The Trouble With Tortoises

by Evelyn James

  “Of course,” Chang sounded annoyed. “Where shall I meet you?”

  “The police station in about half an hour?”

  “Fine, I’ll be there.”

  The line went dead. Clara put back the receiver, not relishing dealing with Chang when he was clearly in a foul temper.

  Precisely half an hour later, Clara stepped off the bus and stood before the doors of the police station. She glanced inside, but her hunch was that Chang would wait for her outside rather than go into the lion’s den alone. She was duly proved right when Chang came sauntering down the road a few moments later.

  He had a scowl on his face and his coat collar pulled up high. Sunken into his overcoat and with his head tipped forward he looked disreputable, every inch the gangster he pretended he was not. He stopped before Clara.

  “Can we get this over with?”

  “You look like the world has ended,” Clara said.

  “I have business in London,” Chang replied. “I can’t hang around in this town much longer. I need this matter resolved.”

  “Investigations take time,” Clara told him calmly. “I shan’t be rushed, because I want to make absolutely sure of the truth.”

  “You mean you want to make sure you can convince me Park-Coombs’ goons were not responsible,” Chang sniped.

  “Look, Chang, we are the ones who caused that raid and let’s not forget it,” Clara was fed up with trying to be kind to him. She was sympathetic about his sister’s death and the grief and guilt he was enduring, but only up to a point. “Your sister was hardly an innocent in all this, she made her choices as we made ours.”

  Chang’s scowl deepened, but he did not argue with her further. Perhaps she had hit a nerve, or maybe he finally appreciated what she was saying.

  “Let’s talk to these men and then you can be on your way. I shall keep you updated about how the case is unfolding.”

  “I am not so easy to be rid of,” Chang protested. “I am not going anywhere until I know who killed my sister.”

  “Very well,” Clara said, having to fight back her annoyance. “You can do as you please.”

  They walked into the station and the desk sergeant gave Clara a nod, before taking in Chang. He might have recognised him, or maybe he was simply thinking about the trouble they had had recently with gangs run by Chinese criminals. In any case, his welcoming smile slipped.

  “Inspector Park-Coombs has given me permission to speak with the men arrested in the raid the other night,” Clara said to distract him.

  The desk sergeant dragged his eyes from Chang, though not without reluctance.

  “He mentioned something to me, you really want to speak to them?”

  “I do,” Clara responded. “How many are you holding here?”

  “Six,” the desk sergeant answered. “Cells aren’t allowed more than three in them at a time, well, technically they are only allowed to hold two, but this is unusual circumstances.”

  “How many were sent to the army barracks?”

  “Eight. The inspector kept those men he felt were most important here. And there are five men still in the hospital. Two are not looking so good.”

  “Can we speak to the men held here now?” Clara asked.

  Before the desk sergeant could answer, Chang interrupted.

  “What are their names, the ones you have here?”

  The desk sergeant gave him a sour look, then flicked his eyes back to Clara. She gave him a smile and a nod, so he drew a piece of paper from the shelf beneath his counter.

  “These are their names, can’t promise they are their real ones, of course.”

  He deliberately passed the list to Clara, which made Chang grind his teeth in annoyance. Clara scanned the list, but the names were meaningless to her. She passed the paper to Chang.

  He calmed a little with the paper now in his hand. He read through the names and nodded to himself.

  “I know at least three of them. This name is an alias and I know the man who uses it. The others I may know, when I see their faces.”

  If the desk sergeant had been suspicious before, he was doubly so now. He gave Clara a troubled look.

  “The inspector knows about this,” she whispered, hoping he was reassured.

  The desk sergeant frowned but said nothing.

  “Well, let’s speak with these fellows,” Clara nudged Chang.

  He grunted his acquiescence and returned the list of names to the desk sergeant.

  “You know the way to the holding cells?” the desk sergeant asked unnecessarily. “Will you need one of the interview rooms?”

  “Thank you, it might be an idea to have an interview room available.”

  “You’ll need someone with keys to get the men in and out of the cells. Just give me a moment.”

  The desk sergeant walked to the open doorway behind him to call through to the next room.

  “I don’t want a policeman present,” Chang hissed to Clara.

  “We shall ask them to stay to one side,” Clara promised him. “But we may need to separate out some of these people to get them to talk. They won’t want to speak freely with the others listening.”

  “They will when they see I am the one asking questions,” Chang declared with grand arrogance.

  Clara refrained from reminding him that these men had already betrayed him once and switched to working for his sister. The only reason they might talk was if they thought it would put them in better standing with him, and even then, it was questionable if they would betray their comrades.

  The desk sergeant returned and behind him was Constable Stevenson, one of the younger members of the force. Annie had once referred to him as a schoolboy in a uniform. Stevenson grinned at Clara, glad to be away from his desk and filling in endless reports. At least he would be easy enough to ask to keep back from the cells, Stevenson was still at a stage in his life where he obeyed what others told him without thinking, as long as they happened to be older than him. He was very quick to do as Clara said and Tommy had hinted that the poor constable might have a slight crush on her. Clara was ignoring that possibility.

