Gently Instrumental (17 page)

‘I don’t think you understand.’

‘Leonard isn’t responsible. By some mischance he discovered the body, and that is his sole connection with the affair. So I suggest that you release him at once to allow him time to collect himself for this evening.’

‘Not without a signed confession from someone.’

‘Don’t be absurd.’ Hozeley stubbed his cigarette.

Gently drew a long breath. Out in the garden David Crag had turned his attention to the raspberries: he was collecting them in a chip basket, and pausing now and then to sample one. Perhaps at last showing deference to the sun, he was dressed today in an ex-Service bush-shirt. The sleeves were worn down: he had to shoot a cuff to examine his watch. It flashed yellow in the sun.

‘What else do you have Dr Henry’s word for?’

Hozeley had re-affixed the pince-nez. Almost as though Gently had been switched off, the composer was back with his crotchets and quavers.

‘I am sure the doctor has been most helpful.’

‘Oh yes – he practically drew a diagram!’

‘He is a man of great intelligence. You will do well to accept what he tells you.’

‘What he told me was that Virtue fancied his wife.’

‘Tanya?’ Hozeley condescended a glance. ‘Not very probable. But if the doctor says so there must certainly be something in it.’

‘But that wouldn’t have bothered you?’

‘What? Why should it?’

‘You didn’t care about Virtue going after women.’

Hozeley’s eyes were severe. ‘I have told you already that I don’t wish to discuss that person. The episode is over. I am not now concerned. Tidying-up the affair is your business. I require Leonard, of course, and I expect his release; and that, I insist, is the end of the discussion.’

‘You refuse to help me any further.’

‘I have nothing to add.’

‘How much a week do you pay young David?’

‘I – what?’ Hozeley’s stare was sharp.

‘Never mind,’ Gently said. ‘I’ll ask him myself.’

The rows of raspberry canes were trained to wires in a corner sheltered by an old brick wall. The spot was a suntrap and the fawn canes were drooping under the weight of much fruit. David Crag was sweating through his bush-shirt as he stooped among the rows. He straightened up gaping and hot-faced. The still air was laced with the odour of the raspberries.

‘Good weather for these?’ Gently asked amiably.

David Crag said nothing. His coltish features were smothered in sweat and his fair hair daubed to his forehead. He had a clumsy, strong-boned frame and hands calloused by labour. Along with the bush-shirt he wore faded jeans supported by a fancy belt of stamped leather.

‘Now . . . about that man you met on Monday.’

In his helpless stare there was something clownish. His mouth had continued to gape: involuntarily, he licked his lips.

‘I got to get this stuff in for Mrs Butley . . .’

‘She won’t mind waiting a few minutes.’

‘No, you don’t know her. She’ll mob me.’

‘Let’s go outside. Through the door in the wall.’

Firmly he took possession of the chip basket and set it down in the shade of the canes. He nodded to the door; David Crag moved unwillingly to open it. The door gave directly on to the heath, which here was clothed with gorse thickets. A short path led through the gorse to a wider path departing in the direction of the town.

‘This is your way to and from work?’

He licked his lips again. ‘That’s right.’

From the junction the path was visible for some hundreds of yards, running straight through the alleys of gorse.

‘Show me where you met him.’

‘Well, it was here, like . . .’

‘Point me out the exact spot.’

David Crag stared about stupidly, then pointed to the path.

‘Describe this man.’

He wiped away sweat. ‘Well, he was tall, like . . . about like you. And he spoke different, didn’t he? Like he came from London, I reckon.’

‘What was he wearing?’

‘He’d got a sort of blue shirt on, and some dark-like trousers.’

‘A jacket?’

‘Oh ah! But he was carrying that, like.’

‘What about shoes?’

‘Yes, his shoes. They was brown with big heels.’

‘Hat?’

His tongue worked again. ‘Got a funny sort of straw hat, hadn’t he?’

Gently took a step nearer to one of the gorses and sniffed at the hot, sweet fragrance. He fingered the yellow pods. David Crag hadn’t closed his mouth.

‘Tell me what happened.’

