The New Eastgate Swing (20 page)

‘I heard your name somewhere.'

Now the lad was worried. ‘Who was talking about me?'

‘It was in an address book.' He watched Peel bouncing slightly from foot to foot, as if he was ready to flee. ‘Don't run,' he said quietly. ‘I've got a gun. It belonged to the man who had your name. Do you know who I'm talking about?'

Trevor nodded, defeat on his face.

‘How do you know Simon Harker?' Markham asked.

Trevor's eyes slid around, seeking a way out, then glancing back at his friends.

‘Well?' Markham repeated. ‘Come on, Trev, I'm not asking for the fun of it.'

Suddenly he was surrounded by young men with hard faces. They bumped against him, trying to bounce him between them. Their jackets had the smell of new leather, hair shining with Brylcreem. He reached out and grabbed Trevor's wrist; he wasn't going to let him vanish.

Markham stood his ground, saying nothing, just staring at Peel. Then Barclay was there, pushing the lads away.

‘I'm not having any trouble in here,' he said loudly. ‘If you want that, you can get out right now. You,' he told one of them, ‘you're banned now. The rest of you want the same?'

Reluctantly, they moved back, turning their heads to glare. It was over as quickly as it had begun. But Markham kept a tight grip on Trevor before the lad could vanish with the others.

‘Are you all right, Dan?' Barclay asked.

‘Fine,' he answered. ‘Thanks.'

‘Bloody kids,' he muttered and made his way back to his booth.

‘I still want some answers,' Markham warned Trevor. ‘Proper answers.'

‘He came up to me at the bus stop,' Peel said finally. ‘I'd just got off on my way home from work. Asked if I worked at Cokely's.'

‘Go on.'

‘We went down the pub and had a couple of drinks.' He looked down at the scuffed floor.

‘What did he want?'

‘Information.'

‘About what?'

‘The shadow factory. I told him I didn't know much about it. I hadn't been there long.'

But Harker had picked him out as not too bright, easily flattered and persuaded. And tempted.

‘Did you find out?'

‘Some of it,' Peel admitted after a moment. ‘They have some rooms in there. They're doing defence stuff. Secret things.'

‘Did you tell him? How much did he pay you?'

‘Fifty quid.' He reddened, the spots standing out angrily on his cheeks.

‘There was more, though, wasn't there?' He felt sure of it. His name wouldn't have been in the address book just for that. Trevor nodded.

‘He got me to steal a key for one of the doors at the shadow factory. They're just in a drawer.' He raised his head hopefully. ‘Don't shop me, Mr Markham. It's a good job. It's got a future.'

‘How much did he pay you for the key?' He was going to learn as much as he could.

‘Two hundred. I bought my bike with it.'

‘And did he say why he wanted the key?'

‘I didn't ask,' Trevor answered quietly.

Markham leaned close enough to smell the man's fear.

‘You're going to tell me everything you know about him. What he wants, what he's doing. If you're good and do it right, no one else needs to know. You understand?'

The group had finished and were packing away their instruments. The crowd was thinning as people vanished up the stairs.

‘Can you keep an eye on the place, Dan?' Barclay asked him. ‘You know how it is. I won't be long.'

‘Of course.' Markham didn't even glance over his shoulder. He and Trevor were the only ones left in the place. A thin cloud of cigarette smoke hovered below the ceiling. ‘We might as well sit down. Make ourselves comfortable.'

Trevor perched on the chair but he didn't look relaxed.

He'd given Harker the key, he said slowly, and thought that was it. A week later the man was back, wanting to know more. He'd forced Trevor to meet him there one night and take him through the shadow factory, to explain what was going on there.

‘I'd been over there a few times, you see,' he explained. ‘Just delivering stuff, like. But I'd learnt my way around. He said he'd tell the bosses if I didn't help him. I didn't have much choice, did I?'

‘That wasn't all, was it?'

‘There are places in there that they keep well locked. It's where the boffins work.' It must have been in an area he and Baker hadn't explored. ‘He wanted to get in there. I told him I couldn't get a key. He kept pressing me.' Trevor was quiet for a moment. ‘Threatening me.'

