by Alan Hunter
‘We should have a man on that window.’
‘Two more cars have come. I’ll phone down.’
He slipped away on tiptoe, though in fact there was a steady murmur of sound from below, and one could hear, from the direction of Millbank, the approaching clamour of a fire-engine. More heads were staring up from the dormers and cameras were held out and clicked. An attic window opened in the nearest building and a telephoto lens was trained through it. Gently looked at Brenda Merryn. Nothing seemed to disturb her. She remained in her trance of stillness, her hands spread on the rough facing.
‘Miss Merryn,’ he said.
‘Go away, George.’
Her immediate response was uncanny. It was as though she’d known very well he was close to her and had been anticipating he would speak. Yet her eyes were closed.
‘Miss Merryn,’ he said. ‘Where have you been since you left me last night?’
‘Around and about,’ she said. ‘Mostly around. But about too. Around and about.’
‘Why didn’t you go home?’
‘Don’t ask silly questions. They sound so pathetic from where I’m standing. I’d nobody to go home to, so I didn’t go home. It’s the way it gets you. Silly answer.’
‘Did you just drive about London?’
‘Yes, London and other places. Like Paris and New York. Or it might have been Rochester.’
‘What were you doing there?’
‘Say I was looking for a sailor. Go away George. And tell them if they put their bloody ladder up, I’ll do it.’
Reynolds came tiptoeing back.
‘Is she talking to you?’ he whispered.
‘Send a message down to that fire-engine. She says she’ll jump if they use the ladder.’
Reynolds swore under his breath. ‘They have to make that stupid din,’ he said. ‘If they’d come quietly they might have nabbed her.’
Gently shook his head. ‘I think she’s watching.’
Reynolds said. ‘I’ve manned the window. We just beat a press-photographer to it. And I’m having them send us a couple of policewomen and a constable who spends his leave rock-climbing. I want to talk to those firemen. I think we could rig something on the roof. If we could drop a man in safety-harness he might grab her before she goes.’
‘She’ll go. If she wants to.’
‘Talk to her, Chief. You may win.’
Reynolds glided away again. Gently went on watching Brenda Merryn. She hadn’t moved or flickered an eyelid while he and Reynolds had whispered together. But now she said casually:
‘I don’t like Reynolds. I think it’s his moustache, it’s too damn British. And he’s, what shall I say, too full of his own efficiency. He’ll never be a big man like you.’
‘Are you feeling big?’ Gently said.
‘Tired,’ she said. ‘Tired, George. And it’s nice just to stand here with the sun warming me and knowing all my problems are solved. I feel so happy and content. I needn’t open my eyes again. Don’t let anyone come interfering with me. I don’t even want a cigarette.’
‘Your father will have to know, of course.’
‘Daddy. He’s very understanding. He wouldn’t want me to stay on here if there was nothing for me to stay on for. I’ve written him a little letter, you know. It’s in the glove-compartment of my car.’
‘Why did you come to me last night?’
‘I wanted to. That’s all.’
‘Why?’
‘There isn’t any why. It was suddenly with me. Women are like that. Oh, I wanted some other things too, like Uncle Creavey’s thousands, and getting even with Siggy. But they were just by the way.’
‘Condemning your brother-in-law was by the way?’
‘Getting even with him was what I said, George. I don’t condemn him. I’m not a Christian. But I wasn’t going to let him get away with it. You see, I didn’t altogether hate Clytie and I think she had moments of liking me. We weren’t quite sisters so we weren’t quite enemies. In a sense you could call us friendly neutrals. But I don’t think you’re going to understand that, are you, because I did for myself, coming to you. I made a mistake, George, I thought you’d be with me. Damn silly. I always lose.’
‘In fact, you offered me bribes and false witness.’
‘Both. But that wasn’t my mistake.’
‘What sort of an impression could you have hoped to make?’
‘It depended so much on you, didn’t it?’
Her lips quivered, and he could see her fingers pushing harder against the cement. Below, a man was stationed on an expanding ladder, but Reynolds was also there talking to the crewmen.
