The Cowboy's Crime

by Evelyn James

  “You saved my life,” Mary said. “I’m glad you broke your promise.”

  Clark sniffed, the tears drying up.

  “I’m an old cowboy scared of his own gun,” Clark murmured. “I don’t know what I am anymore.”

  He pulled his hand away from Mary and stood from the table. He walked out of the tent without saying a word and it did not seem the right time to follow him. Mary watched him leave with sorrowful eyes.

  “I wish I knew what that was all about,” she said, wiping a tear from her own eye. “I’ve never heard that before, that he had made a promise to himself never to shoot a person again. Clark is always talking about his bounties, who would think he was afraid to fire his gun at a person?”

  She stood as well, picked up a shawl that had fallen to the bench and wrapped it around her shoulders, then departed into the cold.

  That left Clara, Tommy and Annie alone.

  “You are not happy,” Tommy said to his sister.

  “Are you?” Clara asked.

  He shook his head, feeling too that unease of something being amiss. He was distracted by Bramble bouncing up on the bench beside him, taking the space Mary had just left.

  “Something has happened to Clark, hasn’t it?” Annie said quietly. “Something that turned him from a bounty hunter into a funfair performer.”

  “We’ve suspected that for a while,” Tommy agreed. “Something made him leave America and travel to Britain. Just no one can tell us what. Now it seems that maybe it has something to do with this promise he made himself.”

  “I wonder what occurred to make him swear that promise in the first place,” Clara was frowning at the tent flap, as if she could still see Clark walking away. “A bounty hunter who suddenly develops a conscience about shooting people.”

  “Do you think this might link to Maven?” Tommy asked. “Maybe he is seeking revenge for someone?”

  Clara shook her head.

  “Maven is just another spoke in the works.”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Clara called on Inspector Park-Coombs early the next morning, or at least she tried to, but when she arrived at the police station, she was informed that he had gone to the hospital urgently to speak with Mr Maven. The details Clara was given were vague, but it seemed a constable had been stationed outside Maven’s hospital room all night ready to get a message to the inspector the moment the man awoke. He had opened his eyes just half an hour before Clara appeared at the station.

  Clara did not hang around but caught the first bus she could to the hospital. It was not visiting hours and the receptionist at the front desk refused to even tell Clara which room Maven was in, let alone allow her into the wards.

  Frustrated, Clara sat in one of the hard chairs in the front foyer of the hospital, to await the inspector.

  Her eyes drifted between the big staircase and a large pair of double doors, not sure where the inspector might appear from. She waited and waited, a substantial white enamel clock on the wall counting down the minutes with unerring patience.

  Clara was not good at waiting, it made her fidget, and if the receptionist had been busier and thus distracted Clara might have attempted to sneak down a corridor and tried to find the inspector for herself, though, without knowing which room Maven was being housed in, she would probably end up missing him completely. It was logical to remain in the waiting area, but Clara did not always like ‘logical’. She was just debating whether to try her persuasion skills on the receptionist once again when she caught a glimpse of a person out of the corner of her eye who she would have preferred not to see.

  Jao Leong was coming down the main stairs to Clara’s right. She was walking a little stiffly and it seemed she had been at the hospital for a reason other than visiting a friend. Her face had a dark look upon it and that reminded Clara that the last time they had met Jao had been demanding Clara locate her brother, Brilliant Chang. Clara had done what she could, given Jao a false lead and then hoped to avoid her. That was a week ago and Jao had not disturbed her since. Clara had hoped the woman had forgotten about her, now it seemed there might have been a more pressing reason for Jao’s absence.

  Clara fixed her attention on the double-doors at the back of the room, which enabled her to discreetly turn her head from the stairs. She could pretend she had not seen Jao and, with any luck, the woman would not see her. The last thing Clara needed was another little chat with the female gang leader, especially when the time to bring her down was drawing closer.

  Unfortunately for Clara, Jao was not as distracted as her grim expression might have implied and she spotted the private detective. Worse, it seemed she was inclined to talk to her. The next thing Clara knew, Jao had settled herself, albeit it with clear unease, into the chair beside her. It was no longer possible to pretend she had not seen her and Clara glance casually to her right, as if she had just noticed her arrival.

  “Oh, hello,” Clara said, reminding herself that as far as she was supposed to know, Jao was just another client.

  “Miss Fitzgerald,” Jao said through gritted teeth as she made herself comfortable in the chair. “What a pleasure to meet you here. I hope you are not here for medical reasons?”

  “I’m on a case,” Clara said simply. “What about you? Were you able to find your brother?”

  Treating Jao just like any other client seemed the safest solution. Jao was still pulling a face, in obvious discomfort.

  “No. He had been at the house you told me about. There were signs, but he had left,” Jao sighed and her pain seemed to have knocked some of her arrogance. “I don’t suppose you have any further information about my brother?”

  “Sorry,” Clara said. “After we spoke, I became involved in another case. You said you would let me know if you needed any more help.”

  “That I did,” Jao said with a dark look.

  “Excuse my saying, but you don’t seem yourself,” Clara chanced her arm.

