by Evelyn James
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chang was not happy. He paced about Clara’s morning room as she broke to him the news of Bobby’s deception. Finally, he stopped and hung his head.
“Damn!”
“Are you entirely surprised?” Clara asked him carefully.
Chang did not look at her, the floor proving more suitable for his full, burning attention.
“No,” he hissed.
Clara let silence drag out between them, giving Chang time to think. He had kept his side of the deal with Bobby and now the man had vanished.
“Had Graham never surfaced, I should not have known I was deceived,” Chang said through his teeth.
“I imagine that was Bobby’s hope. He saw an opportunity to avoid prison and he took it. He told us a half-truth, Graham had made an attempt on Leong’s life, it just happened that he failed the first time and she didn’t.”
A faint smile graced Chang’s lips.
“My sister was always good with a blade.”
The pride in his voice made the hairs stand up on Clara’s arms. She rapidly changed the subject.
“I suggest we go back to the police station and talk to the men remaining there. If that fails, we can go to the army barracks.”
“They knew nothing,” Chang snapped.
“They told us nothing, there is a difference,” Clara correctly him patiently. “Maybe seeing Bobby going free and appreciating you would honour your word will make them more talkative.”
“Or they will just lie to me,” Chang scowled, had he not been in Clara’s home, he would have liked to have kicked something. He was restraining himself to be polite.
“Yes, they may,” Clara agreed. “Do you have a better plan?”
“You are just enjoying the fact that you have been proved right,” Chang pointed a finger at her, his temper flaring. “That this was not the work of the police and I must look to my own for answers.”
“You now accept the police were not involved in Leong’s death?” Clara asked, finding this a surprise change in Chang’s attitude. He had been belligerent in his certainty the police had killed his sister, now he seemed to have lost his resolve.
“I don’t know what I think about all this anymore,” Chang slumped down into an armchair, looking despondent. “Bobby could have told me it was the police who murdered her, but he didn’t. It strikes me that he knew more than he was prepared to say.”
“That seems likely,” Clara said cautiously.
“Betrayal,” Chang huffed. “It dogs me.”
“I would have more sympathy for you, was it not your own career choice that placed you in such a position.”
Chang cast her a nasty look.
“Do you think it is easy being a poor Chinese boy in this country? Or any country?” He bared his teeth at her, his words forced through his grimace. “What options do you think I had? I could have been another labourer on the docks, or worked in an opium den, living my days out in poverty. Instead I made a name for myself, bought fur coats and cars. I made a choice, but only because living a ‘respectable’ life was a death sentence.”
Clara had no response to that. He had a point, but there was no justifying the pain and misery he had inflicted on others, directly or indirectly, over the course of his criminal career. He might have spared himself, but his activities had cast how many other souls into their own personal doom?
“Shall we go to the police station, then?” Clara said.
Chang closed his eyes for a moment, then he rose from the chair. On the way to the front door, Harold appeared from the parlour. His eyes went to Chang with an uneasiness that was plain to see.
“Ahem, I was about to come see you Clara,” he said. “Can I show you something?”
“New boyfriend?” Chang sniped unpleasantly.
“Just because I told you some home truths, you do not have to show your bad side,” Clara scolded him as if he was a naughty child. She was not going to be cowed by the man. “Have some manners and stop acting like a rabid dog. You are better than that.”
Harold’s eyes widened, stunned that Clara would be so blunt to a criminal mastermind. He feared this might spark violence from Chang, but all the Chinaman did was adjust the collar of his coat with a shrug of his shoulders and smooth his hair back with one hand.
It wasn’t an apology, but it was an acceptance of Clara’s rebuke.
“What do you have, Harold?” Clara turned her attention to the captain.
“I went to the photographer Tommy told me about,” Harold said.
“Oliver Bankes,” Clara smiled. “He is very good.”
“Yes, and he helped me to take magnified pictures of the bullet I retrieved from the house,” Harold picked up a black and white photograph, showing the bullet in high detail. “Late yesterday afternoon, I received a package from Dr Deáth, concerning the bullet he removed from…”
Harold hesitated as he realised he was saying all this in front of the man whose sister had been murdered.
“The package contained a copy of the report on the bullet and also a set of photographs, similar to mine, showing the striations on it,” Harold produced the second photograph. It was obvious that the bullet had been badly crushed when it slammed into Leong.
“How can that tell you anything?” Chang said, moodily, pointing at the image of the bullet.
“Fortunately, though crushed, the striations are still visible. These striations are unique to this bullet, a fingerprint, if you like. And enough of them remain for me to compare them to the other bullet.”
Harold picked up his own photograph and held the two side by side.
“Each of the photographs shows a different angle of the bullet, so I can see the striations all around its circumference, and I can then compare the two,” Harold held the images in one hand and picked up a pencil to point to the fine lines on the bullets. “I have worked through all the photographs and I am now certain that these bullets are brothers from the same gun. I have found numerous matches in their pattern.”