‘I knew I’d lost, George. When I drove away. When I waited at the lights at Finchley Road. It was a big throw, all or nothing, and it didn’t come off: you slapped me down. Because you had to believe that Siggy had done it. Or you had to want me enough so it didn’t matter. And it wasn’t the one way or the other. I was just left driving away in the night.’
‘There’s still time to give me a straight statement.’
Her head moved almost imperceptibly. ‘No. Too late. I told you too much in the wrong sort of way. Because you think Siggy is innocent. That was my mistake.’
‘It doesn’t follow you are guilty.’
‘Not while I’m standing here, does it? Don’t bother, George. I can imagine the things one usually tries on these occasions. Keep patient talking. Talk is therapeutic. Talk helps to resolve the depressive tendency. Suggest optimistic views. Offer food. But keep patient talking on any subject.’ She paused. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘Perhaps you do care a little about me, George. But it can never be much, not after last night, so don’t bother kidding me. I’m sunk.’
‘I can only repeat what I said, Miss Merryn. Other people are involved besides yourself.’
‘But I offered bribes and false witness, didn’t I? And I was there. Now you can prove it.’
‘I can prove it?’
Her lips twisted. ‘La Bannister saw me. I didn’t know that. I’m not sure La Bannister knows it either, but her false witness is doubtless better than mine.’
‘Mrs Bannister told you this?’
‘Hasn’t she told you? Oh, but she will when you give her a chance. She was out on the veranda before you got here, giving me a few valedictory words. But notice I say that she’s a liar. I’m pretty damn certain she didn’t see me.’
‘Did she say where she saw you?’
‘Here, she said. She’ll have details ready, by now.’
‘When did she say this?’
‘What does it matter. When she was last out here before you came.’
Gently was silent. Above the murmur of the crowd he could hear Reynolds’ voice giving instructions. The man on the ladder was climbing down again though with apparent reluctance. Out of the van they were lugging equipment which included booms and a big pulley. Another police car was approaching. Two constables were moving about in the crowd.
‘If they’re planning something,’ Brenda Merryn said, ‘you’d better shout down and tell them to lay off. Tell them I appreciate their attention, of course. But the first rope I see, I’ll be on my way.’
‘Miss Merryn,’ Gently said.
‘Brenda, George.’
‘Miss Merryn, I want you to listen carefully. I believe you have evidence of critical importance, and I need to have a statement from you.’
Her lips went wry again. ‘Of critical importance to whom?’
‘To us. To the investigation of this case.’
‘But not to me.’
‘To you too.’
Her head moved. ‘Too late,’ she said. ‘I cared once. I don’t now. If last night hadn’t happened and you were asking me the truth I’d give it to you. But not now.’
‘You don’t care any longer who killed your stepsister?’
‘I can ask her myself in twenty minutes. You’d better have a medium on tap. I’ll try to pass back a message.’
‘If it wasn’t
you—’
‘I tell you I don’t care.’
‘Miss Merryn—’
‘Go away, George,’ she said. ‘You won’t call me Brenda, which is all that matters. I’m going to jump. Go away.’
Someone touched his shoulder. It was Reynolds. He was holding his finger to his lips.
‘Shsh! They’re on their way up, Chief. Keep her at it. It’ll be O.K.’
Gently shook his head. ‘She knows they’re up to something.’
‘The bloody bitch. We’ll have to try it.’
‘No. She’ll jump.’
‘What do we do then?’
‘Put a net out. Hope.’
The fire-crew, augmented by a second brigade, assembled and manned a catching-net. Brenda Merryn didn’t seem to notice the stretched grey canvas that bloomed below her. Perhaps she guessed what the fire-chief was saying: ‘She’ll be damned lucky not to go clean through it!’ – or perhaps she imagined she could throw herself clear. From the veranda the net was not impressive.
Reynolds’ two policewomen arrived. One was a plain-faced girl with huge hips. The other had a snub nose and freckles and a degree of brusque charm. Her name was Fairley. At her request she was left alone with Brenda Merryn. In the lounge one heard her voice, sympathetically homely, engaged in continuous monologue.
‘She’s pretty good,’ Reynolds said to Gently. ‘I’d as soon have Fairley there as anyone. What did Merryn talk about?’
