Dark Briggate Blues

by Chris Nickson

  ‘Did he take you anywhere else?’

  She shook her head.

  ‘Did he mention any other places?’

  ‘No.’

  She’d spoken all the words that would come for now, he decided. She was drained. Sometime later, when all this was past, all the rest would come out in small floods.

  ‘I need you to stay here for a while. Until we catch him.’ The fear returned to her eyes. ‘You’re safe now. Honestly. No one can find you here. I promise.’

  She didn’t move as he left the room. Mrs Cornwall stood in the hall.

  ‘Do you have a doctor you use?’ Markham asked.

  ‘Yes, of course,’ she replied.

  ‘Give him a call. She’ll probably need something to sleep.’

  ‘I’ve already done it,’ she told him with a smile. ‘He’ll be along in a little while. I’ll look after her, don’t worry.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  ‘Mr Jones said you’re an enquiry agent.’

  ‘That’s right.’ Right at the moment that job seemed far, far away. ‘Where is he?’

  She pointed to the closed door of the front room.

  ‘He said for you to just go in when you were done. I’ll go and sit with Mrs Hart until the doctor comes.’

  ***

  Ged was talking to someone on the telephone, waving Markham to a seat. After a moment he replaced the receiver.

  ‘Baker didn’t find him out at that cottage.’

  ‘And we don’t have him.’ He sighed.

  ‘How is she?’

  ‘How do you think?’

  ‘Did he rape her?’

  ‘She said not.’ A moment later he asked. ‘Why? Does he have a record of it?’

  ‘In the war and after.’ There was sweat above Jones’ lip. ‘Not just women suspected of working for the enemy, either. We had to pay out and put pressure on the West German police a few times to keep it quiet.’

  ‘What the hell were they doing letting him carry on? Christ, Ged.’

  ‘He was good.’ Jones shrugged. ‘That’s why. Results are what count in this game. You remember that.’

  ‘But he became too wild?’

  ‘We’re pretty sure he was responsible for killing someone important on the other side. Someone we wanted alive. That was too much. But there were still a number of people who believed he should have stayed.’

  ‘His friends.’

  ‘The ones who helped him up there in the first place. But they’ve been overruled. Carter’s on his own now.’

  ‘We still have to find him,’ Markham said. ‘He might have left Leeds.’

  ‘The department has people checking. Wherever he is, we’ll find him. If you ask me, though, he’s still here.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘He’s tied himself to the place. All these businesses he owns. I can’t see him leaving all that. He’s invested too much.’

  ‘Why Leeds?’ Markham asked. ‘What’s here for him?’

  ‘I don’t know, Danny. There’s nothing in his file. It’s like he stuck a pin in a map and decided on it.’

  ‘Something’s snapped in him.’

  ‘Maybe it has. Who bloody knows, boy?’ He shrugged. ‘You’d need the trick cyclist for that. All I’m here to do is stop him.’

  ‘To kill him.’

  ‘Yes. Those are my orders.’

  ‘Obeying orders. We heard that a lot from the Jerries after the war, Ged. Remember?’

  ‘Different things, Danny. Completely different.’

  ‘So where is he?’ Markham asked. ‘You have any other secrets in that folder of yours?’

  ‘I wish I did, boy. What about the people who work for him?’

  ‘Two of them have been arrested.’

  ‘Then we’d better go and have a word with your tame copper.’ He pulled down the knot of his tie and loosened the top button of his shirt. ‘I’m not kidding, Danny. The people in London want him out of the way sharpish before anything can reach the papers. They don’t like issuing D-notices for something like this.’

  ‘Is she really going to be safe here?’ Markham asked as he started the Anglia.

  ‘Even if Carter finds out where she is, he doesn’t stand a cat in hell’s chance of getting in.’ He passed across a piece of paper. ‘By the way, you have a telephone in your flat now. That’s the number. I want to be able to get hold of you.’

  He didn’t ask how it had happened.

  At Millgarth they were shown through to an office. Baker was waiting, his jacket draped over the back of a chair, braces a tired blue against his white shirt.

  ‘How is she?’

