longer so you decided to confess. To put yourself in the clear.’

  ‘No,’ John French said.

  ‘You’re shopping Lidney,’ Gently said.

  ‘Not Sid, not Sid,’ John French said.

  ‘Yes, Sid,’ Gently said. ‘But you’re implicated. You must be. You started straight away on your alibi. If you were as innocent as you claim you’d have rung the police, not waked the housekeeper.’

  ‘I couldn’t ring the police,’ John French said. ‘Beattie, I’d thought of that before. If I avoided my father. That was the alibi. To tell him I’d been out sailing.’

  ‘But when your father was missing?’ Gently said.

  ‘I, I had to have an alibi,’ John French said. ‘If something was wrong, if I was asked. He might have come back after all.’

&n
bsp; ‘But you didn’t care,’ Gently said.

  ‘No, I didn’t care,’ John French said. ‘I do now. I didn’t then. He could be dead. I didn’t care.’

  ‘So who did it?’ Gently said.

  John French closed his eyes, groaned.

  ‘If it wasn’t Sid,’ Gently said, ‘it was Dave Spelton.’

  John French trembled. He said nothing.

  ‘Yes, Dave Spelton,’ Gently said. ‘If it wasn’t you, wasn’t Sid. Your pal Dave. The yachtbuilder. Waiting in the wings with a hammer.’

  ‘Oh God,’ John French said.

  ‘You’d cover up for him,’ Gently said. ‘He’s a symbol. He makes these things. Perhaps he had a right to kill your father. Perhaps he came to the door looking for his sister, had the hammer in his hand, saw his enemy standing there on the plot of land, lifted the hammer, squared accounts. That would fit pretty well wouldn’t it? Fit the facts. Fit the man.’

  ‘No, not Dave, no,’ John French said.

  ‘So,’ Gently said, ‘who did it?’

  ‘I don’t know, I don’t know, I don’t know,’ John French said. ‘What’s the use of asking me, I don’t know. I don’t. I don’t know.’ He opened his eyes suddenly. He rolled them at Gently. ‘I’m a liar,’ he said, ‘a liar, all I’ve been telling you is lies. I never went to the bungalow at all. I never had a row with my father. I was sailing. I was up here. I was sailing. Sailing. Like I told you all along. The rest is lies. I was sailing.’

  ‘I see,’ Gently said. ‘I must remember Dave Spelton.’

  ‘Out sailing,’ John French said. ‘You can’t break it. Out sailing.’

  He grabbed the coffee beaker, drained it, hurled the beaker up forward. He was shaking like the reeds. He went to the mudweight, lifted the mudweight. He shoved on the reeds with the boathook, came aft, threw himself down by the helm. The ebb was running, Shakuntala moved. The swans oared away from them. Gently was silent.

  CHAPTER NINE

  SO SUPERINTENDENT GENTLY came down from Haynor Sounds in the half-decker Shakuntala with John French at the helm and no questions asked or answered: very slowly on the ebb tide with a ripple of breeze at rare moments meeting cruisers coming up ugly launches a yacht under power. He disembarked at Haynor bridge. He was more sunburned, perhaps wiser. He said nothing at parting to John French. He carried the lunch-basket and flask into the Country Club. In the lounge of the Country Club he found Inspector Parfitt and Detective Constable Joyce drinking tea, eating toast. He ordered tea and toast from the waitress and joined Inspector Parfitt and Detective Constable Joyce. Inspector Parfitt’s face was shiny. He stared at Gently, drank tea, said:

  ‘Do I look the same as I did this morning?’

  ‘Yes,’ Gently said. ‘Much the same.’

  ‘Well I’m not,’ Parfitt said, ‘not at all the same. I’m a grinning idiot. Take a look at me.’

  ‘It’s been a warm day,’ Gently said.

  ‘Not,’ Parfitt said, ‘only warm. We’ve had a session, and man what a session. As from tomorrow I’m chucking police work.’

  Gently grinned at Parfitt. ‘Snap,’ he said. ‘Did you soften Lidney for me?’

  ‘Yeah,’ Parfitt said. ‘Somebody softened somebody, off the cuff I wouldn’t like to say who.’ He poured more tea, drank more tea. ‘I’ve been brainwashed, threatened and insulted,’ he said. ‘I’m to be sued for slander, breaking and entering, rape, assault and hell knows what else. Maybe I bashed Harry French myself, I haven’t an alibi for Tuesday evening. If you said I did it I wouldn’t contradict you. I’ve got just the hammer in my toolshed.’

  ‘No,’ Gently said. ‘No phoney confessions.’

  ‘You wouldn’t spot the difference,’ Parfitt said. ‘I’ve got the details too pat. Let me confess and get it over.’

  ‘I’ve been out with young French,’ Gently said.

  ‘We’ll both confess,’ Parfitt said. ‘I want to get back to the sneak-thieves and double-parkers. I’ll murder the next murderer.’

  He ate toast, sipped tea. The waitress came with Gently’s order. It was the pretty waitress. Parfitt looked at her. Detective Constable Joyce looked at her. Gently poured his tea. The waitress retired. Parfitt sliced a piece of toast.

  ‘Yes,’ Parfitt said. ‘I don’t know who’s the chummie, who’s the policeman any longer. If they lie like Lidney lies you wind up believing them in the long run. I had to get out of that place. He was breaking me down, him and his missus. I’m not kidding, that’s a fact. I was starting to think we’d got it all wrong.’

