‘What the devil’s all this about?’ Whitaker said.
Gently shrugged, dialled again, hooked up a chair and sat down on it. Whitaker shook his big head, looked at Felling. Felling was silent.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
' Superintendent Gently,’ Gently said. ‘Put me through to the stores, please.’ He sat with his elbow on the hall table, his eyes dreamy, looking at nothing. Felling had shoved the kitchen door closed but through it came the drone of Lemmon’s voice. There was also the clink of cutlery on plates and the sound of someone stirring his tea. ‘Squadron-Leader Campling?’ Gently said.
‘Speaking,’ Campling returned. ‘I’m glad you’ve rung. We’ve got some results here you may find interesting., I’ve your Superintendent Empton with me, I think you’d better talk to him.’
‘Is Brennan with you?’ Gently asked.
‘Yes,’ Campling said. ‘I’m handing you over.’
Empton came on. ‘Hallo, old man,’ Empton said. ‘So glad I looked in here instead of going straight back to London. How is progress with you?’
‘What have you got?’ Gently said.
‘A small item of detail,’ Empton said. ‘Something that required my frivolous knowledge. Those Polish records have come in. I’ve spent the afternoon going through them. I’ve also interrogated that little Welshman — Jones. You know the one I mean?’
‘Yes, I know him,’ Gently said.
‘A remarkable memory he’s got,’ Empton said. ‘Not always available to a straight question, but the stuff’s there. If you put in a ferret.’
‘So?’ Gently said.
‘So,’ Empton said, ‘I had him go through the records with me. He began to remember names and people, to recall little things that had gone on. Like a couple of Poles who’d been friends with Sawney, a sergeant-pilot and one of their policemen. Sawney was great buddies with these two. They used to prang the boozers together. And this fascinated me very much because of what the records said about them. They both came from the same town in Poland — the town of Grodz. Does it strike a chord?’
‘Teodowicz came from there,’ Gently said.
‘I thought you might have forgotten,’ Empton said. ‘But you’re so right, it’s the same town, the three of them all came from Grodz. The sergeant-pilot was called Kielce — my pronunciation is authentic — and he was lost on a spy-dropping raid over Holland. The policeman returned to Poland after the war and went into the diplomatic service. At present he’s on attachment in London. Isn’t that a coincidence? Guess his name.’
‘Would it be Razek?’ Gently said.
‘That’s phenomenal,’ Empton said. ‘It could, it would be, and it is, my old friend Stephan Tadeusz Razek. Not just any Razek, you see. The full name is given here in the record. He came from Grodz. He was Sawney’s buddie. And he sent little Jan to talk to Teodowicz.’
‘Hmn,’ Gently said. ‘So what do you make of it?’
‘What I’ve always made of it,’ Empton said. ‘In my crazy boy-scout way. I think it was Razek who ordered the killing. I’m not sure why, it might have been personal, both of them coming from the same town. But I’m sure he ordered it, just as I’m sure he set up his old buddie as the fall-guy. He knew the ropes here at Huxford, and he’s not particularly a man of sentiment.’
‘Has it occurred to you,’ Gently said, ‘that Sawney may have been the source of Razek’s tip-off?’
‘It has, old man,’ Empton said. ‘I do occasionally look all round my facts. But why should Sawney break up this racket by sticking Razek on to Teodowicz? The threat would have made Teodowicz toe the line, it didn’t need to go any further. No, I think Sawney is innocent there. I think Razek got on to his man independently. What really stumps me is the reason for the killing, unless, as I said, the motive was personal. But that isn’t terribly satisfying, old man. It may be for you, but it isn’t for me.’
‘It isn’t for me either,’ Gently said.
‘Cheers,’ Empton said. ‘Perhaps you know the motive?’
‘I don’t know the motive,’ Gently said. ‘But I’m picking up someone who certainly does.’
Empton was silent, then he said: ‘Not Madsen, surely?’
‘Madsen for one,’ Gently said. ‘He knows. And I’m hoping I’ll persuade him to talk very shortly. Would you care to come along to the station?’
‘Charmed, old man,’ Empton said. ‘You may need me to help with the persuasion.’
‘I’d like Campling and Brennan to come too,’ Gently said. ‘Would you mind handing me back to Campling?’
Campling came back. Gently said: ‘I think you should be present at Offingham HQ. We’re dealing with some business that relates to Sawney and which will probably be helpful to you. And I’d like Brennan right away. I’ve got some jobs for him to do. Tell him to bring his outfit with him and Sawney’s cards and a set of his dabs.’
‘You want Brennan to do something for you?’ Campling asked.
‘Yes,’ Gently said. ‘I’ve a reason for asking.’
‘Well, that’s all right with me,’ Campling said. ‘I was just surprised that you wanted Brennan. We’ll come right along.’
‘Thank you,’ Gently said. He rang off. He stood up. ‘That’s all,’ he said. ‘We can pick up Mrs Lane on the way.’
Whitaker said: ‘I’m not quite with you.’
‘We’ll have a meal,’ Gently said. ‘Then we’ll talk.’
The early evening of Friday, August 16th. Coloured shadows taking a slant in the market place of Offingham. A man stripped to the waist sculling meditatively down the Ound. A man with a hose washing market refuse from the backs of the stalls, into a heap. Youths, girls, on the stroll. Cars parked near the pubs and cafes. Couples loitering on the towpath. Pensioners sitting with their pipes. Outside Police HQ, a number of cars, some with pressmen sitting in them. A straight shaft of blue smoke from the fish-and-chip van by the conveniences. Windows open very wide. Doors open. Fans turning. A soundless chalkline extending itself across the deeper blue of the sky. In its brick tower, dusty, hot, the Town Hall clock ticking boredly. Pigeons crooning by the clock, perched on tender pink feet. Pigeons dropping to run among the stalls. Large-eyed pigeons. Running pigeons. In the mortuary the body of a man who was not cremated or buried. A man with arms. A man with hands. A man with fingers and skin on the fingers. A man whose finger-skin was being printed by another man, who kept breathing in starts. While other men waited in other places to see what the finger-skin would print. All in the early evening of Friday. Night in Russia. Day in America.
Brennan went up the stairs at HQ, knocked on a door, went through the door. The room behind the door was Whitaker’s office and the room seemed crowded, so that Brennan hesitated. Then he went forward to the desk and placed on it an attache case he had been carrying. He opened the case, took out a file, took two cards from the file. He handed the two cards to Gently. Gently was sitting behind the desk. Beside Gently were sitting Campling and Whitaker and beside Campling sat Empton. Felling stood to the left of Whitaker. Madsen and Wanda Lane sat facing the desk. The two detective-constables, Rice and Freeman, stood towards the door, behind Wanda Lane.
Brennan said: ‘These are the dabs, sir, and these are the ones we got at Huxford.’
Gently laid them side by side, looked from one to the other.
‘You’ve made a comparison?’ he asked.
‘I made a quick one,’ Brennan said. ‘I counted seven points of similarity, sir, using a four-inch pocket magnifier. I also measured the height of the subject and looked for the scar on the left knee.’
‘Did you find the scar?’ Gently asked.
‘Yes sir,’ Brennan said. ‘It’s Sawney all right.’
The others looked at the two cards. Empton had hold of them last. He brought out his nest of magnifiers, used the desk lamp, used pins as pointers. At last he brushed the pins away and pocketed the magnifiers with a shrug. Gently looked across at Felling.