Gently grunted and looked at Reynolds without seeming to see him.
Mrs Bannister had abandoned the lounge but Albertine sat sniffing in a corner. Every so often she jumped up and ran to poke her head through the french windows. Then she came back to sob afresh; and each time Reynolds frowned at her.
‘I suppose she’s no good to us?’ he murmured.
‘Albertine?’
She heard her name. In a moment she was beside them and tearfully clutching Gently’s sleeve.
‘Oh Monsieur . . . let me help!’
‘What can you do, Albertine?’
‘I can talk to her, Monsieur, I can plead with her. Oh please, please let me do this.’
Gently looked at Reynolds. ‘How is Fairley doing?’
Reynolds shrugged. ‘She’s doing all right. But I can’t hear her getting any results, and she’s been at it now ten minutes.’
‘Monsieur, please – please!’ Albertine said.
‘No harm in trying her,’ Reynolds said.
Gently stared at Albertine for a space. Then he nodded. ‘Right,’ he said.
Policewoman Fairley was withdrawn and Albertine ran to take her place. Her first passionate appeals were so broken with sobbing that they were barely comprehensible. Policewoman Fairley had come in frowning, and for a while she listened carefully. Then she said to Reynolds:
‘I’m not certain, sir, that Merryn isn’t putting on an act.
‘Doing what?’ Reynolds gaped.
‘You know I’ve had some experience, sir. And the way Merryn is behaving suggests to me she isn’t serious.’
She gave Gently a little look.
‘It’s this way, sir,’ she said. ‘If they really mean it they want to talk to you about the rough deal they’ve had. They want people to know about that. They want to take it out of someone in pity. And Merryn just stands there smiling a bit and lapping up what you say to her.’
‘But hell – look where she’s standing!’ Reynolds said.
‘That doesn’t mean very much, sir,’ Fairley said. ‘I know it would do for you or me, but some people have a head for heights. My boyfriend has. He’d go out there. And there are lots of window-cleaners who would.’
‘You’re saying she’s doing all this for a kick?’
‘I don’t know why she’s doing it, sir. I imagine she wants to impress someone. But I don’t know all the circumstances.’
‘She wants to impress someone,’ Reynolds echoed. ‘Well, she’s doing a nice job with me.’
‘And if she doesn’t succeed in impressing them?’ Gently said.
Fairley looked aslant. ‘I don’t think she’ll jump.’
They were silent. Albertine was telling Brenda Merryn that she, Albertine, alone was to blame. The crowd below was making less noise, perhaps intrigued by Albertine’s colourful oratory. Mademoiselle must come in, Albertine was saying. It was a big mistake. Monsieur knew. She would be sorry, that Mademoiselle, if anything happened she would be sorry.
Reynolds gave a grunt of disgust. ‘So how’s it going to end?’ he demanded. ‘Is she just going to have her fling, then walk in here with a beautiful smile?’
‘Something like that, sir,’ Fairley said. ‘When she gets tired or hungry.’
‘And we still have to make it a big production.’
‘I’m afraid so, sir. In case she’s serious.’
Gently raised his hand. ‘Listen.’
Albertine had stopped talking and the crowd had gone quiet. All one could hear now was a scuffling sound and a series of frightened whines. Then there was a wail of terror from Albertine and suddenly Brenda Merryn’s voice was shouting and a shuddering sigh came from the crowd and Albertine was screaming.
‘You French imbecile,’ they heard Brenda Merryn shouting, ‘you haven’t the head for it. Get back on the veranda!’
They ran out. Albertine was on the ledge and had already advanced some steps along it. But she was almost petrified by her situation and was screaming like a terrified animal. She was shrinking against the wall and scrabbling at it while gingerly moving her feet, and with every step she screamed piercingly and jerked in a perilous manner. Yet she didn’t stop. By an act of will she was driving herself along the ledge. She couldn’t prevent her fear bursting nakedly from her, but she never faltered in her intention.
‘Some of you – grab her!’ Brenda Merryn cried. ‘Can’t you see she’s going to fall? She’s got no head, she’s stark raving. She’ll have us both off if she gets here.’
