Free Gently Go Man by Alan Hunter Page A

warm coffee smell.
    ‘Yays?’ she said to Gently.
    ‘Is the boss in?’ Gently asked.
    ‘Are you a traveller?’ said the pale blonde.
    ‘In a manner of speaking,’ Gently said.
    The pale blonde looked him over, didn’t seem to like him much. She flicked the dishcloth over the chrome, dropped it in a bowl under the counter.
    ‘Down there,’ she said. ‘Mr Leach is in the cellar.’
    ‘Thank you,’ Gently said.
    The pale blonde made no comment.
    What she had indicated was a gloomy stair-entrance under a small mezzanine floor at the end of the bar: from which, however, carpeted steps descended, and over which was an illuminated arrow. Gently went down the steps. They turned left at a half-landing. They gave into a long, windowless room lit at present by a single bulb at the other end. Along the walls some chairs were stacked and in a corner a few tables. The floor at the sides and back was carpeted but was polished wood in the centre and at the lit end. There, under the bulb, stood an orchestra dais, painted black with silver trimmings. A man was sitting on the orchestra dais. He had some boxes of chocolates on the rostrum beside him. One of the boxes was open and had apparentlybeen spilt: the man was dusting the spilt chocolates and carefully replacing them. He heard Gently and came to his feet.
    ‘You,’ he said. ‘What do you want down here?’
    ‘Are you Mr Leach?’ Gently asked.
    ‘Yeah,’ the man said, ‘Joe Leach. So what?’
    ‘I want to talk to you,’ Gently said. ‘About last Tuesday evening.’
    The man stood scowling at him, one of the chocolates in his hand. He was around fifty, about five-eight, stockily built with powerful shoulders. He had a round head and a short neck and the thickened nose of an ex-boxer. His mouth was small but thick-lipped. His eyes were muddy-coloured and squinting. He wore a long jacket in silver grey with silver streaks woven into it, a cream shirt with embossed stars and a pale blue bow-tie. His trousers were pale blue to match the tie. His shoes were white-and-tan and had pointed toes.
    ‘What are you?’ he said. ‘Another screw, are you?’
    Gently mentioned his credentials.
    ‘Yeah,’ said Leach. ‘I thought you was one. Funny that, how you can tell a screw.’ He put the chocolate back in the box, nudging it along into place. He picked up another one and examined it. ‘So what are you after now?’ he said.
    ‘I told you,’ Gently said. ‘I want to talk about Tuesday evening.’
    ‘You know about it,’ Leach said. ‘A couple of hours I was with the screws.’
    ‘We know some more now,’ Gently said.
    Leach polished the chocolate. ‘What?’ he said.
    ‘Just a few more details,’ Gently said. ‘So I thought I’d pay you another visit.’
    He went up the steps on to the dais and sat down on a low rostrum beside Leach. Leach kept on his feet, polishing the chocolate. Then he niched that one back into place, too.
    ‘Prizes,’ he said. ‘Spot prizes. They go down big, a box of chocolates.’
    ‘You had an accident with that box?’ Gently asked.
    ‘Yeah,’ Leach said. ‘I dropped the bleeder. Lucky none of the chocs were bust. What more do I have to tell you about Tuesday?’
    ‘Did you know Lister by sight?’ Gently asked.
    ‘I’d seen him around here,’ Leach said.
    ‘Deeming, Elton?’ Gently said. ‘Salmon, Knights, Sidney Bixley?’
    ‘I knew Elton,’ Leach said. ‘Maybe the others, I wouldn’t know.’
    ‘Deeming’s about thirty,’ Gently said.
    ‘So he don’t come here,’ Leach said. ‘They’re all of them youngsters that come to the jazz nights, not above twenty, any one of them.’
    ‘Bixley’s twenty-two,’ Gently said. ‘About your build, good-looking, wide mouth.’
    ‘We get above a hundred here on a jazz night. I can’t remember all that lot, can I?’ Leach said.
    ‘But you remember Lister and Elton,’ Gently said.
    ‘Do me a favour,’ Leach said, ‘will you? I’ve had those two crammed down my