Dark Briggate Blues (17 page)

‘Brian said you wanted to ask about business.’ His accent was broad Yorkshire.

‘That’s right. What do you do, Mr Hatton?’

He tugged at the knees of his trousers and sat down. ‘I used to have a boot factory. Started in a back room, ended up with a hundred working for me.’

‘Why did you get out?’

‘Saw the end of the war coming. It was going to be a different England with peace. Sold at a good price. These days I mostly buy and sell.’

He knew the type. They were all over the West Riding.

‘Do you know Hart Ford?’

‘I do,’ Hatton said. ‘Could have been a decent little earner.’

‘Could have?’ His question was sharp.

‘Word is that the young fellow who died owed the taxman and the bank.’

‘How did you hear that?’

‘Around and about,’ Hatton said. Someone turned up the music and he had to raise his voice. ‘Keep your ear to the ground and you hear a lot. You can save yourself a few bob, too.’

‘Do you know David Carter?’

‘I know who he is.’ The man was guarded. ‘Can’t stand the bugger.’

‘Why not?’ Markham was interested.

‘Do you know how he works?’

‘Yes.’

‘Then you know what I mean. I don’t mind paying a fair price for a business if I think I can make money out of it. Don’t get me wrong, I’ll pay no more than I have to. But I don’t press people.’

‘Motor cars are a growing business.’

‘True enough.’ Hatton nodded. ‘No disrespect to the dead, but I knew Freddie Hart. I wouldn’t have trusted him to make tea, let alone run a business. I daresay what they’re saying is true. Is it?’

‘Some of it,’ Markham admitted.

‘There you are, then.’ He smiled, his point made.

‘But if it’s so bad, why does Carter want to make an offer?’

‘A low one?’

‘Very, I’m told.’

Hatton sat back, rubbing his chin and staring at Markham.

‘You seem to know a lot about it, young man,’ he said. ‘What’s your interest in all this?’

‘I want to stop Carter.’

‘I’d not argue with you on that. But maybe Hart Ford isn’t the right ground for your battle.’

‘What if Carter is the one spreading rumours that it’s in such a bad state?’ Markham asked.

‘I suppose that’s possible,’ Hatton allowed after a few seconds’ thought. ‘Plant the word here and there.’

‘It would explain why no one else is making a bid for the place.’

‘Happen it might be worth having a look at the books. See how bad it really is.’

‘Perhaps it would.’

Hatton gave a brief, thoughtful nod. ‘I knew there was a reason I came in here tonight. Besides not having to go home and see the missus.’

***

The phone rang a little after eleven the next morning. Markham answered, once again hearing the metal clunk of coins in the phone box.

‘You’re buying me my dinner, lad. Lyons at twelve.’ Baker replaced the receiver without waiting for an answer.

***

He was already there, sitting at one of the tables, chair pushed back to accommodate his belly, reading the menu as if it was a good book. Markham sat across from him, dark patches on his mac from the rain that had begun as he walked down Briggate. The restaurant smelt of warm, damp wool.

‘What’s so important, Sergeant?’

‘In a minute.’ Baker finished the list and waited until the waitress had taken their order. He dragged the pipe from his pocket and lit it, taking his time. ‘I pulled in those three who work for Carter,’ he said with a smile. ‘No shortage of prior offences on them.’

‘Still in custody?’

‘Had to let Dodge and White go, but Anderson’s in the cells. He was carrying a knife when the bobbies searched him. He’ll be going down.’ He said the words with satisfaction.

The food came and they began to eat.

‘It won’t stop Carter,’ Markham said.

‘I know. But it’s a start. And out of the three we took in, Anderson’s the only one who can think a bit. Carter’s going miss that.’

‘He’ll find someone else.’

‘Of course he will,’ Baker snapped as if it was obvious. ‘But at least the bastard knows he’s in my sights now. With any luck I’ll be able to get something on Graham, too. Have him bounced off the force and into a cell.’

‘Why? Why are you doing all this now?’ Markham asked.

‘It’s not because I’ve taken a sudden liking to you. Don’t worry about that, Danny boy.’ He pushed the empty plate away, took a sip of the tea and relit the pipe. ‘I’ve been on the force for a long time. You weren’t even thought about when I started out on the beat. I like this city and I’m buggered if I’m going to let someone come in and tear it all down just to make a bob or two. Simple as that.’

