Dark Briggate Blues (19 page)

***

Eleven on a Sunday morning and Joanna Hart was up and dressed. She showed him through to the living room, the sun through the window catching dust motes in the air.

She glanced at the grandfather clock.

‘I’m meeting some people in a little while,’ she announced.

‘Have you had that offer yet?’ he asked.

She shook her head. ‘Tomorrow, he said.’

‘I want you to ring Carter and arrange to meet him in the morning.’

‘Why? I don’t have the offer yet.’

‘Tell him someone else is putting in a bid for the business and you’re giving him a chance to increase his offer.’

She looked at him with curiosity.

‘Is there any point?’

‘Make it early,’ he continued. ‘Nine o’clock. And tell him I’ll be with you.’ With the shops shut on Sunday Carter would have had no chance to buy new clothes.

‘I’ll ask again, Mr Markham,’ she said impatiently. ‘Why?’

‘He’ll try and put you off until later in the day. Insist on it being early.’

She sighed and lit a cigarette.

‘All right,’ she agreed finally. ‘Where?’

He thought quickly.

‘The Kardomah, up in the restaurant.’

‘What sort of game are you playing, Mr Markham?’

‘One that puts Carter at a disadvantage.’ He stood, feeling the weight of the gun pulling down his pocket. ‘I’ll see you in the morning.’

‘I trust this won’t end up being a wasted trip.’

He smiled.

‘Believe me, it won’t.’

***

Markham spent the rest of the day on edge, playing Ellington and Basie records, big bands to distract him. He tried to read but couldn’t settle long enough as he anticipated the meeting the following morning.

Wearing his best suit, he was in the office a little after eight. No one else had been there but why would they? Carter wanted his revenge on the man, not the place.

He smoked four cigarettes, grinding one out in the ashtray then immediately lighting another. Every few seconds his eyes flicked to the clock. The telephone rang and he jumped to it.

‘He said ten o’clock,’ Joanna Hart said. ‘He wouldn’t budge from that.’

Markham smiled. Carter needed time for new clothes to be delivered. Good. He’d be awkward and angry, wrong-footed. That was when men made mistakes.

‘Still at the Kardomah?’

‘Yes.’

‘Why don’t you come to the office? We’ll go down together.’

‘If you like,’ she agreed with reluctance. ‘Will you tell me what this is all about?’

‘Yes.’

‘I’ll be there in an hour.’

***

He dialled Millgarth police station and asked for Detective Sergeant Baker.

‘Carter will be at Kardomah Tea Room at ten.’

‘So you kept yourself alive over the weekend. Why do I want to be there?’

‘Our man will have a new wardrobe.’

‘Oh?’ Markham heard the rustling of papers. ‘That wouldn’t have anything to do with a fire alarm going off at the Metropole on Saturday night, would it?’

‘I’ve no idea what you’re talking about.’

‘Or there’s this one. We received a complaint yesterday about a naked man out past Shadwell. They sent out a car to pick him up.’ Baker chuckled. ‘Turns out he works for Carter. Said someone had assaulted him and taken everything.’

‘I wish I’d seen that.’

‘So do I, lad.’

‘Did he say who did it? Or why?’

‘Never saw him, he claims. Record as long as your arm. He was out on probation. Banged him back inside. Can’t have people exposing themselves in public like that.’ He paused. ‘Looks like I might have underestimated you,’ he said with grudging admiration.

‘If I’d done anything.’

‘Aye, of course. So is something going to happen this morning?’

‘You never can tell.’

‘Maybe I’ll wander over for a cup of tea, then. Ten, you said?’

***

Joanna Hart was as good as her word, appearing on time and wearing a Chanel suit that cost more than Markham had made in his very best month. She wore it as casually as anything from a department store.

‘You didn’t ask about the other offer,’ she said as she settled on a chair and crossed her legs.

‘Has he rung?’

‘Just before I left. It’s less than I’d wanted but a lot more than Carter has bid.’

‘That’s good, isn’t it?’

‘I suggested a higher figure. We’re haggling.’ She eyed him with curiosity. ‘You’ve never asked me who it is. You know, don’t you?’

His answer was a fleeting smile.

‘So why do you want me to meet Carter again, Mr Markham? You obviously have a reason.’

‘See if he’s willing to top the bid.’

‘Why would he?’ She narrowed her eyes. ‘I don’t know what you’re planning, but unless you tell me I’m going home right now.’

