Gently with the Ladies

by Alan Hunter

  Reynolds, when he returned, actually tapped at his own office door. He came in subduedly, followed by Buttifant, and was carrying a manilla envelope which bulged slightly.

  ‘Sorry to keep you, Chief.’

  Gently grunted. Reynolds took the chair reserved for visitors. He had an air of awkwardness about him, as though he had something unpleasant to get off his chest. He opened his mouth, changed his mind, then said at last in a hurry:

  ‘Chief, I’ve come round to your point of view. I’ve decided not to charge Fazakerly.’

  Gently’s brows lifted. ‘Come again?’

  ‘I’ve decided we don’t have a case. Not a case we could win, that is. So I’ve put a tail on him and let him go.’

  ‘You’ve done what?’

  ‘I couldn’t hold him, not after I decided not to charge him.’ He rustled the envelope nervously. ‘I’ve been having a word with Macpherson,’ he said.

  Gently fumbled a light for his pipe. This wasn’t what he’d expected at all! He had an uneasy sensation of having pushed too hard, and of now having the tables turned on him. Perhaps till now he’d failed to realize how strong was his conviction of Fazakerly’s guilt: he’d counted on Reynolds to uphold it staunchly, even while he himself was flirting with doubts.

  ‘Macpherson was here about another matter,’ Reynolds explained. Macpherson was attached to the Public Prosecutor’s office. ‘I thought I’d ask him for an opinion. And you were right, Chief. He didn’t like it. He said I’d better hang on for a bit and try to sew it up tighter. He didn’t like Mrs Bannister for a witness. He seemed to think we were concentrating too hard on Fazakerly.’

  ‘Macpherson,’ Gently said. ‘Yes . . . he’s canny.’

  ‘He took the same line as you did, Chief.’

  ‘And so you let him go.’

  ‘Isn’t that what you’d have wanted?’

  Gently shrugged. Now he wasn’t so certain!

  ‘But you had the sense to put a tail on him.’

  Reynolds looked perplexed. ‘Yes . . . I thought . . .’

  ‘Where did he go?’

  ‘At first to his sister-in-law’s, then he took a room at the Coq d’Or in Vincent Street. He’s in there now, having a meal. Thompson phoned a few minutes ago.’

  ‘Have the Press got on to him?’

  ‘Don’t think so, Chief.’

  ‘There’ll be some pretty hot copy when they do.’

  Reynolds squirmed. ‘But I couldn’t go on holding him. Macpherson said outright he wouldn’t recommend the case. And anyway, I’ve come up with a new lead since then, and this one doesn’t point to Fazakerly.’

  He hastily jerked open his envelope and shot the contents on the desk.

  What fell, or cascaded, from the envelope was a necklace composed of diamonds and emeralds.

  It was an expensive necklace. It flashed and iridesced with a fire that was unmistakable, and the principal stones were of a size to silence deprecatory conjecture. They were set in baroque platinum settings dusted with chips and seed pearls, alternate diamonds and emeralds, in the form of a gorget linked with a chain. It was formidable. One knew at a glance it transcended the common extravagances of jewellery.

  Gently gazed at it, lying tumbled on the desk.

  ‘So,’ he said, ‘where did this come from?’

  ‘It came from a dustbin.’

  ‘From where?’

  ‘From a dustbin. A dustbin in the back area of Carlyle Court.’

  ‘Did it now,’ Gently said. ‘Well, I knew they were pretty well-heeled in that district. But if they’re tossing this sort of thing in their dustbins there’s going to be a rush to sign-on the dust-wagon. Who turned it in?’

  ‘Old Dobson, the porter. He makes a point of sorting over the rubbish.’

  ‘I’m not surprised. There’s a future in it. And of course, this belonged to Mrs Fazakerly?’

  Reynolds nodded. ‘Dobson took it to Stockbridge, who got on the phone to us in a hurry. He knew who it belonged to because he used to keep it for her. There’s a safe in his office where tenants deposit valuables. She had this out on the Monday morning ready for some function in the evening.’

  ‘And it wasn’t in the flat when you took over?’

  ‘No. Buttifant and Thompson checked the flat.’

  ‘There were some bits in a jewel-box, sir,’ Buttifant said.