  ‘He didn’t hurt her,’ Markham said guardedly.

  ‘But?’

  ‘She’s in shock. Terrified. Not in good shape.’

  The detective nodded.

  ‘And we still don’t have the bugger. Didn’t look like anyone had been at that place out in the country for a week or more.’ He glanced at the other two. ‘Any ideas?’

  ‘What about Graham?’

  Baker shook his head.

  ‘Still no sign. I talked to his wife. She didn’t have any idea what he was up to. I think she’s glad the bugger’s gone, to be honest.’

  ‘Then we’re back where we started,’ Jones pointed out. He paced up and down the room.

  ‘Not quite,’ Markham told him quietly. ‘We have Joanna Hart. That’s the important thing.’

  ‘He’s right,’ Baker agreed. ‘We’ll catch Carter sooner or later. The lass is safe.’

  ‘My job is Carter,’ Jones said. His voice was hard. ‘The ones who work for him. You need to talk to them again.’

  ‘Don’t be so forward, laddie,’ the sergeant said. ‘Someone’s already doing it.’

  ***

  They sat in Lyons, drinking tea and smoking. Jones’ actions were quick and jerky. He kept glancing around the restaurant, eyes restless.

  ‘Looking for something?’

  ‘Habit.’ He shrugged.

  ‘This isn’t your first operation, is it?’

  ‘No.’ He didn’t elaborate.

  ‘You’ve been abroad.’

  ‘A few times.’ He smiled. ‘Free suntan.’

  ‘And how many have you killed, Ged? All this rubbish about being an office boy, it’s a lie, isn’t it?’

  ‘Don’t ask, Danny. You know I can’t tell you.’

  ‘It works well for you, though, doesn’t it? This act of the young Welsh lad amongst the toffs.’

  ‘You believed it.’

  ‘I’m just a poor provincial.’

  ‘If you say so.’ He kept his tone even. ‘How are the fingers?’ Markham shrugged. He’d felt twinges of pain all through the morning. The dressing needed to be changed again. But he felt that they were healing. ‘Don’t look around, but I think there’s someone on the other side of the road keeping an eye on us.’

  ‘What do you want to do?’

  ‘Split up when we leave here. Make him choose who he follows. How much of your training do you remember?’

  ‘Enough,’ Markham said.

  ‘You were good. Better than me.’

  ‘Rubbish. I lacked the dedication.’

  ‘Do you think you can still take someone down?’ Jones asked him.

  ‘I don’t know,’ he answered honestly. ‘What does he look like?’

  ‘Brown suit, red tie. Moustache. Short ginger hair. Trilby.’

  ‘Right. I’ll see you at my office.’

  The man would follow him. Markham was certain of that. He was the one Carter wanted to kill. He crossed Briggate close enough to note the man’s features, then along Kirkgate before turning up Fish Street. It was quiet, the cafe on the corner empty. He slipped into a deep doorway and put a hand into his pocket of his overcoat, gripping the gun.

  The man followed a few seconds later and stopped, trying to see where Markham had gone. He stepped out into the street.

  ‘Looking for someone?’

  ‘What?’ He tried
to hide his surprise but the man simply wasn’t that good.

  ‘You’re following me.’

  ‘Don’t talk rubbish!’ It was all bluster, colour rising on the man’s face.

  Markham drew out the gun, just far enough for the man to see.

  ‘We’re going to take a walk,’ he ordered.

  It was like something from a detective picture, he thought. Something that happened in Hollywood, not in the centre of Leeds. It was ridiculous. Unreal. People passed, not even giving them a glance. The man was biting his lip, a thin sheen of sweat on his face.

  Jones was waiting at the top of the stairs, casually leaning against the wall.

  ‘Good to see you haven’t forgotten it all,’ he said.

  ‘Like riding a bike?’

  ‘Something like that. Who’s this, then?’

  Markham unlocked the door and pushed the man inside. Jones followed and turned.

  ‘Take a walk for half an hour, Danny.’ His face softened a little. ‘Please.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘You won’t want to see what happens here.’ When Markham didn’t move, he continued. ‘It’s for the best, boy. Just keep your eyes peeled. Carter might have others out there.’