‘Carter’s a dangerous man to have as an enemy.’ Markham held up his bandaged fingers.

He snorted. ‘You said that before. You should have tried being a bobby here in the thirties if you wanted dangerous. Back before they knocked down all them slums where Quarry Hill flats are now. They only let us go there in pairs back then. He’s not going to hurt me.’

‘He’s killed people.’

‘Plenty of us have, lad.’ His voice turned harsh. ‘What the hell do you think we did in the war? And there’s more as never came home, too. It wasn’t like your generation, playing bloody games on your National Service.’

Markham didn’t try to reply; there was no point. They were unlikely allies, he knew that. But if they brought down Carter it would be worthwhile. After that things could return to the way they’d been.

‘What next?’

‘What do you have up your sleeve?’ Baker asked. ‘You’re the wonder boy.’

‘There might be some other interest coming on Hart Ford.’

‘Oh?’

Markham shrugged.

‘We’ll have to wait and see. But it would make things interesting.’

***

Joanna Hart sounded fresh and alert when she rang during the afternoon. She offered no apology for the way she’d been the day before. Most likely she didn’t even remember, he thought.

‘I wanted to tell you, I’ve had the very best news.’

‘Another offer on the business?’

‘How did you know?’ There was a trace of suspicion in her voice, then it vanished. ‘It’s not an offer, exactly. He wants to see the books first. But I’m sure he’ll make a bid.’

‘You’re right, that’s wonderful news.’

‘If he does, Carter will have to up his price if he wants to buy.’ For the first time since he’d met her, she sounded buoyant and hopeful.

‘Then let’s hope he likes what he sees.’

‘His accountant is examining things today. So I could hear something tomorrow.’

‘True.’

Hatton hadn’t wasted time. But he hadn’t seemed the type to miss an opportunity. It was out of Markham’s hands now. The figures would speak for themselves. If the potential was there, the man would make his bid.

He stayed in the office until five, pottering at this and that, filling the time in case some new client appeared. They’d been too thin on the ground lately; he could use the business. He’d just buttoned the mac and taken the keys from his pocket when the telephone rang.

‘Dan?’ It was Carla’s voice, close to tears.

‘What is it?’

‘Can you come up to the college, please? To the studio?’

‘Of course. But what–’

‘Please.’

She was in the corridor, squatting, her back against the wall, head buried in her hands.

‘What is it? What’s happened?’ Markham asked, kneeling in front of her and holding her gently by the shoulders. She looked like a collapsed marionette, tears coursing down her cheeks. ‘What is it?’

Carla said nothing, just tilted her head towards the room. Slowly he rose, his heart still thumping in his chest. He’d run all the way from the office. He turned the handle and walked in.

Every canvas had been slashed. Some just three or four cuts, other in ribbons. Brutal light spilled through the windows. The painting she’d started based on Donatello’s statue was still on an easel, obliterated by razors. Everything she’d worked on for a year or more had been destroyed.

One picture lay in the middle of the floor. It had been placed there deliberately, a self-portrait, Carla caught in a pensive mood with hair falling across her face. A single cut crossed the neck. He picked up the painting and stacked it with the others. Everything damaged, everything beyond repair. All her work, all come to nothing.

He lifted Carla to her feet and took her in his arms. She clung tightly, pushing her head against his shoulder and letting the tears come again. He reached out and closed the door; no one else needed to see this.

She held him for a long time. He rubbed her back softly, feeling the small shocks of each thought making her quiver. They’d taken away everything she’d created. But the self-portrait had been directed at him.

‘Come on,’ he said gently when the crying had ended and she was still. He kept his arm around her, gathering up her bag and coat.

In her office she stared at him, her face empty. She lived for her painting. Teaching at the art college just gave her the money and the studio to do it. He took hold of her hand.

‘I’m sorry,’ he said.

‘You know who did it, don’t you?’

He nodded.

‘Why?’ Her voice was bleak and uncomprehending. She pawed at fresh tears, wiping them away with broad strokes. He thought about a simple answer but she deserved the truth.

‘It’s the man I’m after. He’s responsible for this.’