  “Hardly a world stopping observation,” Jao snorted derisively. “But yes, Miss Fitzgerald, I have suffered my own misfortune since last we met.”

  She did not elaborate, and Clara was not sure she wanted to probe. She wished the inspector would suddenly appear and save her from this dilemma.

  “I hope you feel better soon,” Clara said politely.

  “Yes,” Jao’s voice was distant. “You know, now we have met, I would like you to keep looking for my brother.”

  Clara had dreaded she might say that. It had been hard enough balancing the demands of the two siblings before, she did not need fresh problems on top of the kidnapping campaign.

  “I shall keep my ears open, but I really have heard no news of Mr Chang,” Clara replied. “We move in rather different circles and Chang has always kept me at arm’s length.”

  Clara found herself tapping one toe anxiously on the floor.

  “I don’t know how much you know about your brother’s business dealings,” Clara said carefully, still acting as if she had no idea what Jao was up to in Brighton. “But I have interfered with them a couple of times and now he does not want me anywhere near him.”

  “I know plenty,” Jao said, her old smile returning. “He has spoken of you, Miss Fitzgerald, quite highly, in fact, considering.”

  Clara found it impossible not to smile as well.

  “Chang and I… well, when our paths cross it generally makes things complicated,” she said. “But if I hear anything about him, I shall let you know.”

  Jao leaned back in the chair and let out a deep breath. She looked pale, in that grey way that spoke of illness.

  “You really don’t look well, should you not perhaps be in bed?” Clara said, her nursing training aroused.

  Jao had a tinge to her skin that suggested she was either suffering the after-effects of a nasty illness or had suffered a serious injury. Since she was using her arms and legs, and was just about walking, it was not a broken limb that was the cause of her distress. And she had been too well the last time
Clara met her, to imply she had contracted and recovered from a dangerous sickness. No, whatever was ailing Jao seemed of a more immediate nature.

  “Never trust anyone, Miss Fitzgerald,” Jao said unhappily. “Those closest to you are the most dangerous.”

  “Has someone hurt you?” Clara said, finding she was actually feeling sorry for the woman.

  Though it only lasted a moment, since she reminded herself that Jao was both evil and immoral.

  “Have you ever been stabbed, Miss Fitzgerald?” Jao asked.

  “No,” Clara answered. “There have been a couple of near misses.”

  “Well, I don’t recommend it,” Jao groaned.

  She had a hand pressed to her side and though Clara could see no traces of blood, she could make a good guess as to where Jao had been stabbed.

  “Luckily, the knife missed my guts,” Jao managed a wry grin. “Otherwise, I might not be talking to you.”

  “I am very sorry,” Clara said politely. “What a terrible thing to occur. What are the police doing about it?”

  “I resolved the problem myself,” Jao’s grin had taken on a horrible aspect. “And when I use a knife, I don’t make mistakes.”

  Clara did not know what to say, she felt her heart beating a little faster. For a brief second or two, she had forgotten that the woman beside her was a cold-hearted killer. Now she could see the sheer malevolence burning beneath Jao’s pretty façade and it chilled her.

  “I don’t know what the world is coming to,” Clara said, eyes straight ahead. “It is rather similar to the reason why I am here. You see, a man was shot last night, and the inspector is speaking to him to find out what happened. Hopefully he won’t be much longer.”

  “You are waiting for Inspector Park-Coombs?” Jao said with the faintest flicker of concern.

  “Yes,” Clara replied. “I rather hope he has been able to get an explanation for this strange business.”

  As Clara had hoped, the mention of Park-Coombs’ name had the effect of worrying Jao and causing her to consider leaving.

  “I should go, there should be a car waiting for me,” she mumbled, easing herself up with difficulty from the chair. She gave another groan of pain and Clara was sure she should not be out of bed.

  At a guess, Clara would say that Jao had discharged herself through concern that in her absence her fledgling gang might fall apart, or worse, someone would step into her place as gang leader. She had led one usurpation, what was to prevent another.

  Jao’s criminal world was falling apart already. She had been attacked, by her own admission by someone close to her, and there was no telling how deep this treachery went. Chang had been right about Jao’s tactics generating fear rather than loyalty, and the consequences of such actions. It probably did not help that she was a woman, and many men would resist, if not at once, certainly eventually, at being dictated to by a woman.

  “Goodbye, Miss Fitzgerald,” Jao said over her shoulder, as she limped away, clutching her hand to her side still.

  Clara did not feel pleased to see her injured, that was not her nature. She just felt sadness that this was the way things had developed and that for Brighton to be safe, Jao Leong must be forcefully destroyed. Perhaps, given time, this gang would unravel itself without any outside interference, but Clara could not rely on that.

  She was not able to mull over all this for long before Inspector Park-Coombs appeared through the double-doors. That he had only just missed Jao did not escape Clara’s attention. He had a strange look on his face, not precisely troubled, but certainly confused. Clara rose so he would notice her.

  “Clara,” he nodded at her. “Would they not let you through?”

  Clara shrugged her shoulders.

  “It isn’t visiting time.”

  “Of course, very frustrating for you,” Park-Coombs was understanding. “You want to know what Maven had to say for himself?”

  “I would,” Clara agreed.

