Gently through the Mill (8 page)

The sea didn’t touch Lynton; it was served by a muddy estuary. One picked up a pilot a long way out to bring a ship through the labyrinth of shoals.

‘What time did you leave her on Friday?’

‘Maisie? Time enough to get to my work.’

‘Who else is she friendly with?’

‘You’d better ask her.’

‘Sailors, perhaps?’

‘All the girls pick them up.’

‘You should know if she’s got a regular.’

‘Well, I don’t, and that’s the fact.’

Blacker was jumpy now and he couldn’t hide it. He kept trying to read the expression on Gently’s stolid countenance.

‘What other pubs do you go in?’

‘All of them – I aren’t particular.’

‘When were you last in The Roebuck?’

‘The last time I was a millionaire!’

‘How about your girlfriend – does she ever go there?’

‘It’s likely, isn’t it – living in a dump like this!’

They had turned into a gloomy cul-de-sac guarded by a solitary lamp post, a nameplate on which bore the designation: Hotblack Buildings. A brick wall closed in one side and a ramshackle store the end. The row of houses, each projecting a solitary worn step to the pavement, had a blind, eyeless appearance, as though they had ceased trying to look the world in the face.

Halfway along a begrimed infant was sitting in the road, frowning as it tugged at the spring of a broken toy; it seemed unaware of its frozen fingers and smiled at the two men.

‘Which is her house?’

‘The one at the end.’

Gently had to knock twice before he got a reply.

The door, opened cautiously, revealed a woman of uncertain age, a dressing-gown thrown hurriedly about her plumpish shoulders.

‘Chief Inspector Gently of the Criminal Investigation Department … I’d like to have a few words with you, ma’am.’

She stared over his shoulder at the lagging Blacker.

‘About him again, is it? I’ve been through all that before!’

Inside the house was even more depressing than without. The street door opened straight into a small, icy room, its single window providing a totally
inadequate
light.

On the floor was worn linoleum patterned to look like parquet. The three-piece suite, upholstered in brown rexine, appeared too small for the actual practice of sitting.

‘Don’t you coppers trust one another? The last one wanted to know the inside of a maggot’s behind! And as for Sam being mixed up in that business at the mill—!’

A little too shrill, was it … a little too aggressive?

Gently seated himself massively, his hips nipped between the narrow arms of the chair. Not for the first time he wondered what men saw in this sort of woman …

‘Your name is Maisie Bushell, is it?’

‘Of course it is – do I look like Marilyn Monroe?’

She looked more like a Blackpool landlady, with her domineering chin and pugnacious green eyes.

‘Are you a Lynton woman, Miss Bushell?’

‘Yes, I am, if you must know.’

‘You’ve lived all your life in Lynton?’

‘Course I have – didn’t the others tell you?’

‘You’ve never stayed in London, for instance?’

‘Stayed there! I’ve never even seen the stinking place! What are you getting at, mister – what am I supposed to have done now?’

‘Won’t you sit down, Miss Bushell? This may take a little time.’

She dumped herself on to the settee, never once taking her eyes off him or glancing at Blacker. The foreman, after hanging about by the door for a little while, folded his bony frame into the other chair and put on an expression of exaggerated unconcern.

‘Now … about what happened on last Thursday evening. Would you mind going through it again for my benefit, Miss Bushell?’

‘There isn’t nothing to go through. Sam spent the night with me. We’ve been pals a long time, you don’t want to think that every Tom, Dick and Harry …’

‘How long have you been friends?’

‘How should I know? Years—!’

‘And he is in the habit of spending the night here?’

‘Why shouldn’t he, if he wants to?’

‘Last Thursday … was that by arrangement?’

‘No, it wasn’t. I just ran into him.’

‘Start from there, if you please, Miss Bushell. Just tell me everything that happened.’

Now she did throw a quick look at Blacker, but the
foreman was gazing fixedly at the empty bars of the fireplace.

‘Well, I went down town like I always do – I’m not one for staying in of an evening! And I had a drink at The Craven Arms, and another one at The King’s Head. Then I went on to The Three Cocks, where I saw Sam here sitting on his lonesome—’

‘Just a moment, Miss Bushell … what street is that in?’

‘It isn’t in any street. It’s in Junction Road.’

‘And The Fighting Cock – where’s that?’

‘What’s that got to do with it?’

‘According to Mr Blacker it was there that he met you.’

