Gently in the Past Page 7

  A sea picture. But the sea itself was hidden by the marram dunes. One smelt it, or heard it in the cries of gulls who, along with sandpipers, scavenged the mudflats. Distant across the river and marsh, riding above a gorsy common, stretched the compact urbation of Wolmering with its flint tower and chalked lighthouse.

  ‘Why would a yachtsman want to shift from here?’

  Gently had driven to the very end of the street. There a notice, propped against a rotting boat, informed one that the shingle was for Turning Only. In fact there was ample parking on either side of the road, formed on a stretch of firm marsh lying between river and village. The last house, a tall, white residence standing proud behind colourful gardens, fronted river, marrams and the prospect of Wolmering: and that was where Raymond Tallis lived.

  Eyke said cautiously: ‘It was his brother’s house. He’d maybe feel he wanted a house of his own.’

  ‘But six miles inland?’

  ‘It’s not far to drive, sir. Perhaps he thought it was worth a look.’

  Perhaps. And yet, from his windows, Tallis could see the state of the tide, check the day’s conditions, read off the course signalled at the yacht club. And as far as the house went, he had made himself at home there long before his brother had died ... Caxton Lodge: their grandfather had built it, leaving to stand the pleasant cottage that went with the plot.

  They were waiting for Tallis; Eyke had rung the Lodge to learn that he hadn’t yet returned from the works, and though an interview with Julia Tallis on her own was tempting, Gently had reluctantly decided to forgo it. Dangerous ground; because, after all, they had little to go on but a pack of gossip. It might be that a breathing-space was not inappropriate before they tangled with the property-viewing yachtsman.

  ‘Call in again.’

  Eyke obeyed, but the exchange was brief.

  ‘They’ve had a second man down, sir ... the air in the well is a bit dodgy.’

  ‘No stilettos or poniards?’

  ‘Nothing yet, sir.’

  But they should certainly have found it by now. Whatever debris had collected in the well, something thrown in on Saturday would be sitting on top of it. And, in any case ...

  ‘What I want from the lab is a little bit of imagination! Ask them to experiment with butcher’s meat – anything to get us a lead on the weapon.’

  The truth was that, sitting there brooding, he was becoming more and more aware of the blind alleys in the case. The weapon was one, but whatever the direction you were brought up short in some way or another. Nothing to get one’s teeth into; just a fabric of circumstance, lacking a loose end to nag away at. And the one weak strand, Fiona Quennell, beyond the reach of interrogation. What they needed was a break, a piece of solid evidence to use as a lever to set things working. But what they had was unsupported tattle, plus a suggestion from the principal suspect ...

  Already it was beginning to feel like one of those cases, so apparently straightforward, that nevertheless lose momentum and finish up in the files.

  ‘Sir.’

  A plum-coloured Daimler had appeared from the direction of the village and was turning into the gravel sweep between the flowerbeds of Caxton Lodge. It stopped before a multiple garage and a thickset man got out. As he was reaching a briefcase from the car, he was joined by a woman from the house.

  ‘She’s telling him we’re due to call ... she must have missed him when she rang the works.’

  The man turned to stare in their direction; then he shrugged and said something to the woman. Together they went into the house, he with his hand on her waist.

  ‘We go, sir?’

  ‘Let him get in.’

  At that instant the RT buzzed. Eyke took it, listened and hung up, his glum face even glummer.

  ‘They’ve finished with the well, sir.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘Just some broken pots and a rusty bucket. They’re still going over the cottage, but they’ve found nothing comic so far.’

  And neither would they. With sudden conviction, Gently knew that Reymerston would leave no clue. He hadn’t panicked before, and he wouldn’t have done this time: the sea was his confidant when it came to evidence.

  On such a tide as was now ebbing, and under Gently’s own eyes, he had lost the one object that could have tied him to Vivienne.

  ‘I was expecting your visit, Superintendent. To be frank, I’m surprised that you haven’t called sooner.’

  They had been shown into a drawing-room furnished neo-Victorian, with overstuffed, deep-buttoned settee and chairs. A vast Turkey carpet covered the floor and on the walls hung gloomy paintings in fresh-gilded frames; a bureau-bookcase contained books on collecting, and china trinkets stood about on small tables and whatnots. There was also a sofa, placed in a window: it had a scroll-carved mahogany frame.

