Gently with the Ladies (Inspector George Gently 13)

But that’s my 1100 by the gate.’
    ‘I suppose you can guess the advice I’ll give you.’
    She smiled ruefully at her lofted knee. ‘I’m to go to Inspector Reynolds and give him a statement, and this time keep the screams and bodies out of it. Do you think I’ll do that?’
    ‘I think you’d better. It isn’t just a question of the money, you know. You’re placing yourself squarely at the scene of the killing at the right time. And with motive.’
    Now she laughed. ‘But you don’t suspect me.’
    ‘Also you’ve offered bribes to a police officer.’
    ‘Not bribes and not to a police officer. Just myself. To you.’
    They were silent a moment, then she said quietly:
    ‘This is the queerest sort of thing, George. But I’m sincere, and you ought to believe it. Try to believe it. Even though I’m a liar. And now to surprise you I’ll go quietly. Only help me on with my coat.’
    She got up from the settle and he held the coat for her. When it was on she turned to face him. But all she did was give a little shrug and a long look. Then she went.
     
    He heard the drone of the 1100 and its gears pass away down Elphinstone Road, then he took up the phone and dialled a number with raking strokes.
    ‘Chief Superintendent Gently.’
    ‘Hullo Chiefie. What can we do for you tonight?’
    ‘I want information about Fletcher Bannister. Was a big man in plastics.’
    ‘You name it, we have it. What do you want to know about him?’
    ‘How he died.’
    ‘Put your feet up. I’ll have the details in half a minute.’
    In half a minute exactly the man in the
Express
morgue was picking up his phone again.
    ‘Fletcher Bannister, Chiefie. Killed in a car smash, October ten, fifty-nine. Was driving alone on the A4 at two-thirty a.m. Came off the road at Cherhill and hit a tree head-on. Estimated speed eighty-ninety. Bannister killed instantly.’
    ‘Have you the inquest report?’
    ‘This is it. Accident was witnessed by a truck-driver. Gave his opinion the crash was deliberate. No evidence of any contributory factor. Wife Sybil Bannister testified her husband’s state of mind was normal, did not know he had taken the car out, knew of no business he might be attending to. Bannister wearing pyjamas, dressing-gown, slippers when found. Verdict, took own life while balance of mind was disturbed. Is it what you want, Chiefie?’
    Gently grunted. ‘Any mention of house-guests?’
    ‘Not down here. Is there something we can print?’
    ‘Not if you don’t want a libel suit wrapped round you.’
    He hung up and glanced at his watch. It was after eleven-thirty. He went down to the kitchen. There, as he’d expected, Mrs Jarvis was still sitting. As he entered she came out of a doze.
    ‘Oh, Mr Gently! You’ll be after your nightcap.’
    Immediately she was bustling with milk in a saucepan and spooning rum into a beaker.
    But she was giving him one or two sharp glances.
    ‘Mr Gently,’ she said. ‘Was that – person – a client?’
    And Gently lied slyly: ‘She’s one of our officers. She’s doing decoy work round the Gardens.’

 
     
    CHAPTER NINE
     
    I N THE MORNING , resolving he might as well be hung for a sheep, he rang the office and left a message with Dutt and then drove direct to Chelsea H.Q. Reynolds had not yet come in, but Buttifant sat heavy-eyed in the C.I.D. room. He had a cigarette stuck to his lip and a piled ashtray at his elbow. He ducked his head and rose wearily. Gently motioned him to sit again. On the table in front of him was a scribbling pad and some pencilled-over sheets.
    ‘Is that about the Rogers woman?’ Gently asked.
    ‘Yes sir. As far as we’ve got with her.’
    ‘How far is that?’
    ‘Well, we’ve traced her back here, sir. But nothing after she stepped off the boat.’
    ‘But she is back here?’
    ‘Yes sir. Landed in May of last year. I’m waiting to make some inquiries at the magazine offices, but their staffs don’t seem to get in very early.’
    ‘
Compact
influence,’ Gently said. ‘Where did you pick up with the Rogers?’
    ‘At United Press sir, when she was working for them. They remembered about her and why she was sacked. Then we’ve traced her sailing on the
Rangitane
and coming back last May on the
Orontes.
But Worcester haven’t found her family for us, and nobody we’ve talked to yet has seen her.’
    ‘You wouldn’t have a photograph of her, of course.’
    Buttifant shook his head. ‘We may have one coming. United Press run a