She stared at him angrily as though he were trying to pull a fast one. Then she jerked her head commandingly in Blacker’s direction.

‘Why can’t you remember instead of telling the man a fib! You know it was The Three Cocks – I’ve told them that all along!’

‘lt just slipped out, Maisie …’

Blacker stirred his feet embarrassedly.

‘And now you’ve got him thinking I’m telling him a lot of lies!’

‘Whoa!’ interrupted Gently. ‘Let’s have the correct version, shall we? Is The Three Cocks simply what you’ve been telling the police, or is it in fact where the meeting took place?’

‘It’s where I met Sammy.’

‘You’re sure about that?’

‘Course I’m sure about it! What does it matter, anyhow? We went to several places – could have been The Fighting Cock amongst the rest of them.’

‘But Mr Blacker says you stopped in one public house!’

‘And I say we didn’t! Him … he’s got a memory like a sieve – mixing it up with another night, that’s what
he’s
been doing!’

‘That’s right!’ chimed in Blacker. ‘Now it’s just dawned on me. It was Saturday we was in The Fighting Cock, Maisie. But I got it right when the bloke was taking it down …’

Gently sighed and felt for his pipe. It was
symptomatic
, perhaps, but they’d soon get the story squared up again.

‘What public houses did you visit?’

‘As if I’d remember! But I dare say we finished up in The Dun Cow, being on the way here.’

‘They’d remember you there?’

‘Don’t see why they shouldn’t.’

‘What time did you get home?’

‘After they turned out – we come straight back.’

‘And neither of you went out again?’

‘Sam didn’t leave here till the eight o’clock news was on.’

‘And you, Miss Bushell?’

‘Don’t ask a stupid question!’

‘I’d appreciate a straight answer …’

‘All right – I stinking well didn’t!’

She was undoubtedly the stronger character of the
two, sitting bolt upright in her dressing-gown on her comfortless settee. Blacker had automatically accepted a secondary role. His memory wasn’t so good … and that was dangerous, in a liar!

Gently filled his pipe with slow care and lit it with a couple of matches. The narrow chair made him feel as though he were in a straitjacket, and the chill of the room was sending shivers up his back.

‘Have you ever been to Newmarket, Miss Bushell?’

‘Dare say I have at one time or another.’

‘Recently, have you?’

‘No, I haven’t – and what’s that got to do with it?’

‘Do you know any of these men?’

He flashed his set of photographs.

She lingered over them boldly, but if she recognized any of them she gave no indication of it.

‘You know The Roebuck, of course?’

‘Why shouldn’t I know it?’

‘Have you been in there during the last fortnight?’

‘Don’t make me laugh, copper!’

‘The mill too … you’ll know that? Have you been round the back – into that stable, perhaps?’

Once more it scored a hit, that apparently harmless building. You could almost hear Blacker holding his breath in the silence following the question.

‘What stable … what do you mean? I don’t know nothing about stables!’

‘Not the stable behind the mill, Miss Bushell?’

‘No, I don’t – I haven’t never been there!’

‘Then this wouldn’t belong to you, would it?’

Gently suddenly produced the little gold cross.

‘You wouldn’t have dropped it there on Thursday night – when you were entertaining somebody in the hayloft?’

The moment of silence had a different quality this time. Instinctively Gently could feel that he had played his card wrongly. They were still scared, both of them, he was on or around the target, but the tension had subtly relaxed a few degrees.

‘Don’t know what you’re talking about, copper!’

‘Maisie was with me – you ask them round the pubs.’

‘I never went near the mill, and you can’t prove I did. As for that cross thing—!’

‘She never had one of those.’

Gently smoked expressionlessly through the clamour of denial. He was wrong, and they were relieved, and the relief betrayed itself in the fervour of their
disclaimers
.

But he hadn’t been far wrong – that was the point! There was a guilty link between this pair and the stable, and through that with Blythely and Fuller.

Could the stable have been the scene, and Blacker, say … hadn’t Fuller made him foreman?

‘Look here – this is an offer.’

He blew a stream of smoke across the dingy room.

‘If you’ve been concealing knowledge of this business it’s a pretty serious affair. You’re both liable to be indicted as accessories after the fact – which means a stiff sentence if you happen to be convicted.’

‘But if you come clean now I’ll do what I can for you.
It may be that you’ll get off with nothing more than a warning. So suppose you do the sensible thing, and tell me what you’re hiding?’

