Free Gently Where the Roads Go by Alan Hunter Page B

the floor between the lockers. It was about twenty inches by twelve, had two rope handles, was painted with a green wood preservative. On the lid was roughly stencilled: STEN MK II 6 AM .
    ‘What’s inside it?’ Gently said.
    Brennan reached down, lifted the lid. The lid had originally been nailed into place but it had been prized up and stood loose on the nail points. The case contained five guns, two above, three below; a number of long, narrow magazines; and the space for a sixth gun.
    ‘Any ammunition?’ Gently asked.
    ‘Yes sir.’
    Brennan opened the door of a locker. He removed a number of empty cartons from the lowest shelf, and finally an unpainted wooden box. In the wooden box were three cardboard boxes and in each cardboard box two fibre cartons. The cartons each contained 250 rounds of 9 mm rimless (Sten) ammunition. There was a fourth box. This was empty.
    ‘Are these shown on the inventory?’ Gently asked.
    ‘Not on any inventory we’ve found,’ Brennan said. ‘But they’re not alone when it comes to that. About half this stuff isn’t on the inventory.’
    ‘What have the stores people got to say about it?’
    ‘They’re pleading ignorance.’ Brennan made a grimace. ‘They’re blaming the whole thing on Sawney. But we’ve hardly got started on them. Yet.’
    Gently nodded. ‘Take charge of this stuff. Try not to handle it more than you have to.’
    ‘Yes,’ Brennan said. ‘Don’t worry about that, sir. I’ve done some training down at Ryton.’
    Gently returned to the office. Campling sat toying with a retractable ball pen.
    ‘Well?’ he said, snapping the pen. ‘Is it homicide as from now?’
    Gently shrugged, looked round for a seat, settled for a toolbox stood on end. Withers was squatting on another box and puffing evenly at a Lovat-pattern briar.
    ‘Tell me about this business,’ Gently said. ‘What’s the extent of it? How long has it gone on? What were the channels Sawney was using? Who do you think was in it with him?’
    Campling grinned, snapped the pen. ‘Easy questions, difficult answers. We haven’t got to the bottom of this thing yet, but I’ll give you a run-down as far as we’ve gone. The racket was a pretty steady racket. It’d been going on for at least two years. During that time . . . these are very rough figures . . . I’d say that Sawney netted around fifteen thousand pounds. It may have been a good deal less than that, it depends on what he got for the stuff. And it wouldn’t all be going into his pocket. There had to be someone else in the deal.’
    ‘How did he work it?’
    Campling clicked his tongue. ‘By the oldest and hoariest dodge we know of. Really, it makes you blush with shame, just going through these old indent forms. Take a look at one.’
    He picked a form off the desk and handed it to Gently. It was printed to facilitate the ordering of stores and to ensure that a fixed procedure was complied with. Beneath a detailed identification was a ruled-off compartment for the insertion of the items, and beneath this spaces for signatures and stamps without which the order would not be authorized. The form had been made out. Station, unit, section were entered. A list of items filled the first ten lines of the compartment. Under these was drawn a line and two other lines, to close the compartment; stamps, signatures were in place, and a cancelling stamp from Central Stores.
    ‘Impressive, isn’t it?’ Campling said. ‘Can you spot where he worked the fast one?’
    ‘Hmn,’ Gently said. ‘This last item looks a little bit screwed up.
    ‘You see?’ Campling said. ‘You’re not a fraud man, but even you can spot that. Yet for two solid years that fellow’s been getting away with the trick. Instead of drawing his line on the rule he’s drawn it in the space underneath, leaving enough room for an extra entry after the form had been authorized. In this case, five portable charging sets, worth about a hundred and fifty quid. And these