The Cowboy's Crime

by Evelyn James

  “You go to your meeting. I shall come here tonight and keep an eye for an hour or two.”

  “Thank you,” Clara said, and wished that she could endorse her gratitude by explaining her real reasons for disappearing that night. “Did I tell you I have been invited to the pageant?”

  “Oh? No, you did not.”

  “Yes, I think one of the guests has heard of me and liked the idea of me being present. Probably I shall add some novelty to the event,” Clara laughed at herself. The notion was not so far-fetched. “I’ll take John for the night out. It shall be fun.”

  “Well you enjoy yourself, and remember you are just as worthy as any of those fellows with big estates and fancy titles.”

  Clara squeezed her brother’s arm, unable to express how glad she was for his support and how badly she felt for keeping him in the dark.

  ~~~*~~~

  Just before eight, Clara headed out of the house. She had opted to take Bramble with her, for a bit of company. It made her feel better to have him at her side, rather than walking alone, and with Tommy and Annie out of the house, the little dog was prone to moping. Her brother had departed to the funfair shortly after dinner and Annie had surprised them both by announcing she was joining him. They had expected her to remain at home, but she wanted to check on David. No amount of telling her that none of this was her fault would ease her mind.

  Bramble skipped along beside Clara. He pranced rather than trotted and sometimes reminded Clara of a very, very small horse. When they reached the steps down onto the beach, he became excited, bounced up on his back legs and gave a hopeful yap.

  “It’s too dark,” Clara informed him. “I would lose you if you ran free. You just be happy on your lead beside me.”

  Bramble gave a few more bounces, but when it became plain he was not going to be unleashed from his bonds, he gave a disappointed yelp and started to drag his heels.

  “You really are too much like your master,” Clara berated him fondly. “Now come on, we have a secret meeting to attend.”

  The tall struts of the pier were dug firmly into the sand, embedded in solid concrete to weather the vagaries of the sea. For the moment, all but the furthest pillars were visible, but within the span of the next two hours the tide would have swept close to the sea wall and the pier would look like it floated on water.

  It was very dark on the beach, only a hint of moonlight guiding Clara. She shivered and it was not just from the cold. Stepping closer to the tall wooden struts, which gave the impression of people standing to attention in the dark, she sensed a presence nearby. She cast her eyes around, but it was Bramble that spotted the lurker first and gave a shrill alarm bark in the direction of a far pillar.

  “Nice to see you Clara,” Chang said, moving away from the shadows. “Just so you know, in case you have been misled by these Brighton ruffians, I have my men nearby ready to react on my command.”

  Clara was a little ashamed that this news brought a pang of relief. As much as she wanted to trust Harry and his friends, she also was anxious they could be playing a very cunning game to lure Chang out of hiding.

  “I’m afraid that all I can contribute to our security is Bramble here,” Clara replied, managing to keep her voice light. “I’m not terribly sure he will be much good.”

  Chang gave a soft laugh.

  “As always, Clara, you find humour in your fear. Well, let us see what tonight brings.”

  Clara could not see her watch in the dark, but she was fairly certain that Harry and his friends were late when they finally appeared, walking along the beach. Chang had lit a cigarette, and in its vague glow his face looked anxious. He took a deep draw on the cigarette and released a cloud of smoke.

  “How do you do this all the time,” Clara asked him in a hushed tone. “It must wear on the nerves.”

  “I might ask you the same,” Chang grinned at her. “We do what drives us, would you not say?”

  Clara could not argue with that.

  Harry, John, Jonny, Joe and Sam walked beneath the pier, looking edgy and wary. Harry gave a smile to Clara, but it faded fast. None of them seemed to want to speak first. Fortunately, Chang was prepared to lead the way.

  “Gentlemen,” he said. “I am delighted to meet you all. Miss Fitzgerald has explained that we have a mutual problem and can be of assistance to one another.”

  The men shuffled their feet.