  ‘That’s interesting,’ Gently said.

  ‘Oh very interesting,’ Parfitt said.

  ‘What were your impressions?’ Gently said to Detective Constable Joyce.

  ‘I don’t know, sir,’ Detective Constable Joyce said. ‘He’s a queer nut is Sid Lidney. There isn’t much I’d put past him. At times I thought we’d got him rocking, other times he seemed quite sure of himself. You’ll hardly get him to confess, sir.’

  ‘Don’t be funny, Joyce,’ Parfitt said.

  ‘Well that’s my impression, sir,’ Joyce said. ‘If he’s the chummie he won’t confess.’

  ‘He didn’t make any admissions,’ Gently said, ‘nothing about young French, about money.’

  ‘Nix,’ Parfitt said. ‘Nix again. I couldn’t shake them about either.’

  ‘Hmn,’ Gently said. ‘What do you know of his relatives?’

  ‘I’d say they’ll have disowned him,’ Parfitt said. ‘I believe he’s got cousins in the next village, farming people, name of Jimpson.’

  ‘Do they own the dance hall here?’ Gently said.

  Parfitt shook his head.

  ‘Yes, sir,’ Joyce said. ‘It belonged to their father. It’s been closed since he died. I knew the old man, I used to go there.’

  ‘Well, well,’ Gently said. ‘Have you finished your tea, Joyce?’

  ‘Yes, sir,’ Joyce said, ‘just finishing.’

  ‘Take the car,’ Gently said, ‘go and interview the Jimpsons. Find out what they’re intending to do with the dance hall, whether Lidney holds any sort of option on it, whether John French is connected with the deal, whether they’re proposing to withdraw the option. Whether there was a date on which Lidney promised payment but defaulted from paying. Just the information, we’ll get statements later, don’t waste time, bring it back here.’

  ‘Yes, sir,’ Joyce said, gulping down toast. ‘Details of an option granted to Lidney.’

  ‘With special reference to John French as a backer,’ Gently said.

  ‘Yes, sir,’ Joyce said, ‘I’m with you.’ He drank tea, stood up, went.

  Parfitt held his toast-knife vertical, took a sight over the tip of the blade. ‘Is this what I think it is?’ he said. ‘You’ve got chapter and verse for the motive?’

  Gently shrugged. ‘Joyce is going to find out for me,’ he said.

  ‘You screwed this out of young French,’ Parfitt said.

  Gently said: ‘John French came clean, then he withdrew all he’d told me. But he was telling the truth, I had him rubber-legged, he could only hold out on the odd lie. He gave himself and Mrs Lidney an alibi, left Lidney holding the hammer.’

  ‘For that I’ll love him,’ Parfitt said. ‘After that I’ll be his elder brother.’

  ‘Only I’m not sure,’ Gently said, ‘what were the lies he was holding out on. He denies either doing it himself or knowing who did do it, those are the critical lies of the bunch. Which makes you look closer at Mrs Lidney.’

  ‘I still love him,’ Parfitt said. ‘I’ll accept Mrs Lidney and still love him. If I met Mrs Lidney with a hammer in her hand I’d blow a whistle and run like a bastard.’

  ‘French was left alone with Mrs Lidney,’ Gently said. ‘By John French’s account she’s the last person to have been with him. Except that John French says different she could have followed him from the bungalow and she was in a murderous mood when he left. She’d let out something he didn’t know, what John French was aimi
ng to do with his money. That was a false step. He’d have made her understand that. There was only one way for her to retrieve the situation. And if he knew she’d done it you’d expect John French to cover for her, even to throw Lidney to the wolves if it became a choice. The woman who makes a man of you is a special woman. She may be a Rhoda Lidney, but you wouldn’t give her away.’

  ‘So she’s the chummie,’ Parfitt said.

  ‘No,’ Gently said, ‘I just don’t know. There’s so much truth in what John French told me that I can only speculate, starting with the lies. Because there’s Dave Spelton too, John French is tender about him. Dave Spelton is what John French would like to be, a man who designs and builds yachts. He’s a symbol. French would cover for him. It was my bearing down on Spelton that made French recant. He’d got to the end when I suggested Spelton, all he could do then was retreat to his first alibi.’

  ‘Oh, the devil,’ Parfitt said, ‘there’s no dragging in Spelton at this stage. We’re lined up, we’re set to go, the Speltons are out, I never did like them for it.’

  ‘But we aren’t lined up,’ Gently said. ‘We’re still playing with three or four suspects. They’re covering for each other. They know who did it. That’s the situation. We haven’t cracked it.’

  ‘But not Spelton,’ Parfitt said, ‘not in this world, not Spelton. At one time the Speltons were right in the picture, but hell they aren’t there any longer. Their grudge is an old one, goes too far back. There’s nothing in that angle about French abusing the sister. The Lidneys and the son, that boiled up on Tuesday. It’s between those three, doesn’t touch the Speltons.’

  Gently looked at Parfitt. ‘You too?’ he said.

  ‘All right, me too,’ Parfitt said. ‘I’m a local man, I was bred at the riverside, I know how young French would feel about the Speltons. Besides it’s common sense to eliminate the Speltons. They were outside of what was going on that night.’