Gently with the Ladies (Inspector George Gently 13)

Bannister. She’s the bitch who lives in the flat below. But Sybil wouldn’t want to kill Clytie. Me perhaps, but not Clytie.’
    ‘Why you?’
    Fazakerly swallowed some coffee. ‘Because I was superfluous, don’t you see? My God, you’re not dealing with decent people, you’re down in the depths, you’re stirring ordure. I haven’t been Clytie’s husband for years, not since Sybil moved in. She’s an old flame from Bristol. They were going strong together at school.’
    ‘You mean, a Lesbian relationship?’
    ‘Exactly. Clytie was always a bit that way. She looked as though butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth, but that was all part of the act.’
    ‘And this Sybil Bannister upset your marriage?’
    ‘Let’s say she gave it the last nudge. Clytie was fooling with girls before that. We never had much of a sex-life together.’
    He tore a mouthful from another sandwich and washed it down with more coffee, then he grinned weakly at Gently.
    ‘Tell me if I’m shocking you,’ he said.
    Gently made a face. ‘So why did you marry her in the first place?’ he asked.
    ‘Oh, money.’
    ‘Just that?’
    ‘It’s all the picture needs, isn’t it? Actually, she had a torso too, and a sort of promising manner. Only it wasn’t promising me anything. Though I didn’t find that out till later.’
    ‘Didn’t you love her?’
    ‘I’ve forgotten. Such a long time ago.’
    ‘And it doesn’t matter to you that she’s dead.’
    Fazakerly closed his eyes. ‘Not much,’ he said.
    Then his eyes sprang open again. ‘Look, I’m being truthful!’ he exclaimed. ‘I know I’m knocking nails in my coffin, but if I used whitewash you wouldn’t believe me. I’m a bum, I’ve said it before. I’ve got the motives of a bum. The only decent thing left in me is down that river, out at sea. When I’m alone there, then I’m decent, I can look the sun in the face. But I’m a bum the rest of the time: a lousy bum: but not a murderer.’
    ‘All right, calm down,’ Gently said. ‘Just don’t give answers like that in court.’
    ‘Do you think I’m stupid?’
    Gently stared at him. ‘No,’ he said. ‘You’re far from stupid.’
    Fazakerly went on eating and drinking, his eyes wide and distant.
    ‘Yes,’ he said, ‘that’s where I’m decent. That’s where I should be all the time.’
    Gently sighed and re-lit his pipe. ‘Let’s get back to pure facts,’ he said. ‘You went to the flat at about three p.m. on Monday. What were you doing before that?’
    ‘I was at Rochester.’
    ‘With this other woman?’
    ‘Of course. I’m always there at weekends. I belong to the Cruising Club, you know? It’s the only thing that keeps me sane.’
    ‘So you’d just come back from a weekend with her when you went to the flat, and your wife had got to know about this, and there was a violent quarrel.’
    Fazakerly nodded.
    ‘How had she found out?’
    ‘Some nice person told her, I daresay. I mean, I hadn’t been terribly discreet, there’d never seemed any need for it. I’d played around a bit before. Clytie had never taken any notice. In fact, I was more surprised than anything when she started sounding off about Sarah.’
    ‘Did she know Sarah?’
    ‘No.’
    ‘But she was emphatic you were to drop her.’
    ‘Emphatic is right,’ Fazakerly said ruefully. ‘They don’t come any more emphatic than Clytie.’
    ‘And she’d have threatened you.’
    ‘She did. I was to drop Sarah or else. Meaning my allowance would be cut off and I’d be kicked out of the flat. Imagine a bum hearing that sort of threat, and coming from another bum like Clytie – because, hell, where did her beautiful money come from? I’ll tell you – from a step-uncle who used to lay her.’
    ‘And that made you angry.’
    ‘Are you kidding?’
    ‘So angry that you picked up the nearest weapon.’
    ‘But I tell you—’
    ‘The weapon that has your fingerprints on it: and you hit your wife over the head.’
    ‘Now look here—!’
    ‘Isn’t that how it happened? Why you were seen running down the stairs? Why you grabbed a yacht and set a course for Holland – until you remembered your connexion at the Yard?’
    Fazakerly stared, mouth open, a sandwich trembling in his hand.
    ‘This is a trap!’ he cried. ‘You’ve got people listening – a tape-recorder – you’re trying to trap me!’
    Gently shook his head. ‘Oh no.’
    ‘But I trusted you – I’m telling you everything.’
    ‘Were you going to tell