  ‘Naturally I am delighted that a man of your standing has taken charge. But, as the person most concerned with Frederick’s affairs, I would have expected you to consult me earlier.’

  Furtive was right: Raymond Tallis had eyes that watched you from between narrowed lids. A heavy, round-shouldered, short-necked man with plump, overfed features, he had a shifty air built into him, making you resent his fruity tones. He had shaken hands with a grasp intended to be firm but giving only a damp, rubber-like impression.

  In the hall, Gently had noticed a photograph of the two brothers and Quennell in yachting gear. Arthur Tallis had been taller, more ascetic; you might have thought it was Raymond Tallis and Quennell who were the brothers.

  ‘I expect the Superintendent wanted to see the family first, dear.’

  Julia Tallis had accompanied them in; she had gone across to the sofa and draped herself there decoratively.

  A woman of interesting figure and wide-mouthed good looks, she spoke with a sexy, contralto voice in which there was a trace of local broadness.

  ‘All the same, my dear, I would have thought it advisable to talk to me first.’

  ‘Perhaps he didn’t want to bother you at the business.’

  Raymond Tallis hoisted his round shoulders.

  ‘Please sit down.’

  He himself remained standing in front of the big marble mantelpiece. He glanced towards a drinks cabinet, then felt in his pocket for a cigar-case.

  ‘Smoke?’

  Gently shook his head.

  ‘So where would you like me to begin? I knew Frederick all his life – went to school with him, if it comes to that. A brilliant man, and tough. That’s why we put him in charge at the Press. The industry is going through a revolution and you need a ruthless touch now and then.’ He lit a cigar, his eyes slitted. ‘Of course, I know about Ruthy and her painter! It’s the sort of thing that might have upset Frederick, though he was no plaster saint himself. And Ruthy is one of those don’t-touch-me women who fall hard when they do fall. But I can’t see it. If it had happened in a quarrel, now ...’ He puffed firmly once or twice. ‘You want to know about the business, don’t you?’

  Expressionlessly, Gently said: ‘Whatever you can tell me.’

  ‘Yes – well.’ Tallis squinted through smoke. ‘The business is the obvious place to look. Frederick made changes, promotions, may have trod on a few toes. Then we’ve had a fight on with the unions over the introduction of new technology – not that it’s ever come to blows! But things like that you’ll have to consider.’

  ‘Quennell may have made enemies?’

  It’s possible, isn’t it? Printers are a rum set of people. Craftsmen, jealous of their trade. There could be one of them round the twist. Of course, I can’t mention any names – there are seven hundred employees to pick from. But there are fifty redundancies coming up, and it might be worth while to take a look at those.’

  ‘But no names.’

  ‘Well, there you are.’ Tallis took a few more quick puffs. ‘I’m doing my best to put you in the picture. What else is it you want to know?’

  ‘About Marilyn, perhaps,’ Julia Tallis suggested, with a thr
oaty little chuckle. ‘Some way-out boy friend of hers may have had a rush of blood.’

  Tallis brushed it aside in smoke. ‘What I want is to give you every assistance. Freddy was a friend. We’d been together through thick and thin all our lives. If I can help, just say the word. I want this business cleared up fast.’

  Gently hunched, staring at Tallis. ‘Perhaps one of you can help me in this way,’ he said. ‘What I need are witnesses who passed the gorse circle at around two p.m. on Saturday.’

  ‘At around two p.m ...

  The Tallises exchanged looks.

  ‘Well – I suppose I did,’ Julia Tallis said. ‘I was driving into town about then, but. I certainly didn’t see anything suspicious.’ She glanced at her husband. ‘Did you, Ray?’

  Raymond Tallis coughed. ‘No ... I didn’t! But it was later when I went by – nearer three than two, I’d say.’

  ‘But you left before me.’

  ‘I had business here. It was near enough three when I left the village.’

  He coughed again, looked round for an ashtray and stubbed the part-smoked cigar. He couldn’t help it: he had a shifty air. It came into whatever he did.

  ‘So you passed at about three,’ Gently said.