  ‘But they’re still up there. We’ve just had a look.’

  ‘And the flat’s been sealed.’

  ‘You saw it was, Chief. Nobody’s been monkeying there since. So this must have been removed prior to our going there, that is, between about noon and four-forty-seven p.m.

  ‘Which irresistibly suggests that the murderer took it.’

  ‘Well, yes, Chief, I think it does. An ordinary thief wouldn’t have thrown it in the dustbin. It had to be someone who knew it was too hot.’

  Gently picked up the necklace and let it run through his fingers.

  ‘Odd,’ he said. ‘Fazakerly suggested a burglar. Yet a burglar doesn’t fit any better than he does, because all a burglar had to do was to sneak out.’

  ‘But if she caught him at it—’

  ‘Sitting on the settee?’

  ‘He may have been lurking on the veranda.’

  ‘So why didn’t he lurk there a bit longer, instead of murdering Mrs Fazakerly on his way out?’

  ‘Well, he was in full view of the street—’

  Gently clicked his tongue impatiently. ‘And so he must have been for over an hour, from when Mrs Fazakerly came back from lunch. But he wouldn’t have been there in the first place. You don’t look for jewellery in the lounge. He’d have been frisking her dressing-room down the hall – that’s where the jewel-box was, wasn’t it?’

  Reynolds nodded reluctantly.

  ‘So that’s where she’d trap him when she came back. And if he hadn’t made his getaway sooner, he’d have done it while the row was going on in the lounge.’

  ‘But then why did he get rid of the necklace, Chief?’

  ‘That’s my point. He doesn’t fit.’

  ‘But someone did—’

  ‘Someone did. And I agree it doesn’t point to Fazakerly.’ He gave the necklace a little toss. ‘Did you show this to Mrs Bannister?’ he asked.

  ‘No. Stockbridge identified it positively. I didn’t see any need to bother her. You don’t think . . .’

  Gently hunched a shoulder. He laid the necklace back on the desk. For a few moments he sat silently studying it and teasing out its shape with a reverent forefinger. Then he said:

  ‘Right. Get her on the phone, will you? Tell her you want her here for something important.’

  Reynolds hesitated. ‘We could soon run it round, Chief—’

  ‘No.’ Gently smiled. ‘I think I’d like to have her here.’

  She arrived. Reynolds had sent an Imperial for her, after much humility over the phone, but still she had kept them waiting and could be heard expostulating on her way up the stairs. She was wearing a green satin evening dress and a mink cape and elbow-length gloves and carried a snake-skin bag with a gold chain, gold frame and jade studs. She swept into the office, then saw Gently.

  ‘Oh,’ she said. ‘You’re behind this, are you? I might have guessed it needed someone with less consideration than Inspector Reynolds.’

  Gently inclined his head.

  ‘And since I’m here, I may as well tell you that I’m furious. You’ve let Siggy loose. And I won’t stand for it. If you don’t prosecute him, I will.’

  ‘You know about that, Mrs Bannister?’

  ‘Yes. The Merryn woman phoned me. And I’m fairly certain of one thing, Superintendent, that it was your meddling that was responsible. I think it’s scandalous. I intend to complain, and if I can show you up I will. There’s too much softness with murderers these days, not to mention very peculiar police action.’

  ‘Miss Merryn rang to tell you we’d released Fazakerly?’

  ‘She certainly did.
I suppose it’s true?’

  ‘She told you she’d seen him?’

  ‘Of course. She was shocked. I believe she was concerned for her personal safety.’

  ‘Why should she be, Mrs Bannister?’

  ‘Oh, don’t pretend to be dense. He thinks it was she who told Clytemnestra about the woman, and knowing her I would say he’s right.’

  ‘Did she say he’d threatened her?’

  ‘Not exactly that. But if he’s done it once he can do it again. The more so because he seems to be getting away with it this time, thanks to interference from a certain quarter. Now perhaps you can tell me why I’m wanted?’

  Gently nodded.‘Won’t you sit down, Mrs Bannister.’

  ‘First I’d like to know why I’m here.’

  ‘It’s because of some special knowledge we think you have.’

