Gently French Page 13

  Her eyes narrowed; she stared at the key, then back at me.

  ‘You are mean, Monsieur. You know quite well that the car will be mine. But it doesn’t matter, I will wait. Only I shall not think you are very generous.’

  I moved my shoulders. ‘That’s too bad. Especially since I bring unpleasant news.’

  ‘Unpleasant news? How?’

  I dropped the key in my pocket. ‘I think we had better talk about that in private.’

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  I GAVE DUTT the pleasure of escorting her to the office and myself went in search of Frayling. I found him in the dining-room, decanting spirit into the chef’s stove from a Winchester bottle. It was near the door of the kitchen; I drew him further off.

  ‘Did Bavents have permission to go out yesterday?’

  Frayling’s tentative smile became anxious. ‘It was all right, wasn’t it? He didn’t get into any trouble?’

  ‘Please answer the question.’

  ‘Well – yes, I suppose so. He told me he had to attend a Student Union meeting. Apparently the meeting had been called unexpectedly and was to do with his being sent down.’

  ‘Have you a private phone, other than in the office?’

  ‘There’s one in my flat upstairs.’

  He took me there. I rang the University; I was handed around between secretaries. Eventually I contacted the Student Union liaison officer, who informed me there had been no meeting for three weeks. I asked him if Bavents’ rustication was an item on their agenda, and he informed me that that was unlikely. The matter had been discussed at a previous meeting, when no motion had been put before the committee.

  Frayling was concerned. ‘I just don’t understand it. He must have some personal problem he wants to keep quiet.’

  I threw him a look. ‘Don’t mention this conversation to him. And don’t let him out again without telling me.’

  ‘But look – what has he done?’

  ‘Just do as I say.’

  I left him gazing after me with wretched eyes. Outside, across the road, was parked an electrician’s van with two of Hanson’s men yawning inside it. I went to it and slid back the door.

  ‘Do either of you two know the waiter, Bavents?’

  They didn’t, so I gave them a portrait parlé: which in Bavents’ case wasn’t difficult.

  ‘If he leaves, detain him. I want him for questioning.’

  They looked uncertain. ‘Will there be a charge, sir . . . ?’

  ‘I want him stopped. Understood?’

  Apparently it was. I slammed the door.

  I had brought back copies of the Bilney photographs and I took them with me into the office. Mimi had appropriated the swivel chair and sat smoking, her sandalled feet on the desk. She was wearing her hot pants, along with a sleeveless top in a black, clinging jersey material; she looked politely bored, and didn’t bother to glance up as I entered the room. I adjusted the curtains; Dutt, in his corner, sat quietly sharpening a pencil. I perched on a corner of the desk, remote from the sandals, and laid down the photographs with their backs uppermost.

  ‘Have you been in a blue Viva car lately, Madame?’

  Mimi considered it. She flicked ash. ‘Do you think I have, Monsieur?’

  ‘I don’t know for certain. But later I shall need your fingerprint sample.’

  ‘Aha. Then you have such a car.’

  ‘We have both the car and the driver.’

  Mimi sat still, appraising her toes. Not a twitch of emotion on her magnificent face.

  ‘Perhaps you should ask him if I have been in his car. After all, I know nothing of the makes and colours. The cars today are so much the same. It is only the men that one remembers.’

  ‘Unfortunately, this driver is answering no questions.’

  ‘No?’ The corners of her mouth dimpled. ‘Possibly he is nervous, being questioned by policemen. I believe it happens with many people.’

  ‘I am sure he isn’t nervous.’

  ‘Then it may be stubborn? In some subtle way you have hurt his feelings?’

  ‘This man doesn’t have feelings, Madame Deslauriers. I have pictures of him here. Would you care to see them?’

  Her eyes flickered to mine. She could sense a trap, but there was now no way for her to avoid it; and doubtless she felt confident she could control herself and subdue any sign of recognition. She reached for the top photograph and turned it over.

  Her cry had the thrill of mortal agony.

