The Cowboy's Crime

by Evelyn James

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  The arrangements took time, and the impatience of the chief constable was apparent. He put a telephone call through to various colleagues and finally spoke to the right person to secure the attendance of a local military unit, who would support the police. He also rounded up as many extra constables as he was able to and gave authority for the police armoury to be opened and guns to be distributed.

  All this took several hours, and tension mounted as thoughts of the Earl of Bristol held captive leaked into everyone’s mind. Only the inspector seemed to be taking everything in his stride, apparently enjoying seeing his superior so ruffled. Clara was starting to feel better about telling him about the plan.

  In the early hours of the morning, the police and the army departed from the station, heading off to embark on a miniature war. Clara remained with Captain O’Harris, alone in the suddenly empty police station, the only other soul about being the desk-sergeant. Clara sat down on one of the benches in the front foyer and O’Harris joined her. They didn’t speak.

  Now the matter was in action, Clara felt her anxiety rising – what would happen when the inspector reached Jao Leong’s headquarters? There would be violence, for sure. Would any of the police or soldiers be hurt or worse? You didn’t become a policeman with the expectation of someday being stood in a firing line, admittedly there were risks to the job, but most constables were confident they would sail through their time on the force, maybe rise through the ranks and ultimately retire on a humble, but reliable pension. Who would imagine they would be rushing out with guns to fight a battle in a town like Brighton?

  Clara cast her eyes out of the doors of the station. On the horizon the moon had disappeared, and the first hints of dawn were drifting over the rooftops. She wondered where Chang was. He had to be watching the action; he would be primed to release the earl at the appropriate moment.

  O’Harris leaned back his head and closed his eyes. Clara suddenly recalled herself and felt bad that their evening had ended so dramatically, especially as she had known that would be the case.

  “I have to apologise,” she said to O’Harris. “This is not how you expected the evening to go.”

  O’Harris smiled, still with his eyes shut.

  “You could not know the earl was going to be kidnapped.”

  Clara felt her guilty conscience stir and nip at her.

  “No,” she lied. “No, I could not.”

  The hours ticked by. Clara started to feel restless and asked the desk-sergeant if she could make him a cup of tea, she was sure he could do with one and the task had a soothing mundanity to it. After briefly considering if it was fitting to allow a civilian into the back of the police station, even if that civilian was Clara Fitzgerald, the weary desk-sergeant agreed. His nerves were ragged too, as he wondered what was happening out there to his colleagues.

  They drank tea and waited. The sun was fully risen when the sound of vehicles alerted them to the return of the police. Clara felt her heart leap into her throat as the army lorries that had taken everyone to the siege reappeared in the road and deposited policemen.

  Clara found herself looking for the faces she knew, having met virtually all the constables over her time as a private detective, she could usually recognise them even if she did not recall their names. She was somewhat relieved to see that many of the tired faces were smiling and as the police descended from the vans, they were assisted by soldiers to escort a large number of prisoners into the station.

  The parade of captives was like something out of ancient history – like a Roman general bringing his captured enemies home to display to the world. Each burly man was flanked by a pair of escorts, either a policeman and a soldier, or two military men. Several of the prisoners had minor wounds, while a couple had been shot in the arm or leg and were being supported by their captors. The desk-sergeant paled at the number of prisoners and Clara had no doubt he was wondering how they would ever fit them all into the cells.

  Clara kept her eyes peeled for the wounded, but none emerged from the lorries, other than a few constables with scrapes and bruises. That gave her hope. Park-Coombs appeared at the end of the procession and Clara jumped up to meet him.

  “Up to my office,” Park-Coombs said to her before she could speak. “You can come too, Captain.”

  O’Harris nodded his acknowledgement and they both followed the clearly exhausted inspector up the stairs and to his office. He sat down with a groan in his desk chair.

  “Dare I ask how it went?” Clara said, too anxious with anticipation to sit herself.

  Park-Coombs had his eyes closed and was breathing softly.

  “I think we got them all,” he said. “Well, some ran away, no doubt, but the main lot we nabbed. They didn’t expect us, that was for sure.”

  “Was anyone hurt?” Clara asked.

  “Fortunately, the element of surprise kept casualties to a minimum. A few lads took bullets, and when we got inside there was some nasty hand-to-hand, but on the whole it was over with quite quickly. No one was seriously injured, and all the wounded were sent straight to hospital,” the inspector tilted his head. “The soldiers had orders to shoot to kill and I dare say that accounts for some of our success. I hate to admit that was a wise policy. The Chief Constable was adamant that if a man refused to surrender, he should be given no quarter. I don’t hold with such things, it feels against what we stand for as policemen, but perhaps that is why so few of our own were hurt.”

  The inspector sighed.

  “I didn’t join the force for such violence,” his voice was exhausted, and it was plain his nerves, worn down by recent events, had been stretched to their limit. “Turns out the earl wasn’t even there.”