  She stared hard for a moment, then looked about for the chair. Reynolds, who’d been listening unhappily to these exchanges, hastened to slide the chair towards her. She laid her bag on the desk but didn’t take off her gloves. She sat sedately, ankles crossed, skirt arranged and hands together.

  ‘Well?’

  ‘Do you remember a Beryl Rogers?’

  That was the last question she’d expected. Her eyes widened and then blurred, and a gloved hand twitched towards her bosom. But she said icily:

  ‘Am I supposed to?’

  ‘I’m asking you, Mrs Bannister.’

  ‘Very well then. Yes, I remember her. I remember a Beryl Rogers.’

  ‘She was a friend of yours.’

  ‘Not exactly a friend, just a very brief acquaintance. A few weeks. I know nothing about her. It was several years ago.’

  ‘You’ve lost sight of her completely.’

  ‘Yes, completely. She went abroad.’

  ‘She hasn’t, to your knowledge, returned to this country?’

  Her eyes jumped to his. ‘No. Not to my knowledge.’

  ‘Would she have contacted you if she had?’

  She shook her head slightly, eyes still fixed on him.

  ‘But you were an acquaintance of hers, you could probably have helped her. I mean, you might have contacts that would help her professionally.’

  She shook her head again. ‘No. I couldn’t have helped her. And she wouldn’t have come after help. I’m sorry, I can’t give you information about her. She simply went abroad about five years ago.’

  ‘Did you know the friend she was living with?’

  Mrs Bannister said sharply: ‘What friend?’

  ‘Another journalist. A Miss Johnson. They were sharing accommodation at the time you knew her.’

  Mrs Bannister’s eyes glinted. ‘No, I didn’t know her. Beryl never mentioned a friend to me. She was living in a houseboat down at the Steps, a frightful old wreck. I never went aboard it. Who told you about the friend?’

  ‘You don’t know who she is?’

  ‘Haven’t I already said so?’

  ‘Or that she lives in Rochester?’

  Mrs Bannister went still. ‘Not – Siggy’s woman?’ Gently nodded.

  ‘Oh my God.’ Mrs Bannister paled, and this time her hand reached her bosom. She stared haggardly at nothing and rocked a little in her chair.

  ‘Perhaps now you appreciate our interest,’ Gently said. ‘There’s an unusual connexion here with Mrs Fazakerly. And if by chance Miss Rogers has returned to this country we shall be very interested to interview her.’

  Mrs Bannister closed her eyes. ‘What a mess,’ she said.

  ‘Is that all you have to tell us?’

  ‘Beryl isn’t mixed up with it. She’s in New Zealand. She’d never have come back over here.’

  ‘You’re quite certain.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘It wasn’t the reason why Mrs Fazakerly was angry.’

  ‘No! It couldn’t have been.’

  ‘Nor, for example, why this was taken from the flat?’

  She stared at his slowly-opening hand and at the necklace lying in it. She caught her breath and made a trembling gesture. She was paler than before.

  Reynolds also was gaping big-eyed, though not, in his case, at the necklace. Quite apparently the Beryl Rogers angle was fresh ground to him. Gently had produced it, like a conjurer’s silks, from nothing accountable or consequent, and the reaction to it of Mrs Bannister was proof enough of its validity. But where, how, could he have come by this draft of seeming omniscience?

  ‘Well, Mrs Bannister?’

  ‘It’s . . . Clytemnestra’s necklace.’

  ‘You have no doubt of that?’

  She shuddered. ‘None. I know it too well. I know it better than anything of mine.’

  ‘Because Mrs Fazakerly was always wearing it?’

  ‘Because, yes, she was always wearing it. Whenever we went anywhere together she wore that necklace. It was a symbol.’

  ‘A symbol of what?’

  ‘Of domination. Of triumph. Of threat. In one word, of her power. Of the power she had to destroy people.’

  ‘And she wore it for your benefit?’

  ‘Entirely for my benefit.’

  ‘She had the power to destroy you?’

  Mrs Bannister shuddered again, and said ‘Yes.’

  ‘So,’ Gently said, ‘you went in fear of her.’

