Gently grinned. ‘I can take it,’ he said.
Setters grinned too. ‘I’m whacked,’ he said. ‘Just reprimand me and let me go home. I need a bath to set me up.’
But he got on the phone and made the arrangements for Bixley’s appearance in court in the morning.
Gently drove him home, to Ashgrove Road, drove to the Sun, parked, smoked a last pipe.
CHAPTER TEN
The courtroom at Latchford was in the medieval guildhall, and courts had been held there since 1452. Like all the oldest buildings in Latchford it was built of dressed flint and Caen stone. The Caen stone had been brought up the River Latch, which flowed into the Ouse, and so into the Wash. The flint was the native stone of the country and had been the wealth of the aboriginal tribes. Thus the pale stone was a modern innovation in the time scheme of Latchford, a mere frame, beginning to crumble, for the panels of indestructible, purplish-dark flint. The flint had never been known to crumble or to make the least acknowledgement of multiplying aeons.
The guildhall stood in the small marketplace and was separated from Police H.Q. by three narrow streets. The marketplace was not now the centre of the town and had ceased to be so for one or two centuries. Its principal use was as a car park. It had only two small shops. In the middle of the morning it was usually deserted, and it was almost deserted when Gently parked there.
He locked his door, strolled over to the guildhall’s spill of worn stone steps. A uniform man stood by the porch. He straightened, touched his helmet to Gently. Inside the building was cold and meagre, its gloom helped out by a few naked bulbs. Some grey cement stairs led up to a landing and to a varnished door labelled Court Room. Beside this stood a second uniform man. He was rocking ponderously on his heels.
‘Your man isn’t here yet, sir,’ he told Gently. ‘They’re doing a bloke up for indecent exposure.’
‘That should be edifying,’ Gently said.
The man began to grin, thought better of it.
Gently went through the door. The courtroom was high-ceilinged and underlit. Its fixtures, sprouting over the whole floor space, were of brown wood and black iron. The dock on the left looked like a cattle-cage and the raked benches like pews. There were bad acoustics. The walls were grimy. The air was chill, damp, neglected.
He noticed Setters sitting on the right, staring boredly at the Counsels’ tables, and near these, at another table, sat two reporters, also bored. In the public gallery sat Mrs Bixley, her eyes fixed mournfully on the Bench. She was one of only two spectators. The other one was Deeming.
Gently went into the gallery, seated himself beside Deeming. Deeming turned to give him a smile, then held up a finger.
‘Listen a moment… this witness.’
He was leaning forward on the varnished partition. The voice of the witness was barely audible across the sound-deadening room. She was a dowdy, middle-aged woman in a rusty black coat. The tone of her voice was indignant and she held her chin tilted upwards.
‘Magnificent!’ Deeming whispered to Gently. ‘Like she’s the soul and bowels of Christ-ish hypocrisy. Man, the accused was a wild one when he piddled in front of her.’
‘Was she what brought you here?’ Gently asked.
‘Like she’s the bonus,’ Deeming said. ‘I’ve come to find out what you’ve got on Sidney. But keep it down, man, keep it down.’
He lowered his chin on the partition and continued to absorb the witness’s testimony. Beyond him the bulk of Mrs Bixley shifted uneasily on the hard bench. She, too, was dressed in black, and she had artificial violets pinned to her lapel. She didn’t pay any attention to Deeming, the Bench engaged her whole interest.
The case ended with a fine and some stiffish words from the magistrate. After some consultations, enterings, and exitings, a parking offence was heard.
‘These are a drag,’ Deeming said to Gently. ‘Like thy ruin a morning at the court. If it wasn’t for Sid coming on I’d duck out and leave it with them. What’s Sid done — pitched a screw?’
Gently shrugged. ‘You’ll hear,’ he said.
‘I’m anxious about him,’ Deeming said. ‘I come here like a probation officer. Give me the action.’
‘I think you know it,’ Gently said.
‘You mean like my pad being frisked?’ Deeming asked. ‘You were way off the beam there, screw. Nobody stashes their dope with me.’
‘Somebody stashes it somewhere,’ Gently said.
‘Sure,’ Deeming said. ‘That stands to reason. But not in their own backyard they stash it. And not in my backyard, neither.’
‘Where would you stash it?’ Gently asked.
‘Right under your nose,’ Deeming grinned. ‘Some place so obvious the screws wouldn’t see it, like because they’re seeing it every day. What do you say to the bridge near your hotel?’
‘You’d need a boat,’ Gently said.
‘Yes,’ Deeming said. ‘That’s a drawback, but I still think the bridge is good. Then there’s the market cross outside here. You could stash some dope in the roof. Or maybe that sand-hopper outside the screw-shop. You had a look in your sand-hopper lately?’
‘I’ll make a point of it,’ Gently said. ‘Anywhere else you can think of?’
‘Down in the forest,’ Deeming said. ‘Something might stir there.’
He grinned again, ran fingers through his short brown hair.
‘Like stop fishing,’ he said. ‘I wouldn’t help you if I could, screw. You make it a crime for these kids to get a touch out of smoking. That’s Squaresville from Squaresville. It’s no crime east of Suez.’
‘I wouldn’t know,’ Gently said. ‘It’s outside our jurisdiction.’
Wit,’ Deeming said, ‘wit. I like your sense of humour, screw. Big deadpan stuff. I always go for it crazy. But it wasn’t very bright to go hanging Sid up, not because he smokes a little. Sid’s been keeping it pretty cool.’
‘I’m glad to hear it,’ Gently said.
‘Yeah, pretty cool,’ said Deeming. ‘Considering what he used to be and all the action he’s been through. You oughtn’t to jump on a kid like that, you ought to lay on him light. Let him feel he’s being something, don’t sit on his ego. That way he’ll cool some more. But if you push him, he’ll keep flipping his lid. Man, even screws were young once, they ought to remember the way it is.’
‘I can remember,’ Gently said. ‘Though I never stood in one of those.’
‘Yeah, but you could have done,’ Deeming said. ‘That’s the point, you could have done. You’re fighting it out when you’re a kid. You don’t quite see the margins plain. You’ll like as not step over the side and then you’ll wonder why they’re shouting. And all of a sudden you’re getting shot at, you’re a delinquent, you’re branded. Like there isn’t a couple of worlds between a criminal and his neighbour, and when you’re young there’s next to nothing. You could have stood there in that dock.’
‘Say I was lucky.’ Gently said.
Deeming caught him with a smile. ‘Lucky it is,’ he said. ‘You take a point well, screw.’
‘And Bixley’s just misunderstood?’ Gently said.
‘Misunderstood,’ Deeming said. ‘Like you can give that “just” the air, it didn’t sound very bright.’
‘I was working late, this isn’t my morning for being bright,’ Gently said.
‘Wit,’ Deeming said. ‘It sends me. Play Sid for a fine and let him loose.’
Setters came down the aisle for Gently. He didn’t manage to see Deeming sitting there. Deeming grinned, gave a little bow. Setters kept not managing to see him.
‘Bixley next,’ he said to Gently. ‘I’ve had a word with the Bench about it.’
Gently followed him back to the side-stall, took a seat beside Setters and Baynes.
Bixley was called and brought in from some subterranean region. He stalked defiantly into the cage and stood lounging against it. But there was a peakiness about him, he was continually jiffling, moving his hands. He looked sullenly about the court, he saw Deeming. Their eyes met. Mrs Bixley was standing up, but Bixley didn’t look at her.