  “Yeah,” said Harry at last. “Miss Fitzgerald has this plan.”

  “To kidnap the Earl of Bristol right under the noses of everyone, at a prestigious pageant, no less,” Chang agreed. “Be assured the earl is fully engaged in this plan and is quite looking forward to being kidnapped and held to ransom. Now, the main issue is making sure that the police and everyone who needs to know are completely convinced that the kidnapping is the work of this new gang.”

  Harry and his friends murmured their agreement.

  “There is no point attempting this otherwise. Our purpose is to see that the senior forces of the Brighton police, and potentially the Metropolitan forces, are so alarmed by the circumstance and the threat this gang poses that they shall make great efforts to crush it.”

  There were further agreements from the men. Bramble gave a supportive yip.

  “To that end,” Chang continued, “it shall be up to Miss Fitzgerald to persuade Inspector Park-Coombs to be a participant in our scheme.”

  Clara gave a start, but it was Harry who stuttered;

  “Park-Coombs?”

  “It is essential he be part of our plan,” Chang persisted. “We cannot do this without him.”

  He turned his gaze on Clara.

  “Is that understood, Miss Fitzgerald?”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Clara walked home wondering how to broach the subject of kidnapping an earl with the inspector; she suspected he would not be terribly impressed by the whole idea. She understood the logic behind making him aware of the conspiracy, she just wasn’t sure she would be able to convince him to cooperate and if he refused, what then? Would he put the brakes on her plot? Did she dare take the chance?

  Chang’s forthright words towards her (when had she become his to command?) indicated that he thought it was worth the risk. But she rankled at being told what to do and that alone made her question whether she should do it or not. Clara’s stubbornness about being told what to do, even when it made perfect sense and was a wise option, tended to cause her to be contrary and she was beginning to think she would not speak to Park-Coombs at all, just because Chang had instructed her to do so in that arrogant tone of his. Clara hated being told what to do by people she liked, let alone by people she distrusted.

  Feeling annoyed, Clara was in her own world of thoughts as she headed towards her garden gate and it was a moment before she realised someone was stood at her door. Her surprise was quickly replaced by concern when she saw the person was wearing police uniform. A hollowness formed in her stomach as she heard the words issuing from her mouth;

  “Constable, has something happened?”

  “Miss Fitzgerald, the inspector sent me,” the constable touched the brim of his helmet, obviously more used to wearing a soft cap that he would pull on when respectfully greeting a woman. “There has been a shooting and he thinks you should come. He wanted you to know that Tommy and Annie are fine.”

  Clara felt part of the dread in her stomach ebb.

  “A shooting?”

  “At the funfair, miss.”

  Clara’s anxiety returned.

  “Has anyone been hurt?”

  “The funfair owner, miss,” the constable explained. “But he is alive and has been sent to the hospital. I don’t really know any more than that. If you would come with me?”

  Clara moved back from the gate so the constable could join her on the path and then she walked with him towards the funfair. Her stomach was knotting and twisting. Maven? Why would anyone shoot him? It was rather a stretch to imply that he was a friend of Clark’s. Their rela
tionship was more one of a business nature. She doubted Clark would feel the same outrage or sorrow over Maven being hurt that he would over Polly and David.

  Clara had so many questions she wanted to ask, but the constable had already said he knew very little and it would be best to be patient and ask the inspector. They reached the entrance to the funfair and were greeted by the worried face of Vladimir. He was pacing back and forth and had plainly been waiting for them.

  “Vladimir?” Clara enquired, not needing to form a full question.

  “It has been crazy night,” Vladimir waved his arms in the air, emphasising his words. “Clark shot Mr Maven!”

  “Clark shot Maven?” Clara blinked, finding the information hard to take in. “Why would he do that?”

  “I don’t know!” Vladimir bellowed, his eyes a little wild. “Now I think he is a killer!”

  “Where is Clark?” Clara asked.

