Gently French

by Alan Hunter

  ‘Not quite,’ I said. ‘There is a matter of motive.’

  ‘Oh, motive! That is for counsels.’

  ‘In this case a motive of massive gain. Freddy had more to leave than the Bugatti.’

  Her eyes widened. ‘You have seen the will?’

  I nodded. ‘And so, I suspect, have you.’

  ‘You are wrong, my friend.’

  ‘It amounts to the same thing. Freddy’s whole estate is willed to you.’

  ‘This is true?’

  ‘Yes.’

  She looked away. There was a sparkle between her lashes. ‘But how sad. I didn’t need it, and he was just going to enjoy his life.’

  I watched her hungrily. They were real tears; if it was an act it had the stamp of sincerity. I didn’t think it was an act. She wasn’t giving it enough emphasis. From where he was sitting, Dutt probably couldn’t see it.

  ‘All the same, it leaves you the gainer.’

  She twisted her mouth. ‘Does that make me guilty?’

  ‘It will weigh with juries.’

  ‘We have not come to juries. We have not come to anything but so-called logic.’

  ‘Then we will follow that. How long have you known Bavents?’

  She was silent for a moment, still looking away from me.

  ‘What makes you ask that?’

  ‘A piece of information. Bavents’ father keeps a pub in Vought Street, Chelsea.’

  ‘Aha. The Peacock.’ She gestured wearily. ‘All right. I admit it. I know the yak. But he is not my lover, has not been my lover. Even with me such things are possible.’

  ‘He was in your room twice today.’

  ‘So then. I have to talk to someone.’

  ‘Once for an hour.’

  ‘It was a longer talk.’

  ‘And again at tea, on the lawn.’

  She tossed her hair irritably. ‘What is all this about? I find the yak an interesting subject. He is full of fire, full of passion. Simply he dare not say boo.’

  ‘You were merely teasing him?’

  ‘Not merely, my friend. Teasing a man is a great art. He must always be having a little hope, a belief that his reward will come in the end.’

  ‘And that was Bavents’ situation?’

  ‘Every man’s. What do you think a woman is made of?’

  ‘But Bavents is infatuated.’

  She kissed a finger. ‘At his age, surely it does no harm.’

  I stared into her eyes. ‘Only that is what I’m wondering. Whether it couldn’t do him a great deal of harm. Whether it couldn’t lead him into some fantasy world where right and wrong are not clearly defined.’

  She pouted. ‘You are not serious?’

  ‘Very serious. His record doesn’t suggest a stable character.’

  ‘But Monsieur, I have just amused myself.’

  ‘No more than that?’

  She wriggled and tossed her hair again.

  ‘What were you wanting him to do today?’

  She checked fractionally. ‘Who says I did?’

  ‘You had long talks with him. He was reluctant. You were perhaps pushing him too far.’

  ‘Huh.’ She made a sweep with her hand. ‘Now it is you who are fantastical, Monsieur. He is a moody yak, that is all. I think you had better stick to logic.’

  ‘Is that all you are telling me?’

  ‘Isn’t it enough?’

  I came off the desk suddenly and stepped to the door. I threw it open and stood beside it. She watched me with an expression of mocking surprise.

  ‘It is time to go?’

  I held the door and said nothing. She rose disdainfully and marched from the office. I slammed down in the swivel-chair and lit my pipe. I jerked a hand to Dutt.

  ‘Fetch Bavents.’

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  THERE WAS A delay, probably occasioned by Frayling’s reluctance to lose Bavents during dinner; then he arrived, hot-faced and nervous, with Dutt nudging him from behind. I pointed to a chair. Bavents sat or sprawled; his blushing hands clutched his knees. He was either sweatily, meltingly innocent, or aware that a point of no return was fast being reached. I tried to fix his staring eye.

  ‘Madame Deslauriers has just been helping us. She says she was acquainted with you in Chelsea and she admits to several recent conversations. Now I am going to ask you a frank question, and I would like you carefully to consider your reply.

  His eyes rolled; his body was trembling.

  ‘Did you kill Frederick Quarles and Thomas Bilney?’

  His mouth worked and he made a gulping sound; the flush ebbed suddenly from his cheeks.