‘Back off to the window,’ Gently called.
‘Damn you, I won’t. I’m here to stay.’
‘If she has to turn she’ll probably fall.’
‘Then one of you big brave men come after her.’
‘Mademoiselle,’ Albertine screamed. ‘Mademoiselle! Come in now. Oh come in now!’
She was trembling and wobbling at the knees. But still she kept going forward.
Brenda Merryn swore. She looked towards the window, from which the head of a constable projected, then at the screaming, shuffling figure, which seemed about to collapse at any second. Her lips compressed. She began to move, quite coolly, towards Albertine, her hands, one advanced, one trailing, sliding lightly over the facing. Within a yard of her she stopped.
‘All right. This is far enough, Albertine.’
‘Mademoiselle . . . you are coming in!’
‘Yes. Stop there. Don’t look down.’
‘But you must come in!’
‘Albertine. Do exactly as I say. Don’t try to grab me and don’t look down. Just look at me and rest a little.’
Then she smiled and kept smiling. And after a moment Albertine stopped screaming. The screams became a subdued wailing, like the keening of a child. Albertine clung with all her might, her nails edging at the cement, but she didn’t scream, and her hysterical breathing began to grow more regular.
‘Now Albertine, listen closely. You see I’m not frightened, Albertine?’
‘Mademoiselle—’
‘I’m not frightened because I don’t keep looking down. I’m standing on a ledge and it’s quite safe and I know it’s safe and I don’t think about it. In fact it’s rather grand up here. There’s a fine feeling of lots of space. Don’t you feel it too?’
‘Yes, Mademoiselle, but—’
‘Now we’re going back to the veranda. I’ll tell you how. Look at the wall, then turn your feet. First the right foot, then the left.’
‘I do not . . . cannot . . .’
‘Look at the wall. Let your feet take
care of themselves. Are you ready?’
‘Mademoiselle.’
‘Now. Right foot . . . left foot.’
And Albertine turned. Quite easily. She faced the veranda, her eyes rolling. She stood, mouth open, fingers clutching, waiting to hear the next instruction.
‘Don’t press with your hands, Albertine. Don’t try to look at your feet. Look at Monsieur George on the veranda. Now shuffle along till you reach him.’
Albertine shuffled. In strict obedience she kept her eyes firmly on Gently, and though he wanted to glance over her shoulder at Brenda Merryn he dared not lose that fixed glare. She came on steadily. Her wild expression had a ghastly abstraction in it. She no longer trembled but seemed to function mechanically with her terrified mind at a distance.
‘Say something to Albertine, George,’ Brenda Merryn said.
‘Albertine,’ Gently said. ‘We could all use a cup of coffee.’
‘I know I could,’ Brenda Merryn said. ‘A cup of strong French coffee, Albertine. The way you make it, hot and strong. I’m longing for a cup of your coffee.’
‘Is she good at coffee,’ Gently said.
‘You bet she is,’ Brenda Merryn said. ‘If you haven’t tasted Albertine’s coffee you don’t know what coffee tastes like yet.’
‘I’m looking forward to it Albertine,’ Gently said. ‘I’ve a sudden thirst for some good coffee.’
‘She makes the best coffee in Chelsea,’ Brenda Merryn said. ‘And she’ll rustle it up for you in five minutes.’
Albertine’s face made a frantic smile to which the eyes did not contribute. Her head was tilting further and further back as though in an effort to prevent her eyes slipping downwards. The gap decreased. It was just at the end she nearly came to disaster. She reached for Gently’s hand too soon, missed it and rocked for a second, fingers weaving.
‘There,’ Brenda Merryn said, ‘there. You two will never be sweethearts.’
And Albertine made the last step and was hauled over the iron railings of the veranda.
She collapsed in the arms of a policewoman and was half-led, half-carried inside. Below, the silence of the crowd erupted strangely into a gust of roaring, clapping and cheering. Brenda Merryn remained short of the veranda. Her hazel eyes faced Gently’s. She deliberately looked down at the scene beneath her, waved to the crowd, then looked back at Gently.
