The air inside was sharp. There was a ripe scent of sweat and the faint iron tang of blood, all mixed with the heat. Men in leather boxing gloves pounded heavy canvas bags. In a makeshift ring at one end of the room two fighters were sparring, landing light blows on each other.
Morley was in front of a mirror, watching himself move quickly. A combination of blows, feet constantly in motion. No one in their right mind would want to be facing those fists, the inspector thought. He waited until the boxer stopped to catch his breath then approached.
‘The bout’s soon, isn’t it?’
‘A week and a half.’ Morley dipped his hands into a bucket of cold water and sluiced it over his head. ‘There’s always bad news when I see you.’
‘Then I’m not going to disappoint you today, Eustace. I need you to come to the station with me.’
‘No,’ the boxer answered. ‘Not until I’ve finished my routine. I have to train.’
‘How long will that be?’
‘Another half an hour or so.’ A smile crossed his face. ‘Unless you want to spar with me?’
The inspector shook his head. ‘I daresay you’d enjoy it, but I wouldn’t.’
‘Pity.’ Morley held up his fists and moved closer. The smile was fixed in place but something had shifted behind his eyes. Harper saw Morley feint, felt the air from a blow that passed too close to his face then a second that stopped a fraction of an inch short of his belly.
‘Very impressive.’ But the boxer was still weaving in front of him, hands up against his face. Ready. Another move and his fist snaked forward and hit the inspector on the chest. Soft, little more than a love tap.
‘This is my place, so it’s my rules,’ Morley said through gritted teeth. ‘You get to fight like a man. That’s what they say, isn’t it?’
‘Is it?’ All around, the sounds of the gym were fading away. No more grunting or sharp yells as people stopped to watch.
The boxer was moving on the balls of his feet, up and down, his hands ready to lash out. One proper blow, one swift, short combination and he’d be on his back. If Morley put his weight behind a shot he’d be out cold.
But he was a police officer. He couldn’t run away.
‘Enough of the games, Eustace,’ he said quietly.
Morley shook his head. ‘Training.’ The hand flew, stopping less than an inch from the inspector’s eye. For a fraction of a second he could see the knuckles so tight they were white. ‘Do you understand?’
‘And you’re good at it.’
‘I am. I’m going to be the best.’ His voice was hoarse, concentrated.
The boxer moved again, his feet fast. Slipping from side to side, coming a little closer, sliding back. His arms were like quicksilver, a rush of darts and jabs that could have connected wherever he chose.
Harper knew he was being slowly pushed back. Much longer and he’d be up against the wall of the gym.
Morley’s knuckles were white, sweat running down his face and chest. Hate filled his face. This was beyond a game. The boxer was breathing hard. There was murder in his eyes. The inspector was trapped. All he could do was edge away, step by slow step.
‘Morley.’
The voice filled the gym, loud and sharp enough to make the man pause and turn his head. Dooley, the owner, rushed through the room, his face set, shirtsleeves rolled up over a pair of thick, hairy arms. ‘For God’s sake, don’t be an idiot. You don’t mess with a copper like that.’ He slapped the boxer’s face hard and pushed him away.
Morley shook his head as if he was coming out of a daze. Maybe that’s what it was, Harper thought. A killing trance.
‘I was just showing him what I do.’
‘You’re a boxer, not a bloody fairground act.’ Dooley was yelling, still pushing Morley away until he was against the wall on the far side of the gym. Around him, men were working once more, punching at the bag and each other as if nothing had happened. The excitement was over, everything was back to normal.
Very slowly, Harper let out a long breath. It had been close. Another minute … He stuck his hands in his trouser pockets to hide the shaking. He’d never seen anything like that. It was as if some switch had been turned and changed the man. He’d become something that wasn’t quite human, but still with enough control, enough sense, enough power to destroy him with a few blows.
Dooley was still talking to Morley, his mouth close to the man’s face, his voice too low now to catch.
Finally the owner turned and marched across to the inspector.
‘I’m sorry about that.’ Dooley shook his head. ‘His mind’s too much on the fight.’
‘It doesn’t matter,’ Harper lied. ‘No damage done.’
‘Once he gets something in his head he can’t turn off easily. Never been able to. It’s what makes him so good, really.’ He grimaced. ‘What do you want with him, anyway? He needs all the time he can get here.’
‘I need to take him down to the station. More questions.’
Dooley sighed with exasperation. ‘Can’t it wait?’
‘No.’ And definitely not now, he thought.
‘If you have to, then.’ The man sighed again. ‘Don’t worry. He won’t give you any trouble now.’
‘Thank you.’ There was real gratitude in his words.
The two men set to trail Morley followed them through town. For the first time Harper was glad to have criminals close behind him.
Morley seemed brighter, alert, acting as if nothing had happened. Had he really gone to some strange place in his head? Or was he sly, far cleverer than the inspector had imagined? He’d stopped just shy of assault, no more than a hair’s breadth short. Now he was talking easily, all the intensity and violence vanished. The talk ranged over the weather, the upcoming fight, all the money that had been bet on him.