  ‘Did you?’

  ‘N-n-no! I didn’t!’

  ‘It would be best to get it over now.’

  ‘P-please, no!’

  ‘It will save you some distress.’

  ‘B-but I didn’t. I didn’t!’

  ‘Think carefully.’

  ‘No!’

  I checked. He was swaying dangerously, teetering on the rim of a faint. Push him some more, and he would go over; he wasn’t ready to confess yet. I swung in the swivel-chair.

  ‘Very well then. Perhaps you can help us in other ways. We know now you took a message from Bilney to Madame Deslauriers. Were you in the yard when she came out?’

  ‘I was w-working on my car—’

  ‘And you returned to it after you had taken in the message?’

  ‘Well, y-yes. But I didn’t hear anything. They went over behind the garages.’

  ‘You saw them meet?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Would you say they seemed fond of each other?’

  The flush began again. ‘He kissed her. She was worrying about him being seen.’

  ‘But she was fond of him too?’

  ‘Well, I’d s-say so.’

  ‘In fact, they met like two lovers?’

  Bavents chewed his lip. ‘Yes, I suppose so. But she w-wasn’t so keen on him as he was on her.’

  ‘How long were they talking?’

  He dragged at his knees. ‘About quarter of an hour, twenty minutes.’

  ‘But you heard nothing of it.’

  ‘No! Why should I l-listen to what they were saying?’

  ‘That’s fairly obvious. You would be jealous.’

  ‘I wasn’t jealous and I wasn’t listening!’

  ‘You just went back to tinkering with your engine. While she was in his arms behind the garages.’

  He punished the knees. ‘I d-didn’t want to listen! I made a lot of noise revving the engine. When they came out she said something about ringing him, that’s all I heard. Then she went in.’

  ‘What was wrong with your engine?’

  ‘The s-slow-running is dicey—’

  ‘Skip it,’ I said. ‘Now tell me about Friday.’

  He licked his lips with small conviction. ‘I d-don’t know anything about Friday. I didn’t see Mr Quarles except at meal-times. I think he spent a lot of time in his room.’

  ‘Which I am told is next door to yours.’

  ‘I can’t help that! I didn’t see him.’

  ‘But you could have heard him. Heard him discussing a certain matter with Madame Deslauriers.’

  ‘No! It isn’t true.’

  ‘It could easily be true. You are not particular about loafing near doors. And if Quarles was excited and raising his voice you could very likely have heard him through the wall. Wasn’t that what happened?’

  ‘No, it wasn’t!’

  ‘Where were you in the evening?’

  ‘I was here – in the hotel—’

  ‘On your evening off?’

  His eyes popped at me.

  ‘You had time and opportunity,’ I said. ‘You could very well have known where Quarles was going. And I daresay what you heard going on in the next room was motive enough for wanting him away. At least you could stop that. There were knives in the kitchen. All you had to do was follow in your Mini. If you want me to believe different you’ll need t
o come up with something pretty convincing.’

  ‘But I was here – in my room!’

  ‘Your room is no alibi.’

  ‘Yes, but I w-was. Ask Mimi!’

  ‘Madame Deslauriers was with you?’

  ‘Yes – no!’ He clawed his hands together desperately. ‘She could have heard me m-moving about. She was in her room too, she might remember.’

  ‘I’ll certainly ask her,’ I said.

  Bavents groaned and wrestled his hands.

  I gave my chair another swing. ‘Next, you would want to settle Bilney.’

  Bavents shuddered.

  ‘To make time for that you had to fake an excuse to Mr Frayling.’

  ‘But I didn’t go there!’

  I hesitated. ‘Where?’

  He gasped as though I’d punched him in the wind.

  ‘Look, I was in Norchester! It’s true, I was! I just had to go into town yesterday.’

  ‘So you weren’t where?’

  ‘Not anywhere! I had to meet a m-man in Norchester.’

  ‘What man?’

  ‘This man—’

  ‘What man?’

  ‘He – I d-don’t know what his name is!’

  ‘Just a man with no name.’

  ‘Yes! No name! You meet him in the shelter in Chapel Field Gardens.’ He was breathing jerkily, his colour draining. ‘Ask any student, they’ll t-tell you!’