  Vladimir waved a hand in the direction of the food tent.

  “Everyone there. We have cleared the funfair under police orders,” Vladimir gave a scowl towards the silent constable. “Police! Bah! Where were they when this trouble was happening, and people got hurt?”

  Clara took his arm and spun him around before he could stir up more problems for them.

  “Let’s not worry about that, tell me all you know.”

  Vladimir shook his head, seeming in a daze.

  “Mr Maven was walking across funfair grounds. I saw him. He looked mean, but he often looks mean. I was guarding Clark as ordered,” Vladimir stated this firmly, so Clara knew he had not abandoned his post. “Clark says ‘Why Maven carry gun?’ then he starts to get very…”

  Vladimir pulled a face and did another flurry of hand gestures around his head. Clara thought he appeared to be doing some weird dance, then it occurred to her what he was trying to say.

  “Clark became agitated?”

  “Yes. Clark become very upset. Maven is heading towards tent of Mary the Painted Lady, and Clark get…” he pointed to Clara.

  “Agitated,” she helped.

  Vladimir nodded.

  “Next he begins shouting ‘It’s him! It’s him!’ and he begin to run. He has gun on him for show and as Maven is reaching Mary’s tent Clark is yelling, ‘He is going to shoot her!’ at us.”

  “Then what?”

  “He pulls his gun and he shoots Maven. It all happened in a moment,” the arms were flapping once more, Vladimir trying to paint a picture with his hands.

  Clara had a rough idea of what must have gone on. With all the tension in the air and the concerns for the safety of Mary, the last supposed victim-to-be, Clark had jumped, rightly or wrongly, to a conclusion and acted upon it. Could it really be that Maven was the assailant?

  “What did Maven say after he was shot?” Clara asked.

  “He fainted,” Vladimir said. “Gunther stayed with him while I summon ambulance. Someone call police, I don’t know who.”

  Vladimir’s sullen tone indicated that he would not have done such a thing.

  They were at the food tent and Clara could hear voices within.

  “Thank you, Vladimir,” she told the guard. “I shall try to figure this all out.”

  Vladimir nodded.

  “Maven is alive,” he added as Clara started to go into the tent. “That means it’s not murder.”

  Clara gave him a reassuring smile, then stepped into the dim light of the tent.

  Tommy, Annie, Clark, Mary, Inspector Park-Coombs and a constable were all gathered inside. Everyone apart from the constable was sitting at a table. The unfortunate policeman was stationed behind Clark, as if the inspector feared the cowboy might suddenly make an escape attempt.

  “Clara,” Tommy sighed. “Thank goodness, things have taken a real turn.”

  “Vladimir has given me a rough explanation,” Clara said. “I confess, what he told me was rather baffling. Maven behind all these attacks? Surely not!”

  Clark was drooping at the table, his elbows leaning on the rough surface, while his fingers toyed with a coin. He looked in need of a cigarette.

  “Take a seat, Clara,” Park-Coombs offered. “I am still trying to get my head around this. The good news is that Maven was shot in the arm and from what the doctor said, he should be fine. He passed out from the pain, so we haven’t been able to get his side of events.”

  “Doctor?” Clara asked, wondering that they had managed to find one so swiftly.

  “Hulu,” Tommy said. “Turns out our ‘native medicine man’ has a genuine degree and practiced for fifteen years in Paris’ finest hospitals, before deciding he wanted to explore the world. He reinvented himself as Hulu, Witch Doctor and joined Maven’s crew.”

  “Well,” Clara said, there didn’t seem anything else you could add to such a thing.

  “I don’t think anyone can really blame Clark,” Mary piped up, casting the inspector a fierce look. To his credit, he did not blanch though many would have. “He has been under such strain and Maven was carrying a gun.”

  “He was?” Clara asked.

  “Yes,” Tommy said in a grim tone. “He was carrying one of Clark’s guns.”

  “Why?” Clara asked.

  “He hasn’t been able to tell us,” Park-Coombs explained. “We have checked, and it was loaded.”

  Clark turned the coin over and over in his fingers.

  “Right, so Maven is carrying a loaded gun and headed toward Mary’s tent,” the circumstances seemed to be leading to one obvious conclusion, but Clara knew that obvious did not always mean correct. “Mary, what happened when he arrived?”