‘Did you get him the keys?'

‘Just for one evening. I managed to borrow them. I told him I'd need to put them back the next morning.'

‘What was in there?'

‘I didn't go in. I didn't want to know. I was too scared.'

A thought struck Markham.

‘Was this before the two men who worked at Cokely's died?'

‘Yeah.' Trevor looked quizzical. ‘Why? One of them was an accident, wasn't it? And the other killed himself. That's what everyone said.'

‘That's right.' There was no need to burden the lad. ‘What else?'

‘That's it. I haven't seen him in a few weeks. Don't want to, neither. Is that it, Mr Markham? Please?'

‘Do you know where Harker lives?'

‘No,' Peel answered, and he believed him.

‘Go on,' he said, and heard Trevor dash away up the stairs as if he was escaping.

***

He sat for a few minutes, going through all he'd been told. Harker was smart. He'd used Trevor Peel in a very clever way, forcing more and more from him until he'd taken all he could. But none of this was going to help him find Amanda Fox, and that was what he needed to do. All the rest of it, the spying, any state secrets, that didn't matter. That was abstract and theoretical. He couldn't do anything about it. If someone dropped the bloody bomb, it wouldn't matter anyway.

Where did he go from here …?

Markham turned at the footsteps. Three people coming down the stairs. Someone struggling behind a bass drum and behind him, a pair of West Indians with battered saxophone cases. They played here regularly, he'd seen them a week or two before; they were always good, letting the music curl and glow, playing like each note meant something vital, that it had something important to say. Worth staying to hear.

‘Hi, man.' One of them nodded a greeting. ‘What happened to your fingers?'

He hadn't thought about the useless fingers for a while.

‘I had an accident a few years ago.'

‘Maybe you should take up guitar.' The man laughed. ‘You could be the new Django.'

***

They were sitting in the cafe on the balcony at the market, looking down at the shoppers wandering and the traders opening their stalls. There was a sharp sizzle as the cook took bacon from the grill and put it on a plate. Condensation ran down the windows. The place was a small oasis of heat.

‘So we're still no further on,' Baker said after Markham finished recounting everything Trevor had said. He put another spoonful of sugar in his tea and stirred it absently.

‘Not really.' Markham was warm in the overcoat, acutely aware of the gun in his pocket; he wasn't about to take it off. ‘The only way we're going to find Amanda is to shake things up a bit.'

‘Someone knows Harker. Someone has to.'

Markham shook his head. ‘He probably has another identity by now. He'll have all the papers for a spare one in his bolthole. And money, too.'

‘There has to be a way,' Baker said. ‘Doesn't there?'

They left, crossing Vicar Lane and walking up King Edward Street. Baker nodded at people he knew; after decades on the force hundreds of folk around Leeds were familiar with his face.

The office felt stuffy, the radiator burning to the touch. Feast or famine, cold or boiling; it could never just be comfortably warm.

They had no ideas just when they desperately needed a few. For an hour they tossed thoughts back and forth. Nothing useful. Not a damned thing. They were still discussing it when the second post arrived. Markham sorted through it. An income tax reminder in its buff envelope, a note from a solicitor about some possible work, and another envelope.

The address was printed in capitals. He tore it open. Inside there was a lock of hair. The same shade as Amanda Fox's hair. He held it up.

‘He's saying she's still alive.'

‘Where was it posted?'

The mark was too blurred to read clearly. Holbeck? Holt Park? It was impossible to be sure. And it probably didn't matter. Harker wasn't stupid enough to drop it in a post box close to his hideaway.

But they had a sign. That was something. And it was a goad. He was still thinking when the telephone rang and he heard the tumble of coins into the slot.

‘I think your postman has been, Mr Markham.'

He sat up straight.

‘That's right, Mr Harker.' He looked across at Baker. ‘It was just delivered.'

Markham raised his eyebrows. With a brisk nod, Baker left quietly. If the man knew they had the envelope, he was somewhere close. There were telephone boxes at either end of Albion Place.

