The Cowboy's Crime

by Evelyn James

  David rubbed his sleeve over his eyes, drying them roughly.

  “Then, a letter came that said my mother had died. The doctors said it was her heart. The heart Rudi’s death had broken. My old fury returned, and I had to do something. What was left for me, after all? A life of selling coffee? I had spent all my adult days acting for my brother’s benefit, I had no other purpose, how could I stop now?” David looked at Clark, beseeching him to understand. The cowboy simply nodded for him to go on. “By then I had collected a few other relics of your past. I was going to confront you with them, shock you into remembering. That night when I came into your tent, that was the start. I dressed up like the outlaw whose knife it was, to help trigger your memory. I thought it would work, I really did.”

  David suddenly stopped and took a huge gulp of air.

  “I never meant to kill Gung-Ho, I am so sorry about that,” he started to weep afresh. “I just meant to pretend to go for him, I thought you would lunge and stop me, but in the half-light, I mistimed my stab and he moved his head. I plunged it into him, I… I…”

  Torn with guilt, David hid his head in his hands and folded forward to try to hide from them all.

  “I might have even believed him, had he not started to lasso people’s necks,” Polly said coldly.

  “And you pushed Gung-Ho out of the tent and over the cliff,” Tommy pointed out.

  David managed to catch his breath.

  “I panicked. I was trying to buy myself time,” David said. “I didn’t realise Clark had lost his memory of what I had done until later.”

  “And what about me?” Polly demanded, pointing a finger at herself.

  David shrugged, his horror for killing Gung-Ho was not transferred to his assault on Polly.

  “Once I started, I thought I should continue. They had called a doctor in to help Clark remember,” David pointed a finger at Clara. “If I could just put enough pressure on Clark, then Maven would have to agree for him to have further treatment. I only meant to scare you Polly. You struggled with the rope a lot more than I expected.”

  “Somehow, I do not feel appeased by that,” Polly sneered.

  “And was the gun meant for me?” Mary asked, her stare frightening.

  “It was, but as Clara said, her intervention made it hard to reach you and it seemed a better idea to throw suspicion off myself. If I was attacked too, then I clearly could not be responsible.”

  Mary grunted her displeasure.

  “And how was this all to end?” The inspector asked.

  “I had The Mexican’s hat. It still bore the hole the bullet tore through it, the one that killed him. I was going to confront Clark with it,” David’s attention was back on the old cowboy. “I just wanted you to remember! I wanted you to know how you hurt me!”

  Clark’s face was sympathetic, but that was all. He still recalled nothing about the unfortunate Rudi.

  “Well, that’s enough for me,” Park-Coombs stepped forward and nudged David to his feet. “I’ll be charging you with assault, at the very least.”

  David said nothing as the inspector escorted him from the tent. Polly and Mary were casting him dangerous looks that suggested it was wisest he go into police custody.

  “I’ll be damned,” Clark said at last.

  “This was never your fault,” Mary told him stoutly, then she encouraged him to his feet, and they left as well.

  Polly followed, looking angrier still at the sight of Mary clutching the cowboy’s arm.

  “That was a bizarre one,” Tommy remarked.

  Clara was only half-listening; she had glanced at her watch.

  “Good lord, how the time has gotten on! I have a pageant to prepare for!”

  Tommy chuckled as she raced out of the tent.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Clara spent far more time than she would normally consider appropriate selecting an outfit for the pageant. She was worried about looking out of place among so many members of the nobility – a concern that did not usually occur to her, but that evening she was anxious about the whole affair and it was deflected into her choice of dress.

  Annie appeared at the door of her bedroom and gave Clara a long look.

  “I prefer the black dress with the silver detail,” she said.

  Clara was wearing a red dress that she had bought a few years ago. She had already noted it was looking a little tight on her, accentuating her curves a little more than she liked.

  “I’ve grown fat, Annie.”

  Annie pulled a stern face.

  “I shall not hear such nonsense, Clara Fitzgerald, you are a lovely feminine shape, not like these boy-like women with no bosom and hips to speak of.”

  Annie had put her hands firmly on her hips, all the better to glare at Clara for suggesting such a heinous thing. Such talk could lead to the ominous word ‘fasting’ and Annie did not hold with such a sin against her cooking.

  Clara patted her stomach, which was one of the curves being over-emphasised by the dress.

  “Stop it and put on the black one,” Annie declared firmly. “I always thought that red dress racy, anyway. Besides, that hemline is completely out-of-date.”

  Clara glanced down at the skirt of the dress, which was just skimming her ankles. Hems were certainly higher these days, but she thought she might have gotten away with it.

  Annie plucked the black dress from the wardrobe. Clara had overlooked it because it was not as grand as the red dress. She thought it might look a little subdued, even with the silver detail which caught the light and sparkled.

  “What if it is too drab, Annie?”

  “Among lords and ladies, reserved is refined,” Annie told her. She pressed the dress into Clara’s hands. “Why are you so worried, anyway? They are only people with money, just the same as people without money in all the fundamental ways.”