‘But
why
?’

‘He wants me to stop. He thinks doing this will help.’

She stayed silent for a long time looking into his eyes.

‘Dan …’

‘I’m sorry. I never thought …’ He shook his head. He hadn’t imagined Carter would go after her. Carla had no part in their battle.

‘I’d been talking to the gallery in London about an exhibition. Maybe next spring.’

And now that was ruined. He let out a long, slow breath, not knowing what to say. In his mind he could see the self-portrait.

‘Would the college let you take a little time off?’

‘The term’s only just started,’ she answered automatically, then stopped herself. ‘Christ, Dan, what are you saying?’

‘That it would be safer if you were out of Leeds for a little while.’ He kept his voice steady.

‘Safer?’ She said the word as if she didn’t understand.

‘Yes.’ He didn’t want to have to explain, to make it into bare facts. This was enough, more than enough. He cared about her. But he knew he couldn’t protect her.

‘Tell me,’ she demanded.

‘Go and stay with someone for a little while. A week, maybe a fortnight. It’ll all be over by then.’

He didn’t know if it would, he could only hope.

‘And what then? I start everything all over again?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘Would I be in danger if I stayed?’

‘I don’t know,’ he repeated.

Her eyes were hard as she stared at him.

‘Be honest, Dan. I’m not a bloody child.’

‘You might be.’

She squeezed his hand hard.

‘All because of what you’re doing?’

‘I’m sorry. I didn’t expect anything like this.’

Like an invalid, she let him help her into her coat and guide her down to the Victoria Hotel on Great George Street. It was close to college, somewhere they’d gone often enough. But all the old joy and laughter had flown from the place. He bought her a large brandy and watched her drink it. A blush of colour started to return to her cheeks as she smoked a cigarette.

‘Did you mean it? What you said about me leaving for a while?’

‘Yes.’

‘For God’s sake, Dan. What have you got yourself into?’

‘More than I wanted.’

A vendetta, a war. He owed her the truth and he gave it to her as she sipped the brandy, bringing her up to date on everything. All the twists and turns. When he’d finished she only had one question.

‘Do you think you’ll win?’

‘I hope so.’ It was the best he could offer.

She let the silence hang and gazed around the bar.

‘I’ll talk to my department head tomorrow.’ Her voice was quiet and reasonable. ‘In the circumstances I’m sure he’ll be fine with a fortnight away.’ He opened his mouth but she continued. ‘Don’t worry, I won’t tell him the truth. I have a friend I can stay with.’ A small, bitter smile crossed her lips. ‘Maybe I can do some painting. Try to have enough for that exhibition, if it’s any good.’

‘You know you have talent.’

Carla shook her head.

‘Right now I’m not sure what I have, Dan. I don’t even know what I’m feeling.’ She buttoned her coat. ‘I’m going to stay with Mary tonight and I’ll sort everything out in the morning.’ She leant across and kissed him on the cheek. ‘I’ll ring you when I come back.’

He heard the sharp click of her heels on the floor. No goodbye, nothing. But he deserved that for what he’d caused her. Maybe he was saving her life, but would he ever see her again?

Friday arrived. Markham hoped Carla would ring before she left town but the telephone was silent all morning. When the bell finally shrilled in the afternoon he grabbed at the receiver. It was only a call from another enquiry agency in Birmingham offering him a little work in Leeds.

It meant money and he accepted gratefully, but he’d have given it up to hear her voice. Still, he understood. He’d brought all this down on her; of course she wouldn’t want any contact with him right now.

He’d made notes during the call and began rewriting them, translating his scrawl into legible writing whilst it was fresh in his mind. The door handle rattled then turned and he looked up. Joanna Hart burst in.

She wore a cream dress with black trim under a black coat, her hair was loose and a smile played on her lips.

‘Hello,’ he said.

‘I was coming into town and I wanted to let you know. He’s going to make an offer!’

‘The mystery interest?’

‘Of course,’ she said with a touch of exasperation. ‘Who else?’

‘So you’re celebrating?’

‘I’m meeting someone for a drink and we might have a bite to eat.’

‘Mr Parker?’

‘That’s none of your business,’ she told him. ‘But no, if you must know. It’s an old chum. A girl.’