Gently with the Ladies (Inspector George Gently 13)

.’
    ‘Her father lives in Bristol. You’d better ring him for a start.’
    ‘Do you think it’s likely, Chief?’
    ‘It’s possible. He’s a solicitor, don’t forget. Maybe she felt we were getting round to her, and her go at me was her last fling. It didn’t come off, and she’d admitted too much. It was time to run to daddy.’
    ‘You’ve talked to her most. There’s nowhere else . . . ?’
    Gently shook his head. ‘That’s all I know about her. If she isn’t at home you’ll have to issue a description. We’ll take this photograph from the bedroom.’
    They locked the door and went down again. They ran into their driver coming to meet them.
    ‘Sir,’ he said. ‘This woman you’re after – is she to do with the Carlyle Court job?’
    ‘If she is, what about it?’ Reynolds snapped.
    ‘We’ve just had a buzz from control, sir. There’s a woman out on a ledge at Carlyle Court and she’s threatening to jump. I thought you should know.’
     
    It was Brenda Merryn. They could see her plainly as soon as the car turned into Bland Street, a crimson smudge high up among the white cliffs and green-capped towers. A crowd was gathering. A T.V. camera van was already parked and being manned. At a dozen windows and balconies near where she clung people were clustered and cameras trained.
    ‘She’s outside the Bannister flat,’ Reynolds muttered. ‘My God, how’ll we ever get her off there?’
    ‘How would she have got out there?’
    ‘Christ knows. There’s a landing window, it must have been that.’
    They roared up to the entrance and squealed to a stop. Stockbridge came running down the steps.
    ‘She’s going to jump!’ he gabbled. ‘I’ve been talking to her. She won’t listen. You can’t get to her.’
    ‘How long has she been there?’
    ‘Nobody knows. It was a tradesman down the street saw her. I rang the fire service and the police. But it’s no good. You can’t get at her.’
    ‘Have you a rope?’
    ‘That’s no use. She says she’ll jump if anyone goes near her.’
    ‘Just get a rope and bring it up to us. And don’t let any Pressmen into the building.’
    Stockbridge’s expression said it was too late, but Reynolds didn’t wait to find out. Followed by Gently he jumped up the steps, ran through the hall and into the lift. The doors crashed shut and they glided upwards.
    ‘First we’ll talk to her,’ Reynolds said. ‘Mrs Bannister’s veranda is on that level, we’ll go out there and try talking her in.’
    ‘And if she won’t come?’
    ‘We’ll still keep talking to her. But I’ll go up to the next floor with a rope. Then if the fire service can rig a net I’ll take a chance of dropping a noose on her.’
    ‘Not much of a chance.’
    ‘I’m good with a rope. If she starts to sway I’ll have her.’
    They came out on the sixth floor landing. The first person they saw was Albertine. She was wailing and sobbing, and when she saw Gently she ran to him wildly and seized his arm.
    ‘Monsieur – Monsieur! Oh, please, please . . . !’
    ‘Out of the way, Albertine.’
    ‘It isn’t my fault, no, no. Oh get her in. Get her in!’
    He shook her off, but she stuck at his elbow as they hurried through into the flat.
    ‘Monsieur – Monsieur!’
    ‘Be quiet, Albertine.’
    ‘It isn’t my fault. Oh get her in!’
    At the door of the lounge stood Sybil Bannister with an expression of distaste on her fine features.
    ‘I shouldn’t be in too much of a hurry,’ she said cuttingly. ‘The sight of a policeman out there will probably do it.’
    ‘Have you talked to her, Mrs Bannister?’ Reynolds asked.
    ‘Oh yes. I’ve talked to her once or twice.’
    How long has she been there?’
    ‘Since breakfast, I’d say. She’s certainly been there a couple of hours.’
    ‘A couple of hours!’ Reynolds’ grey eyes crucified her. ‘And nobody’s done anything until now?’
    ‘It’s a free country, Inspector,’ she said mockingly. ‘Unbalanced people may stand on ledges. Besides, does it matter? That is not my impression. I imagine Miss Merryn knows what she is doing.’
    ‘And you’d just let her jump?’ Reynolds said.
    ‘Why not? It will save the taxpayers money.’
    He brushed past her into the lounge. She looked at Gently.
    ‘Crude,’ she said.
    Albertine was still moaning ‘Monsieur . . . Monsieur,’ and hanging to Gently like a ghost.
    ‘You stay here, Albertine,’ Gently said.
    ‘Monsieur, it is not my fault, it is not what I