Gently in Trees (22 page)

‘So all this is nonsense – you’ve arrested
him
!’

She indicated Walling with a fierce nod. The action and the tone of her voice startled him out of his stupor, and he winced.

‘Mr Walling has been helping me,’ Gently said.

‘Yes, and we all know what
that
means! Good lord, you can see it in his face – he has guilt written all over him.’

‘Steady, Maryon,’ Keynes murmured.

‘No, I’ll say what I think!’ Maryon Britton said. ‘Here they’ve been hounding poor Lawrence to his wits’ end, when they’ve known all the time who the culprit was. We
told
them who it was – it couldn’t have been us! – yet still they persecuted poor Lawrence. And now they’ve driven him into doing something desperate, just when they’ve arrested the real killer.’ She slipped round Gently to face Walling. ‘You did do it, didn’t you?’ she said. ‘It was you who came down here that night, who killed Adrian. Confess it was you!’

‘Maryon, Maryon!’ Keynes pleaded.

‘Go on, confess it!’ Maryon Britton cried. ‘You may as well, because he’ll find out anyway. So be a man for once, and say it.’

Walling was gurgling and rolling his eyes. Now he made a defensive flutter with his hands. ‘B-but he won’t believe me. He . . . he . . .!’ He collapsed on one of the Sheraton chairs.

‘You see?’ Maryon Britton demanded. ‘He
does
confess! And all this business about Lawrence is nonsense.’

‘Not if the Superintendent doesn’t believe him,’ Keynes said. ‘And the Superintendent isn’t rushing to deny it.’

‘That’s just his cunning!’

Keynes shook his head. ‘I can’t quite see Oscar in the role, myself. But I can imagine the old lad trying something Quixotic, and perhaps being too naïve to pull it off.’ He flickered a faint smile at Gently. ‘Is that the strength of it?’

Gently merely stared. ‘Have you reason to think so?’

Keynes shrugged. ‘Only knowing my Oscar. Nothing more subtle implied than that.’

‘Well, I don’t care!’ Maryon Britton exclaimed. ‘If Oscar has confessed that will do for me. Because I can’t see Lawrence in the role, either – and he
hasn’t
confessed. He’s just being
hounded
.’

‘Which is where we came in,’ Keynes said. ‘Maryon, you’ll have to show the Superintendent that telegram.’

‘Oh, you’ve been on his side from the start!’ she cried. ‘And the telegram is my property, anyway.’

But she flung away, with regal insolence, and crossed to the handsome bureau-bookcase. She returned with a yellow envelope which she dropped contemptuously into Gently’s hand.

‘There. Now see what you’ve done!’

The telegram originated from a post office in Chelsea. It had been handed in at four p.m., which was rather more than two hours earlier. The text ran:

I WAS RESPONSIBLE + TRY TO FORGIVE + GOODBYE + LAWRENCE

It was addressed to Mrs M. Britton, The Lodge, West Brayling.

Gently stared at it: at Maryon Britton.

‘Is there a reason why this should have been sent to you?’

‘Reason!’ she snapped. ‘The reason is obvious. He is letting us know that he won’t be back.’

‘But why send it to you?’

‘Why not to me? Haven’t I been a mother to him all this time?’

‘He’s right, Maryon,’ Keynes said slowly. ‘That telegram would more likely have come to me.’

She stared at him angrily.

‘Or Miss Britton,’ Gently said.

Jennifer Britton stirred on the sofa. She turned over and sat up, parting the hair from her heavy eyes.

‘Lawrence is innocent,’ she said dully. ‘
That’s
why he didn’t send it to me. He sent it here, but not to me. He couldn’t tell
me
he was responsible.’

‘Oh, nonsense!’ Maryon Britton scoffed.

‘Yes,’ Jennifer Britton said. ‘He couldn’t tell
me
. Because it wasn’t true. So now
I know
he’s innocent. And you and Edwin can think what you like.’

‘Oh, what poppycock!’ Maryon Britton cried.

‘Why would he say what wasn’t true?’ Gently asked.

‘Because,’ Jennifer Britton said, ‘he knew they thought it, anyway. So he just made it an excuse for not coming back.’

Keynes was looking curiously at Gently. ‘Are you thinking what I think you are?’ he said. ‘It bothered me too, about Maryon getting the telegram, but I’ve only just begun to realize why.’

‘
Wouldn’t
he have sent it to you?’ Gently said.

‘Yes. That’s certainly what I would have expected. Lawrence has my car, remember, and I’m confident he wouldn’t have gone off with that. And if he’d left it somewhere for me to pick up, all the more reason for him to contact me.’ He looked steadily at Gently. ‘You might almost conclude that Lawrence had forgotten the address of the cottage.’