  ‘Do you mean he’s a pusher?’

  Bavents nodded.

  I rose. ‘Come on. We’ll take a look in your room.’

  The pot was there: about half an ounce of it, packed in an OHMS envelope. Also five crudely-rolled joints and the butt-ends of two more. We searched the room. It was a tiny place with a slanted roof and a dormer window; bare space for a bed, a chair, a chest-of-drawers and a hanging wardrobe behind the door. Books were piled on the chest-of-drawers, mostly works on politics and economics, and on the chair were four or five notebooks, filled with neat, small writing. Bavents didn’t interfere. He stood out in the passage, watching us through the open door. Apart from the pot we found nothing. I tapped the dividing-wall: it was lath-and-plaster.

  ‘You say you bought this stuff yesterday?’

  Bavents shrugged his narrow shoulders.

  ‘Can you prove that?’

  ‘There’s the m-man—’

  ‘Forget it. The pusher won’t be giving evidence.’ I took the pot and squeezed out of the room. ‘Now. I’m going to charge you with possession. You had better pack a few things in a case, because you won’t be coming back here tonight.’

  ‘You’re going to charge me with p-possession?’

  ‘Does this look like a plant?’

  He stared for some moments through his mane. Then he turned into the room, in a beaten sort of way, and began stuffing toilet gear in a zip-bag.

  I left him in Dutt’s charge while I went to ring Hanson and to order a car. In the hall I intercepted Madame Deslauriers on her way to dinner, dressed now in her slinky, slit-skirt gown.

  ‘Just a moment.’

  ‘Please, Monsieur. You have made me late already.’

  ‘This won’t take long. It’s about Friday evening. You told us you retired to your room after dinner.’

  ‘So?’

  ‘Did you order up any drinks?’

  ‘Yes. You may confirm that with the waiter.’

  ‘Bavents?’

  She smiled insolently. ‘No. It was the German boy, Fritz.’

  ‘Did you see or hear anything of Bavents?’

  ‘I was watching television in my room.’

  ‘His room is next door. The wall is thin.’

  ‘Nevertheless, Monsieur, I heard nothing.’

  She waltzed away, to be met at the dining-room door by the smiling, ducking head-waiter: Mimi, Madame Deslauriers, with a lot of leg showing through her slit-skirt.

  We had Bavents brought into Hanson’s office after I had briefed Hanson on the development. Hanson had tried to preserve his incredulity, but it was wilting under the impact of vulgar fact. He gazed indignantly as Bavents entered, still wearing his neat waiter’s garb; he didn’t want Bavents, and if Bavents was chummie, Hanson was going to take it as a personal affront. Bavents barely glanced at him. He shuffled in forlornly and dropped on the chair Dutt had placed for him.

  ‘Adam Bavents.’

  He stared at me wildly.

  ‘Please listen to me carefully. You have been charged with possession of cannabis resin, but now I am going to ask you some further questions. You don’t have to answer them, but if you do your answers will be taken down in writing and may be used in evidence. Is that clear?’

  His eyes rolled horribly, his hands moved in fluttery gestures.

  ‘Please! I just w-want to get it over. I’ll tell you anything you want to know.’

  ‘But you understand the warning?’

  ‘Oh God . . . ask me!’

  ‘I wish to have your answer on record.’

  He made a wretched gasping sound. ‘Yes – I understand! And it’s true – I killed those two men!’

  ‘You’re lying!’ Hanson snarled, jumping up.

  Bavents sobbed and clutched his hair-cocooned head.

  I ordered coffee to give Bavents time to digest his moment of hysteria; also Hanson, who was raving quietly and spitting cheroot on the office linoleum. Then I took Bavents through it, beginning with straight questions about his acquaintance with Deslauriers in Chelsea, but nudging him into taking the initiative when we came to the killings. Bavents answered well. Now he had let go the pressure, some of his hang-dog attitude had left him.

  ‘Where did the knife come from?’

  ‘I got it from the cook’s box. One of my jobs is sharpening his knives.’

  ‘How big?’

  ‘Well, not very big. I wanted a knife that would go in my pocket.’