  Clara smiled at this typical example of Annie’s common sense. She wished she could have explained it was not so much the people that were worrying her, it was the reason she had been invited to this pageant in the first place. She kept thinking about how the news of the earl’s kidnapping would be broadcast to the gathering and how she must appear surprised. While it helped to know the inspector was aware of what was to happen and her involvement, she still felt this terrible guilt about the deception she was pulling on her friends. Especially Captain O’Harris, for she had asked him to accompany her to the pageant under false pretences. Admittedly it would be pleasurable to have his company, but she was surely using him just a little?

  All these thoughts racing through Clara’s head had made her glum and Annie had noticed.

  “You don’t have to go,” she said. “Just because someone has invited you, you can always say something came up.”

  “No, I should be there,” Clara smiled gently, not elaborating on what she meant. “You are right, the black dress will be much better.”

  Annie seemed mildly consoled.

  “Just don’t let me hear anything about you skipping pudding, or similar antics,” she told her. “It would break my heart.”

  Annie briefly squeezed Clara’s hand and it was almost as if she knew what was going to happen that night, but she could not possibly, and it had to be a coincidence.

  After she had left the room, Clara held the black dress up to herself in the mirror and made a decision.

  ~~~*~~~

  O’Harris collected her in his car, driven by the loyal and ever reliable Jones. His eyes expanded as he saw Clara step out her front door and his smile grew into a grin of delight.

  “You look beautiful,” he said, taking Clara’s hand to escort her to the car.

  “You don’t look so bad yourself.”

  The captain was dashing in a suit and shirt, turned out with the finesse of a soul used to these sorts of engagements. Clara felt awkward in her unfamiliar dress and heels, while the captain seemed to be taking their adventure all in his stride.

  In the car, the captain made small talk and Clara trie
d to join in, but she was tense with nerves and found it hard to string a decent sentence together.

  “I heard you solved the cowboy case?”

  “Yes, I believe I have. All very strange, in its way, but then these things always are. People kill for the most remarkable of reasons.”

  “I wonder what makes a person cling to revenge for so long? Letting it fester inside,” O’Harris mused.

  “I think it’s a sort of addiction, a way of carrying on when all else is lost.”

  “What a curious thought, but then I see all manner of strange things at the home on a daily basis, so why should I be surprised?” O’Harris was thoughtful for a moment and the conversation stalled.

  Clara could not think of anything to fill the gap, her mind a blank of appropriate conversation starters.

  “I have offered assistance to Clark, if he wants it. Dr Vincent is prepared to go back and see him again,” O’Harris finally said.

  “Has he agreed?” Clara asked, glad to let O’Harris do the talking.

  “I think he is going to refuse,” O’Harris shrugged. “I have this impression that he has decided what he has forgotten is not worth remembering.”

  “That’s rather sad,” Clara sighed.

  “His choice,” O’Harris glanced at her then reached out for her hand. “Are you all right?”

  “I’m nervous,” Clara admitted.

  “Well! That has got to be a first!”

  The humour of his statement made Clara start to chuckle and she felt an instant release of her tension.

  “That’s better,” O’Harris grinned.

  They arrived at the pavilion which was lit by many lanterns and candles in elaborate holders. The committee had not got around to raising the funding to install full electricity in the building, and there was endless debate if they even should, considering the potential damage it might do to the walls and ceiling. Besides, on a night like this, it did look spectacular in the candlelight – slightly otherworldly and serene.

  As they walked up the path and entered the warm atmosphere of the party, Clara felt her nerves evaporate. O’Harris obtained them a glass of champagne each, and though Clara was not a big drinker, she was happy to sip at the alcohol and observe the other guests. She wondered who they all were. She knew that several earls, a duke and even a baron had been invited, but how many had decided to trek to Brighton for this gathering was debatable. She scanned the crowd for familiar faces, but there was no one she knew and that was a relief.

  A band had been hired and they began to play music for the first dance. O’Harris offered his arm to Clara and she gladly accepted. Absorbed by the music and busy remembering the steps, Clara had no time to wonder if the Earl of Bristol had been kidnapped already and what Chang planned to do next.

  It was not until close to midnight that her thoughts were sharply brought back to the reason she was there. The clocks in the pavilion had struck the quarter hour before twelve and the party was just getting into its stride, when there was a crashing sound and several women screamed.

  Clara spun around, having been in the middle of a dance with O’Harris and saw that a brick had been flung through one of the pavilion windows and had landed among the dancers. Several people had been showered with glass, but luckily no one had been hit by the brick.

  Clara’s instant response was outrage.

  “How dare they!” She cried out loud and several people near to her stopped and looked in her direction. “That glass is two hundred years old! And they’ve smashed it!”

  In her fury, and having taken on her pavilion committee persona, all Clara could think about was finding Brilliant Chang and demanding to know what he thought he was doing breaking the windows of the pavilion. Notions of gang trouble had been quite swept from her mind.

  Fortunately, not everyone was thinking about antique glass. One of the guests had noticed something tied to the brick and had picked it up.