  Her legs jerked from the desk: she sprang up, gasping, and stood with her face turned to the wall. She hugged herself, her breasts, her stomach, fighting to hold her hysteria in check. The sense of violence was awesome. She should have fainted; instead, there was this brief, epileptic-like struggle; then the frantic breathing began to subside, and her arms sank shakily to her sides. She pulled round to face me again, her cheeks flushed, her eyes smouldering.

  ‘You . . . pig!’

  I reached for the photograph, but she lunged forward and seized it with eager greed. She gazed at it angrily, triumphantly. Then she threw it in my face.

  ‘That was cheap, you pig – cheap! How dare you show me such a picture?’

  I returned the photograph to the pile. ‘I certainly agree it should not have been necessary.’

  ‘You take advantage. That is how my husband died. It is what they did to poor Freddy. You say “Aha, aha, this will break her down. This is just the thing for little Mimi”.’

  ‘You are over-reacting, Madame.’

  ‘Pig!’

  ‘You were less disturbed when the victim was Freddy.’

  ‘Did I see such photographs of what happened there? Were they pushed under my nose in this fashion?’

  ‘Freddy was your lover.’

  ‘Ha, ha, lover! In the end we were just friends.’

  ‘You had no grief for him. Surely this emotion is excessive for a mere stranger?’

  ‘It is not for a stranger. It is for shock. It is for that horror you make me see. It is unfair, a low trick. I am angry: I despise you.’

  I shook my head. ‘Too uncharacteristic.’

  ‘Ha?’

  ‘Madame Deslauriers has more poise.’

  ‘Beast and pig!’

  ‘I think Madame Deslauriers could have seen that picture without turning a hair.’

  ‘Am I a butcher then? An executioner?’

  ‘You are a person of coolness and resource.’

  ‘Ha-ha, flattery will not do either.’

  ‘Nor will any further denial that you know that man.’

  She snatched her head and glared at the pile of photographs. Her colour had slowly been returning to normal. Her breathing was well in check again and her hands trailing loose. Now she let her eyes die, too, the lids relaxing and hooding. The passionate set of her lips began to soften, to curve.

  ‘You are a bastard, Monsieur. Which you know very well.’

  ‘Perhaps you will take your seat again.’

  ‘But understand that I hate you.’

  She sat however, and replaced her immaculate feet on the desk. Then she took cigarettes from her pants-pocket, lit one and blew caressing smoke.

  ‘Of course, I do know that man. I knew him when you showed me the picture this morning. But I did not choose to acknowledge that. Which you will admit is my privilege.’

  ‘Why didn’t you choose to acknowledge it?’

  She cocked a shoulder. ‘Let us say you were interrupting my breakfast. Also I did not know him well. I didn’t wish to answer questions.’

  ‘You know his name?’

  ‘Why not? Bilney.’

  ‘How did you come to make his acquaintance?’

  ‘One evening I was in the Hammersmith Feathers with Freddy and Wicken and we were joined by this man. We went on to other pubs. He came with us. I think he was hoping for some business with Freddy. There were plenty of hangers-on like that. Doing a job for Freddy was a safe thing.’

  ‘Did Freddy employ him?’
<
br />   ‘You must ask Wicken. It was he who introduced him to Freddy.’

  ‘But after that you would see him around again?’

  ‘Oh no. I saw him just that once. He was not my style, you understand. He was a dull-witted, uncouth boy. If you ask me I do not think Freddy would have used him. Freddy was a man who required intelligence.’

  ‘But he was a friend of Wicken’s. And Wicken you did see.’

  ‘Wickey, yes. Not Wickey’s friends.’

  ‘So you could have got in touch with Bilney through Wicken.’

  ‘I suppose I could. But why should I?’

  ‘Say a personal interest.’

  She laughed derisively. ‘I tell you already he is not my style. I like some subtlety with my beef. Even among policemen one can find it.’

  ‘Then what about Bilney?’

  ‘What about him?’

  ‘Didn’t Bilney take a personal interest in you?’

  She gestured with the cigarette. ‘He was lecherous, of course. But it goes no further with that sort of animal.’

  ‘He didn’t try to see you?’

  ‘I think you are joking.’

  ‘Didn’t follow you around? Angle for attention?’

  ‘Not that one. Never.’

