studio couch and three fireside chairs; two tables, a larger and a smaller, a pouffe, a bookcase, an old radiogram. The furniture was not new but it had been of good quality. On the wall hung a photographed nude. The subject of the photograph was Wanda. The telephone stood on the smaller table.
‘There you are. Help yourself. It’s a local call, isn’t it?’
‘Yes,’ Gently said. ‘Offingham Police Station.’
‘Oh, that’s all right, that’s local.’
She leaned her elbows on the table and watched him hook off the number. Her breasts were compressed between her arms and hung enlarged and defined. He was connected to the desk.
‘Gently speaking,’ he said. ‘I want you to trace the owner of a black Mini-Minor, registration number XOL 7397. Yes. Probably from the town. Yes. Everham 86. Otherwise when I come in. Thank you, sergeant.’ He hung up.
‘Is that man wanted for something?’ Wanda asked.
Gently stared at her, shrugged.
‘Well,’ she said. ‘It’s no business of mine. And I’m not in a mood for business, anyway. And now you’ve told me who you are, but don’t think that makes any difference. If I didn’t like you you wouldn’t be in here. I’m not trying to bribe you with my body.’
‘You knew who I was,’ Gently said.
Wanda nodded. ‘Of course I did. And if you want to ask me a lot of questions go ahead, that’s all right by me. But when you’ve done your job. . ..’ Her eyes swam at him. ‘Life isn’t so very long,’ she said. ‘You can waste so much time with the proprieties. And opportunity. That’s what counts.’
Gently puffed. ‘You’re a surprising woman.’
‘Because I say what I mean?’ she asked. ‘But don’t forget that I’m a divorcee, I’ve had all the silliness knocked out of me. It was the corespondent who took that photograph. It was produced in the court.’
‘How long ago?’
‘Oh . . . fifteen years. I was thirty-six last March.’
‘Where’s your husband?’
‘He’s dead. He was killed in an accident soon after.’
‘Hmm,’ Gently said. ‘Shall I get a warrant, or will you let me search this place?’
‘Don’t be a bloody fool,’ she said. ‘Come and search. I’ll show you round.’
She led him back through the kitchen and into a corridor beyond. She threw open a door on the left and switched on a light in a bare-looking sitting room.
‘That was the residents’ lounge – when we aspired to having residents. Now I just get a few bed-and-breakfasts, and they mostly spend their time in the café. I flogged the furniture after the war.’
‘Does it pay, this place?’
‘I hope I don’t look like a millionairess. I break about even after drawing a salary.’
‘Who was that bloke in the dungarees?’
‘You’d better ask him. He’s new here.’
She passed on to an entry. Beyond it were two bathrooms and two toilets. There was also an outer door leading into a concreted yard. On one side of the yard was a fuel shed about one quarter full of small coke, on the other a scullery containing a washing machine, spin dryer, some domestic lumber. Outside the yard, dimly illuminated by a torch Gently shone at it, lay a neglected kitchen garden and some stunted, unpruned fruit trees. He stood listening. He heard a moan of traffic, an owl hooting in the distant fields.
‘You’re about half a mile from the lay-by here. Are you sure you didn’t hear that shooting?’
From behind him she said: ‘If I did, I didn’t notice it.’
‘How was that?’
‘You hear so much of it. There’s Huxford just over there. They often fire a burst when they’re night flying. You get so you don’t pay it any attention.’
‘But this was closer, in a different direction.’
‘It wouldn’t register, indoors,’ she said. ‘And the wind has a lot to do with it, too – sometimes it sounds just over the road.’
‘Was anyone staying here that night?’
‘No.’
‘Isn’t there a path from here to the lay-by?’
She paused.
‘There you are. Help yourself. It’s a local call, isn’t it?’
‘Yes,’ Gently said. ‘Offingham Police Station.’
‘Oh, that’s all right, that’s local.’
She leaned her elbows on the table and watched him hook off the number. Her breasts were compressed between her arms and hung enlarged and defined. He was connected to the desk.
‘Gently speaking,’ he said. ‘I want you to trace the owner of a black Mini-Minor, registration number XOL 7397. Yes. Probably from the town. Yes. Everham 86. Otherwise when I come in. Thank you, sergeant.’ He hung up.
‘Is that man wanted for something?’ Wanda asked.
Gently stared at her, shrugged.
‘Well,’ she said. ‘It’s no business of mine. And I’m not in a mood for business, anyway. And now you’ve told me who you are, but don’t think that makes any difference. If I didn’t like you you wouldn’t be in here. I’m not trying to bribe you with my body.’
‘You knew who I was,’ Gently said.
Wanda nodded. ‘Of course I did. And if you want to ask me a lot of questions go ahead, that’s all right by me. But when you’ve done your job. . ..’ Her eyes swam at him. ‘Life isn’t so very long,’ she said. ‘You can waste so much time with the proprieties. And opportunity. That’s what counts.’
Gently puffed. ‘You’re a surprising woman.’
‘Because I say what I mean?’ she asked. ‘But don’t forget that I’m a divorcee, I’ve had all the silliness knocked out of me. It was the corespondent who took that photograph. It was produced in the court.’
‘How long ago?’
‘Oh . . . fifteen years. I was thirty-six last March.’
‘Where’s your husband?’
‘He’s dead. He was killed in an accident soon after.’
‘Hmm,’ Gently said. ‘Shall I get a warrant, or will you let me search this place?’
‘Don’t be a bloody fool,’ she said. ‘Come and search. I’ll show you round.’
She led him back through the kitchen and into a corridor beyond. She threw open a door on the left and switched on a light in a bare-looking sitting room.
‘That was the residents’ lounge – when we aspired to having residents. Now I just get a few bed-and-breakfasts, and they mostly spend their time in the café. I flogged the furniture after the war.’
‘Does it pay, this place?’
‘I hope I don’t look like a millionairess. I break about even after drawing a salary.’
‘Who was that bloke in the dungarees?’
‘You’d better ask him. He’s new here.’
She passed on to an entry. Beyond it were two bathrooms and two toilets. There was also an outer door leading into a concreted yard. On one side of the yard was a fuel shed about one quarter full of small coke, on the other a scullery containing a washing machine, spin dryer, some domestic lumber. Outside the yard, dimly illuminated by a torch Gently shone at it, lay a neglected kitchen garden and some stunted, unpruned fruit trees. He stood listening. He heard a moan of traffic, an owl hooting in the distant fields.
‘You’re about half a mile from the lay-by here. Are you sure you didn’t hear that shooting?’
From behind him she said: ‘If I did, I didn’t notice it.’
‘How was that?’
‘You hear so much of it. There’s Huxford just over there. They often fire a burst when they’re night flying. You get so you don’t pay it any attention.’
‘But this was closer, in a different direction.’
‘It wouldn’t register, indoors,’ she said. ‘And the wind has a lot to do with it, too – sometimes it sounds just over the road.’
‘Was anyone staying here that night?’
‘No.’
‘Isn’t there a path from here to the lay-by?’
She paused.
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