  ‘Yes, about then,’ Raymond Tallis conceded. ‘I can’t be exact. I’d been to look at some moorings that a man was offering to the yacht club.’

  ‘You had an appointment with him.’

  ‘No appointment. Royce is a farmer, he’d have been in Norwich. I went to check the banks and the depth of water. I suppose I was around there for over an hour.’

  ‘How far from the gorse circle?’

  ‘Oh ... a mile, maybe. Nowhere that I could see it.’

  ‘Did you see anyone?’

  ‘Not a soul. The moorings are upstream from the harbour.’

  Did he realize he’d just blown an alibi? With Raymond Tallis it was difficult to tell. He would always squint at you with narrowed eyes, giving you the impression he was putting one over. He was wearing a dark grey business suit that looked like a sack on his heavy body; he stood feet apart, hands behind him, rocking slightly under Gently’s scrutiny.

  ‘Anyway . . . I didn’t see anything. Either going or coming back. That would be an hour later, give or take. I’d gone to view a house at Welbourne.’

  ‘A house ...?’

  ‘One that took my eye when I saw the advert in a paper. Normally I’d have been sailing on Saturday, but that was the only time the owner could see me. I did try to view it earlier, but some union trouble blew up to prevent it.’

  Did he need to explain that?

  ‘The house must have been attractive to make you consider leaving here.’

  ‘Oh Ray was never serious,’ Julia Tallis smiled. ‘It’s just that the Tallises came from Welbourne, and Ray always has a hankering for the place. But this house suits us too well – besides which, his grandfather built it.’

  It was here you lived with your first husband.’

  ‘Arthur – yes.’ Her smile faded. ‘I suppose you’ve heard how I lost him. I’ll never understand this obsession with sailing.’

  ‘He was an experienced yachtsman.’

  She nodded.

  ‘Lost in calm weather, I believe?’

  ‘That’s just what puzzled everyone—’ She broke off, throwing a dismayed look at her husband.

  For a moment Raymond Tallis rocked in silence, then he gave an ingratiating chuckle. ‘I think it’s time for a drink. I don’t know about you gentlemen, but I always appreciate a drink about now ...’

  Gently said nothing. Julia Tallis looked vexed.

  Raymond Tallis went to get the drinks.

  ‘I was talking to Mr Frank Quennell.’

  ‘Ah ... him!’

  Now Raymond Tallis had chosen to sit. His bulk filled one of the overstuffed chairs as though it might have been designed with him in mind.

  The room had windows north and east, looking out on a scene irradiated by sun, but was itself a gloomy apartment, unhelped by a wallpaper of red flock pattern.

  ‘Frank has got his knife into me, though I’m hanged if I know why. I was telling Julie. From the way he behaves, you’d think I was responsible for what has happened.’ He took a gulp of sherry. ‘What’s he been saying?’

  ‘He seemed rather a confused young man.’

  ‘Something about me?’

  Gently inclined his head. ‘I don’t think Frank Quennell is to be taken seriously.’

  Looks passing between husband and wife! Then Tallis leaned forward in his chair.

  ‘Listen, Superintendent. I’m a man who likes to have the cards on the table. You mentioned Arthur. I can guess the rest, just what young Quennell has been telling you. Well, there’s nothing in it. It was Freddy’s idea, to keep the inquest short and sweet. Julie knows. We didn’t want the press making a meal of a distressing business.’

  He was thrusting his glass towards Gently, his eyes this once wide open. So why couldn’t you accept his proffered sincerity, feeling only that it was an act?

  ‘It was Quennell’s idea ...?’

  ‘Exactly. I would have blurted out the whole story. I was lying on a bunk with a magazine when Freddy sang out that we were in irons. For a moment it didn’t sink in, then I was out of the cabin fast. But Arthur had vanished. That’s the plain truth. We were bobbing about in empty sea.’

  ‘How long before Quennell joined you?’

  ‘Heaven knows – I was bawling my head off. But he was out pretty soon afterwards, a minute at most, I’d say.’

  ‘And it was Quennell’s idea ...’

  ‘I repeat, yes. When we were waiting for the lifeboat to arrive. We’d better keep our tale simple, he said, or it might be all over the Sunday papers.’

  ‘Quennell was a man of prudence.’

