mind, then said at last in a hurry:
‘Chief, I’ve come round to your point of view. I’ve decided not to charge Fazakerly.’
Gently’s brows lifted. ‘Come again?’
‘I’ve decided we don’t have a case. Not a case we could win, that is. So I’ve put a tail on him and let him go.’
‘You’ve done what?’
‘I couldn’t hold him, not after I decided not to charge him.’ He rustled the envelope nervously. ‘I’ve been having a word with Macpherson,’ he said.
Gently fumbled a light for his pipe. This wasn’t what he’d expected at all! He had an uneasy sensation of having pushed too hard, and of now having the tables turned on him. Perhaps till now he’d failed to realize how strong was his conviction of Fazakerly’s guilt: he’d counted on Reynolds to uphold it staunchly, even while he himself was flirting with doubts.
‘Macpherson was here about another matter,’ Reynolds explained. Macpherson was attached to the Public Prosecutor’s office. ‘I thought I’d ask him for an opinion. And you were right, Chief. He didn’t like it. He said I’d better hang on for a bit and try to sew it up tighter. He didn’t like Mrs Bannister for a witness. He seemed to think we were concentrating too hard on Fazakerly.’
‘Macpherson,’ Gently said. ‘Yes . . . he’s canny.’
‘He took the same line as you did, Chief.’
‘And so you let him go.’
‘Isn’t that what you’d have wanted?’
Gently shrugged. Now he wasn’t so certain!
‘But you had the sense to put a tail on him.’
Reynolds looked perplexed. ‘Yes . . . I thought . . .’
‘Where did he go?’
‘At first to his sister-in-law’s, then he took a room at the Coq d’Or in Vincent Street. He’s in there now, having a meal. Thompson phoned a few minutes ago.’
‘Have the Press got on to him?’
‘Don’t think so, Chief.’
‘There’ll be some pretty hot copy when they do.’
Reynolds squirmed. ‘But I couldn’t go on holding him. Macpherson said outright he wouldn’t recommend the case. And anyway, I’ve come up with a new lead since then, and this one doesn’t point to Fazakerly.’
He hastily jerked open his envelope and shot the contents on the desk.
What fell, or cascaded, from the envelope was a necklace composed of diamonds and emeralds.
It was an expensive necklace. It flashed and iridesced with a fire that was unmistakable, and the principal stones were of a size to silence deprecatory conjecture. They were set in baroque platinum settings dusted with chips and seed pearls, alternate diamonds and emeralds, in the form of a gorget linked with a chain. It was formidable. One knew at a glance it transcended the common extravagances of jewellery.
Gently gazed at it, lying tumbled on the desk.
‘So,’ he said, ‘where did this come from?’
‘It came from a dustbin.’
‘From where?’
‘From a dustbin. A dustbin in the back area of Carlyle Court.’
‘Did it now,’ Gently said. ‘Well, I knew they were pretty well-heeled in that district. But if they’re tossing this sort of thing in their dustbins there’s going to be a rush to sign-on the dust-wagon. Who turned it in?’
‘Old Dobson, the porter. He makes a point of sorting over the rubbish.’
‘I’m not surprised. There’s a future in it. And of course, this belonged to Mrs Fazakerly?’
Reynolds nodded. ‘Dobson took it to Stockbridge, who got on the phone to us in a hurry. He knew who it belonged to because he used to keep it for her. There’s a safe in his office where tenants deposit valuables. She had this out on the Monday morning ready for some function in the evening.’
‘And it wasn’t in the flat when you took over?’
‘No. Buttifant and Thompson checked the flat.’
‘There were some bits in a jewel-box, sir,’ Buttifant said.
‘But they’re still up there. We’ve just had a look.’
‘And the flat’s been sealed.’
‘You saw it was, Chief. Nobody’s been monkeying there since. So
‘Chief, I’ve come round to your point of view. I’ve decided not to charge Fazakerly.’
Gently’s brows lifted. ‘Come again?’
‘I’ve decided we don’t have a case. Not a case we could win, that is. So I’ve put a tail on him and let him go.’
‘You’ve done what?’
‘I couldn’t hold him, not after I decided not to charge him.’ He rustled the envelope nervously. ‘I’ve been having a word with Macpherson,’ he said.
Gently fumbled a light for his pipe. This wasn’t what he’d expected at all! He had an uneasy sensation of having pushed too hard, and of now having the tables turned on him. Perhaps till now he’d failed to realize how strong was his conviction of Fazakerly’s guilt: he’d counted on Reynolds to uphold it staunchly, even while he himself was flirting with doubts.
‘Macpherson was here about another matter,’ Reynolds explained. Macpherson was attached to the Public Prosecutor’s office. ‘I thought I’d ask him for an opinion. And you were right, Chief. He didn’t like it. He said I’d better hang on for a bit and try to sew it up tighter. He didn’t like Mrs Bannister for a witness. He seemed to think we were concentrating too hard on Fazakerly.’
‘Macpherson,’ Gently said. ‘Yes . . . he’s canny.’
‘He took the same line as you did, Chief.’
‘And so you let him go.’
‘Isn’t that what you’d have wanted?’
Gently shrugged. Now he wasn’t so certain!
‘But you had the sense to put a tail on him.’
Reynolds looked perplexed. ‘Yes . . . I thought . . .’
‘Where did he go?’
‘At first to his sister-in-law’s, then he took a room at the Coq d’Or in Vincent Street. He’s in there now, having a meal. Thompson phoned a few minutes ago.’
‘Have the Press got on to him?’
‘Don’t think so, Chief.’
‘There’ll be some pretty hot copy when they do.’
Reynolds squirmed. ‘But I couldn’t go on holding him. Macpherson said outright he wouldn’t recommend the case. And anyway, I’ve come up with a new lead since then, and this one doesn’t point to Fazakerly.’
He hastily jerked open his envelope and shot the contents on the desk.
What fell, or cascaded, from the envelope was a necklace composed of diamonds and emeralds.
It was an expensive necklace. It flashed and iridesced with a fire that was unmistakable, and the principal stones were of a size to silence deprecatory conjecture. They were set in baroque platinum settings dusted with chips and seed pearls, alternate diamonds and emeralds, in the form of a gorget linked with a chain. It was formidable. One knew at a glance it transcended the common extravagances of jewellery.
Gently gazed at it, lying tumbled on the desk.
‘So,’ he said, ‘where did this come from?’
‘It came from a dustbin.’
‘From where?’
‘From a dustbin. A dustbin in the back area of Carlyle Court.’
‘Did it now,’ Gently said. ‘Well, I knew they were pretty well-heeled in that district. But if they’re tossing this sort of thing in their dustbins there’s going to be a rush to sign-on the dust-wagon. Who turned it in?’
‘Old Dobson, the porter. He makes a point of sorting over the rubbish.’
‘I’m not surprised. There’s a future in it. And of course, this belonged to Mrs Fazakerly?’
Reynolds nodded. ‘Dobson took it to Stockbridge, who got on the phone to us in a hurry. He knew who it belonged to because he used to keep it for her. There’s a safe in his office where tenants deposit valuables. She had this out on the Monday morning ready for some function in the evening.’
‘And it wasn’t in the flat when you took over?’
‘No. Buttifant and Thompson checked the flat.’
‘There were some bits in a jewel-box, sir,’ Buttifant said.
‘But they’re still up there. We’ve just had a look.’
‘And the flat’s been sealed.’
‘You saw it was, Chief. Nobody’s been monkeying there since. So
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