Gently gave a nod. ‘And the style of the telegram?’

‘Perhaps a little too tidy,’ Keynes said. ‘Not so much like Lawrence. Rather more like someone trying to suggest a state of mind.’

‘A professional touch.’

‘It could be.’

‘Look, what
is
this?’ Maryon Britton demanded. ‘Are you trying to say that the telegram is phoney – that Lawrence didn’t send it at all?’

There was a groan from Jennifer Britton.

‘May I use your phone?’ Gently said.

‘Yes – but what in heaven’s name is going on?’

‘That is beginning to bother me,’ Gently said.

The phone was in the hall. Gently rang the Yard and got Lyons’s lieutenant, Sergeant Beales. But just then Lyons himself came in, fresh back from a fruitless trip to Campden Hill.

‘Walling’s skipped!’

Gently reassured him. ‘Look. First, I want a pick-up on Lawrence Turner. Description you have. Driving Hillman Imp, red, index number EVG 701 H. Repeat back.’ Lyons repeated. ‘Second, a search warrant for Webster’s flat. Turner may be there. If not, then most likely in that area.’

‘Check,’ Lyons said.

There was a spell of harmonics while Lyons passed the instructions to Beales. Then he came back.

‘The Rosenberg phone call. That seems to be genuine as far as we’ve got.’

‘Yes,’ Gently said. ‘I felt it would be. What do we have on Webster’s lodger?’

‘Nothing positive. A newsagent near the flat describes a hippie character, age about twenty. Seen several times lately in Webster’s company. But nothing to show he slept at the flat. Tallish, with a beard.’ Lyons paused. ‘Doesn’t that come near to your description of Turner?’

‘Not the hippie bit.’

‘He could keep it for town. Have his gear stashed at the flat.’

‘Possible,’ Gently said. ‘But not helpful. We need a lodger who wasn’t Turner.’

‘A pity,’ Lyons said. ‘Nothing else on Turner. Nobody I’ve talked to has seen him around. But then if he was wearing gear and a wig, people might not connect him with our description. What do you think?’

‘I think you’d better forget it.’

‘Yes,’ Lyons said. ‘Well, just an idea. Him being tallish, bearded and around twenty. A bit of camouflage is easy these days.’ He paused again. ‘Any action on Webster?’

‘Plenty,’ Gently said. ‘For a start, a tail. If Turner isn’t at the flat I think that Webster can lead us to him. Then I want more detail about Saturday night, when Webster dropped Nina Walling at Campden Hill. The timing. Proof that she really did stay there. Pull in Messiter and grill him.’

‘A pleasure,’ Lyons said. ‘You think she’s involved?’

‘Walling has given me reason to think so.’

‘You want her questioned?’

‘No,’ Gently said. ‘Just get me the facts and sit on them.’

He returned to the drawing-room, where they were sitting in silence, and where Walling was now nursing a glass of brandy. Nobody looked up, except Metfield, who had taken a discreet station by the door. Jennifer Britton had sunk back on the sofa, where she lay with half-closed eyes; her mother sat scowling at Metfield’s feet; Keynes was gazing solemnly at his own.

Gently took a chair by the latter.

‘Have you given it some thought?’

Keynes slid him a little glance, then shrugged. ‘It bothers me as it bothers you. Lawrence wasn’t planning a flit this morning.’

‘Then what has happened since?’

Keynes shook his head. ‘Unless he is playing the same prank as Oscar. Trying to get us off the hook. It would square with Lawrence’s character.’

‘But you’re convinced he wasn’t planning it this morning?’

‘He wasn’t planning it at all!’ Maryon Britton broke in. ‘That’s too ridiculous. It would mean he suspected us. Lawrence isn’t stupid enough for that.’

‘He was in an odd mood,’ Keynes said. ‘He didn’t want to talk about his session with you. Then you rang this morning and it seemed to decide him. He said there was something he must do in town.’

‘Something he must do?’

Keynes nodded. ‘Those were the precise words he used. I didn’t query it and he didn’t explain it. I lent him a couple of pounds for petrol.’

‘And that suggests nothing more to you now – like some person he may have been meeting?’

‘It doesn’t,’ Keynes said. ‘I wish it did. But I don’t know of any acquaintance he had in London.’

Gently grunted. ‘He knew Mr Walling. Nina Walling. Ivan Webster.’

Keynes gestured. ‘He may have met them down here, but you would scarcely class them as acquaintances.’

‘Wouldn’t he have seen them in town?’

‘Not very likely. He could have run across them when he stayed with Adrian.’