‘Because he needs to squirm a little. His clothes were ruined on Saturday night and yesterday one of his men was humiliated.’

‘You did all that?’ she asked, impressed.

‘Yes.’

‘Why?’ She eyed him curiously. ‘This can’t all be to do with me.’

It was safe enough to tell her now; she knew he was on her side.

‘Carter wanted me to persuade you to sell.’

She glanced up sharply, surprised.

‘But you haven’t even tried.’

‘I know. I told him from the start that I wouldn’t.’

‘You never said anything.’

‘If I had, would you have trusted me?’

‘I … I don’t know. Maybe not,’ she accepted and looked at his fingers. ‘Did he do that?’

‘He wielded the hammer himself.’

She winced. ‘God.’

‘He’s also threatened to kill me.’

‘Kill you?’

‘Don’t worry. He’ll find it’s a difficult job.’

***

By five to ten they were sitting upstairs at the Kardomah, a table in the window that looked down on Briggate. People thronged by, some moving quickly, others ambling and window shopping.

‘That man over there, he’s the detective who kept asking me if I’d killed Freddie.’ Her hiss was full of outrage.

‘He’s here to keep an eye on things. Don’t worry, he’s as honest as they come.’

She looked doubtful and opened her mouth to speak just as Carter appeared at the top of the stairs. His shirt was a brilliant white, the tie dark blue silk. But the suit was an ill fit; he’d had no time to have it altered. The trouser legs were a little too long, light flashing briefly on the pins that hemmed them, and the cut of the jacket emphasised the bulge of his belly.

He crossed the floor quickly, fury on his face as he saw Markham.

‘Mrs Hart,’ he said. ‘A pleasure to see you again.’ He waved Joyce the waitress away. She rolled her eyes at Markham. ‘You said you wanted to discuss my offer for the business.’

Joanna Hart gave a charming smile.

‘I wanted to give you a final chance to increase your offer. It’s only courtesy.’

‘You have my terms.’ His voice was grave. ‘I see no reason to change that.’

‘You should know that someone else has put in a bid. A serious one,’ she added. ‘And it’s rather higher than yours, I’m afraid.’

‘I see.’

Markham kept his eyes on Carter’s face. His eyes flickered between doubt and possibility.

‘Might I ask who’s been so generous?’ Carter asked eventually.

‘I couldn’t say,’ she told him. ‘I’m sure you understand.’

‘You’re hoping I’ll increase mine?’

‘I’m giving you the chance. After all, you were so eager. You approached Freddie, and you’ve been after me from the moment he died.’ The sweetness never left her voice but acid flowed beneath the surface.

‘How much is he offering?’

‘Mr Carter, you can’t expect me to reveal that. I’ve put the ball in your court. Whether you play it or leave is completely up to you now.’ She took a sip of her tea and raised an eyebrow. ‘Well?’

‘I’d like until tomorrow.’

‘Fine,’ she agreed. ‘But not a moment longer. If I haven’t heard from you by ten o’clock tomorrow morning with a figure that beats his, that’ll be the end of our business.’ She paused for a heartbeat. ‘I must say, you’re looking very smart today. A new suit?’

Carter coloured but said nothing as he rose.

‘I’ll be in touch,’ he promised.

‘How was that?’ she asked as the man disappeared.

‘Perfect,’ he told her. She’d played her part convincingly. The next twenty-four hours would be interesting.

***

They parted on Briggate and he watched her walk away, hips swinging under her coat. He was still standing there when Baker drifted out.

‘Looks like Carter called in at Burton’s on the way.’

‘Austin Reed. I saw the label in the jacket.’

The policeman shrugged. ‘Either way, they didn’t do him any favours with those clothes. What happened?’

Markham recounted it all.

‘A day, eh?’ Baker said thoughtfully. ‘Plenty can happen in that time.’

‘I’m hoping it does.’ He had the gun in his pocket, careful to wear gloves when he touched it. Today was the deadline Carter had given him. Deliver Hart Ford or die. Plenty would definitely happen before tomorrow arrived.

‘Watch out for yourself. I can’t keep an eye on you all the time.’

‘I am, believe me.’

***

He spent the rest of the morning in the office, alert for footsteps on the stairs. Nothing. Only the pigeons on the rooftops and the staccato click of typewriters from the secretarial agency downstairs.

