Free Gently Sinking by Alan Hunter Page A

and sat, tucking in her legs. Gently sat in the chair nearest.
    ‘It’s entirely up to you,’ he said.
    ‘I mean, would it help him?’ she asked, sipping. ‘If it would help, I owe him that much.’
    ‘Otherwise, you don’t want to see him?’
    ‘Heavens no. Let him stew.’
    ‘You are not on good terms with him?’
    ‘Not, as you say. I’m scarcely on any terms at all.’
    She looked angrily across at a photograph of Grey which stood propped on a corner-bracket.
    ‘This being about the last straw,’ she said. ‘Him getting picked up by the police. I’ve been insulted every way by that man. I’ve nearly walked out a dozen times. I don’t care, you can know it. Freddy and I are strictly kaput.’
    ‘I’m sorry to hear that,’ Gently said.
    ‘No need to be sorry,’ said Mrs Grey. ‘We’ve been kaput for a long time now. There’s nothing novel about the sensation.’
    ‘Yet you’re still friends with him,’ Gently said.
    ‘Friends.’ She laughed. ‘He still foots the bill.’
    ‘You go about with him.’
    ‘You wouldn’t notice it.’
    ‘This week, for example.’
    Mrs Grey was silent. She shifted her legs, sipped the drink.
    ‘This isn’t that immigration business,’ she said. ‘You want to know where Freddy was on Tuesday – Tuesday evening. Am I right?’
    ‘A routine inquiry,’ Gently shrugged.
    ‘Oh, very routine,’ Mrs Grey said. ‘That’s why a big noise from the Yard comes to see me. You don’t have enough to do up there.’ She finished the drink. She shivered. ‘I know what happened to Tommy,’ she said. ‘I saw that paragraph in the
Evening News
, heard them talking about it last night.’
    ‘Heard who talking about it?’
    ‘The police.’
    ‘How did your husband take the news?’
    ‘He’d seen it earlier. He showed me the paper. He wasn’t crying, I can tell you that.’
    ‘Did he talk to you about it?’
    ‘Oh yes. He said the illegals had done for Tommy. That was because of the
Naxos Island
and Tommy knowing it wasn’t safe.’
    ‘Your husband knew they’d done it?’
    Mrs Grey hesitated. ‘No, he didn’t say he knew it. But the way he spoke he was quite certain. Maybe he did know. He sees plenty of them.’
    ‘Did he see them yesterday?’
    She shook her head slowly. ‘He was at the office till early afternoon, then he came home to show me the paper. Wanted to make quite sure I saw it.’
    ‘Why, Mrs Grey?’
    She twirled the glass, made a movement with her thin shoulders.
    ‘He didn’t do it,’ she said. ‘You know that. He was with me from teatime Tuesday, right through. That’s his alibi, isn’t it? And it’s true. Quite true. He had tickets for the Aldwych, he’d rung me about it, and he’d booked a table at the Waldorf for supper afterwards.’
    ‘And you carried out that programme?’
    ‘Yes, all of it.’
    ‘Did you enjoy the play at the Aldwych?’
    ‘Not much,’ she said. ‘It was called
The Criminals.
Maybe it would make a night out for you.’
    ‘Did your husband like it?’
    ‘Stop foxing,’ she said. ‘We really did go there, see the play. Freddy wasn’t out of my sight for a moment. He even took me to the bar with him.’
    ‘Doesn’t he usually?’
    ‘Well, he doesn’t make a point of it.’
    ‘But Tuesday he did.’
    ‘I suppose you’d say that. I would have settled for a quiet smoke, but Freddy insisted I had a drink.’
    ‘Who did you meet there?’
    ‘Nobody,’ she said. ‘But they’ll remember us, don’t worry. Freddy knocked my glass out of my hand, then made a fuss about paying up.’
    ‘What time did you leave there?’
    ‘Elevenish.’
    ‘Any memorable accidents at the Waldorf?’
    ‘Didn’t need any,’ she said. ‘They know us there. Just ask the head-waiter. He’ll tell you.’
    ‘And you left?’
    ‘About oneish, say quarter to. We were home here before half-past one. Then we went to bed in the same bed, and that’s that. He couldn’t have done it.’
    ‘Did he make a