‘Or his other trips?’

Keynes looked blank. ‘He’s been to town only twice in the past year.’

‘Because he’s living on air,’ Jennifer Britton said softly. ‘No money for trips. Too proud to borrow.’ She turned her face to the sofa. ‘Poor Lawry.’

‘How much money had he this morning?’ Gently asked.

Keynes shook his head. ‘Not enough to flit on.’

‘He had the car.’

‘He wouldn’t make off with it. Lawrence is one of those old-fashioned people.’

‘So,’ Gently said. ‘It amounts to this. Turner decided on the trip after I rang. He packed nothing, took little money, and appeared to expect to return today. Instead of which there comes this telegram, containing a confession and saying goodbye.’ He turned abruptly to Walling. ‘And his acquaintance in London stops with you, your daughter and her lover.’ He paused. ‘So where is Turner?’

Walling gaped at him, his face sagging. ‘I-I – please! H-how should I know? I-I’ve scarcely ever m-met him!’

‘But you know where he is.’

‘N-no –!’

‘Yes! Turner must have gone to town to see one of you three. He would have missed your daughter and Webster, so that just leaves you.’

‘B-but that’s insane! I never saw him! I was being q-questioned by detectives.’

‘Only in the morning. After that, you were free enough to drive down here.’

‘But I didn’t see him.’

‘Why did you come here?’

Walling dragged on his hair. ‘To confess! It’s the t-truth, I didn’t see Turner. Oh, please, why can’t you believe me?’

And suddenly he was on his knees again, with the brandy glass still clasped in his hand. He held it up in a sort of weird supplication, a votive offering to Gently’s wrath.

‘But at least you would know who
did
see him.’

Walling trembled. ‘N-no! Nothing! The d-detectives were with me all the morning. I haven’t seen my daughter, or . . . or . . .’

‘Look, Webster and your daughter were here earlier.’

Walling shook his head stupidly. ‘Please . . . no!’

‘Webster was trying to increase my suspicion of Turner – and now, lo and behold! This telegram.’

‘I d-don’t know anything!’

‘Listen, Webster could have sent this telegram, but the telegram would be no use unless Turner had been persuaded not to return here. And Turner hasn’t returned here – at least, not yet. All we have is you, with a fake confession. And if you know enough for the need for that, you’ll know enough to tell us where to find Turner.’

‘But I just d-d-don’t!’ Walling wailed. ‘The telegram, Turner, nothing at all! It’s me who’s guilty, just me. Oh, I should have shot myself back there!’

He sagged forward, blubbering; and Keynes had to move swiftly to catch the brandy glass from his hand. He helped Walling up, sat him again, and tipped some brandy into his mouth. Walling spluttered and coughed, but drank the brandy; he sat goggling and gaping like a landed fish. Keynes nodded to Gently and went out to the hall. After a moment, Gently followed him.

‘I think Oscar’s telling the truth,’ Keynes said quietly. ‘At least, about not having seen Lawrence. If Lawrence has got himself mixed up with Webster, then it must have been Webster he went to see.’

Gently hunched. ‘He’d have missed him this morning. Webster couldn’t have been back there till after three.’

‘So he’d have hung about waiting,’ Keynes said. ‘Perhaps checked on pubs or coffee-bars that Webster uses. But what the devil did he want with Webster?’

‘That’s what’s troubling me,’ Gently said.

‘You don’t think he was in it with him?’

Gently shook his head. ‘But I think he may know more than is good for him. At the end of my questioning he nearly came up with something, as though being under pressure had jolted his memory. But then he seemed to think I wouldn’t have believed him. I think he went to town today to check.’

‘Something about Webster?’

‘That’s fairly certain. Have you any idea what?’

Keynes looked blank. ‘I know I suggested Webster to you, but I don’t really know much about him. I’ve seen him once or twice down here with Adrian. Seen a couple of sick plays of his on the box. Summed him up as a decadent, and dangerous. That’s about all I can tell you of Webster.’

‘Turner wasn’t attracted to him.’

‘Lawrence didn’t like him. Felt the same nausea for him that I did.’

‘Any letters? Phone calls?’

‘None I know of. I assure you, Webster made no impact at all.’ He hesitated, his eyes searching Gently’s. ‘May I ask if you’ve made up your mind about Webster?’

Gently turned his back on the writer. ‘Yes. Since a chat I’ve had with Walling.’

‘But then Lawrence . . . what’s happened?’

‘I have a pick-up out on Turner.’

‘Oh . . . good heavens!’ Keynes exclaimed. He dropped down suddenly on one of the hall-chairs.