Carter wouldn’t let a deadline pass. He’d want revenge. He needed to keep his reputation. At half past twelve Markham put on overcoat and gloves and went down to Albion Place.

The man set to follow him turned away whenever Markham looked back and halted when Markham paused to glance at shop windows as he walked up Briggate. Across from the Grand Theatre, he slipped into the Riviera Café and sat at a table by the kitchen.

It was a tiny place, just six tables, the air heavy with the smells of grease and cooking. He ate slowly, finishing with a cup of lukewarm tea and a cigarette. As he paid the bill he asked casually,

‘Is there a back door?’

‘Course there is,’ the harried woman replied. ‘Don’t be daft.’

‘Do you mind if I use it? There’s someone outside I don’t want to see.’ That piqued her interest. Her hand was in the till, reaching for his change. ‘Angry husband,’ he said with a smile and a wink.

‘Been a bad lad, have you?’ Her voice was stern but her face softened. ‘Aye, go on, then. Straight through there.’

He came out into a ginnel, following it around until he was back on the street. Watching the watcher. The man waited five more minutes, constantly glancing at the time, before he darted into the cafe, then left again in a panic, looking around helplessly. A black Riley pulled up to the kerb and he got in.

The car turned and headed back down Briggate. With heavy traffic and the Monday throng crowding the street, Markham could trot and stay close enough not to lose the vehicle.

It crossed the bridge then turned the corner on to Dock Street, and he knew exactly where it was going.

In the daytime this was an area of small factories and workshops. There was the constant noise of machinery and voices. The spark of a welding torch and the clang of a hammer. The heat of a forge and water thrown out across the cobbles.

The car was parked where he expected, on the small side street by the blank wooden entrance to a building. The door stood open. Markham crept close enough to listen.

‘You fucking lost him?’

‘He must have gone out the back way from the cafe.’

‘What about you?’ the first voice asked. ‘You were driving the car. Did you see him?’

‘No.’

He waited through a few moments of silence.

‘He must have spotted you,’ the first voice said with disgust. ‘Go back to his office
.
He’ll be back there sometime.’

Markham stepped into the doorway. The three men turned as he blocked the light. His broken fingers throbbed. The place was exactly as he remembered, empty, the bare bulb, two chairs and a table. The only difference was the large carving knife sitting on the wood.

‘Looks like you don’t have to bother, lads,’ the first man said with amusement. ‘He’s come to us.’

Markham knew him now. He was the one who’d held a blade when he’d been driven here before. A bulky man with a pale complexion and dark, wavy hair, eyes full of confidence. Big Chalky White. Back then the man hadn’t spoken. Now he didn’t seem to want to shut up.

‘You might as well come in.’ He grinned ‘Even if you run we’re not going to let you go far.’

His hand snaked out towards the table.

‘Don’t,’ Markham said quietly and drew the pistol. The man froze.

‘And what were you going to do with me?’ He moved the barrel between the men, waiting for an answer.

‘Mr Carter wants you dead,’ the second man said nervously.

‘Really? Another dead body would bring down the law.’

‘Only if they find it.’ White didn’t seemed frightened. ‘You won’t be seen. Not for ten or twenty years, any road. Who’d care by then?’

It was hard to bring a murder case when you didn’t have a body.

‘Kick the knife across the floor,’ he ordered. ‘And the keys to the car and the door.’

‘Or what?’ White said.

‘I shoot.’ He raised the gun and aimed at the man’s chest.

‘You wouldn’t bloody dare.’ White was smirking. ‘Not when everyone could hear.’

‘Plenty of noise out there. Banging, booms. Do you think anyone would really notice?’ He paused. ‘Do you really want to bet your life on that?’ He raised the pistol and waited.

Finally, turning his head to spit, White dropped the blade to the floor and kicked it across to Markham.

‘Keys, too.’

With a gesture of disgust, the man brought a keyring from his pocket and tossed it at Markham’s feet.

He picked them up, backed out and slammed the door behind him. It was solid wood, the lock old and heavy. Footsteps rushed across the concrete floor inside as he turned the key. They wouldn’t be out of there until someone came to free them, he thought.

Markham sat in the Riley, the gun back in his pocket, knife half-hidden under the seat. The engine started on the first attempt. He bumped it back over the cobbles, then through the city centre and parked in front of the Metropole. The old car stood out among the polished Wolseleys and Jags. The commissionaire came across, a dark frown under his shiny top hat.