David Crag gulped. ‘He – he spoke to me, didn’t he? Asked me if Mr Hozeley didn’t live here, and if a young fellow called Virtue wasn’t staying with him.’

‘Did he say why he asked that?’

‘Well no, he didn’t.’

‘He gave no hint that he knew them?’

Behind Gently David Crag hesitated. Then he shuffled a foot: ‘No.’

‘And you left him standing here.’

‘Well . . . yes! I can’t say where he went then.’

‘Going down this path, wouldn’t you have looked back?’

‘No. No, I didn’t look back.’

‘You weren’t at all curious about him?’

One could hear the tongue rasp on his dry lips. ‘No, I wasn’t, was I? I didn’t know nothing about all this, then.’

Gently nodded to the gorse. ‘Right . . . I think that’s all here. But I’d like you to accompany me to the house. There is something I want you to do.’

‘But I got to pick those raspberries for Mrs Butley—!’

‘What you have to do won’t take a moment.’

He gave David Crag a gentle push in the direction of the garden. They marched back through the gate and up the path to the cottage. Hozeley was watching from the French doors. He backed off to the piano as they entered. David Crag didn’t look at Hozeley. He came to a stand short of the piano.

‘Now, David,’ Gently said. ‘I want you to tell Mr Hozeley the time.’

‘The time—?’ David Crag gaped.

‘Yes . . . by the watch you’re wearing on your wrist.’

David Crag’s eyes rolled. He lurched a little and made a half-hearted move towards the doors. Gently caught his arm. He forced him to the piano and flicked back the sweat-soaked cuff of the bush-shirt. He looked at Hozeley.

‘Well . . . ?’

The watch was a gold-cased Rolex Oyster; it was on a gold bracelet and had a matt black dial chased with swirling silver lines.

‘What’s your verdict?’

Hozeley’s eyes were molten. They flashed from the watch to the trembling David Crag. He said not a word but, turning from the piano, strode down the room and stood with his back to them.

Gently hooked off the watch and slipped it in his pocket.

‘Come along, David,’ he said. ‘Suddenly, I feel you’re on your own.’

David Crag made a choking sound; he could scarcely walk.

I
T WAS HIGH
noon in the interrogation room but nobody seemed rushing to pull a gun. In fact a sort of sulky silence prevailed, like that of a class kept in past playtime. Meares, his shirt now open to the last button, sat head in hands, considering the table. Leyston, his head tilted back, was giving an impression of the ennui to be seen in Victorian photo portraits. The policewoman had arranged her pencils in a pattern and was soulfully gazing at the high window: it had the air of being a room where everything had been said that anyone could at all think of.

When Gently entered they stirred slightly and Leyston rose in languid acknowledgement. Gently approached the table. He laid the gold Rolex on the spot that Meares was so earnestly observing. Meares started. He gazed at the watch, glanced at Gently, then back at the watch.

‘That’s Virtue’s.’

‘Are you sure of that?’

‘Of course. There can’t be two like it in Shinglebourne.’

‘You have seen him wearing it?’

Meares shrugged faintly. ‘Everyone has. It was a present from Walt. I happen to know it cost Walt a shade over eight hundred and fifty pounds. Virtue couldn’t show it off enough. Ask the others – they’ll tell you.’

Gently picked up the watch. ‘When did you last see it?’

Meares’s eyes followed it. ‘I . . . don’t remember.’

‘Would it have been at Tuesday’s rehearsal?’

‘If you say it was I won’t contradict you.’

‘But was it?’

Meares gestured wearily. ‘It probably was, but I don’t remember. He never wore it when he was playing anyway – musicians have a thing about that.’

‘So that was the last time you saw it.’

‘All right . . . say it was!’

‘But when you struck that match . . . didn’t you see it then, glinting on Virtue’s upflung wrist?’

Meares’s eyes went still. They stayed on the watch, which Gently dangled before him hypnotically. One could hear its tiny ticking in the hot silence of the room. He looked up.

‘No . . . I didn’t see it.’

‘Wouldn’t he have put it back on when he finished playing?’

‘Yes, he would – and I
should
have seen it!’ Meares’s eyes sparkled suddenly. ‘Where did you find it?’