People on the pavement saw him coming and moved aside. The boxer didn’t even appear to notice. At Millgarth he pushed the doors open and entered as casually as if it was his own home.
‘You make a very good liar,’ Harper said when they were settled in the room. A constable stood by the door, the biggest man Tollman had been able to find. It was at times like this that he really missed Billy Reed. The man would have made Morley talk, by hook or by crook.
‘About what?’ The boxer looked bemused. He sat with one leg crossed over another and lit a cigarette. ‘What do you mean, lies?’
‘How many red-haired men do you know?’
‘One or two, I suppose.’ He shrugged. ‘Charlie Gilmore. I knew his brother a bit. I’ve never thought about it. Why?’
‘How about someone called Lamb?’
Morley shook his head. ‘Doesn’t ring a bell.’
‘Small scar near his eye.’
‘No.’
‘He used to be a boxer.’
‘Not around here,’ the man said. ‘I’d have heard of him.’
‘Perhaps you should have. He’s the one who murdered your friends.’ Harper watched the man’s face very closely. Just a tilt of his head in curiosity.
‘Have you arrested him?’
‘Not yet.’
‘I don’t see how any of this makes me a liar.’ Morley was smiling genially.
‘Because I think you know him.’
The boxer shook his head. ‘The first I’ve heard is what you just told me.’
‘What would you do if you found him?’
‘I’d kill him.’ He made the promise matter-of-factly.
‘Pity you didn’t do it when you had the chance, then.’
‘What chance? I’ve just told you, I’ve never heard of the man.’ His voice started to rise, fingers gripping the arm of the chair. ‘I know I’ve never bloody met him.’
‘Like I said, Eustace, you’re a good liar.’ Harper stood and walked towards the door. ‘We’ll carry on in a while.’ To the constable he said, ‘Keep your eye on him.’
Kendall had gone out; the office was empty. He asked Tollman if the copper had returned from the station w
ith Lamb’s file. Not yet; the train was due in ten minutes.
Let Morley wait a little longer, he decided. Allow his anger to build. Harper wanted to take a look at the file on Lamb and see if there was any connection.
The small café at the market was almost empty, the traders busy at their pitches, shouting their wares as the crowds moved around. The inspector sat with a cup of tea, all too aware of the minutes ticking by and the shadow of the detective from the Yard hanging over them. Growing larger every second. And here he was, doing nothing.
But sometimes you needed to spend a little time to gain much more.
Once he had the chance to learn about Lamb he hoped he’d have the ammunition to pry more out of Morley. If there was anything to learn. The boxer could have been telling the truth. It was becoming impossible to tell. He’d give it a few more minutes of questioning.
Things were moving, he was certain of that. It was all too slow, though. Annabelle had helped, but he couldn’t pin his hopes on the idea she might be able to do more.
A quarter of an hour passed. He pushed the empty cup aside and idled on his way back to Millgarth. A thick folder was waiting on his desk.
Amos Kenneth Lamb, known as Red Lamb. Thirty-three years old. Six feet tall, thirteen stone and five pounds. He’d started out with a gang on Oxford Road, making his name as a hard man. Tried his hand as a boxer in his early twenties; he’d won three and lost eight before giving it up as a bad job.
There was much more detail, fleshing out the bones Inspector Clark had given him.
Lamb had received a few small convictions when he was young, enough for the police to keep an eye on him. Once he’d grown, though, he’d proved impossible to convict. The old, old story: people too afraid to testify against a big, violent man.
But intelligent, too. He’d run this and that for other bosses and made a success of everything he did. He thought ahead. He anticipated problems and difficulties and worked out ways around them. For the last six years he’d sold his different talents to the highest bidder, keeping himself in the background but always dangerous.
The last note had been written two months earlier. Nothing more than a sighting in a beerhouse on Deansgate.
That chimed with what the Manchester policeman had told him on the telephone. What had made Lamb come to Leeds? Had someone told him there were opportunities here? He’d managed a great deal in such a short time. The man definitely had brains, the inspector thought. Just two months in Leeds? No wonder the police didn’t know about him. But someone did. Someone was helping him.
‘Let’s try this again, Mr Morley. Three wins, eight losses.’
‘What?’ At least it caught his attention before he sneered. ‘If that’s a fight record it’s a walking disaster.’
‘Not in your class?’
He snorted. ‘Not even close.’
‘That was what Lamb did as a boxer.’
‘I hope he’s retired. He’ll be lucky to have any brains left after that. But I’ve still never heard of him.’
He still had nothing to tie Morley to Lamb. The man in front of him was no more a fool than Lamb himself.
‘He’s been in Leeds for two months.’
‘So?’ He shrugged. ‘It’s not like we’re short of people here, is it?
Harper was about to say more when the door opened and Tollman appeared, giving an urgent nod.