He pointed to a couple of these matches with the tip of the pencil.
“In short, whoever shot Freddie, shot Leong,” Chang confirmed in a bored voice.
Clara glared at him.
“We needed hard evidence to back that supposition,” she informed him. “Here it is. Thank you, Harold, for your diligence.”
Harold smiled.
“I have rather enjoyed it, in truth. Been a bit of a brain teaser at times, but I have learned a lot.”
His smile faded when he saw the look on Chang’s face.
“Did the ballistics people Dr Deáth sent the bullet to say what sort of gun fired it?” Clara asked, ignoring Chang.
“The bullet was too crumpled for them to identify a specific gun,” Harold explained. “Of course, if we sent them the second bullet, they might be able to, but that shall take further time.”
“Time we haven’t got,” Chang grumbled.
Harold gave a little cough to clear his throat.
“They did say that the bullet came from a revolver, probably pre-war. They can’t say anything further.”
“The police were using revolvers,” Chang said, even though it countered what he had just told Clara about accepting the murder being an inside job.
“I think you will find the police armoury was updated rather recently,” Harold interjected losing his fear of Chang for a moment. “They were still using revolvers from the 1870s until they were given new ones. Army surplus. You see, after the war, there were a lot of guns that were no longer needed and giving them to the police was a good way of getting rid of them.”
Harold spoke knowledgably and with a confident smile at Chang.
“How do you know that?” Chang said, surly.
“It happens to be in the firearms report,” Harold lost a little of his self-assurance as he admitted this. “Dr Deáth must have asked them if the bullet could have come from a police revolver.”
“That is good news,” Cla
ra said. Here was the last piece she needed to fully rule out the police from Leong’s murder. Chang might have said he was able to accept the police were not involved, but she had not believed him. He could have changed his mind at any moment with no proof to say otherwise, but this, this proved it conclusively. “Thanks Harold.”
“I am just glad to help,” Harold smiled.
Behind Clara, Chang whispered.
“Lapdog.”
Clara stepped back onto his foot. Chang cried out.
“Oh, sorry!” She declared brightly. “Shall we go to the police station now.”
Chang bit his tongue to avoid swearing at her.
~~~*~~~
Leong’s men looked miserable as they sat in their cells, their mood not improved by the knowledge that Bobby had received a free pass and was now out on the streets, safe from prosecution. They looked even worse when Chang turned up with Clara.
“I really don’t like being back here,” Chang growled at them. “This place makes my skin itch, so every time I have to return here because I have been lied to, I get that bit more angry.”
“We haven’t lied to you!” One of the men protested from the cell.
“Bobby lied to me,” Chang snarled. “Lying scum told me that Graham Wood was responsible for my sister’s death, while he knew all along that my sister had killed Wood. When I catch up with Bobby, he is going to owe me.”
There was no doubting the threat in Chang’s voice.
“So, here it is, your final chance,” he continued. “Tell me who killed my sister and you get out of these cells and walk free, like Bobby did, or remain silent and go to prison. Some of your old mates will be there to greet you, no doubt.”
Clara was sure some of the men shivered at this last statement. She could only imagine, (and then rather inadequately) what horrors these men might face in prison where they would be forced among members of rival gangs.
Chang tapped his foot and waited for a response. He only received stony silence and his patience had worn thin.
“Fine!” He declared. “Maybe it was one of you lot? I can just work through your families, eventually I shall reach the right man.”
He spun and stormed off. He was nearly at the corner where the corridor turned when a voice rang out.
“Wait, Mr Chang! I would like to talk to you!”
Chang turned. The yell had come from Robinson, his former driver, who had risen from where he had been sitting on the floor and was now clasping the bars of the cell.
“You denied knowing anything before,” Chang pointed out to him.
Robinson was desperate, he was thinking of his family.
“I’ve been going over everything in my head,” he insisted to Chang. “You have a lot of time to think in here. I remembered something.”
Chang hesitated. Clara sensed that he did not want to be tricked once again, yet he was also keen to know what Robinson wanted to say. At last, he moved forward.
“Let’s talk, then.”
As before, a constable came and escorted the prisoner to an interview room. Robinson looked nervous, clasping his hands together and rubbing his thumbs around each other in circles. He avoided meeting Chang’s eye as he sat down at the table opposite his old boss and Clara.
“Well?” Chang asked.
“You’ll protect my family, if I tell you?” Robinson asked quickly. “And you will get me out of here?”
“I won’t touch your family,” Chang reassured him. It was an easy promise to make as he never had any intention of taking his anger out on innocent people, that was not who he was. But the threat had worked. “As for getting you out of here, that will depend on what you tell me.”
Robinson started to hesitate, uncertain if he wanted to risk speaking for such limited reward. Clara intervened.
“Mr Robinson, I shall help you,” she promised. “You have my word.”
Robinson fussed with his fingers again. After a long moment of indecision, followed by a heavy sigh, he spoke.
