‘Not when you says I was!’
‘On Wednesday morning?’
‘No — I left before then.’
In his corner the shorthand constable was deftly whisking it down. Copping, hovering beside the desk, rocked gently on his heels. He was studying Mixer through half-closed lids.
‘I left there before twelve… quarter to, it might have been. Then I just drove around a bit… it was hot, like it is now. I just drove around to keep cool.’
‘On your own, of course?’
‘Yes… no! I had a bit with me.’
‘A woman, do you mean?’
‘That’s right, a bit of stuff. Said her name was Doris or something like that. On the bash, she was. I give her a quid for nothing.’
‘Where did you meet her?’
‘Somewhere… a caff.’
‘And you brought her back to Starmouth?’
‘No… she didn’t live there.’
‘Where did you leave her then?’
‘I dunno… where she told me!’
It was thinner than workhouse skilly, and Mixer must have been aware of it. The super was toying with him with a feline satisfaction. He didn’t need to break the rules. It was superfluous to cross-question. One had only to keep Mixer moving to plunge him deeper in palpable falsehood.
‘You say you did leave her somewhere?’
‘That’s right… a village.’
‘Which village was that?’
‘How should I know which village!’
‘Where did she tell you to go?’
‘Not to no particular village at all. “Turn left”, she says, “turn right”… like that. It’s no good asking me where we finished up.’
‘What time did you leave her?’
‘I dunno… two, at least.’
‘It took you over two hours from Starmouth?’
‘I didn’t say that, did I?’
‘Where did you go, then?’
‘I went back to the Bel-Air at Hiverton.’
‘You found your way back from this village, did you?’
‘I — never you mind!’
Mixer broke off at last, vanquished by the sheer futility of it. Nobody was going to believe this, not even if he produced the woman! He licked his lips and stared sullenly at the floor. What he wanted badly was time to think the story over.
‘That’s all I’m going to say till I’ve seen my solicitor!’
The super shrugged. ‘I’ll want you to sign the statement.’
‘I’m not going to sign nothing.’
‘That’s entirely up to you. Either way it’s evidence and will be put in at court.’
Mixer’s eyes flicked back to the bulky form of Gently. Why had he been half-hoping that the Yard man would intervene? At the moment he’d got his back to Mixer and was fumbling with a package: he seemed to have washed his hands of the cockney, to have abandoned him to the Borough Police.
‘I’m innocent, I tell you!’
Mixer’s voice rose, thrilling with injury.
‘I ain’t done nothing particular — nothing! It’s my hard blinking luck, that’s all it is! I’m the last person on God’s earth — the last
… the last…’
His voice trailed away as Gently swung towards him. Held mutely in the inspector’s hands was Simmonds’s painting of Rachel. A panel of flashing colour, it seemed to pulsate under the harsh neons. The wanton body of the woman glowed forth like a living question mark.
‘That bloody little git!’
Mixer’s face had gone pale with rage. His words came strangledly, incoherent with violent passion.
‘He did that — didn’t he — that’s one of his! And she — she let him… a little git like that!’
He raved in his anger, indifferent of who saw it. His hairy hands were clenched, his eyes bolting from their sockets. Of a sudden he made a spring at the painting, but Gently was too quick for him. Dutt, coining up behind, laid uncompromising hands on Mixer’s person.
‘I’ll do for him, God help me — I don’t care if I swing for it!’
He was foaming at lips which had turned a leaden colour.
‘In the tent — that’s one thing! This… and him such a ponce! The next time I swear — when I get my hands on him! And she let him do it
… she let him do it!’
It ended almost in a sob. Mixer shuddered with a great violence. He sagged forward in the sergeant’s grip and seemed as though he might have fallen.
‘So you weren’t jealous of her!’
Gently reversed the terrible painting.
‘She was just your secretary — the one you liked to have around! And was that why you kept an eye on her? Was that why you assaulted Simmonds? Or is it usual for you to behave that way when it comes to a secretary?’
‘You know why I didn’t tell you!’
Mixer writhed in the suppressing arms.
‘You’d have been on to me like a ton of bricks — I wouldn’t never have stood a chance! I got a record, haven’t I? I’m the bloke you’d try to pin it on. Put yourself in my place and ask yourself the question!’
‘So you admit that she was your mistress?’
‘My girl — that’s what she was!’
‘And you knew that she was unfaithful?’
‘Can’t you understand what it was like?’
Gently nodded. ‘I know something about her — she could turn the head of any male. It wasn’t just Simmonds, was it? He was simply the unlucky one. There were others from time to time, men you guessed about but never caught. That’s the truth of the matter, isn’t it — she had a lot of lovers?’
‘Not the way you put it!’
‘What difference does it make?’
‘She was a good girl, that’s what — a good girl. Can’t you see it? If a bloke made a pass…’
‘She wouldn’t turn it up.’
‘On account of that was her way — she couldn’t bring herself to say no!’
Gently made an impatient gesture but Mixer wouldn’t be put off. He struggled closer to the detective, thrusting his ugly face towards him.
‘I’m not lying to you — it’s the way she was made! It didn’t mean nothing, see? She just couldn’t help herself. And I’m honest with you — I was gone on her! Rachel was all the world to me. And she played the game… she did, I tell you! I’m not no bleeding catch, but because I was gone on her…’
‘Was entertaining Simmonds playing the game?’
‘She couldn’t help it — it was just her nature.’
‘And your nature to be jealous?’
‘I ain’t made of marble!’
‘Yet you left her alone all Tuesday evening.’
Mixer drew back a little, his eyes searching Gently’s. Twice his tongue went round his lips before he ventured
