Gently seated himself massively, his hips nipped between the narrow arms of the chair. Not for the first time he wondered what men saw in this sort of woman…
‘Your name is Maisie Bushell, is it?’
‘Of course it is — do I look like Marilyn Monroe?’
She looked more like a Blackpool landlady, with her domineering chin and pugnacious green eyes.
‘Are you a Lynton woman, Miss Bushell?’
‘Yes, I am, if you must know.’
‘You’ve lived all your life in Lynton?’
‘Course I have — didn’t the others tell you?’
‘You’ve never stayed in London, for instance?’
‘Stayed there! I’ve never even seen the stinking place! What are you getting at, mister — what am I supposed to have done now?’
‘Won’t you sit down, Miss Bushell? This may take a little time.’
She dumped herself on to the settee, never once taking her eyes off him or glancing at Blacker. The foreman, after hanging about by the door for a little while, folded his bony frame into the other chair and put on an expression of exaggerated unconcern.
‘Now… about what happened on last Thursday evening. Would you mind going through it again for my benefit, Miss Bushell?’
‘There isn’t nothing to go through. Sam spent the night with me. We’ve been pals a long time, you don’t want to think that every Tom, Dick and Harry…’
‘How long have you been friends?’
‘How should I know? Years-!’
‘And he is in the habit of spending the night here?’
‘Why shouldn’t he, if he wants to?’
‘Last Thursday… was that by arrangement?’
‘No, it wasn’t. I just ran into him.’
‘Start from there, if you please, Miss Bushell. Just tell me everything that happened.’
Now she did throw a quick look at Blacker, but the foreman was gazing fixedly at the empty bars of the fireplace.
‘Well, I went down town like I always do — I’m not one for staying in of an evening! And I had a drink at The Craven Arms, and another one at The King’s Head. Then I went on to The Three Cocks, where I saw Sam here sitting on his lonesome-’
‘Just a moment, Miss Bushell… what street is that in?’
‘It isn’t in any street. It’s in Junction Road.’
‘And The Fighting Cock — where’s that?’
‘What’s that got to do with it?’
‘According to Mr Blacker it was there that he met you.’
She stared at him angrily as though he were trying to pull a fast one. Then she jerked her head commandingly in Blacker’s direction.
‘Why can’t you remember instead of telling the man a fib! You know it was The Three Cocks — I’ve told them that all along!’
‘lt just slipped out, Maisie…’
Blacker stirred his feet embarrassedly.
‘And now you’ve got him thinking I’m telling him a lot of lies!’
‘Whoa!’ interrupted Gently. ‘Let’s have the correct version, shall we? Is The Three Cocks simply what you’ve been telling the police, or is it in fact where the meeting took place?’
‘It’s where I met Sammy.’
‘You’re sure about that?’
‘Course I’m sure about it! What does it matter, anyhow? We went to several places — could have been The Fighting Cock amongst the rest of them.’
‘But Mr Blacker says you stopped in one public house!’
‘And I say we didn’t! Him… he’s got a memory like a sieve — mixing it up with another night, that’s what he’s been doing!’
‘That’s right!’ chimed in Blacker. ‘Now it’s just dawned on me. It was Saturday we was in The Fighting Cock, Maisie. But I got it right when the bloke was taking it down…’
Gently sighed and felt for his pipe. It was symptomatic, perhaps, but they’d soon get the story squared up again.
‘What public houses did you visit?’
‘As if I’d remember! But I dare say we finished up in The Dun Cow, being on the way here.’
‘They’d remember you there?’
‘Don’t see why they shouldn’t.’
‘What time did you get home?’
‘After they turned out — we come straight back.’
‘And neither of you went out again?’
‘Sam didn’t leave here till the eight o’clock news was on.’
‘And you, Miss Bushell?’
‘Don’t ask a stupid question!’
‘I’d appreciate a straight answer…’
‘All right — I stinking well didn’t!’
She was undoubtedly the stronger character of the two, sitting bolt upright in her dressing-gown on her comfortless settee. Blacker had automatically accepted a secondary role. His memory wasn’t so good
… and that was dangerous, in a liar!
Gently filled his pipe with slow care and lit it with a couple of matches. The narrow chair made him feel as though he were in a straitjacket, and the chill of the room was sending shivers up his back.
‘Have you ever been to Newmarket, Miss Bushell?’
‘Dare say I have at one time or another.’
‘Recently, have you?’
‘No, I haven’t — and what’s that got to do with it?’
‘Do you know any of these men?’
He flashed his set of photographs.
She lingered over them boldly, but if she recognized any of them she gave no indication of it.
‘You know The Roebuck, of course?’
‘Why shouldn’t I know it?’
‘Have you been in there during the last fortnight?’
‘Don’t make me laugh, copper!’
‘The mill too… you’ll know that? Have you been round the back — into that stable, perhaps?’
Once more it scored a hit, that apparently harmless building. You could almost hear Blacker holding his breath in the silence following the question.
‘What stable… what do you mean? I don’t know nothing about stables!’
‘Not the stable behind the mill, Miss Bushell?’
‘No, I don’t — I haven’t never been there!’
‘Then this wouldn’t belong to you, would it?’
Gently suddenly produced the little gold cross.
‘You wouldn’t have dropped it there on Thursday night — when you were entertaining somebody in the hayloft?’
The moment of silence had a different quality this time. Instinctively Gently could feel that he had played his card wrongly. They were still scared, both of them, he was on or around the target, but the tension had subtly relaxed a few degrees.
‘Don’t know what you’re talking about, copper!’