“I couldn’t say anything before, because my life would have been over,” he said. “If I had thought you could have got me out of that cell at once, then I would have spoken.”
“Then the murderer is one of those men?” Clara guessed. “And you were afraid to speak because of what they would do to you.”
“They didn’t know I had seen anything. It was safest to claim ignorance,” Robinson nodded.
“Then what has changed?” She asked.
“The man isn’t in those cells anymore,” Robinson shrugged.
Chang gave a violent groan as the truth dawned on him.
“Damn it! He played me! Bobby played me perfectly.”
Robinson looked agitated at Chang’s reaction. He turned to Clara.
“You will get me out?”
“Chang will,” Clara promised him. “But tell me what you know.”
“I saw Bobby heading up the stairs during the raid. I didn’t give it a lot of thought, everything was happening so fast and only moments later the police burst in,” Robinson explained. “Afterwards, when I learned Leong was dead, and so was Freddie, well, I started to wonder.”
“I thought Freddie was Bobby’s cousin?” Clara pointed out.
Robinson shrugged.
“What does that matter in this business?”
~~~*~~~
They walked out of the police station and stood on the steps. Chang was fuming, as much angry with himself for being so naïve, as angry with Bobby for playing this deception on him.
“Do you believe him?” Clara asked. “I mean, it is easy enough to accuse a man who is no longer present to deny it.”
“Just like Bobby blamed Wood,” Chang snorted. “Robinson isn’t that clever. That’s why I liked him.”
He blew out a long stream of air, watching it condense in the cold.
“You have to be sure before you act,” Clara said to him.
Chang did not take that kindly.
“Bobby has already betrayed me. I don’t have to be anything before I make him pay.”
Clara knew she could do nothing to prevent him. Her words would only hold him back so long.
“Well, I want to be sure. Robinson only saw him go up the stairs.”
“Who else was there?” Chang snapped.
“Even so,” Clara said gently, “let me confirm what Robinson said.”
“How are you going to do that?” Chang kicked at a clump of snow.
“I have an idea. Just give me some time.”
Chang did not reply, just started to walk off. Clara knew that expecting him to agree to not act rashly was pushing her luck. She just hoped he would have the sense to be patient, or else that Bobby Jones had found somewhere very secret to hide.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
The final piece of the puzzle, the piece that would either prove or disprove Bobby was the killer of Leong, (at least Clara hoped) was to discover where the police had found him when he was arrested. It was the idea that Tommy had proposed. If they could work out who was where when the police entered the house, that would give them a solid clue as to who was the killer. Naturally, that all depended on the police remembering where everyone was in the chaos, but Clara was hopeful, as they only really needed to know who was around the staircase and upper floors. That had to be easier to recall than who was where in the ground floor when the police burst in.
Clara walked back into the police station as soon as Chang had departed and asked to speak to the inspector. Once inside his office, she outlined her thoughts.
“We know that the same gun that killed Freddie killed Leong, which means she was not shot from outside. We know that Freddie trusted the person who shot him, and we know that the gun used was an older style revolver, unlike the newer revolvers the police were recently given through the army surplus department.
“The way the bullet entered Leong is consistent with an older, lower powered revolver fired relatively close, but upwards at an angle. My surmise is that Bobby ha
d enough sense to try to make it look as if Leong was shot during the raid from outside. Maybe he crouched as he entered the door. He couldn’t make Freddie’s death look like he was shot during the raid, but I imagine he was hoping no one would be worrying about that in the confusion. His main concern was thrusting the blame for Leong’s death onto the police.”
“You think he wanted to take over the gang?” Park-Coombs said.
“I assume so,” Clara shrugged. “I can’t rule out other motives, like revenge. Maybe he was good pals with Graham Wood and was angry he was killed. If he was intending to take over the gang, he was banking on the police raid failing. When everything calmed down, I guess he would have ‘discovered’ Leong dead and slipped into her shoes quietly. We won’t know his true reasons unless we can talk to him, and even then, the odds of him telling us the truth are slim.”
The inspector rocked back in his chair and folded his hands over his belly. A slow smile crept onto his face.
“Bobby fooled Chang. He used him to arrange his escape from justice and in the process slipped away from the man whose sister he had murdered.”
“Chang is not happy,” Clara agreed. “He really has been worked over through this whole business. Personally, I would say that makes him more dangerous to Bobby than otherwise.”
“Then again, Mr Robinson might be lying,” Park-Coombs stroked his moustache.
“Exactly, and I would like to be as sure as it is possible to be that Bobby is the man behind the gun before another person dies needlessly.”
Inspector Park-Coombs folded his fingers together.
“I suspect you have an idea of how to do that?”
“It is a long shot, I shall admit that at once, but I wonder if you could find out who arrested Bobby and whether they recall where he was when they caught him. If he was on the stairs or one of the upper floors, well, that confirms Robinson’s story.”
