of his bike and tell them to keep watch out for him. If Brewer and Shepherd aren’t right with him he’s to be stopped and held for questioning.’
‘Willco,’ Setters said. ‘But it’s a good car and Brewer can drive.’
‘So can Deeming,’ Gently said.
‘You should know,’ said Setters.
They had a snack lunch sent into the office, sandwiches, fruit, and coffee. Gently ate his in silence, Setters made only odd remarks. There was something formidable about Gently when he didn’t want to talk. He seemed a long way away, detached, out of reach. He finished his coffee.
‘Can you spare half a dozen uniform men?’ he asked.
‘What to do?’ Setters countered.
‘To sit in here,’ Gently said.
Setters shrugged. ‘Window-dressing?’
‘Yes,’ Gently said. ‘Window-dressing.’
‘Huh,’ Setters said. ‘Well, I’ll rustle you some up,’
The six men were found, instructed, and arranged in a semicircle in front of the desk. In the middle of the semicircle was placed a chair. On the desk was placed the flick-knife. Gently took the chair behind the desk. Setters sat to his right. Bixley was brought in, told to sit. The policemen drew their chairs up round him.
‘So,’ Gently said to him, ‘you’re back here again, Bixley.’
Bixley’s mouth was tight, his cheeks flushed, his eyes frightened and unsteady. He threw a look at the policemen. They were all staring at him. He edged his chair towards the desk, saw the knife, went still.
Gently hit the desk hard.
Bixley jumped clear of the chair.
‘You’re nervous, Bixley,’ Gently said. ‘You’ve been eighteen hours without a smoke.’
Bixley shrank back on the chair. ‘You can’t do this, screw,’ he croaked. ‘I been charged, you can’t touch me. It’s the bleeding law, that is.’
‘I didn’t think the law mattered so much to you,’ Gently said.
‘Yuh,’ Bixley said. ‘You can’t do it. None of you can’t lay a finger on me.’
‘Are you scared of something?’ Gently asked.
‘No,’ Bixley said. ‘I ain’t scared.’
‘You look scared,’ Gently said.
‘I ain’t scared. Not of bleeding coppers.’
‘I could understand it,’ Gently said. ‘There’s a copper lying in the hospital. There’s a girl lying there too. And there’s one of your mates in the mortuary.’
‘Yuh,’ Bixley said. ‘You don’t scare me, screw.’
‘You don’t scare easily,’ Gently said. ‘I’d be scared if I were you.’
Bixley swallowed, touched the black bruise on the right side of his throat. Somebody behind him moved their chair. Bixley swung round, cringing. He met the hard stare of policemen.
‘Yes,’ Gently said. ‘You’re scared, Bixley.’
‘You can’t do it!’ Bixley screamed. ‘I want my rights. I want a lawyer!’
‘Calm yourself,’ Gently said.
‘I been charged. I want a lawyer!’
‘You haven’t been charged,’ Gently said. ‘Not with murder. Not yet.’
‘I ain’t done no murder!’ Bixley screamed. ‘I ain’t, you bleeding know I ain’t.’
‘We’ll see about that,’ Gently said. ‘We’ll see about a lot of things, won’t we, Bixley?’
‘You daren’t touch me!’ Bixley sobbed. ‘You daren’t do it. You bloody daren’t.’
Setters turned his head over his shoulder and spat on the floor. ‘Are you listening to me?’ Gently asked.
‘I never done it!’ Bixley sobbed.
‘Listen carefully,’ Gently said. ‘You’re going to tell me all about that jazz session. And you’re going to tell me the truth, because I’ll know when you’re lying, Bixley. And if you tell any more lies, fifty lawyers won’t help you. So get it stuck in your head. Only the truth is any good.’
‘I ain’t done nothing,’ Bixley sobbed. ‘I ain’t done nothing at all.’
‘Sit up straight,’ Gently said.
‘I ain’t, I ain’t,’ Bixley sobbed.
‘Now, the truth,’ Gently said.
‘I ain’t never killed nobody.’
‘You’ll have to prove it,’ Gently said. ‘Sit up straight and tell the truth.’
Bixley snivelled, propped himself up, began to stammer out his account. It didn’t differ from earlier versions, he even left out the chocolates. Gently picked up the flick-knife, began stabbing at the paper with it. He let Bixley stumble on unquestioned till he’d faltered to a stop. Then he slammed the knife on the desk.
‘Just run through it again,’ he said.
Bixley gaped, didn’t seem to hear him.
‘Come on, come on,’ Gently said.
‘But I now told you-’ Bixley began.
‘Now tell me again,’ Gently said.
One of the policemen shifted his feet. Bixley gulped, began to talk.
‘That,’ Gently said, ‘didn’t sound right either.’
‘But it’s the bleeding truth!’ Bixley croaked. ‘It is, I tell you.’
‘You’ve left some things out.’
‘No, I ain’t!’ Bixley said.
‘Things,’ Gently said, ‘like how the counter-assistant told you who’d taken your box of chocolates.’
‘It was Leach who told me!’ Bixley screamed.
‘My mistake,’ Gently said. ‘Now we’ll run through it again, putting that bit in.’
They went through it again, putting that bit in. Bixley’s lips were very dry, he slurred and tripped over his words. Setters was hammering a tattoo on the desk with his fingers. Bixley didn’t like the sound. He didn’t like Setters’ eyes.
‘So you knew,’ Gently said, ‘who’d gone off with your chocolates?’
‘Yuh,’ Bixley said. ‘Yuh, yuh, I knew.’
‘Yet you didn’t go after him. You left a quarter of an hour later.’
‘I thought I’d see him,’ Bixley said. ‘Yuh, I thought I’d see him around.’
‘You thought you’d leave it like that — after just having paid forty quid for the chocolates?’
‘Yuh,’ Bixley said. ‘Like that’s what I did.’
‘Though you knew he was going to shop you — that he was only waiting for the chance?’
‘I didn’t know nothing about that!’ Bixley shouted. ‘It’s bleeding lies, all that is.’
‘We’ve been talking to Betty Turner, Bixley.’
‘I don’t care. She’s a bleeding liar.’
‘Hallman too.’
‘The bloody rat.’
‘And there’s a lot of others who knew about Lister.’
Bixley strained forward in the chair.
‘All bloody right,’ he croaked. ‘All right. So Lister was going to put the squeal on me. Like I say, all bloody right!’
‘And you didn’t try to stop him,’ Gently said.
‘No, I didn’t try to stop him!’
‘You just let him go off with the box of reefers.’
‘Yuh, yuh, I just let him go.’
‘And Leach was lying if he said you telephoned.’
‘I never telephoned!’ Bixley screamed.
‘Not to Tony’s place?’ Gently asked.
‘I bleeding didn’t. I bleeding didn’t!’