  He opened his eyes and gave Clara a knowing look – his statement had been for the benefit of O’Harris.

  “After the fighting had died down, this boy ran over and passed us a note to say where the earl was being held. The Chief Constable headed over at once and, from what I have heard, they found the earl safe and unharmed.”

  “That’s a relief,” O’Harris said.

  “I think he rather enjoyed himself, in fact,” Park-Coombs raised his eyebrows. “These aristocrats have an odd sense of fun.”

  “And what of Jao Leong herself?” Clara asked. “She was not among your prisoners.”

  “No,” Park-Coombs became serious and leaned across the desk. “And that brings me to a tricky matter. When we got inside, we searched for Jao and we found her in an upper room. She had been shot in the head. The Chief Constable thinks it was a lucky bullet from either a policeman or soldier.”

  “But you are not convinced?” Clara elaborated.

  “Jao was near a window, yes, but would she have been stupid enough to peer out when her headquarters were under siege? Besides, there was something about the scene, I don’t know,” Park-Coombs paused to consider. “I thought the blood that had pooled from her head wound had partially dried. I think she was dead before we attacked.”

  Considering what Clara had recently been told by Jao, she would not be surprised if the woman had found herself betrayed by one of her people. Was it good or bad timing that they had shot her just before the police raid that would mask the crime?

  “The Chief Constable does not want the matter investigated further,” Park-Coombs said miserably. “He is happy to declare she was killed in our siege. That doesn’t rest well with me, but my hands are tied. I need to ask you a favour, Clara.”

  “You want me to look into what happened?”

  “Yes, as best you can. I know it is asking a lot, but there are people out there who will want to know who is responsible for her death.”

  People like Brilliant Chang, Clara thought to herself.

  “I can do that, Inspector,” Clara promised him.

  Park-Coombs looked relieved.

  “Thank you, Clara.”

  Clara gave O’Harris a nudge and motioned they should head off. There was still a lot of w
ork for the inspector to do before he could go home and get some well-earned sleep. Clara was feeling weary herself, she noted she was a touch light-headed as she walked down the stairs and out the station. She was glad to see O’Harris’ car, with Jones dozing behind the steering wheel.

  “One of these days we shall have a night out that doesn’t end in drama,” Clara said to O’Harris as he opened the car door for her.

  “And how boring would that be?” O’Harris grinned.

  ~~~*~~~

  Clara had hoped to sleep for several hours, but she had barely been to bed when raised voices from downstairs woke her. Donning a dressing gown, she hurried down to find that Annie and Tommy were arguing with an irate Brilliant Chang, who was demanding to see Clara. She could guess what had caused him to rush to her house rather than head for his own bed.

  “Chang.”

  “Clara! I must speak with you…”

  Clara held up her hand.

  “I know. Jao is dead,” her words were soft, sympathetic.

  Chang, usually so composed, seemed to crumple under the weight of her kindness. He stumbled back and had Tommy not caught his arm it looked like he would have fallen.

  “I never meant… My sister,” Chang mumbled.

  Clara walked to the bottom of the stairs, so she was level with him.

  “There was always a chance this would happen,” she said.

  “No,” Chang moaned. “No, not like this.”

  “Chang, before your sister died, I saw her at the hospital. She was injured, someone had stabbed her.”

  Chang’s eyes widened.

  “Who did this?”

  “I think Jao was betrayed by her own people, I think someone in her gang shot her and then was lucky enough to have it look like the police did it,” Clara spoke quickly so Chang could not interrupt. “Inspector Park-Coombs has asked me to look into Jao’s death, as the Chief Constable is not allowing him to investigate personally.”

  Chang gave another small groan.

  “I need to know who did this Clara!”

  “I know,” Clara said. “And I shall do my best.”

  Chang swayed on his feet, but he yanked his arm from Tommy’s grasp.

  “I’ll hold you to that,” he told Clara darkly, then spun on his heel and left the house.

  “My goodness!” Annie said. “What happened last night?”

  Clara yawned, too tired to feel threatened by Chang.

  “Park-Coombs led the army to smash the gang that hurt Peterson,” she explained. “And it turns out that Brilliant Chang’s sister was leading the gang. She was killed during the assault. That is pretty much it in a nutshell.”

  “And Chang came here?” Tommy said, his expression stern.

  “Well, he could hardly go to the police,” Clara shrugged. “Now, I am going back to bed.”

  She knew Tommy was not satisfied and that there would be more questions later, but right now she was exhausted, and her soft bed called to her. She headed up the stairs before anyone could ask her more.

  One of the biggest problems in Brighton had been resolved, but what complications had it left in its wake? Clara felt this itch at the back of her mind, a hunch that though Jao was dead, her influence would continue to be felt for a long time as yet.

  She hoped she was wrong.

  But, in any case, right then she was simply too tired to really care. Her bed was warm, and sleep was not far away.

  Whatever new mysteries these events would spark, she could set to work solving them all in the morning.