Chapter 13
Superintendent Wilson looked sadly at the tired figure slumped in the chair on the opposite side of his desk. This was stranger and stranger the more he thought about it.
He was a man of some intuition with a long, brilliant history in the Yard - and the man before him didn't strike him as a criminal. There were many cold-blooded villains, of course, who didn't strike one that way.
It hadn't taken long to check on him. Good family. Parents killed in the war from Hitler's bombs; B.A. Cambridge, rugger and tennis blue; D.F.C. and generally fine record in the RAF during the war; seemed a good type.
Nothing more to be got from him now. He pressed a button. Two men came in.
"All right, son," he said. "We'll see if you have anything else to say later."
They took Hartnell out and locked him in a cell. He sat on the hard bench and put his head in his hand. His head still ached, his shoulder was strained and he had bruises all over. But that was just an irritant. He tried to think straight.
He'd protested throughout that he hadn't been driving the lorry, but they'd found him behind the wheel and things looked black for him. He'd insisted throughout that he could name the man who'd been the driver, had considered blowing the whistle on the gang and then remembered that that would automatically involve Gracie. He had seen newspaper headings referring to "Gangster's Moll" and it had dried him up utterly, even if he did have to face a murder rap. He'd explained to them how he got into the racket and the short length of time he'd been involved, but he doubted whether they believed him. It seemed they'd been trying to crack Francie's gang for a long time.
If only he could get hold of Francie and force him to admit he'd been the driver. But if he told the police how they might find Francie, probably Gracie would be there too. He felt an ache of longing and anxiety for Gracie. Something had happened to her, he was sure.
But he could hardly think beyond the moment. After a little while he fell asleep in spite of the discomfort.
"I don't know what to think, Stan," Superintendent Wilson was saying. "I'm very concerned about Johnson. But I have a feeling we've got the wrong man."
"Seems quite a decent type," Chief Inspector Baker replied. "Can't think why he won't tell us more if he's innocent."
"The only thing I can think is that there's someone he's trying to protect - most likely a woman," the Superintendent went on. "His type's usually got gallant ideas of an extreme nature where women are concerned."
"But then he may be lying altogether. Maybe he's really the leader of this gang. I'd say he had the brains."
"Rather unlikely, Stan. When he was pulled out of the cab the bruise on his head was the wrong side - fits in with his story of being slugged. Funny, too, that nobody else was hurt. Williams says shots were fired at him from the back of the lorry. Hartnell had a gun in his pocket but it hadn't been fired."
Chief Inspector Baker tapped a foot on the floor. For him, the matter was best cleared up by routine investigation on all possible leads in a Court of Law. But he recognized his chief's genius. It had kept him, not unhappily, in a subordinate position for years. He never knew what the Super was going to suggest next.
"I'd like to break this gang before I retire, Stan," Wilson went on. "When I think of all those drugs they must have distributed and the robberies they've got away with it makes my blood boil. I think we've only caught a sprat today."
Later, before he was formally charged, Superintendent Wilson had what he described as an off-the-record interview with Hartnell. Not even the Chief Inspector was present.
"Will you tell me why you won't give us a lead on this gang, son?" he asked. "They shopped you, according to your story. Why shield them?"
"I have my own reasons," Hartnell said.
"It makes your own position much worse. There's not much between you and a rope, you know."
Hartnell said nothing.
"Is it a woman?"
"Yes."
"I see. Why did they shop you, son?"
"If only I could get my hands on them I'd find out all about it - and I'd make the driver admit," Hartnell snapped bitterly.
"Why don't you let us do that for you?"
"I told you, I have my reasons."
The Superintendent sighed.
"Might save your girl," he said - a shot in the dark.
Hartnell's hands clenched, his eyes flickered.
The Superintendent's calm expression didn't alter a bit, but his interest quickened. He knew he'd scored a bull.
"Otherwise there's no saying what they might do to her."
Hartnell glared at him, his eyes ablaze.
"What do you know about it?" he snapped. "You don't know what you're talking about."
"Look son, I'm only trying to help you. Why don't you tell me how your girl's involved in this and we'll do our best to get her out."
But Hartnell had regained his outward composure. He wasn't giving away any more. He shook his head.
"All right," said the Superintendent. "But you're just making things worse for yourself - and for her."
He waited a few seconds, but Hartnell had closed up like a clam. He looked tired. The Superintendent pressed the button.
"All right," he said, when they came in. "Take him away and charge him."