Gently dropped the watch back in his pocket. He nodded to Leyston and headed for the door. Meares had half-risen from his chair: he was gazing after them in dismay.

‘But where
did you
find it, sir?’ Leyston echoed as they went through to his office. ‘It wasn’t in his room at the cottage. We only found a cheap Timex there.’

Gently dropped into the chair at the desk, felt for his pipe and deliberately lit it. Through the initial wreaths of smoke he said:

‘Would you believe David Crag’s wrist?’

‘David Crag . . . !’

Gently nodded. ‘The temptation to wear it must have been too great. He had on a sleeved shirt to conceal it from Hozeley. Hozeley recognized it but isn’t talking.’

‘Glory be!’ Leyston sank on a chair, his sad eyes comically round. On the desk was a tumbler charged with cigarettes: Leyston mechanically took and lit one.

‘Did you never check his alibi?’

‘Well – no, sir! Not beyond a word with his old man. He said young Dave was at home that evening, mending his bike. And you know the old man.’

‘Better than he seems to know his grandson.’

Leyston punished his lungs. ‘It’s a stunner though, sir. Do you reckon Meares saw him?’

‘No doubt about it. Nor that his gardener jokes had a foundation.’ Gently brooded over his pipe. ‘It was David Crag who Virtue was planning to meet, of course. He’d feel he could risk that. He’d got a bite on Meares and was ready for a move to new pastures.’

‘Then young Dave turned on him, sir.’

‘And Meares must have arrived to see the end of it.’ Leyston took a drag. ‘There could have been provocation, sir.’

‘That’s what we have to decide now.’ Gently drew deeply and sieved smoke. ‘Fix up Mason with a fresh warrant. We’ll want David Crag’s clothes, any likely blunt instruments and whatever else he may have that he shouldn’t.’

‘The old boy will create, sir.’

Gently grunted. ‘I shall want a word with Mr

Crag too! And meanwhile you can hang Meares out to air and give the WPC a break to powder her nose.’

Leyston stubbed his fag and rose. ‘I’ll put Meares in the charge room,’ he said. ‘Anything else, sir?’

Gently nodded. ‘In a large glass – beer!’

The sun had reached the interrogation room window and was slanting down one of the cream-washed walls. At Gently’s instance they’d fetched Leyston’s fan and propped it up on an extra chair. Otherwise the scene was unchanged, except that now David Crag was elbowing the table. The policewoman, fresh-faced from a sluicing, sat waiting for business with a virgin page.

Gently sat; Leyston sat; the constable departed and closed the door. David Crag kept his eyes lowered: he was breathing audibly through his mouth. Somehow he resembled a young, trapped animal, a rabbit aware of the presence of stoats. His fingers were still stained from the raspberries and streaks of red had transferred to his brow.

‘Right, David,’ Gently said. ‘I shall have to ask you some questions.’ He administered the caution.

David Crag heard him, but it was impossible to tell if he understood.

‘Now . . . you’d better tell us where you got the watch.’

This, at all events, he was prepared for! He pulled his head up half-defiantly and fixed flinching, warm-brown eyes on Gently.

‘I bought it, didn’t I?’

‘You bought it?’

‘Yes – I bought it from this man! The one what spoke to me up on the Common – I seen him again last night!’

‘Oh. From that man.’

‘Yes – I’m telling you.’ His eyes held steady though his mouth trembled. ‘I met him in the caff, the Wimpy, and he asked me if I didn’t want to buy a wristwatch.’

‘I see,’ Gently said. ‘What was he asking for it?’

David Crag wet his lips. ‘Asked a fiver, didn’t he?

Said he’d got two and he didn’t need this one, so he’d sell it to me for a fiver.’

‘And that seemed to you a bargain.’

‘Well it was, wasn’t it? I mean, it was going all right and all.’

‘It didn’t bother you – buying a gold-cased watch for a fiver?’

‘No – well, I mean I didn’t know nothing about that.’

‘Nor anything else about it?’

‘No, I wouldn’t, would I?’

‘Like who you’d seen wearing it a few days ago?’