  ‘Yet we find him in Haughton. Staying next door. Sending you a message.’

  She breathed out a long miasma of smoke. ‘Does that make sense to you, my friend? That I would play footsy with such a dumb ox, when there were as good or better right on my doorstep?’

  ‘Bilney was there. He was no mirage.’

  ‘So. I am not responsible for that.’

  ‘You spoke to him. Directed him to Freddy’s hideaway. He could have learned of that only from you.’

  ‘You are forgetting Wickey. Wickey would know of it.’

  ‘Perhaps. But Bilney learned of it from you. His first move was to book at the Three Tuns. He didn’t change quarters till he had talked to you.’

  ‘I do not admit that.’

  ‘Then tell me something else. What was Bilney’s purpose in hanging around here? Sitting every day in Freddy’s chalet, smoking, waiting for the phone to ring?’

  She gestured peevishly. ‘Why should I know this?’

  ‘Because yesterday the phone rang, and the caller was you. You told Bilney to drive to the lane leading to the Broad, and you met him there and spent two or three hours with him.’

  ‘I did all that?’

  ‘You sat in the car with him. The car was pulled off into the trees. You had a picnic of sorts, fruit, chocolate – I can be more precise after the post- mortem. Because then Bilney died: straight after that. He went back to the chalet and met his killer. As though the real purpose of getting him away from the chalet had been to give the killer an opportunity for ambush.’

  ‘And you are accusing me?’

  ‘The killer knew where to go. He knew that Bilney would be absent. Two things that you knew and nobody else knew – just as there were two things that you knew about Freddy.’

  She flicked ash on the floor. ‘Poor Mimi. This is quite a formidable indictment.’

  ‘I think you had better help us.’

  ‘That was always inevitable. You are a man of such persuasion, my friend.’

  She wanted a drink, but I wouldn’t permit it; she sat awhile with a sulky expression. Though I had drawn the curtains of the door and counter windows, we could hear chattering people passing along to the dining-room. The sound accentuated the arrest of time which is the peculiar quality of interrogation. My refusing the drink had been a symbol. Now we were remote from the world of innocence.

  At last she folded her legs with a sigh.

  ‘Monsieur’s psychology is impeccable. I am a creature exposed to perpetual temptation. How sad if I spent my time rejecting it.’

  ‘Bilney was your lover?’

  She made a faint mouth. ‘I would rather not award him that title. He was – what shall we say? – a taste for garlic. He served as a purge for the coarser emotions.’

  ‘How long was he put to these medicinal uses?’

  ‘Oh, he has been around since Easter. I met him as I told you, in the Hammersmith Feathers. Next day he rang me. It developed from there.’

  ‘Did you go to his flat?’

  She hesitated. ‘No. There is a discreet hotel in Kensington. Not that we used it very often. One takes purges only occasionally.’

  ‘He was keen?’

  ‘Naturally.’

  ‘Wanted more than you would give him?’

  ‘Yes. It is the character of the type. Because of that we had a disagreement, which is why he followed me up here.’

  ‘What was he trying for?’

  Her hand lifted. ‘Some more artichokes on the same basis He was stupid, but not so stupid as to suppose I would leave Freddy. Of course, I wouldn’t let him stay in Haughton, but I was tickled to think he had come after me. So I told him he would have to lie low in the chalet, and perhaps I would ring him, perhaps I wouldn’t.’

  ‘And he settled for that?’

  ‘He was sure I would ring him. And he may not have been entirely wrong. It was dull here; Freddy was boring. I think Bilney may have gone to bat.’

  I nodded. It was fitting pretty well; I could believe in Bilney playing along. He had tasted the honey and it was some honey: worth a little patience for another dip.

  But that had been Thursday.

  ‘How often did you ring him?’

  ‘I gave him a call every day. It was amusing, like teasing a pet. He tried lots of tricks to make me say yes.’

  ‘When on Friday?’

  ‘You know when. My famous call to the theatre.’

  ‘After Rampant’s call.’

  ‘I do not deny it. But I said nothing of that matter to Bilney.’

