Gently Where the Roads Go (22 page)

Sentencing ex-Detective Sergeant Ronald Felling (40) to six years’ imprisonment for his part in the A1 shooting incident, at Offingham Assizes today, the Judge, Mr Justice Ashley, described him as ‘a thoroughly corrupt individual who had made no bones about betraying the trust society had placed in him.’ Of Ove Madsen (39), who received a sentence of one year’s imprisonment, the Judge said: ‘He is not a strong character and he went in grave fear of that terrible man. I believe this is an instance when the clemency of English Justice should be shown.’ Giving the third defendant, Wanda Lane (36), a conditional discharge, Mr Justice Ashley said of her that: ‘She was patently under the influence of Teodowicz, and I can see no purpose in adding to her misery by sentencing her to a term in prison. I intend to give her another chance to see if she can work out her salvation.’

The Raven roadhouse, situated in a commanding position on the A1, 2m. south of Everham, and consisting of an excellent Chalet-style timber building comprising 12 Bedrooms, 2 baths & etc., residents Lounge & Dining Rooms, Cafeteria & well-fitted Kitchen, private Parlour & Bedrooms; extensive Car Park with Petrol Pump installation (3 pumps), large Kitchen Garden with Poultry Run & matured Fruit-trees, Fuel-store, Outbuildings & etc. By Auction at The Lamb Hotel, Offingham, Oct. 27.

Messrs. Owles, Stangate & Oliver offered a varied selection of properties for sale at The Lamb Hotel, Offingham, yesterday. They included The Raven roadhouse, Everham, £1300 (Mr George, for a client) . . .

An intruder with a cosh last night attacked Mr Percy Billington (51), licensee of The Black Boy Public House, Norton Street, Stoke Newington, and got away with nearly £200 of Xmas Club funds. The attack occurred soon after closing time when Mr Billington was making up the club ledger. Police believe that the intruder had concealed himself in the toilets.

Wednesday, December 24th. Big Ben striking four times. A gloomy mist settled in Whitehall and over the muddy tides of the Thames. The great exodus proceeding by way of traffic jams and crawling trains. Frost forecast. Frost apparent in the sparkle of the lights in County Hall.

Gently looked around his office, pulled on his coat, wrapped his scarf. The basket was emptied, the desk neat, the trays vacant, the chairs aligned. The calendar read two days in advance, Saturday, December 26th: he had pulled a string in the AC’s office and two days had grudgingly been given him. Bridget, his sister, was spending Christmas with him, and along with Bridget her son and daughter-in-law. He would be meeting them in the Leicester Square Corner House in twenty minutes and later they were going to the Coliseum. A Christmas break. He looked round again. The office was warm, tidy and bare. He stuck his pipe in his mouth, reached for the door handle. The telephone rang. He looked at it, sucking.

He went to the desk, picked up the phone.

‘Yes?’

‘Hullo, old man.’ It was Empton. ‘Hoped I should catch you,’ Empton said. ‘I’ve just come in from something amusing.’

‘I’m just leaving,’ Gently said.

‘Shan’t keep you a moment,’ Empton said. ‘It’s to do with our Polish expedition, remember? The bloke who fired his gun so much.’

‘What about him?’ Gently said.

‘He’s in the morgue,’ Empton said. ‘We found him stiff and stark in Hackney. He’d been holing up there since last August.’

Gently sucked. ‘How did it happen?’

‘Gas,’ Empton said. ‘In his bedroom.’

‘Was it suicide?’

‘Not quite,’ Empton said. ‘The door had been sealed on the outside. There was a rubber tube led in from the kitchen and poked underneath the door. He’d got the window closed, of course, the nights being rather chill. A very crisp little job. No prints, no witnesses.’

‘Do you know who did it?’ Gently asked.

‘But of course, old man,’ Empton said. ‘Nothing we can prove in the CCC, but we don’t do much of that in our line of business. Watch your papers after Christmas.’

‘Was it this Razek?’ Gently said.

‘Strictly
sub judice
,’ Empton said. ‘But you can draw any conclusions that seem good to you.’ He paused, and Gently heard him chuckle. You remember Mrs Lane?’ he said.

‘Yes.’

‘She was with him,’ Empton said. ‘Two single beds. She was on the other one.’

‘She was dead too?’ Gently said.

‘Yes, strangled,’ Empton said. ‘Yesterday, according to the medic. Been dead for thirty-six hours.’

Gently stared out at the mist. ‘Any clothes on the body?’

‘None,’ Empton said. ‘Damned un-bourgeois, wasn’t it? Merry Christmas, old man.’

And that was all, and soon forgotten in the scattered annals of the Road. The man who died there was briefly noticed because some people wanted to murder his killer. Not that it mattered very much, even in the country where it happened. People were being killed there every day without it being of great consequence. Certainly it mattered not at all to, say, the larger countries round about, and had no register beyond the Sun and in the less-trivial galaxies. Man is interesting but a little remote, and perhaps over-suicidal to be taken seriously. A terminal brightness in a dull corner may be his fraction of sidereal consequence. For he is seeded with self-destruction, he has a fuse of pride to his nations. He is a small race on a small planet and has the assertion-to-death of small creatures. He is a foolish animal without the law and his extinction merely curious. He was probably a biological mistake which fortunately was self-correcting. His vision extended North and South. But he saw nothing beside the Road.