Gently with the Ladies (Inspector George Gently 13)

Rochester and she times her visit just ahead of it. Then Fazakerly walks in when his wife is really worked up. Merryn goes off-stage to listen. She steps into the dressing-room next door. She sees the necklace, and it’s safe to take it because Mrs Fazakerly is never going to miss it. So she slips it into her handbag and waits and listens till Fazakerly goes, then she rejoins Mrs Fazakerly in the lounge and kills her while she sits talking on the settee. On the settee: you remember the point? It was likely to be someone known to Mrs Fazakerly. Not Fazakerly, because she was rowing with him, but someone she was talking to more calmly. Then Merryn leaves by the stairs and the back entrance, but she realizes how damning it would be if she were caught with the necklace, so she tips it into a dustbin. Then she has only to walk away.’
    Gently puffed. ‘It’s neat,’ he said.
    ‘Chief, it covers all the facts. And now we’ve a witness to prove she was there. If we play it right we can nail her.’
    ‘It’s all you can prove. That she was there.’
    ‘Let me have her. I’ll make her talk.’
    ‘If she doesn’t talk you’re no forwarder.’
    Reynolds looked formidable. ‘She will.’
    Gently went on puffing. ‘Before you go overboard! I hate to drag up Macpherson again, but the case you’ve just outlined will take some swallowing even if Brenda Merryn confesses.’
    ‘But if it’s true?’
    Gently shrugged. ‘I can’t stop you. What I’m really saying is, keep in line. At best it will be a sticky case, so you’ll do well to stay by the book.’
    ‘I’ll stay by the book,’ Reynolds said. ‘Don’t worry, I’ve got the book weighed up.’
    ‘Also, I think we should talk to Sarah Johnson. I think we should talk to her here.’
    Reynolds grunted and stepped into the C.I.D. room and gave some orders to Detective Constable Baker; then he returned to leaf through a directory and finally to dial a local number.
    ‘Doctor Lithgow’s surgery . . . Miss Merryn?’
    He listened with a scowl growing on his face. His eyes, focused on an imaginary speaker, took on a truculent expression.
    ‘How do you mean – have you been round there?’
    The voice at the other end sounded indignant.
    ‘Of course I have! Inspector Reynolds . . . all right, all right . . . you’ll let me know.’
    He hung up with a bang.
    ‘She’s missing,’ he said. ‘She hasn’t been in to work. They sent someone round to check at her flat but she wasn’t there. Nor was her car.’ He looked at Gently. ‘Do you think she’s skipped?’
    Gently said nothing for a moment. Then he got up, stuffing his pipe in his pocket.
    ‘Come on,’ he said. ‘Let’s get over there!’
     
    Reynolds grabbed a patrol car and they drove fast to Knightsbridge Place. On the way Gently gave Reynolds a brief version of Brenda Merryn’s visit to him. Reynolds asked one question:
    ‘Was she upset when she left?’
    But he asked it apologetically, and didn’t seem to notice he got no answer.
    They parked by the flats’ entrance and went quickly up the steps. Gently rang. The bell tinkled briskly but there was no other sound from inside.
    ‘What do we do?’
    ‘Go in.’
    Reynolds took out a thin bunch of skeleton keys. The third one slid back the bolt and the door swung open. They went in. The air was stagnant because of windows being closed but it held a scent which Gently remembered with sudden vividness: Blue Grass. They went through the lounge into the bedroom and into the bathroom and the kitchen. She was not there. The bed was unslept in. A tray with dirty crocks stood on the table. A big towel in the bathroom was still damp and stockings lay balled in a bedroom chair. The beaded slippers had been kicked off and left lying and the door of the wardrobe sagged open and a girdle lay spread on the bed. But Brenda Merryn was not there.
    ‘Do you reckon she came back?’
    ‘No.’ Gently was searching through the wardrobe. Two padded hangers swung naked on the rail and the crimson dress and the coat were missing. Powder was spilled on the dressing-table and brush and comb lay thrown-down carelessly. A few blonde hairs were caught in the comb. On the label of a big scent-bottle a blue horse pranced. No: this was how she’d left it last night, after hastily dressing for his benefit. A severe navy two-piece, perhaps the one Albertine had mentioned, hung slightly bunched beside the two empty hangers.
    ‘If she was away all night . .