good right hand.
‘Whenever you like.’
‘You’re a clever little bastard.’ All the warmth had gone from Baker’s voice. ‘Let’s see how smart you are when you feel the noose around your neck for murder.’
‘If that happens it’ll be because you’ve rigged the evidence. You and I both know that.’ Baker started to rise as Markham stubbed his cigarette out in the ashtray. ‘And you’re not that kind of copper. Bring in the ink and the paper. Then you can see I’ve been telling the truth.’
By the time the constable had been and gone, another hour had passed. Markham tried to clean off the ink but the dark stains remained. Baker had vanished but a bobby stood silently inside the room.
Finally the detective returned with a face like fury.
‘You can go,’ he said quietly.
‘Is it the murder weapon?’
‘No,’ Baker answered dully.
‘And no prints of mine on there.’
‘No.’ The man said again as he sat down heavily. ‘What do you know about Billy Harper?’
‘He’s a burglar.’
‘He probably won’t be again. He took a very bad thumping the other night.’
‘I’m sorry to hear that,’ Markham said. ‘Or are you trying to pin that on me, too?’
‘Just wondering if you knew him. Maybe he’d worked for you.’
‘Can’t he say who did it?’
‘His jaw’s wired shut and his fingers were broken so badly he probably won’t be able to use them properly ever again.’ Baker glanced at Markham’s hand. ‘What did you say happened to yours?’
‘An accident.’
‘Not someone breaking your fingers? Very painful, I hear.’
‘An accident,’ he repeated.
‘Have it your own way,’ Baker sighed. ‘But if I find you taking the law into your own hands, I’ll be on you like a ton of bricks. You’re right, Markham, I don’t like you. If it was up to me I wouldn’t let you operate in Leeds.’
‘What I do is legal.’
‘Doesn’t make it any better. But you know more about this Hart murder than you’re saying. I know it in my water. I want whoever pulled that trigger. You hold back on me and I’ll see your life here’s not worth living. I saw that body. It was done in cold blood. I’m after a killer. I’m not playing fucking games, lad.’
‘There’s a fellow called David Carter. He wanted to buy Hart Ford.’
Baker gave him a withering look.
‘Do you think I’m daft or something? Clean as a whistle. I’ve looked into him. A solid alibi with two councillors.’ Of course. Who’d doubt a councillor? ‘And before you say a bloody word, I looked at Hart’s wife, too. If you know something, better tell me, son.’
‘I’ve told you what I know.’ He glanced at the sergeant. ‘Tell me, Mr. Baker, why do you hate me so much?’
‘You?’ Baker looked at him with contempt. ‘It’s your profession. I’ve told you that. Taking advantage of people’s misery.’ He shook his head. ‘It’s not honest.’
‘I do my best for every client,’ Markham told him. ‘It’s not my fault I wasn’t old enough for the war, you know.’
‘Go on, get out of here,’ the sergeant said wearily. ‘But if you hear anything, come and tell me.’
***
Outside, the air was warm and heavy against his skin. But after Millgarth it felt fresh and clean. He breathed deeply as he walked back to the office, thoughts jangling like electricity in his head. He stopped on Albion Place, turned and went to his car. It was time to ask a favour from someone who wielded power.
In the Anglia he joined the procession of traffic leaving the city. Out along the Otley Road and finally into the country, beyond the Chevin and to the quiet gentility of Ilkley. He parked on a side street of tall Edwardian terraces, walked through a tidy garden, heavy with roses, and let the knocker fall on a glossy black door.
The man who answered peered at him, cloudy blue eyes behind gold-rimmed spectacles. What hair remained was white and thin, carefully combed down across his scalp. A few grey bristles
‘Whenever you like.’
‘You’re a clever little bastard.’ All the warmth had gone from Baker’s voice. ‘Let’s see how smart you are when you feel the noose around your neck for murder.’
‘If that happens it’ll be because you’ve rigged the evidence. You and I both know that.’ Baker started to rise as Markham stubbed his cigarette out in the ashtray. ‘And you’re not that kind of copper. Bring in the ink and the paper. Then you can see I’ve been telling the truth.’
By the time the constable had been and gone, another hour had passed. Markham tried to clean off the ink but the dark stains remained. Baker had vanished but a bobby stood silently inside the room.
Finally the detective returned with a face like fury.
‘You can go,’ he said quietly.
‘Is it the murder weapon?’
‘No,’ Baker answered dully.
‘And no prints of mine on there.’
‘No.’ The man said again as he sat down heavily. ‘What do you know about Billy Harper?’
‘He’s a burglar.’
‘He probably won’t be again. He took a very bad thumping the other night.’
‘I’m sorry to hear that,’ Markham said. ‘Or are you trying to pin that on me, too?’
‘Just wondering if you knew him. Maybe he’d worked for you.’
‘Can’t he say who did it?’
‘His jaw’s wired shut and his fingers were broken so badly he probably won’t be able to use them properly ever again.’ Baker glanced at Markham’s hand. ‘What did you say happened to yours?’
‘An accident.’
‘Not someone breaking your fingers? Very painful, I hear.’
‘An accident,’ he repeated.
‘Have it your own way,’ Baker sighed. ‘But if I find you taking the law into your own hands, I’ll be on you like a ton of bricks. You’re right, Markham, I don’t like you. If it was up to me I wouldn’t let you operate in Leeds.’
‘What I do is legal.’
‘Doesn’t make it any better. But you know more about this Hart murder than you’re saying. I know it in my water. I want whoever pulled that trigger. You hold back on me and I’ll see your life here’s not worth living. I saw that body. It was done in cold blood. I’m after a killer. I’m not playing fucking games, lad.’
‘There’s a fellow called David Carter. He wanted to buy Hart Ford.’
Baker gave him a withering look.
‘Do you think I’m daft or something? Clean as a whistle. I’ve looked into him. A solid alibi with two councillors.’ Of course. Who’d doubt a councillor? ‘And before you say a bloody word, I looked at Hart’s wife, too. If you know something, better tell me, son.’
‘I’ve told you what I know.’ He glanced at the sergeant. ‘Tell me, Mr. Baker, why do you hate me so much?’
‘You?’ Baker looked at him with contempt. ‘It’s your profession. I’ve told you that. Taking advantage of people’s misery.’ He shook his head. ‘It’s not honest.’
‘I do my best for every client,’ Markham told him. ‘It’s not my fault I wasn’t old enough for the war, you know.’
‘Go on, get out of here,’ the sergeant said wearily. ‘But if you hear anything, come and tell me.’
***
Outside, the air was warm and heavy against his skin. But after Millgarth it felt fresh and clean. He breathed deeply as he walked back to the office, thoughts jangling like electricity in his head. He stopped on Albion Place, turned and went to his car. It was time to ask a favour from someone who wielded power.
In the Anglia he joined the procession of traffic leaving the city. Out along the Otley Road and finally into the country, beyond the Chevin and to the quiet gentility of Ilkley. He parked on a side street of tall Edwardian terraces, walked through a tidy garden, heavy with roses, and let the knocker fall on a glossy black door.
The man who answered peered at him, cloudy blue eyes behind gold-rimmed spectacles. What hair remained was white and thin, carefully combed down across his scalp. A few grey bristles
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