  ‘Where is it now?’

  ‘I put it back. Otherwise the chef would have missed it. I washed it, naturally.’

  ‘Can you show me the knife?’

  ‘Of course. It’s the only one of that size.’

  All straight-forward. But sometimes questions can be too easy to answer.

  ‘Tell me what happened on Friday evening, beginning when you left the hotel.’

  Bavents hesitated for several seconds, his eyes fixed on his knees.

  ‘W-well, I was waiting in the yard. I knew what time he had to get there. When I heard the Bugatti’s engine start I started mine and went after him. I left the Mini on the car park. Freddy was down there, sitting in his car. I c-came up behind him and let him have it. He just fell forward over the wheel.’

  ‘What clothes were you wearing?’

  ‘Clothes—?’

  ‘Stabbing gives rise to spurts of blood.’

  Bavents paled. ‘I-I was wearing an old windcheater, one I keep for working on the car.’

  ‘Where is it now?’

  ‘I th-threw it in the river. I thought I’d b-better, with all that blood on it. And I washed the knife with that special cleaner which is supposed to take out blood-stains.’

  I nodded. ‘Go on.’

  ‘Then I just left him. I went back to the Mini and drove back here.’

  ‘Seeing nobody.’

  ‘N-no, nobody. There wasn’t a soul about anywhere.’

  ‘Nobody coming down the track?’

  He shook his head.

  ‘No other cars on the park?’

  He hesitated. ‘Y-yes, I think there were some. But I was too worked up really to notice.’

  I asked him some more, noticing specially the questions that brought about the stammer; then switched him quickly to the Bilney killing and his knowledge of the location of the chalet.

  ‘Did Madame Deslauriers tell you about it?’

  ‘No! But I heard her giving directions to Bilney.’

  ‘How do you get there?’

  ‘It’s the b-back road to Sallowes. There’s a turning off th-through a gate.’


  ‘Could you drive me there?’

  He swallowed. ‘Yes. But I’ve only b-been there once.’

  I was tempted to try him with a map, but had my reasons for not pressing him.

  ‘Right. Describe what happened yesterday.’

  ‘M-Mimi wanted me to drive her out there.’

  ‘She did?’

  He nodded in his hair. ‘Only I couldn’t get the time off. But I knew where she’d gone when she took the launch, and I thought it would give me a chance at Bilney. So I asked Mr Frayling for the afternoon and d-drove round to the chalet.’

  ‘What time would that be?’

  ‘I’m not s-sure. I’d say I got there about three-thirty. Anyway, he wasn’t there, and the place was locked up. I had to break in through a b-back window.’

  ‘Using what?’

  He made a reaching gesture. ‘I’d b-brought a tyre-lever with me.’

  ‘Not, for example, a large screw-driver?’

  ‘I – n-no! A tyre-lever.’

  ‘A tyre-lever,’ I said.

  Bavents’ eyes swivelled and he breathed a little faster. Then he started off again, filling in the words in jerks.

  ‘I waited for him behind the door. I thought I’d hear his car pull up. Only he must have guessed I was there b-because he left his car down the track. Then he came in right fast, slamming the door back, so I couldn’t get him as he came in. I had to ch-chase him into the bedroom. I g-got him down behind the bed.’

  ‘Was he scared?’

  Bavents’ throat worked. ‘I g-guess so.’

  ‘Bilney was a criminal who knew about knives.’

  ‘He tried to keep me off, but I g-got him all right. He went down. I f-finished him off.’

  ‘Which made a lot of blood.’

  Bavents nodded stupidly.

  ‘What did you do with your clothes this time?’

  ‘I-I’d remembered about Freddy, I was wearing a boiler suit. Then I threw that in the river too.’

  I didn’t ask him if he had washed the knife again. I felt I knew the answer to that one. I signalled to Dutt. He escorted Bavents out. There was a silence broken only by Hanson’s gnashing of a cheroot.

  I lit my pipe too and contributed my quota to the office atmosphere. Hanson, who had been hovering tigerishly in the background, now advanced and dumped himself on the desk.

  ‘Look, it sounds as phoney as hell. But that dozey bastard just must have done it!’