  “Well, it is all rather odd. He denies having anything to do with the attacks on the various people at the funfair, states that he would be ruining himself by doing something like that and I have to say I can see what he means,” Park-Coombs stroked his neat moustache thoughtfully. “He has no motive, from what I can tell, and no grudge against Clark. The gunslinger is his best act, brings in the biggest crowd and the most revenue. Maven is no fool when it comes to money and he won’t let a personal grievance get in the way of his business dealings, of that I am confident.”

  “Then why did he have the gun?” Clara asked.

  “He says he spotted a youth slipping out of the back of the main tent. He suspected he was up to no good and followed him. The youth had taken one of Clark’s guns from the table where they sit between performances. Honestly the security is appalling at that place,” Park-Coombs tutted to himself. “Anyway, he confronted the young thief and retrieved the gun. He was going to give it to Clark, but in the meantime, he had to speak to Mary the Painted Lady, concerning a complaint he had received from one of her customers. The man said she had kicked him out of her tent and was very rude to him.”

  Clara had an inkling who that might have been, but she did not say anything.

  “He had been on his way to speak to her when he saw the youth and stopped him, so he simply carried on with the gun in his hand. Not really giving it a thought. Those were his words.”

  “And Clark saw him, put two and two together, came to five and shot him.”

  “Pretty much,” Park-Coombs nodded. “Maven might be lying, though.”

  “I don’t think so,” Clara mused. “It strikes me that he would be a very poor businessman if he went about sending his main act insane and threatening the rest of his staff. Maven is lucky no one has, as yet, decided to leave the funfair.”

  “No place else to go,” Park-Coombs grunted.

  “There is that,” Clara concurred. “But it is still a risky business. Supposing news of this got out and the general public decided the funfair was not safe and avoided it? No, it all looks to me as if Maven is telling the truth and this has been a mistake.”

  “Good job Clark did not actually kill him,” Park-Coombs said solemnly. “Then we would have trouble.”

  “The real problem is that the actual assailant is still around, and we have no idea of what he is planning. With Maven here, and everyone thinking he is the culprit, they will let their guard down.”

  “And that is very bad,” Park-Coombs was following her train of thought. “I think we should get back to the funfair and let everyone know we don’t think Maven is our man. It was a mistake.”

  “Clark is going to be very upset,” Clara sighed. “He was not coping with the idea he had shot the assailant, to know he shot an innocent man is likely going to truly rattle him.”

  “You consider him emotionally unstable?”

  “Don’t you?” Clara said. “Look at what has occurred to him, and how he has reacted. I don’t blame him for losing his memory of the attack on Gung-Ho, but to lose so much leading up to that moment, to forget a huge chunk of his life is quite extraordinary. He was also very depressed over shooting Maven. It was plain that our former bounty hunter was upset at shedding another man’s blood, even one he thought was up to no good.”

  “He has lost his nerve,” Park-Coombs stated bluntly.

  “I think it is more fundamental than that,” Clara said, shaking her head. “I don’t know how to explain it, but I think something happened to Clark that made him question his entire life and the way he had lived it. I think that is why he came to England and maybe it is why all these things have been happening.”

  Park-Coombs considered this for a moment.

  “It is an interesting thought, but I am not much for trying to understand a man’s mind. Care to walk with me to the funfair.”

  “Yes,” Clara agreed. “And while we are doing so, I have something else I want to discuss with you.”

  “Oh, what is that?” Park-Coombs asked.

 
Clara tilted her head and pulled a face.

  “You’ll need to brace yourself. I am planning on kidnapping someone.”

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  “Kidnap?” Park-Coombs blurted so loudly Clara was only relieved they had managed to make it out of the hospital main doors before he did so.

  She shushed him.

  “Please, Inspector, let me explain.”

  She took his arm and managed to keep him moving in roughly the direction of the funfair. They would need to catch a bus at some point, as the inspector had sent the only constable licensed to drive on an errand in Hove.

  Clara unravelled her scheme to him; listening to it again, she had to admit there were some uncomfortable holes in its structure, but the rough outline was sound enough. It needed tweaking and honing, but with a little work she was sure it could be successful and, ultimately, she would not really be breaking the law, as the Earl of Bristol was fully up for the plan.

  The inspector’s scowl grew deeper as he listened and the way he drew down the edges of his mouth in a stern line did not inspire confidence, but Clara soldiered on doggedly. When she was done, she paused and awaited his first question.

  “When I said continue to work with Brilliant Chang, this was not what I meant,” Park-Coombs hissed under his breath.

  His initial shock had made way for cold disbelief and his tone had modified as a result. Clara was at least relieved for that.

  “You said it yourself, none of your superiors are taking an interest in this gang while the only people being harmed are those of a working-class nature. They need their eyes to be opened, to realise that this could affect any of them and any of those people they deem more important,” Clara could not entirely hide the bitterness that crept into her words. Why should a person’s wellbeing and safety be deemed more important because they had a lot of money? Oh, she understood the politics of it all, the way influence and power worked, but from an ethical and moral perspective it made no sense. “The kidnapping of the earl will be the spark your superiors need to cause them to act.”