  He closed the door quietly.

  ***

  Markham strode through town, to City Square, up to the Town Hall then along the Headrow, thoughts shifting to the rhythm of shoe leather on pavement. Anger simmered under the surface. He didn’t like being kicked out of his own office, to have a friend become something more, to see the professional take over.

  He sat on a bench, smoking. It had all been so ordinary in the beginning, nothing more than finding out about a husband’s affair for a vengeful wife.

  Even when Carter entered the picture, even with Freddie Hart dead, Markham had thought he could handle it all. He ground out the cigarette butt and kicked out at a pigeon that came to investigate.

  It had all spiralled out of control. At the end of this someone else was going to die. All he could hope was that it was Carter and not him. He flicked up his sleeve and checked the time.

  ***

  Ged was behind the desk, arms splayed out at his sides, his eyes focused on something far beyond this world. There was a neat, small bullet hole in the middle of his forehead, the air heavy with the bitter smell of cordite.

  For a minute all Markham could do was stand, to try and take it all in. He thought of Ged in Germany, laughing, drunk as often as not. Now he was nothing more than a bag of bones and skin. Then he took out a handkerchief, picked up the telephone receiver and dialled.

  ‘I need to speak to Detective Sergeant Baker.’

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  He arrived in ten minutes. No shrill bells, no police cars, no mass of footsteps on the stairs. Just one man, his face grey and weary. Baker examined the body quickly and said,

  ‘Christ, what have you got me into?’

  ‘He’s dead,’ Markham answered bleakly.

  ‘I can bloody see that.’ Baker rounded on him. ‘I’ve had to ring a number in London and tell them. Do you know what they said?’ Markham shook his head. ‘To let them handle it. They want you and me out of the way.’

  ‘You know who did it.’

  ‘Aye, of course I do.’ His face was mottled red with fury. ‘But they’re telling me not to look into a murder on my own patch.’ He shook his head.

  ‘He was one of theirs.’ Even as he said the words, he knew how they sounded. Ged had been much more than that. He’d been a friend, right from the day they began their National Service together.

  ‘If he’s up here, he’s one of mine,’ Baker said. ‘What’s downstairs?’

  ‘A secretarial agency.’

  ‘Do you know them?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Go down and see if they heard anything. I’ll bet my hat they didn’t. I’m going to have a nose around here. Sod what they want in London.’

  ***

  He asked Miss Jacobs for a quiet word outside while the typists kept up their clatter of keys, raising their eyes in a mix of flirtation and curiosity. She closed the door carefully behind her and looked him in the eye.

  ‘I do hope it’s important, Mr Markham. We’re rather busy.’

  ‘I was just wondering …’ How could he put it? ‘Did you hear any unusual noises from my office in the last hour?’

  ‘Unusual?’ She peered at him. ‘What do you mean? And weren’t you there yourself?’

  ‘I had to go out for a while. Was there anything? Shouting? Maybe something sharp?’

  ‘Not that I noticed. Simply people going up and down the stairs, but that’s quite normal. If there’d been anything very strange I’d have telephoned the police. Was that it?’

  ‘Yes. Thank you.’

  She returned to work with a pitying look in her eye.

  ***

  ‘Nothing,’ he said as he walked back into the office.

  ‘Then Carter used a suppressor on his gun. If it was Carter himself who killed your mate.’

  ‘Does it matter who pulled the trigger?’

  Baker had been kneeling on the floor. He stood slowly, pushing himself up with his hands, until his face was no more than two inches from Markham’s.

  ‘Of course it matters. This is murder. Deliberate, cold-blooded murder. Get that into your head.’

  ‘You’re not leaving it?’

  ‘Of course I’m not,’ Baker answered angrily. ‘Are you telling me he doesn’t deserve something? I thought you liked him.’

  ‘I did.’

  ‘All they’ll do is sweep it under the carpet. Send his parents a medal and a “died in the course of duty” letter.’ He paused and looked hard into Markham’s eyes. ‘The poor bastard was killed here. That makes it my business, whether they like it or not. If you’re too scared to keep on, you’d best tell me now.’

