Buffet for Unwelcome Guests(116)

‘I know the score,’ said Jellinks.

‘You’d have to,’ said the sergeant, ‘wouldn’t you?—driving the way you do and for the reasons you do.’ And to Evans, ‘So he took the bend okay?’ Passing cars had obscured the tiremarks in the road, swinging out to avoid the group gathering around the scene of the accident.

‘That’s right, yes.’ The attendants had closed the ambulance door with a slam, and more to distract him than anything else, the sergeant suggested, ‘Just run through it once again for me, before we get to the station. If you can manage it,’ he added compassionately, looking at the sick white face watching the ambulance with its pathetic burden driving away.

‘That’s all right, Skip. Well, like I told you, I was on my bike, just at the end of my beat. I knew I’d meet them, our Jenny and the baby, coming back from the Other Granny’s. The Other Granny, that’s what we call her. Lives just down the road—on her own she is now, since her Tom married our Jenny and moved in with me and the missis.’

‘Yes—so?’ said the sergeant, gently interrupting; he knew all about Bill and Bill’s missis and Tom and Jenny and the baby; and the Other Granny too. The officers were all local men.

‘Yes, well he—the car—was coming up behind them. Came round the bend—not fast, I can’t say he was going too fast. But…’ He made a huge effort. ‘They saw me coming. The little one—she ran forward to meet me, ran into the road, and her mother went after her to catch her.’ He looked at Jellinks steadily. ‘I got to say it,’ he said.

It was beginning to get to Jellinks. He looked ill now in the evening light. But he clutched greedily at salvation. ‘Okay, well, you’ve heard him. I was going slow enough, the kid ran into the road and the girl after her—it wasn’t my fault.’

‘And you stopped at once. You weren’t driving on?’

‘The—well, the jolt like, that stopped me—’

‘Two jolts,’ said Evans with murder in his voice.

‘—and anyway, there he was, biking towards me. I had to stop. Well, I mean I’d’ve stopped anyway, of course I would.’

‘Something like this happened to you once before—and you didn’t.’

‘Nobody was hurt that time. What would I stop for?’ said Jellinks.

‘But this time you had to?’

‘I didn’t have to. I could have… well, there you are, you see!’ he said, improvising triumphantly. ‘I could’ve driven straight on, couldn’t I? Run him down on his bike and driven straight on and no one the wiser. But I didn’t, did I? I had nothing to be afraid of. He says himself, I was driving quite slow, the kid run across in front of me.’ But the triumph died and he looked at Bill Evans uneasily. ‘You’re not going to go back on that in court and say anything different? Don’t you try anything of that, mate! I’ve got friends—’

The sergeant looked from the white face, set and stern, to the narrow white weasel-face, vicious in self-defence. He said slowly, ‘Well, that’s a good thing, Jellinks—you hang on to them. I think you’re going to need them from now on—need all the friends you’ve got.’

There was a good deal of confusion in the coroner’s court, opinions of the minor witnesses varying, as such opinions tend to do. The car was—was not—going fast. They had lain here—lain there—the two pitiful dead bodies. The child’s little push-chair had been all smashed up—in the center of the road—on the grass at the verge. The mother had been wheeling the baby—had been leading her, holding her little hand. But Evans stood in the box, four-square, ashen-faced, hands horribly shaking but—positive.

‘As honest a witness,’ said the coroner, summing it all up, ‘as it’s been my privilege to listen to in all my experience. The constable saw the whole thing from beginning to end. He tells his story clearly, he says frankly that the driver was not to blame. Other witnesses may be confused by shock but Evans is a trained observer and trained in reporting his observations; and none of you will suppose that he could be biased in favour of the driver who had run down his daughter and her child. There can be only the one verdict—accidental death.’

And outside the court he sought out P.C. Evans and with deep respect shook his hand. ‘You set us all an example, Evans,’ he said, ‘of absolute honesty. You’ve earned our admiration and our thanks.’

‘I have to do what’s right, sir,’ said Evans, and, expressionless, he moved away.