  “I say, it’s a ransom note,” he declared to the crowd. “It says the Earl of Bristol has been kidnapped on his way here.”

  “Oh no, not Bertie?” Shrieked a woman.

  There was a murmur among the crowd, everyone suddenly worried.

  “Says they want £10,000 for him, or they will kill him!” The man with the note read on.

  A rotund man in a grey suit and with a face like thunder pushed through the guests and grabbed the note. His surly manner was offset by an air of authority. He read the paper carefully and then gave a low growl.

  “Someone go summon Inspector Park-Coombs and I want the grounds searched for the person behind this thrown brick. Don’t we have security here?”

  Clara had almost considered staying out of the whole affair but, of course, that was not how she would normally behave, and as she was aiming to appear as natural as possible, she decided she ought to be her usual nosy self. She gave O’Harris an apologetic look and he winked at her, before she walked over to the burly man.

  “Excuse me?”

  “Madam, I have matters to deal with, I can’t talk right now,” the gentleman told her.

  Clara braced herself.

  “I am Clara Fitzgerald, private detective and also pavilion committee member. I am deeply concerned that such a thing has taken place under the auspices of an event the committee gave their blessing to,” she nudged a fragment of glass by her foot. “Also, this is a blatant work of vandalism.”

  “My dear,” the stout man said, and there was no doubting now the sneer in his tone. “This is not the time to be worrying about broken glass. We have a kidnapping to attend to.”

  “And may I ask exactly who you are to be taking charge of this situation,” Clara demanded, not cowed by his manner.

  The large man raised himself up a little, which only had the effect of making his double chin more noticeable. He probably was attempting to give himself more gravitas.

  “I am the Chief Constable of the Sussex Constabulary, does that answer your question?”

  Clara could not hide her astonishment. It had never occurred to her during the planning of this crime that a high-ranking police officer might be present at the party. After her initial shock, she realised this was a fortuitous opportunity.

  “It does, thank you,” she said. “But it does not change my concern about this affair. Who would kidnap the earl?”

  The chief constable looked annoyed at her continued questions, but he also was at a loss as to what to do until the inspector arrived. People were searching the grounds, for what good that might do, and the other guests had retreated to the buffet tables to console themselves. No one seemed particularly troubled now that the cause for the drama had been revealed.

  “This note is signed by a Jao Leong. Sounds foreign,” he said, looking belligerent. “Makes sense, no British criminal would stoop to kidnapping a member of the nobility.”

  “Chief Constable, you are aware that a new gang has arrived in Brighton and have been causing problems?”

  “You are linking these two things?” The chief constable snorted. “I’ve read the reports on this gang. They are just thugs making a nuisance of themselves among the back streets.”

  Captain O’Harris had drifted over at this point and had heard the chief constable’s dismissal of the gang problem.

  “Actually, they have brutally attacked several people, including an innocent ex-serviceman who tried to intervene when he witnessed a woman being stabbed.”

  “Well that was foolish of him,” the chief constable declared. “No, I imagine this is the work of some insane anarchist. They are getting everywhere.”

  Clara was beginning to see why Park-Coombs had had so much trouble getting resources to deal with the gang situation in Brighton. Her sympathies went out to the inspector. She was about to say something more, when the man himself appeared through the doors of the pavilion. After briefly glancing around, he spotted the chief constable and came over.

  “That was swift, Inspector,” the chief constable observed.


  “I happened to be passing,” Park-Coombs lied smoothly. Clara guessed he had been watching the pavilion from a quiet spot all night, awaiting his moment to arrive. “Something has happened?”

  The chief constable showed him the note.

  “This is horrendous, Inspector! It must be dealt with at once!”

  “Well Sir,” Park-Coombs replied, “had you taken heed of my reports concerning the gang trouble in Brighton and issued me with the resources I asked for this might never have happened.”

  Clara was amazed by the inspector’s forthright tone, the chief constable seemed taken aback too.

  “Why, I…”

  “Jao Leong, according to my sources, is the leader of this new gang,” Park-Coombs said. “She is arrogant and dangerous. She thinks she is now in charge of the town.”

  “She?” The chief constable blinked. “Surely you are not suggesting a woman is behind this?”

  “I most certainly am,” Park-Coombs replied. “I feared something like this might be brewing. She is trying to make the police look weak and, quite frankly, she is not doing a bad job.”

  “Why haven’t you stopped her?” The chief constable barked.

  “I told you, Sir, you refused to allow me the extra manpower and resources. She has armed men at her disposal. To go in with just a couple of coppers would be to send men to their deaths.”

  The chief constable looked stunned, he seemed unable to grasp that one person, a woman no less, could be such a threat.

  “You need resources to fetch the earl? Fine! I shall have the army summoned to help,” he blustered. “But can you rescue him, Inspector? Can you?”

  Park-Coombs smiled.

  “I can. I might not have been able to stop Leong, but I have been gathering information on her. I know where her headquarters are. Get her and we shall get the earl.”

  “Then do it man! I want her arrested and her gang crushed!” The chief constable had gone red in the face. “Do you understand?”

  Park-Coombs flicked his gaze briefly to Clara and the delight in his eyes was not hard to see.

  “I do, Sir, I do.”