‘But we ain’t hiding nothing!’

Maisie’s battleship chin lifted.

‘How many more times do we have to … I tell you, we don’t know a bloody thing!’

‘And you?’ Gently turned to Blacker.

‘I’ve told you everything
I
know!’

‘I’m making you both a good offer …’

‘Now isn’t that sweet of a stinking cop!’

‘Right, then!’ Gently levered his tortured hips out of the chair. ‘We’ll do it the hard way, since that’s how you want it – from now on you can consider yourselves as being under surveillance. You won’t leave Lynton and you’ll hold yourselves available for questioning. And heaven help you if we find that you know a fraction more than you’ve told us!’

He didn’t slam the door, which seemed unlikely to survive such a gesture; but the panache of his exit suggested that a door had been slammed.

‘
P
AYPOR – PAYPOR! LATEST
on the Mill Murder!’

Gently bought a copy from the vendor shivering by the market stalls.

‘
VICTIM GUEST AT LOCAL HOTEL
– Police favour “double cross” theory – “All-Stations” alert for
associates
.

‘Latest developments in the investigation of the murder at Lynton of Stephen (“Steinie”) Taylor have led the police to one of the town’s most celebrated old Coaching Inns …

‘In an interview this morning with Chief Inspector Gently of the Yard, who is conducting the investigation, our reporter was told that the facts justified the theory that Taylor …’

And there was the picture of Gently outside the hotel, making him look like a congenital idiot.

Soon the grey streets would be lively with the factory workers, grabbing their papers as they hurried in to tea. Did they believe them, these glossied accounts, with
their factual-sounding guesses? Over kippers in the kitchen, would they pass current for the truth?

He tucked the paper into his pocket and plodded across the square to headquarters. As he pushed through the swing doors the sergeant on the desk nodded to him respectfully.

‘Has my man left a message?’

Gently had sent Dutt to poke around the docks.

‘Yes, sir, soon after lunch. He rang up from the railway station, sir.’

Nothing if not thorough, Dutt had returned to the station to question some of the staff he had missed earlier. As a result he had found a booking clerk who remembered the departure of Ames and Roscoe.

‘He said to tell you they booked singles to Ely, sir. They were first-class tickets, and the two chummies seemed to be in a big hurry. They went off on the two fifteen London.’

‘Ely, was it?’

Gently made a face. From Ely one could take a train to almost anywhere else in the country.

‘Doesn’t give you much scope, sir.’

The sergeant sounded sympathetic.

‘No – but you’d better get on to Ely for me and see what they can dig up. Oh, and if my man comes in …’

‘Yes, sir?’

‘… tell him I’ve got a tail job for him, and fix him up with a bike. I want him to keep tabs on the foreman at the mill – obvious tabs. I want the fellow worried.’

The mood was still with him, the mood of confident 
expectation. He’d got his teeth into something, whatever that something was.

On his way back to the mill he turned aside into the drying-ground, pausing again before the enigmatic stable.

There was nobody to be seen there now. The place had a sleepy, neglected atmosphere; all the buildings around seemed to have turned their backs on it. The thumping of the naphtha engine, subdued and
asthmatical
, owned something of the quality of the cricket in Blythely’s bakehouse.

Wasn’t it the perfect spot for an assignation … or a crime? It was overlooked by nothing except the bleary windows of the mill’s posterior.

He passed on down the passage. In the engine-room two men were standing, apparently engaged in earnest conversation. One of them, the silent one, was the
miller
; the other – Gently sighed – was Lynton’s egregious mayor-elect.

If only the fellow would leave his tenants to stew in their iniquity!

‘Ah … Inspector!’

Pershore had caught sight of him and came strutting out of the engine-room.

‘I’ve been on the phone – the superintendent
informed
me of your magnificent progress. Allow me to congratulate you, my dear fellow. I was sure that Press would get a good man down!’

Gently mumbled something, but his eyes were fixed on Fuller. If ever one had seen desperation in a face …

‘Mind you, I was pretty certain of the way things
were shaping. As I said to you this morning, it was obvious that his associates … and all the while you were on the trail, my dear fellow – you had as good as got your hand on them! As a citizen of Lynton – not, perhaps, the least eminent …’

‘We haven’t arrested them yet, sir.’ Gently was rude in his interruption. ‘And as a matter of fact, it’s not certain that they did it – the evidence we have can be construed either way.’

