Gently with the Innocents by Alan Hunter Page B

put the stuff but didn’t offer to lend them a hand. I gathered he was in the office most of the time, but they can’t be positive about that. He was in the office when they finished because Charlish went there for his receipt.’
    ‘And they left him there.’
    ‘Yes, sir.’
    ‘He wasn’t standing by to lock up?’
    ‘No, sir. They definitely left him there. There was still a light burning when they drove off.’
    ‘Interesting,’ Gently said. ‘At first, he’s complaining at being kept late. Then, nearly two hours later, he hangs about when he might be getting away. I wonder why.’
    Scoles tried to look intelligent.
    Gissing cleared his throat. ‘Do you reckon he’d seen something?’
    Gently nodded. ‘I reckon he might have done. Especially remembering the view from the office window.’ He drank cocoa. ‘Did Charlish and Tooke see anyone in the yard?’ he asked Scoles.
    ‘No, sir, I did ask them. There were only some kids playing about.’
    ‘Kids?’
    ‘That’s what they said, sir. I reckon they were kids from Thingoe Road. They played around there and in the sale-ground – it sort of keeps them off the road, sir.’
    ‘When did they see these kids playing about?’
    Scoles flushed. ‘Didn’t exactly ask them, sir.’
    ‘‘‘Playing about’’ – was that the term used?’
    ‘Yes, sir,’ Scoles said defensively. ‘Those very words.’
    Gently stared at his mug for a moment, then shrugged. ‘All right,’ he said. ‘Carry on.’
    ‘That’s all about Charlish and Tooke, sir. After that I made some more inquiries about Peachment’s movements.’
    The sum of these was small enough. Scoles had worked the areas adjacent to Frenze Street. About all he’d learned was that once in a while people had seen old Peachment out of an evening. On 26 October, nothing. On 27 October – perhaps – his visit to the shop. The latter had been a lucky strike in a blank which would probably now never be filled.
    Gently added his own negative contribution of an account of the abortive search with Bressingham. Gissing listened with customary stolidness, a man who expected no gifts from fortune.
    ‘I don’t know . . .’ He emptied his mug and set it heavily on the desk. ‘I reckon we’ve got to nail Colkett, somehow.’
    He caught Gently grinning. He looked perplexed.
    The kids had made a slide, smoothing the snow into glassy marble. It was near the pig-pens, where no doubt an area of concrete underlay the snow. Whooping and screaming, they broke into a sprint and hurled themselves recklessly at the hard strip, some flying down it crouched, like speed skaters, others stiff-legged – or on bottoms and elbows. There were ten of them, going at it in a sort of wild group ecstasy. As each one skidded or blundered to a halt he turned and raced back to rejoin the queue. Their cheeks were flushed and their breath smoked, and their voices had a harsh, animal hoarseness. Almost they seemed to be acting a ritual, to be possessed by a snow-madness.
    Then they noticed Gently, and the bubble burst. They drew together in a loose cluster. Still panting, they stared at him large-eyed, colts who’d been disturbed in their frolic.
    ‘Don’t stop for me,’ Gently smiled.
    But that was no use: the spell was broken. They kicked a little at the snow and stared aside from him sullenly.
    He came up to them. They stood their ground, but cautious, ready for flight. Dinno was in the centre of the group. Alone, his steady gaze met Gently’s.
    ‘Well, Dinno,’ Gently said.
    Dinno’s hands crept into his pockets. His shoulders pulled into a swagger. He was the leader. He knew it.
    ‘See you got him then, mister,’ he said.
    ‘Oh?’ Gently said. ‘Who, Dinno?’
    ‘Old Cokey. You took him away. It’s all locked up – we been to look.’
    ‘Yes, that’s right, mister,’ slurred the pudding-faced boy, who seemed to play the role of Dinno’s lieutenant. ‘Old Cokey’s gone. We been to look.’
    ‘You took him