  With Chang and the constable in tow, she headed down a corridor to the holding cells.

  “We are going to have a quiet word with these men,” Clara told Stevenson just before they turned the corner. “Depending on how it goes, we may want to speak to them separately. I need you to wait here, out of sight.”

  Stevenson agreed keenly and stood as if a guard at attention before the wall. Clara headed around the corner trying not to smirk to herself.

  “Hideously naïve,” Chang complained of Stevenson.

  “Maybe, but he will shape up into a good policeman,” Clara replied, keeping her voice low. “The world is not all about cynicism and mistrust.”

  “Only naïve fools say that,” Chang snapped.

  “You really are in a temper,” Clara chided him.

  Chang snorted, but did not respond as they had reached the cells.

  The police cells were old-fashioned and usually empty. They consisted of thick stone walls with open frontages divided up by sturdy iron bars. Inserted in each was a metal door. Inside there were two long beds that folded down from the wall and had no mattress. The men in each of the cells were grim-faced and hardly keen for visitors. Clara could see at once that she would get nowhere with them; they were not the sort to talk to people freely. She was glad she had brought Chang.

  As he came into sight of the men and caught their eye, they stiffened. It was odd to see each man sit up a little taller and tense, as if someone had just sent a tiger pacing towards them. They had gone from surly indignation to anxious silence in seconds.

  “Hello chaps,” Chang grinned at them, but it was a shark’s grin, the sort you see right before it takes a bite from you. “Fancy meeting you here.”

  No one responded, though, if it were possible, it seemed as if the men became stiffer still. One man’s eyes were so wide Clara could see the whites all around his pupils
.

  “Just thought I would stop by for a chat,” Chang continued. “Seeing how we are old friends and all.”

  He glanced from face to face.

  “Robinson, how is your wife these days?”

  Robinson was a man in the nearest cell, the one whose eyes had grown alarmingly wide. He seemed unable to form a reply, he opened his mouth but gagged on the words, ending up making gulping noises instead.

  “Robinson was my driver,” Chang turned to Clara conversationally. “He was a very good driver, but apparently he aspired to greater things. So, he betrayed me.”

  The words were said in a cheery voice, utterly light-hearted as if Chang had merely mentioned the weather or what he fancied for supper. That made the comment infinitely more disturbing and Clara felt a chill run down her spine despite Chang’s repressed fury not being directed at her.

  “What do you want, Chang?” A voice growled from the far cell.

  Chang turned his head.

  “Ah, Bobby Jones, I saw you gave the police your wonderfully dull alias of Percy Smith.”

  Bobby Jones was a tall man with a completely bald head. He was powerfully built, and could easily have topped six foot when standing, though right at that instant he was sitting on a bed. He had both hands clutching tight to the edge of his seat and his knuckles were white from the strain. The look on his face was murderous and Clara was glad there were thick bars between Chang and the man. Bobby Jones did not look repentant or scared like Robinson. He looked furious.

  “My bet is you had a hand in tipping off the police to where we were,” Bobby Jones growled. “Don’t ask me how you achieved it, only I hear they are setting us up on kidnapping charges.”

  “Among others,” Chang replied pleasantly. “Bobby, I am here because my sister is dead, and I want to know who killed her.”

  “The police, that is obvious,” Bobby Jones answered him.

  “And then again…” Chang raised a finger as if about to point some detail out, instead he turned to Clara. “Might you explain to them why you think my sister was killed by someone who was part of her own gang?”

  Clara heard a gasp from the other cell, it was muffled, but someone had been startled by the words – was it because of guilt or surprise? She followed Chang’s lead, even if she had been starting to feel happier in the background.

  “Mr Mac,” she said, deciding to use polite formality as a shield. “Jao Leong’s death appears suspicious for a number of reasons, not least that it was very odd she was stood by an open window on a bitterly cold day while outside there was a gun battle raging.”

  “Maybe she wanted to get a better look,” Bobby Jones shrugged.

  “That seems unlikely,” Clara said. “There would have been no need to open the window, but, even if we conclude she did do that, the murder of her bodyguard right outside her door seems to suggest someone was coming for her, using the cover of the shootout to murder Leong.

  “I know that Leong had already suffered one attempt on her life. I met her at the hospital shortly before she died, and she told me one of her people had stabbed her. She was lucky the wound was not fatal. It would seem with his next attempt, the perpetrator made sure of his work.

  “The bodyguard was shot at close range in the back of the head. He could not have been shot during the shootout as he was found in a corridor with no windows. No, someone came up to him, someone he trusted enough to turn his back on, and they shot him in the head.”

  “Police did it,” Bobby Jones answered smoothly. “Just as they shot Jao. Whether it was from the ground or when they were stood beside her, they did it all the same.”

  Chang gave a creaking laugh. It obviously rattled Bobby, though he regained his composure swiftly.

  “Bobby, my friend, how long have I known you? I did not think you so dense,” Chang’s smile was more wicked, more haunting than a look of rage. “My sister died unarmed. Do you understand? She had no gun on her. I have been assured of this. Now, if the police were at her door, do you not think my sister would have picked up a gun and taken as many of them down as she could before they got her?”