  ‘You could rely on Freddy not to lose his head.’

  ‘Which perhaps accounted for his promotion.’

  Tallis stared, his eyes gone narrow again.

  Julia Tallis said: ‘Freddy did it for my sake. That’s all there is about that. If there had been anything fishy about it, would Freddy have let it out to young Frank?’

  ‘It was certainly confidential information.’

  ‘And now Frank’s trying to pump it up.’

  His eyes vacant, Tallis said: ‘We’ll have to have a word with young Frank ...’

  But suddenly the atmosphere had changed in that room with its fussy furniture and knick-knacks, as though the temperature had dropped a few points, or a door had opened to admit a draught. No one was drinking. Julia Tallis sat frowning, her glass beside her. Raymond Tallis squinted on at nothing, glass disregarded in his hand. A change of temperature: and no one making an effort to disguise the fact.

  Gently said: ‘Something else you might help with. I need a current example of Ruth Quennell’s handwriting.’

  Both stared at him at once. Julia Tallis said: ‘I suppose you’re not suggesting ...?’

  ‘Have you any examples?’

  ‘What if we have?’

  Raymond Tallis snapped: ‘This is getting past a joke! Everybody knows about the letter and that Ruth swears she never wrote it. So what are you getting at?’

  ‘You know about the letter?’

  ‘Do you think we haven’t been round to see her? Who else would she have to turn to in a spot of bother like this?’

  ‘You are frequently at The Uplands.’

  ‘Good lord, we live in and out of each other’s pockets. We have done all our lives. Are you going to make something out of that?’

  ‘If the letter was a forgery, someone planted it.’

  Julia Tallis said quickly: ‘Well, it wasn’t me. Freddy had left by the time I got there. In fact, I saw his car going up the street.’

  Gently turned to Raymond Tallis. ‘But you, didn’t you leave earlier?’

  ‘What if I did? I didn’t call at The Uplands – nor I didn’t see Freddy, then or at any time.’

  ‘Yet t
hat letter was planted.’

  Tallis’s stare was baffled. He gazed at Gently, then at his glass.

  ‘Oh, this is all nonsense!’ Julia Tallis exclaimed angrily. ‘How can you suspect us of any such thing?’

  ‘I think I should see my lawyer,’ Raymond Tallis said. ‘I don’t like the way this is going at all. You are making fantastic allegations – apparently only on grounds supplied by Frank Quennell.’

  Shrugging; Gently said: ‘Can you prove your movements – between one-thirty and three p.m. on Saturday?’

  ‘Haven’t I just told you—!’

  ‘But can you prove them?’

  Tallis tried to stare him down he didn’t succeed.

  ‘It amounts to this,’ Gently said. ‘If the letter was a forgery, then it was introduced from outside. The most likely person to have done that was a person familiar with The Uplands’ household. Mrs Tallis perhaps had no opportunity. You yourself may have had opportunity. But I have heard of a third member of the family who seems to have had an excellent opportunity.’

  Julia Tallis’s hand went to her mouth. ‘Paul!’

  ‘Look, this has gone far enough!’ Raymond Tallis burst out. ‘I won’t have you bullying my nephew and probably putting words into his mouth.’

  ‘Where is your son, Mrs Tallis?’

  ‘Paul has gone back to college.’

  ‘I shall need his address.’

  She looked helplessly at Tallis, whose plump features had sagged.

  ‘Listen ... I won’t have my nephew harassed!’

  ‘I want only a few words with him, Mr Tallis.’

  ‘I refuse to give you his address.’

  ‘No doubt the university administration will oblige.’

  ‘I shall forbid them.’

  Gently stared blank-faced. This was certainly getting interesting! He had thrown in Paul Tallis as a matter of routine, and the reaction was quite unexpected. Even Eyke was beginning to sit up, his wry nose scenting blood.

  ‘I understand your son paid a visit to The Uplands at some time on Saturday morning.’

  ‘The surprise would be if he didn’t,’ Julia Tallis said rapidly. ‘He and Fiona have a thing together. They’ve been close since they were kids, they went to the same junior school. When Paul’s at home, if he isn’t over there, then Fiona is over here. And Paul crewed for Freddy. And he’s a favourite with Ruth. So where else would you expect to find him?’