  But now she shook her head vigorously. ‘No. I loved her, you understand? And she loved me, in her own fashion. I loved her even because she wore the symbol, because she had that power over me; it was right, it belonged to her, she had the prerogative of life or death. But I see you don’t understand, and perhaps it’s impossible that you should. You are mere men, and your love is egotism. The esoteric side is beyond you.’

  ‘Perhaps you thought she wouldn’t have destroyed you.’

  ‘Quite the contrary. I believed she would. Every loving is a destruction and without it is no love. She destroyed me once and made me live again. The knife of destruction was always pricking me. The sublime of love lies in that knife-point and the belief in the thrust which doesn’t come.’

  ‘But the knife slipped a little with Beryl Rogers.’

  ‘The knife destroyed me. It was intended.’

  ‘And destroyed her.’

  ‘She came between us. I know that now. Clytemnestra was right.’

  She leaned back with closed eyes, her pale face dragged and flat.

  ‘Clytemnestra was in part to blame,’ she said. ‘She would go over to Paris alone. She had a friend there, I don’t doubt, or some hireling who pleased her. I’ve never stood in Clytemnestra’s way. I loved her too much for petty jealousy. But I missed her, that was what led to it, I was so miserable and lonely; and then I saw Beryl wearing a green costume, and something snapped, and I knew it must be. I made her drunk and took her home and the poor slut was almost grateful. And I was blind with infatuation. I even put some of Clytemnestra’s clothes on her. Oh, I committed every blasphemy; when Clytemnestra came, the knife went home.’

  ‘In effect, Miss Rogers was falsely accused.’

  ‘I don’t know what happened. I was sent away.’

  ‘You know what part this necklace played in it.’

  ‘Yes. I had to know why Clytemnestra wore it.’

  ‘And you have no more feelings for Beryl Rogers, Mrs Bannister?’

  ‘No more feelings. That self was destroyed.’

  ‘So if I rang this bell and she walked through the door, you would scarcely bother to turn your head.’

  Her eyes sprang open, but she didn’t turn her head. She glared at Gently. ‘Very well,’ she said. ‘You have found the necklace, and you know what it means. Am I permitted to know where you found it?’

  ‘Don’t you know already, Mrs Bannister?’

  ‘Is that what you think?’

  Gently said nothing.

  ‘That I – that I took the necklace from Clytemnestra – and killed her – because – because . . . ?’

  Their eyes held for a moment silently.

  ‘Yes,�
�� she said, ‘you do think it! And you’re right to think it, because it’s so credible. So inexorably credible.’

  ‘Did you take the necklace?’ Gently asked.

  ‘Yes. In dreams a hundred times. And the dividing line is so thin, isn’t it, between reality and dreams. So perhaps I did take it in reality, though it seems to me like a dream; and the rest of it too, I may have dreamed that, or it may have been real, and I killed Clytemnestra. But it’s a vivid dream, if it’s a dream, and I can see it must be convincing – much more convincing, for instance, than that poor weak Siggy should ever nerve himself to homicide.’

  Gently sighed. ‘Mrs Bannister,’ he said, ‘did you in fact take the necklace?’

  ‘In fact?’

  ‘In fact.’

  ‘No, Superintendent. You will hardly believe me, but I didn’t.’

  ‘Did you see it at any time on Monday?’

  ‘I saw her with it before lunch. I went to fetch her down to cocktails. She was just unwrapping it from the tissue.’

  ‘Where did she put it?’

  ‘In her jewel-box, which is on the dressing-table in the dressing-room. She toyed a little with it first. She always liked me to see her handling it.’

  ‘What time was that?’

  ‘Ten minutes to one.’

  ‘Did she lock the box?’

  ‘Its lock is broken. She may have locked the flat when we went down. It has a spring dead-lock on the door.’

  ‘Who has a key for it?’

  ‘Siggy, myself. I don’t think Mrs Lipton has one. But that’s not very important, is it? Siggy wasn’t there, and I was with Clytemnestra.’

  ‘You didn’t dream of an excuse for stepping out during lunch.’

  She closed and opened her eyes. ‘I was serving lunch, remember? And I was already dreaming of going back with her and killing her. Slipping out for the necklace would have been superfluous.’

  ‘So who do you think took it?’

  ‘Is a burglar too banal?’

  Gently nodded. ‘Not inexorably credible.’