  “Not that I think it would have gone that far,” Chang continued. “My sister would have had an escape route. Of that I am certain. Yet she did not use it, no, I think my sister was taken by surprise, by someone she knew and trusted. That was why she had no gun. She was not planning on shooting things out with the police. If they got into the house, she was going to escape to fight another day. That is exactly what I would have done.”

  “Jao didn’t trust anyone,” Bobby rumbled, as if that threw the whole of Chang’s statement into question.

  Chang merely smiled.

  “Listen, here is how things are. I want to know who killed my sister and if I have to kill every single member of her former gang to make sure I have avenged her assassination, I will. You lot, after all, betrayed me,” he cast his eyes over them all, making sure they were all listening. “But there is still a chance to make a deal with me. All you have to do, is talk.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  Silence followed Chang’s statement, but the eyes of six caged men bore into him. Decisions were being made. Risks calculated. Options assessed.

  “Time rushes by,” Chang made a performance of looking at his watch and considering the time. “I have better things to do.”

  He turned, started to walk past Clara.

  “Mr Chang?”

  It was Robinson who summoned him back. Chang turned with care and studied the man in his cell. There was a coldness to his stare, something that hinted that his mercy was limited, but it was still an option. Robinson looked like a man who has seen his future starkly and it is likely short.

  “Mr Chang, I never meant for all this. I really thought you knew Jao was going to be setting herself up in business. That it was an arrangement, like,” Robinson bleated. “I wasn’t betraying you, not on purpose. Please, have mercy.”

  Chang huffed quietly, unimpressed.

  “I asked if anyone knew who killed my sister, not to hear pathetic excuses,” he growled. “I don’t have time for this, if you won’t talk, maybe I shall see what the men in the hospital have to say. Hanging between life and death can make a man want to clear his conscience, especially when he has found himself on the losing side.”

  Robinson gulped and nearly choked, but it seemed to Clara that he knew nothing about what had happened to Leong. He was too low down in the ranks. He had jumped ship to improve himself, only to end up in the exact same position as he had been with Chang. In honesty, Clara was hardly surprised; she suspected that Leong had been a person prepared to promise great things to get people to do what she wanted, with little intention of ever fulfilling those promises. Once people had betrayed Chang, they were trapped, they could hardly go back, and they would not be welcome in a rival gang. She had used them, and they could do nothing about it, or so it might seem.

  Because someone had made the decision to do something about it. Someone had decided that if their leader was not living up to her promises, then maybe it was time to replace her.

  “I… I was downstairs Chang. It wasn’t me, that’s for sure,” Robinson said, his voice tight with fear. “I was shooting out a window on the ground floor when the police burst in.”

  Chang had narrowed his eyes at his former driver. His temper was fraying. Clara stepped in.

  “Maybe someone could tell us about Miss Leong’s bodyguard?” She said. “Did she have but one?”

  “Freddie Humble,” Bobby Jones had spoken. “He always guarded her apartment door.”

  Chang turned his attention to Bobby again.

  “Freddie’s old mother lives in a flat near the Thames. He always sent her money home.”

  “Yeah, that’s right. So, you know about us, about our ties and bonds,” Bobby grumbled. “You know our weaknesses. You think that gives you an advantage over us?”

  “I know about you all, because I bothered to listen, not because I wanted an advan
tage,” Chang corrected him. “Yes, I was aware of your families, of your situations, but when did I ever use them against you? When you went off with Jao, I could have taken out my wrath on your loved ones, did I? No! In fact, you were all so confident I would not, you were prepared to betray me. In contrast, imagine what my sister would have done with that same information.”

  There was another heavy pause as this was contemplated. Chang nodded to himself.

  “I think what stings the most is that I was decent to you all. I helped you when you needed it, I looked after you, but all you saw was what I had not given you.”

  “Don’t get saintly on us, Chang, that is not you,” Bobby raised his big bald head and his eyes had darkened into shadowy hollows. “You helped us, sure, but you also neglected us. You had your favourites and we were not among them. Resentment doesn’t develop without something to spark it.”

  “And you really thought all your problems would be solved by leaving with my sister?” Chang snarled. Clara was once more primed to intercede.

  “Your sister was at least honest with us. She didn’t treat us like friends and then abandon us.”

  “Then this was all my fault?” Chang laughed. “I should have known! Kindness was always my weakness. Still, I cannot change who I am, and my offer remains open for the moment. Talk to me about my sister, about who wanted to harm her, and I shall pull my usual strings for you. Not a bad deal.”

  “You are asking us to betray each other,” Bobby muttered.

  “That depends if one of you killed her. Besides, you are already proficient at betrayal and this is about saving your necks,” Chang sniffed. “Let’s make things a little more interesting. Since being kind and merciful to your families brought me nothing but scorn, perhaps I shall win a little respect by threatening them. If I am not handed my sister’s killer, I shall take my revenge on every one of your families, is that understood?”

  Clara glanced at Chang, worried by this announcement and not sure if it was a ploy. It was hard to know with Chang just how ruthless he was prepared to be. His former employees seemed equally unsure. Robinson appeared close to having an apoplectic fit.