‘But upon my word, Inspector—!’

Gently shut his ears to the man’s expostulations. It was Fuller he was talking to, Fuller he wanted to goad. And the hunted look the miller was wearing was more eloquent than a dozen Pershores …

‘But the whole trend of what the superintendent was telling me …’

Blacker had known something damning, it was too transparent.

‘And at Newmarket anything can happen. From my own experience …’

Now Fuller was expecting his imminent arrest.

‘Let’s go into the office.’

‘Eh?’ Pershore broke off offendedly.

‘I said let’s go into the office. I want to talk to Mr Fuller.’

Protesting, the mayor-elect followed the two of them into the office. Fuller, walking unsteadily, led them into that part of it hidden from the road by the screen. His clerk made to rise from her typewriter, but Gently motioned her to remain.

‘Don’t go, Miss Playford … you may be able to help us. I dare say you have records of what occurred here last Thursday.’

‘Last Thursday!’ echoed Pershore. ‘I fail to
understand
, Inspector.’

Gently shrugged. ‘It’s quite simple. I’m proposing to reconstruct the day of the crime.’

He got Pershore quiet at last, though wriggling with resentment. The second citizen of Lynton was alarmed by this fresh attack on his shining tenantry.

He took a seat in a corner from which he could command the proceedings, and seemed to be daring Gently to find one smutch on the miller’s record.

To an unprejudiced eye the task could not have seemed a difficult one. Fuller, sitting slumped near the typewriter, had the appearance of being at the end of his tether. His clerk was looking shaken too. She kept darting agonized glances at her distressed employer.

In this connection, was it barely possible that Blacker’s hint had been genuine …?

‘As far as you can remember it I want an account of Thursday the twelfth. Begin where you left home after breakfast, and continue to when you locked up to go to tea.’

‘You can’t expect … it’s nearly a week ago …’

‘So was the stag party – but you seem to have remembered that pretty well!’

About to say something, Fuller hesitated. Instead, he looked up at Gently with a wild appeal in his eyes.

Put him out of his misery – that was the message! He’d had as much as he could stand, and now he would welcome the inevitable touch on the shoulder …

‘Go on – when did you leave the house?’

The relief of arrest was not coming yet.

Fuller’s eyes sank again and his fists clenched tightly; when he spoke it was to the rough planks of the office floor.

‘I … half past eight. That’s my usual time. As far as I can remember I wasn’t late that morning.’

‘You drove straight to the mill?’

‘Yes … no, I stopped to buy something. There was a milling article in
The Listener
– they mentioned it before the news.’

‘Where did you buy it?’

‘At Smith’s in the Watergate.’

‘Who did you talk to there?’

‘Nobody … the assistant.’

‘You spoke to nobody else on your way here?’

‘No. I drove straight on to the mill.’

‘Describe to me what happened directly after you arrived.’

‘I – I parked my car outside.’ Fuller sounded lost without the lead of interrogation. ‘Mary showed me the mail … it was just the usual. Some invoices, receipts, an order from Bretts’ – a stupid firm in Norchester wanting to sell me a cash-register. I told her what to get on with and then went into the mill.

‘Two of the men were loading a lorry with the hoist – maize, supers, Kositos, the usual mixture for our
farmer customers. Two more were sacking flour … Tom was minding the engine. The rest were putting some oats through – later on it was English wheat.’

‘You saw that all of them were at their jobs, did you?’

‘Naturally – I go round every morning. And I check stocks and keep an eye on the belting and machinery.’

‘You noticed nothing out of the ordinary that morning?’

‘There was a slipping belt on one of the bolters …’

‘What was Blacker doing, for instance?’

‘Blacker …’ Fuller’s voice wavered. ‘I don’t
particularly
remember … he might have been helping to load.’

‘How long were you in the mill?’

‘An hour, the best part of. After that I checked the loading on Bob Tillet’s lorry … then one of my customers came in to pay his bill, and another about a wrong consignment. There’s always plenty to do in the office, with the phone ringing every five minutes.

‘At one o’clock I went to lunch—’

‘Just a minute! Who were those customers who came in?’

Fuller gave a feeble shrug. ‘One day is like another. Mr Blakey from Torrington was one of them – then there was a farmer called Howard, and the man from Hillside Dairies. They were all customers – Mary can tell you that.’

‘What about Mr Blythely – didn’t you see him that morning?’

‘I suppose so … yes, I did. I met him in the yard.’