‘I'm sorry we didn't have time to chat yesterday.' Harker chuckled. ‘You caught me just as I was leaving.'

‘Then perhaps we can meet somewhere.'

‘You're very droll. I'm sure we can find a more … anonymous way to do business. I think you'd like to see Mrs Fox again.'

‘I'd like to see her alive.'

‘She is. For the moment.'

‘I don't know why you took her. Her husband was working for your lot.' He wanted to keep Harker talking, to give Baker a chance to spot him.

‘But she wasn't. And whilst she might not realise it, she knows a few things. I just need a little time to make sure her knowledge is unimportant.'

I, Markham noted; the man was definitely operating alone.

‘Why should I believe you?'

‘Why not? This was your trade once, I believe.
Können Sie noch Deutsch sprechen?
'

‘
Nur ein Bisschen
,' he replied. A bit, yes, but his German was rusty now. Harker knew about his National Service. That was no surprise, really. ‘When will you release her?' He wasn't going to ask if the man would kill her.

‘When it's time,' Harker said coolly. ‘But it would be safer for her if you weren't looking for me. Do I make myself quite clear on that?'

‘I understand what you're saying.' He tried to pick out any background noise, if there was anything that might pinpoint the location.

‘If you back away, no harm will come to her.'

‘So you say.'

‘That's a promise. Now you know how we stand, Mr Markham. The choice is yours.'

Then just a click as Harker replaced the receiver.

***

He waited for Baker to return, pacing around the small office and smoking. What was Harker doing? Did he just want to taunt them? No, the man was a professional. But a phone call like that, sending the lock of hair, that didn't fit with everything else.

There had to be something more. What was it?

Baker didn't return. Maybe he'd found Harker. Maybe.

The seconds ticked past with no footsteps on the stairs. He finished his second cigarette and lit a third. When the telephone bell shrilled again he leapt for it.

‘Pick me up at Millgarth in quarter of an hour,' Baker told him.

‘Did you find him?'

But the line was already dead.

Markham threw on his overcoat and gathered up his hat and gloves. He was pulling out his keys to lock the office when the phone rang once more.

‘Dan?'

‘Hello.' His voice softened. Carla.

‘Are you in the middle of something?'

‘Sort of,' he admitted.

‘I'll be quick, then. My train arrives at half past five tomorrow. Can you meet me?'

‘I'll be there,' he promised.

‘Good.' A small hesitation. ‘I've missed you.'

For a second he couldn't say anything.

‘I've missed you, too.' He had. A lot.

Markham kept the engine running as he parked outside Millgarth police station. In less than thirty seconds Baker was grunting into the passenger seat. His face was flushed.

‘Drive out to Morley,' he instructed.

‘Morley?' He put the car into gear and eased out into traffic. ‘Why?'

‘I thought Harker wouldn't use the telephone boxes so close to us,' Baker explained. ‘But he knew that the postman had come. So I looked a little further away.'

‘You found him?'

‘Down on Commercial Street.' He dug out his pipe, lit a match and started to smoke. ‘He had a car parked right there. I took down the number plate and went to Millgarth.'

‘Well?' he asked impatiently.

‘It's registered to someone called David Thorp on Gillroyd Parade in Morley. A Ford Prefect, two years old. Bought it three months ago.'

‘Did he see you?'

‘I don't think so,' Baker told him. ‘Maybe he wasn't as clever as he thought.'

Maybe. But they wouldn't let someone who made such basic mistakes operate abroad. There was something more behind this.

‘We should just let the police take care of it now,' Markham said.

Baker sighed.

‘Tell me something, Dan. What do you think of Leeds Police? Be honest now.'

‘Not much,' he replied.

‘Aye, much as it hurts me to say it, you're probably right. In this, anyway. I've talked to them, they don't have a clue. And I was one of them for years. They'd go in mob-handed and balls it all up. The only way we're going to take care of this is to do it ourselves.'

They drove in silence along Elland Road, past the football ground. On the waste ground close by, the team was training, playing a five-a-side match. When they reached the turning for Churwell, Markham accelerated up the hill.