  “He called my name and I looked up,” Mary said, “but before I could reply Clark shot him.”

  “A man walks around with a loaded gun, he has only one thing on his mind,” Clark muttered. “He is aiming to shoot something, and if it ain’t tin cans or a coyote, then it sure as heck is going to be a person.”

  “It seems we have our solution to this little mystery,” Park-Coombs stretched back from the table. “Maven was targeting those closest to Clark. He was going after Mary tonight, but Clark saw him and stopped him. I am not about to arrest our cowboy friend for defending Miss O’Reilly.”

  Mary was looking at Clark with soft eyes. It seemed his heroics had melted her coldness towards him. She put out a hand and clutched one of his. Clark glanced up briefly, then dropped his gaze to the coin again.

  “But, why?” Clara asked, thinking that everyone was making dangerous assumptions. “Why would Maven do such a thing?”

  “I don’t know,” Clark said in a very quiet voice. “Why did he kill my horse?”

  “Look, this does not make sense,” Clara persisted. “Maven had a lot to lose by causing Clark such upset and nothing to gain. He had already caused him to lose his memories and thus nearly cost the funfair a big act. Clark is a huge draw for the crowds and at the end of the day, Maven is all about money.”

  No one seemed to have an answer for her.

  “Clara, people do strange things when they are spurred by revenge. They do things that are bad for them or could cost them. They are acting on emotion rather than on rational sense,” the inspector told her. “I dare say Maven was aware he was going to cost himself a big act, but whatever sparked this bout of revenge was more important than that money.”

  Clara was not satisfied. She turned to the cowboy.

  “Clark, I know your memory is rather incomplete at the moment, but had you any reason to think Maven was angry with you?”

  The gunslinger shook his head. He looked extremely bleak, as if shooting Maven had broken the last little fragile piece of his soul.

  “Mary, you know Clark and Maven as well as anyone around here, had you heard of them arguing?” Clara tried another route.

  The painted lady drew her brows together, which was slightly disturbing as the tattoos across her forehead merged into odd, squashed shapes.

  “No, I can’t say I had.”

  “Clara, we have to go by what
is before us. Maven had one of Clark’s loaded guns,” Park-Coombs’ firm voice brought Clara’s attention back to him. “What was he doing with that? And why was he walking towards Mary’s tent? From what Tommy has told me, you all thought that Mary would be the next target of the attacker doing the rounds of the funfair. There seems an undeniable chain of events to this matter. Once Maven is recovered, we can find out why he did this, until then, I am going to consider that Clark did this as an act of self-defence, or rather the defence of another.”

  The inspector rose from the bench he was sitting on and nodded to his constable.

  “I shall let you folks get to your beds,” he said. “Hopefully tomorrow Mr Maven will be up to explaining himself.”

  The policemen departed. Annie glanced at Clara as soon as they were gone.

  “You are not satisfied?”

  “No, I am not,” Clara groaned. “Maybe once Maven talks I shall feel better, until then I feel there are too many unanswered questions.”

  Mary was still clutching Clark’s hand and looking at him with sad eyes.

  “Clark, what is wrong?”

  The cowboy had become noticeably more withdrawn during the course of their conversation. He had his head tipped forward and, with his hat on, it meant his face was almost invisible to them all. He suddenly made a noise, a sharp intake of breath, and they all realised he was crying.

  Clara slipped onto the bench beside him and rested her hand on his arm. She didn’t know what had caused this sudden outburst of emotion, but she could offer some comfort. Mary was looking baffled as well as worried.

  “Clark?” She repeated.

  “I’ve shot more men in my lifetime than most folks,” Clark said through the unhappy sobs. “I’ve never regretted one of ‘em. But suddenly… suddenly I’ve got no stomach for it and shooting Maven like that, even though I knew I had to, well, it’s shook me. That’s all. I think I made a promise to myself; I think I swore I would never shoot a person again. I’m not sure, because of my memories being gone, but there is this feeling inside me that that is what I did, and I just broke my promise to myself.”