‘And you had a conversation?’

‘I … not what you could call one.’

‘What do you mean by that, Mr Fuller?’

‘Well, we passed the time of day!’

‘Hmn.’ Gently’s dissatisfaction was emphatic. ‘Who else is there you’ve forgotten to mention? Take your time, Mr Fuller … wewon’t rush this memory of yours!’

‘Excuse
me
, Chief Inspector!’

The mayor-elect was butting in.

‘Since you’ve such a passion for the truth, however irrelevant it may seem—’

Wearily Gently fished out his pipe and stuck it into his mouth. Before long he was going to jump on this Lynton worthy, though it blighted the super’s life from now until Christmas …

‘Would you mind not interrupting, sir?’

‘Interrupt, sir? I have something of importance to contribute!’

‘I am endeavouring to conduct an enquiry—’

‘And I, sir, am trying to assist you – however pointless your mode of proceeding appears to strike me!’

With an effort Gently held his peace. It was a long time since he had enjoyed the luxury of losing his temper officially. As a rule he suffered fools, if not gladly, at least intelligently …

‘Very well, sir – provided it’s relevant.’

‘Thank you, Inspector. I feel sure you will think it so. The fact is that on Thursday last I paid a visit to the mill – though I am not surprised at my tenant having forgotten it, considering your hectoring treatment of him. Now why this should be—’

‘At what time was that, sir?’

‘Time?’ Pershore snorted. ‘I was in Lynton during the morning – naturally, I had no occasion to allot times to my movements. But if you will permit me to say so—’

‘What was the purpose of your visit?’

‘Eh?’ Pershore’s eyes opened wide. ‘Do you dispute that this is my property? I came to view it, sir – I frequently overlook my investments! The keystone of success in business – and, speaking personally—’

‘You went over the mill, did you?’

‘And the bakehouse, since you are so precise.’

‘Accompanied by Mr Fuller?’

‘Certainly, as regards the mill.’

‘Asking him questions, no doubt?’

‘It has always been my unswerving policy—’

‘So you were aware that the furthermost hopper contained spoiled flour?’

‘That was something which I was unlikely to miss.’

Gently shook his head with monumental slowness.

‘A little advice! Your position is ambiguous, if you don’t mind my saying so. Your alibi is flimsy. You are apparently a frequenter of Newmarket. As the owner of this property, you will no doubt have some keys. And to cap it all, you admit knowing about the hopper of spoiled flour. Can’t you see what the attitude of the average policeman would be?’

The mayor-elect’s mouth opened incredulously.

‘You can’t be serious, Inspector!’

‘I assure you I am, sir. You could quite easily become involved.’

‘But I told you this morning—!’

‘That you had not been in Lynton? I’m afraid we’d need witnesses to prove the truth of that.’

The great man of Lynton rocked slightly in his chair. Even Fuller had been roused from his apathy to stare at his landlord. As for the clerk, she seemed unable to believe her ears …

‘So I would advise you to avoid drawing attention … if you value your civic reputation! Once the press get hold of these things they take a lot of living down. On the whole, the less your name appears in this business the better.’

It was a palpable threat, and Pershore was visibly shaken by it. An automatic protest died haplessly on his lips. One could have homicidal tenants – that was one thing! – but prospective mayors should not be personal participants …

‘Of course, I – I see your point, Inspector!’

‘Mmm.’ Gently struck a match and set it to his pipe.

‘It was never my intention – I think I know better—’

‘If you don’t mind I’d like to be getting on with my enquiry.’

Pershore lapsed into a dismal silence and Gently blew a number of smoke-rings. In the yard a lorry had drawn up, its idling motor providing an undertone to the beat of the naphtha engine.

Fuller, probably, should be out there giving the driver instructions.

‘Why didn’t you mention Mr Pershore’s visit?’

‘I’d forgotten about that.’

The miller sounded sullen, but somehow more composed. The Pershore interference had unfortunately given him time to pull himself together.

‘It was quite a big thing to forget. Does Mr Pershore come round so often?’

‘No, it isn’t that – I’d just forgotten what day he came on.’

‘But naturally, you remember it now?’

‘He was here on Thursday morning.’

‘At what time was that?’

‘It was about eleven or just after.’

‘What makes you so certain?’

‘Mary fetches in the coffee about then, and she was out after it when Mr Pershore arrived.’

‘What else have you forgotten?’