  She faced me with frank eyes; it was either true or cleverly untrue. By freely conceding a critical point she was leaving me no room for manoeuvre. And alas, she was skilful enough to have done that. I could read nothing from her eyes. A frank look is a frank look, besides being the hallmark of accomplished liars.

  ‘Wouldn’t Freddy’s absence have given you a chance to meet Bilney?’

  ‘Ha-ha, do you think I lacked chances? I was not married to Freddy, you know. I do not recognize a monopoly.’

  ‘Still, you would have looked for a discreet occasion?’

  ‘Any day I could take a launch down the river. No, no, I wasn’t giving it to Bilney so easily. A little waiting would improve his manners, ha?’

  ‘But you did know Freddy would be out when you rang him.’

  ‘I have told you, yes. I knew when and where. But I did not tell Bilney. It was not his business. It would have encouraged him to come here, and I didn’t want that.’

  Another frank stare, with a flash of indignation.

  ‘Very well then. You rang, but you didn’t tell him. The next day you learned what had happened to Freddy. Wasn’t it risky to let Bilney hang around after that?’

  She threw up her hands. ‘Are you telling me! It was more than risky, it was suicidal. With the police running about spending the tax-payers’ money and looking for just such a boy as little Bilney. But he wouldn’t go. He thought now was his chance. No longer did Mimi have to hoodwink her Freddy. He was more than stupid, he was mad. I do not wonder he finished up like this.’

  ‘Did you see him?’

  ‘No! Do you think I am mad too? I could scarcely push past the police to the telephone. It was not till yesterday that they went away, that I could arrange to give Bilney a lecture.’

  ‘That was your object yesterday?’

  ‘What else?’

  ‘You seem to have spent several hours with Bilney.’

  ‘Because he is an imbecile! It was like drilling concrete. Surely you have met these cretins before?’

  ‘So the picnic was fortuitous.’

  ‘It was food that he brought. He has not been living on fresh air. And I got hungry talking to the ape. I d
idn’t expect it would take me so long.’

  ‘And what was the result?’

  ‘Not any result. He would not promise to go away.’

  ‘But after so much oratory? Three hours?’

  ‘Pyuh!’ It was a noise like a cat’s.

  I let my eyes drift, then snapped them back suddenly.

  ‘Tell me, Mimi. Who killed Bilney?’

  Her eyes were steady. ‘Someone with a knife.’

  ‘His name.’

  Her eyes mocked me. ‘Why should I tell you?’

  I got up and walked over to the window. The Bugatti was sitting proudly where I had parked it. Across the way lurked the tradesman’s van and the shadowy faces of the two D.C.’s. Some traffic was crawling across the junction, but the road in front of me was empty; sunlight was slanting on the bank opposite and lighting the windows of a flat built above it. I watched it as I talked.

  ‘Listen carefully. You’ve told me too much and too little. You have admitted sending Bilney to the chalet and calling him out to a meeting yesterday. We are back where we began. You knew he was there. You knew he would be absent for several hours. They are two things which only you knew. You must also know who killed Bilney.’

  She gave a little low chuckle. ‘A logical Englishman. And I thought you trusted only the intuition.’

  I turned from the window. ‘I need a logical answer. Or you may be spending tonight in a cell.’

  ‘Aha, a threat.’ She leaned back in her chair and hooked her thumbs in the sleeveless top. ‘Yet the cells are no strange thing to me, my friend. And I am told they are better furnished over here.’ She lowered her lids with their perfect lashes. ‘So then. Let us ventilate your logic. Would it be surprising if the man who killed Freddy was also the man who killed Bilney?’

  I said nothing. She nodded emphatically.

  ‘Oh yes. Oh yes. The same man. You show me the photograph. It is done with a knife. Unhappily, I know about these things. So, one man. He has killed Freddy. He is perhaps not a stranger in this district. He doesn’t go away. He is here, watching. He has seen Bilney. He has tracked him home. Then, where is the difficulty? He wishes to kill Bilney, decides he will lay for him in the chalet. Now he watches till Bilney goes away, which by chance is to meet me.’ She held out her hand. ‘Is this impossible? Does it not fit the facts as well? Would a jury prefer your version to mine? And so bang goes your logic.’