  ‘I’m in.’ He kept glancing at the corpse, hearing the lilt and laughter of Ged’s voice. He couldn’t let it lie.

  ‘Right.’ Baker stepped back and began pointing. ‘There’s no casing on the floor. I can’t see any powder burns on the wound. Whoever shot him must have been standing near the door. Tell me about the man you brought here.’

  Markham gave a quick description. ‘He was no one special.’

  ‘And your friend told you to leave for half an hour?’

  ‘Yes. He said I’d be better off not seeing what happened.’

  ‘Well, he was right enough there. If you want my guess, the man following you was a set-up. Someone else trailed you back here. They wanted you two somewhere private so you could be killed. You were lucky.’

  Markham stood, frowning and thinking. Maybe he was right. Maybe luck had saved him again. But Ged had paid the price.

  ‘I still don’t understand why Carter’s doing all this.’

  Baker sighed. ‘I don’t think reasons matter any more. We just need to find him before it happens again. Or it’ll be you I’m sending to the mortuary next.’ He looked at his watch. ‘Right, we need to be out of here before their clean-up crew arrive. I meant it, lad. Keep your eyes peeled.’

  ***

  It was a stark drive home. Ged was dead. In his office. In his chair. And tomorrow morning it would all be gone, as if nothing had happened. Pictures came into his mind. The pair of them in basic training. The military intelligence classes. In the NAAFI, chatting up the nurses. Walking around the Talstrasse black market in Hamburg, where survivors sold anything and everything to last for another day or week. Ged, flushed with excitement after his first small mission. The way they’d promised to keep in touch when Markham finished his National Service.

  The gun was in his hand as he climbed the stairs to his flat but the place was empty. The new telephone, black shiny Bakelite, sat on the table next to his chair. A final gift. He picked up the receiver and listened to the tone. But the only person he wanted to ring was Carla, and she was gone.

  The door was locked and bolted, the pistol sitting on the table,
ready. He ate and raised a glass of wine in silent toast to Ged while Monk played a lurching melody, pauses and discords ringing through the flat.

  ***

  In the morning he drove into town, constantly checking the mirror. But no one was following him. He unlocked the office door and held his breath, scared to go in. But when he turned the handle, everything was pristine and normal inside. Blotter square in the centre of the desk, chair neatly pushed in. There was no smell of death in the air, not even a bloodstain as a memory of what had happened. Nothing. He might have dreamed it all.

  He sat down and looked around. The phone started to ring, jarring him back to reality.

  ‘Just checking you’re alive,’ Baker said.

  ‘I’m here,’ he said slowly. ‘I’m thinking of those who aren’t.’

  ‘That happens after every battle. Any more ideas?’

  ‘Not yet. Has Graham surfaced?’

  ‘Not a dickie bird,’ Baker said. His voice was grim. ‘People have been looking into things he’s done. There’s a warrant out for him now. About bloody time, too. Meet me at the cafe in the market. Ten minutes.’

  ***

  The shouts of the traders rose from the market, ‘Ten for a shilling’, ‘You won’t do any better than this’, as they stirred tea and sat at a chipped wooden table in the cafe at the top of the stairs.

  ‘How do we find him?’ Markham asked.

  Baker puffed on his pipe for a long time before answering.

  ‘Well, we haven’t a clue where he might be. There’s a way, but I don’t like it.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Offer up some bait. Something he wants.’

  ‘Me.’ He gave a wan smile as the policeman nodded. ‘I’d thought about that, too.’

  ‘It’s dangerous, lad.’

  ‘We don’t have much choice, do we?’

  ‘Not at the moment,’ Baker admitted.

  ‘Then we’d better try it.’

  ‘What about Joanna Hart. How is she?’

  He didn’t know. Ged’s death had pushed everything else from his mind.

  ‘I haven’t been by there. I’ll find out later,’ Markham told him.

  ‘She’s our best witness against Carter.’

  ‘You want him in court?’

  ‘I want him to hang for what he’s done.’

  ‘They’ll never let it go public.’