Free Gently with the Ladies (Inspector George Gently 13) by Alan Hunter Page A

Johnson?’
    ‘Sarah never wrote me letters. I used to ring her each day.’
    ‘You can’t explain it?’
    ‘I’m sorry.’
    ‘I’d like you to think back very carefully.’
    ‘I’m afraid it’s no use.’
    ‘What I want you to remember is whether you and your wife were certainly alone in the flat.’
    Fazakerly’s mouth opened, then he hesitated. He gave Gently a quick look. ‘That’s odd,’ he said. ‘It’s just possible you’ve put your finger on it there. I’ve gone over that scene a hundred times and each time it bothered me somehow. It may be you’ve found the answer. Though I didn’t hear or see anyone.’
    ‘Did you notice if any doors were open?’
    ‘The door of the lounge, that was open. I dumped my kit in the hall and went straight in to get a drink.’
    ‘Was that the only room you visited?’
    ‘Yes. And I never got the drink.’
    ‘What was your wife doing?’
    ‘Just sitting.’
    ‘With a cigarette?’
    ‘She didn’t smoke.’
    He slapped his forehead. ‘That’s it!’ he cried. ‘She didn’t smoke – never has done. But the room was smoky when I went in. Somebody was there, or had been there.’
    ‘It’s a thin clue,’ Gently grunted.
    ‘But I noticed – I was going to make a remark. Then she started on me and I forgot it. It’s bloody true – can’t you believe me?’
    ‘Who did you think might have been there?’
    ‘Sybil of course. Who else?’
    ‘I’m asking you.’
    ‘Well I thought Sybil. And that’s the reason for her going at me.’
    ‘How do you mean?’
    ‘It wasn’t natural, not her threatening me about Sarah. I’ve had women all over the option and Clytie didn’t care a damn. But suppose it was Sybil put her up to it – she hates my guts, you know that? – and suppose she was listening round the corner: then it begins to make sense. Clytie was laying on an act. She was showing Sybil how she could handle me, how I’d jump when she cracked the whip, even give up the woman I was mad about. Oh yes, it falls together all right. Put Sybil in there and it clicks.’
    ‘But you didn’t actually see Sybil.’
    ‘Who the devil else could it have been?’
    ‘Another smoker.’
    ‘It took Sybil. She’s the only one Clytie would want to impress.’
    ‘And then, of course, after you’d left . . .’
    ‘She killed her. That has to follow. I know it’s illogical as hell, but it’s the way it must have been.’
    Gently frowned at Fazakerly’s cigarette, which was burning unnoticed between his fingers.
    ‘You know about the wills?’ he asked.
    ‘I do now, but I didn’t when I made my statement.’
    ‘Would you say there was a motive there?’
    Fazakerly flicked the cigarette. ‘It’s tempting, isn’t it?’ he said. ‘It would wrap it up for you nicely. But no, I can’t suspect Sybil of that, malignant bitch though she is.’
    ‘Your wife was worth a lot of money.’
    ‘But Sybil’s worth a lot more. And honestly, I have to say this, Sybil doesn’t have a passion for the stuff.’
    ‘So why should she want to kill your wife?’
    ‘She wouldn’t. I’ve said so all along.’
    ‘But now you’re suggesting that she did.’
    Fazakerly slowly shook his head.
    ‘Tell me about your wife and Mrs Bannister,’ Gently said. ‘What sort of relation was it they had: who was the dominant one, for instance, who used to lay down the law.’
    ‘Have you talked to La Bannister?’
    Gently nodded.
    ‘Well, you may have got the wrong impression. She was the masculine element all right, but she never dominated Clytie. Clytie always had the edge. She could make Sybil shrivel up. She liked Sybil to wear the jack-boots because it titillated her, but she always had Sybil under control.’
    Was your wife masochistic?’
    ‘When it suited. She was anything that gave her an emotional kick. That was her preoccupation in life, raising a high emotional head of steam. Sybil was really a foil for Clytie, though it seemed to be Sybil who made the running.