Deeming’s face was right blank. ‘Jeebies don’t use blades,’ he said.
‘Sid had a blade,’ Gently said.
‘Yeah,’ Deeming said. ‘You keep giving it to me. But where did he get it from, then — like you searched him when he was pinched?’
‘He was searched,’ Gently said. ‘He didn’t have a blade then.’
Deeming’s slate eyes smiled. ‘So,’ he said, ‘what’s the curve? You think I slipped Sid a knife from up in the gallery this morning?’
‘I think he was slipped a knife,’ Gently said. ‘And I think I know when it was slipped. And I’ve been asking myself why — what was the reason for slipping him a knife?’
‘Like to give him a weapon,’ Deeming said.
‘Yes,’ Gently said. ‘To give him a weapon. And right at the psychological moment when he might be tempted to use it.’
‘You think that?’ Deeming asked.
Gently nodded. ‘I think that. So he might have killed a man. So he might have been going to swing anyway.’
‘Subtle,’ Deeming said.
‘Yes,’ Gently said, ‘subtle.’
‘Like someone had got it in for Sid,’ Deeming said.
‘Just like that,’ Gently said.
‘And you know why?’ Deeming said. ‘Don’t be a square and leave me hanging.’
‘I thought you could give me the reason,’ Gently said. ‘Why someone should make us a present of Sid.’
Deeming chuckled. ‘You’re a crazy screw. I get a wild kick out of you, man. Like what should I know about this action, sitting up here and minding my business? Like when did Sid start carving up the screws?’
‘And that’s your answer?’ Gently said.
‘Yuh,’ Deeming said. ‘That’s about my answer. I don’t go for mixing in screw-fights, screw.’
‘We’ve taken them in,’ Gently said. ‘There’ll be twelve interrogations.’
‘Sounds like work,’ Deeming said. ‘I hope it’s worth what you put into it.’
‘Then there’s Bixley,’ Gently said. ‘He hasn’t smoked for fourteen hours.’
‘Tough,’ Deeming said, ‘tough. Like I hope you’re treating him right otherwise.’
‘He could talk,’ Gently said.
‘Yuh,’ Deeming said, ‘Sid can talk. Maybe not now so’s a jury could believe him, but you can’t expect it, after carving screws. Leaves a bad taste in people’s mouths. Like they think you’re maybe lying your head off.’
‘Still, we can listen,’ Gently said.
‘It’s what screws are for,’ Deeming said. ‘And its sad, all this about Sid. I’m really grieved, in my way.’
He slid up his sleeve, looked at his watch, dropped his hand again.
‘You finished with me, screw,’ he said, ‘or like you’re going to sound off some more?’
‘I haven’t finished with you,’ Gently said. ‘But you can get to hell out of it.’
‘Subtle,’ Deeming said. ‘I take a hint. You’re too suspicious screw. By half.’
He lounged away, down the stairs, gave the man on the door a cheery good morning. Gently spent a second staring after him, then he whisked along to the courtroom again.
‘Where’s the phone?’ he demanded.
‘In the office, sir,’ the constable told him.
He showed Gently into an icy room which had a roll-top desk and an old safe in it. On the back of the desk stood an upright instrument. Gently unhooked it and asked for Police H.Q.
‘Has Inspector Setters got back yet?’
‘Yes, sir… he’s just come in.’
‘Put him on.’
In a couple of moments Setters snarled ‘Yeah?’ into his instrument.
Gently said: ‘I want a couple of men with a car to tail Deeming. He’s just now left the guildhall and is probably walking back to his rooms. They needn’t be clever about tailing him, in fact I’d like him to know they’re there, but they’ve got to stick with him, on or off his bike, and keep in R.T. contact with H.Q. If he gets away from them on his bike they’re to alert the patrols to intercept him. And it’s urgent. I want your men to pick him up right away.’
Setters hesitated. ‘For how long,’ he asked, ‘am I losing these two men and a car?’
‘Not very long,’ Gently replied. ‘Not very long is the way I see it.’
CHAPTER ELEVEN
During the whole of the incident in Tungate Street the street had been completely deserted, but now, when Gently went back for his car, the place was crowded with sightseers. The bikes had not yet been taken away and were being guarded by two uniform men, and on the spot where Baynes had lain bleeding some sawdust had been hastily strewn. The two reporters from the courtroom had got there and had been joined by a photographer. His flashbulb hissed as Gently came up and the two reporters jumped in eagerly.
‘Can you give us a statement, Superintendent?’
‘Try Inspector Setters,’ Gently said.
‘But this is your car — you were here when it happened?’
‘No comment,’ Gently said.
‘What was the name of the wounded man?’
‘No comment,’ Gently said.
‘Is it true that this connects with the Lister case?’
‘I’ll give you a statement later,’ Gently said.
‘Then we can assume there is a connection?’
‘No comment,’ Gently said.
He pushed them aside, got in his car, backed off the kerb, and drove away. The crowd parted to let him through, each one peering to get a glimpse of him. At Police H.Q. there was another crowd, more reporters and photographers. He shouldered through them, head down, deaf to the fresh questions flung at him.
Setters was sitting alone in his office, his face pale, trembling still. He didn’t look up when Gently came in. His hand was resting on his telephone.
‘They’ve got him up in the hospital,’ he said. ‘Simpson is with him. They’re giving him a transfusion. It just happens he’s one of those types that keep on bleeding. It could be fatal to him. Simpson’s in the same group.’
‘That’s the way things happen,’ Gently said.
Setters looked at him. His eyes were glittering.
‘You didn’t hit that bloody slob hard enough,’ he said. ‘He’s spewing his guts up in the cell. Christ, if he’d come at me with a knife!’
Gently gave him a slow nod.
‘I’m not responsible,’ Setters said. ‘When a slob like that cuts loose with a knife I don’t want law. I stop being a cop.’
‘Did you pick up the knife?’ Gently asked.
Setters pointed to a scrap of paper on the desk. Folded in it was the bloodied flick-knife with some dirt and fluff stuck to the blade. It was a common pattern and appeared to be new. It had a fibre handle with diamond embossings.
‘Could that have been bought locally?’ Gently asked.
Setters shrugged faintly. ‘I’ll check it,’ he said. ‘I could bloody weep. I’m no good as a cop. I think for sure I’d have killed that slob.’
‘You wouldn’t have killed him,’ Gently said.
‘Look at me,’ Setters said. ‘Look at the way I’m shaking. I’m a Detective Inspector, me, I’ve got thirty years’ service. And I’m just finding out I’ve got murder in me.’
‘Not murder,’ Gently said. ‘Blind hate, that’s all.’
‘Murder,’ Setters said. ‘Murder. I know what I feel. When I saw him go for you with that knife I wanted to smash the life out of him. I wanted to do it then and there. And I’d have done it, I’m bloody certain.’
Gently shook his head. ‘You wouldn’t be talking about it now,’ he said. ‘The ones who’ll do it don’t talk about it. They only talk with their hands.’
Setters looked at his hands. He moved the fingers, crooking them.
‘I could bloody weep,’ he repeated. He jammed his hands into his pockets.
Gently sat on the desk, filled his pipe, gave one or two puffs.
‘Did you notice who slipped Bixley the knife?’ he asked.
‘Nope,’ Setters said. ‘I was bawling into the R.T. It must have been after they pulled out Brewer, after the window was smashed.’
‘Brewer didn’t see it?’
‘Didn’t have a chance,’ Setters said. ‘Baynes must have seen it slipped, but we can’t talk to him. How would he have recognized him, anyway, when the slob had a mask?’
‘He might have said something,’ Gently said. ‘Baynes might have recognized the voice.’