‘What do we know about them?’ Setters asked.
‘They’re a common make,’ Gently said. ‘We’ve picked up scores of this type in Soho and points west. They’ve been a headache for some time. You’d better dust them and send them to Narcotics.’
Setters nodded. ‘And the serviette?’
‘Dust that too,’ Gently said. ‘Then put a man on tracing its origin. He can start on the cafes in the Ford Road area.’
‘Yes,’ Setters said. ‘That’s probably where Lister got those sticks on the Tuesday morning. He wasn’t late home so it’d be in the tea-break, and he wouldn’t go far from the site for that.’
‘One other thing,’ Gently said. ‘Suppose you wanted to pull a jeebie. Where’s the most likely place to lay hands on one?’
Setters thought about it. ‘Try the First and Last cafe,’ he said. ‘You’ll find it just out of town on the Norwich Road.’
‘Is it cool, man?’ Gently asked.
‘Bloody arctic,’ said Setters.
‘Like I may make the scene after a meal,’ Gently said.
CHAPTER FOUR
At the sun Gently ordered a high tea and while he ate it read the evening paper. Two reporters had been waiting at H.Q. when he first arrived there and after the conference he had given them a short non-committal statement. He had been photographed. The photograph appeared on the front page. It showed him stooping to enter the Rover, on the whole a flattering shot. It was recognizable also. His waitress had recognized it. She now addressed him as Mr Gently and had a conversation about him with another waitress. The manager, who’d known about him all along, nodded to him with superior deference.
Setters looked in again after tea with the results of the print-taking, but the prints on the reefers had been few and partial and those on the serviette were Lister’s. He’d sent out Ralphs with the serviette and expected a report from him during the evening. Ralphs had been on the case from the beginning: he was keen not to be dropped now.
‘Will you want me with you this evening?’ Setters had asked.
Gently had grinned. ‘Am I likely to need you?’
‘Not in this town you shouldn’t,’ Setters had replied. ‘But you might not be popular where you are going.’
He’d borrowed the paper and gone out looking at it. But only his arm had shown in the picture.
At half-past seven Gently left, after studying a plan of Latchford which hung in the hotel hall. He drove up the High Street, turned right at the top, drove some distance through a residential street. The street ended abruptly. There was open country beyond it. The lights were cut off quite sharply and beyond them was blackness. A little further right was a pull-up backed by a low, dim-lit building, and on the building was a red neon sign which read: First And Last. He drove in and parked between a truck and a small van. Next to the van, parked in a square, were six or seven motorcycles. When he got out from the car he could hear canned jazz music, somebody beating out the rhythm, a girl’s voice raised in a squeal. He went over and through the door. Opposite the door was an espresso bar. The building was L-shaped, furnished with tables and chairs, underlit and overheated. He crossed to the bar.
‘I’ll have a cup of coffee,’ he said.
The man at the bar looked like an Italian, he had thin features and a twitch. At a table near the bar a truck-driver was eating. The rest of the tables near the bar were empty. It was round the corner where the noise was coming from. There one could partly see the illuminated bulk of a jukebox.
‘I fix you some eats?’ the Italian said.
‘No,’ Gently said. He paid for his coffee.
‘Some sandwiches, fruit?’ the Italian said.
Gently shrugged, walked away, the Italian watching him.
Round the corner they’d pushed the tables back and were sitting in a group. There were ten youths and six girls and, in the centre, an older man. Most of the youths wore black riding leathers, black sweaters, black boots. The others wore short, patterned jackets, black sweaters, black jeans. The girls wore various sweaters, black jeans, black ballerinas. They all wore ban-the-bomb badges. They sat on chairs and on the floor.
Gently walked up to the group. He stood drinking his coffee. They didn’t stop beating out rhythm but all their eyes were fixed on him. One of the girls was Maureen Elton. She squealed something to her neighbour. The jukebox was turned up very loud, it was thumping out New Orleans Blues. The Italian came round the end of the bar, kept making gestures with his head to someone. The eyes that watched Gently didn’t have expression, they were just watchful, continuedly.
The jazz stopped, leaving a humming. The Italian went very still. From down by the counter came the clatter of the truck-driver’s cutlery. Three of the youths got to their feet, one of them strutted towards Gently. He had a handsome, fresh-complexioned face but with a wide mouth and a receding brow. He stood before Gently, hands on hips. Gently finished his coffee, put down the cup.
‘Like what gives?’ the youth said.
Gently didn’t say anything.
‘Like I’m asking you, square,’ the youth said.
Gently felt in his pocket for his pipe.
‘You want I clue you?’ the youth said. ‘Like you’re dumb or some jazz? We don’t go for squares in this scene. Like you’re smart you’ll blow pronto.’
Gently began filling his pipe.
‘Like you’re smart,’ the youth said.
Gently went on filling his pipe. ‘Sidney,’ he said, ‘you’d better sit down.’
The youth got up on his toes. ‘What’s that tag again?’ he said.
‘Sidney Bixley,’ Gently said.
‘Say it again,’ said the youth.
‘Sidney Bixley,’ Gently said. ‘Six months in Brixton for armed assault.’
He finished filling his pipe and lit it.
‘So just sit down, Sidney,’ he said.
There was a squawk from Maureen Elton. ‘He’s that screw I was shooting about. The one they’ve got down from the Smoke. Like he knows about you, Sidney.’
‘I don’t know that,’ Sidney said. He’d fetched his hands off his hips. ‘I don’t know nothing about screws. Like cocky squares I know about.’
‘He’ll hang you up,’ Maureen said.
‘Cocky squares,’ Sidney said.
‘Like you’d better not flip your lid,’ Maureen said.
‘I murder squares,’ Sidney said.
‘Sid,’ said the older man, ‘keep it cool, man. Do as he says.’
‘Like making in here,’ Sidney said.
‘No, keep it cool,’ said the older man.
Gently puffed. He came forward. He pushed Sidney to one side. Sidney staggered, went falling, got tangled up with a chair. He jumped up and stood swearing. His two followers did nothing. Gently spun a chair back to front. He sat down, looked round him.
‘Dicky Deeming?’ he said.
The older man gave him a nod. ‘You’re well clued-in, man,’ he said. ‘Don’t seem to need introductions.’
‘I didn’t know Lister,’ Gently said.
Deeming smiled faintly, said nothing.
‘You were all friends of his?’ Gently said.
‘Yes,’ Deeming said. ‘We were his friends.’
‘But somebody wasn’t,’ Gently said.
‘So you tell us,’ Deeming said.
‘He was killed,’ Gently said.
‘Like that’s certain, man,’ Deeming said.
He was around thirty, tall, with a large, gaunt-cheeked face, light hair cut close, slate eyes, big ears. He wore a white-trimmed black windcheater, black jeans, sandals. He had a hard, large-framed body. It showed well in the windcheater.
‘So what’s your theory?’ Gently said.
‘Like why should I have one?’ Deeming asked.
‘You’ve talked to Maureen, she says, you know what we think about Johnny. He made it, that’s all, he was out there with them. That’s crazy, it sends us. Johnny comes very big with us.’
‘Yuh, big, he’s big with us,’ several of them growled.
‘He was the mostest, coolest,’ said a girl with dark hair.
‘And as for this jazz about his being busted,’ Deeming said, ‘like we’ve seen enough of screws to know the action they make.’