Annabelle was standing by the front desk, with Mary sitting up in her carriage, gazing around in wonder. ‘The Cobourg Arms,’ Annabelle said breathlessly. Her faced was blotched and pink, a film of sweat on her upper lip. ‘He was there until yesterday.’
‘Lamb?’ he asked quickly and she nodded.
‘Mrs Ingram, the landlady, sent me a message. I told her who you were looking for and she knew him right off. I came running over here.’
So close now, the inspector thought. Close enough to smell the bastard.
‘Did she know where he was going?’ He wouldn’t be leaving Leeds. Not yet.
‘He told her he had business in town and he needed to be closer.’
Harper turned towards Tollman. He was standing behind the counter, listening intently.
‘I want every officer on the beat asking at rooming houses. They should already be covering the hotels,’ he ordered. ‘We’re looking for a big man, copper hair, with a scar on his temple. He’ll probably be calling himself Lamb. I need them all checked today.’
‘Yes, sir.’ The sergeant hurried off to pass the command.
From the corner of his eye the inspector saw Wharton pass, gazing silently at the scene.
‘You’ve managed more than me,’ he told Annabelle with a smile.
‘I told you, never underestimate women.’
‘You were right,’ he admitted. ‘She won’t say anything to any of Archer or Gilmore’s men?’
Annabelle gave him a pitying look. ‘I told you, Tom, women have been keeping secrets from men for as long as we’ve been on earth.’
He kissed her softly. Never mind that it was in public. ‘Thank you,’ he whispered.
‘Well, we don’t need a London detective cluttering up the city, do we? Come on,’ she told Mary, ‘wave bye-bye to your da.’ He held the door for them. As she passed, Annabelle whispered in his good ear: ‘Now go and catch him.’
‘Are you going to keep me here all day?’ Morley complained when he returned.
‘And all night if I have to.’ Harper paced around the room. He didn’t have time to play these games. He needed something now.
The boxer lit another cigarette, the smoke sitting in a cloud below the ceiling. The room was hot and airless, uncomfortable. Tempers frayed easily in a place like this. And that was when the truth leaked out.
‘What you mean is you can’t prove a thing.’ He smirked.
‘I will, Eustace. And that’ll be the end of your career. Unless Charlie Gilmore or George Archer get hold of you first. Then you’ll be dead.’
‘They like to see me fight.’
‘Happen they’ll watch as you fight for your life, then.’
‘I don’t believe a word of it. Neither will they.’
‘We’ll see, Mr Morley.’ Harper raised a hand for the constable. ‘Take him down to the cells.’
‘You can’t bloody well do that!’ the boxer protested.
‘Watch me.’
He went searching through the station. Wharton had gone out. Ash was in the office, filling out a report.
‘Come with me,’ Harper told him.
TWENTY-ONE
‘Where are we going, sir?’
‘The Cobourg Arms.’ They pounded along the pavement, eating up the distance. ‘We’ve had a tip. Found anything on Lamb?’
‘You’d think he’d never existed from the looks I’ve had.’
‘Do you believe them?’ Harper turned up Woodhouse Lane, the sergeant at his side, easily keeping pace with his long legs.
‘The thing is, sir, I do.’
The Cobourg Tavern dominated the corner of Claypit Lane. Dirty brick, clean windows, a proudly donkeystoned step at the front. Harper pushed open the door and walked in.
A woman assessed him from behind the bar, arms folded across her chest. She was perhaps just the young side of forty, with a few strands of grey in her dark hair. Not heavy, but definitely firm. Brassy, strong.
‘Well, I know Fred.’ Her eyes twinkled. ‘That means you must be Annabelle’s husband. She came and told you, then?’
‘Hello, Nellie,’ Ash said, a faint flush of embarrassment crossing his face. ‘How are you?’
‘Right as rain, luv.’ Her eyes turned back to Harper. ‘I can see why she married you. I might be tempted meself if I was a few years younger.’ Then she laughed, a throaty, husky sound before her face became serious again. ‘You want to know about Ken Lamb.’
Normally he’d have loved all this, the back and forth. Now all he felt was the breath of next week on his neck.
‘Whatever you can tell me,’ he assured
her.
‘He moved on yesterday, like I told your missus. Said he needed to be close to town, as if five minutes’ walk isn’t near enough. Here nearly a week, paid by the day.’
‘Was he out all night at all?’
She shook her head. ‘Always in before closing time. I lock the doors when I’ve turfed everyone out from the bar and I don’t unlock them until morning.’
‘Did he say much? Did you talk to him?’
‘I always try. Some of them can be a right laugh, the salesmen and them as stop here regularly. Mr Lamb was polite enough but he didn’t want much conversation.’
‘Did he come in the bar for a drink much, Nellie?’ Ash asked. ‘Have a word with someone, maybe?’
‘I suppose he spent a bit of time down here,’ she replied. ‘Can’t say as I saw him with anyone, mind. But once it’s busy you don’t have time to look.’ She glanced at Harper. ‘Your Annabelle would know what I mean.’
‘Is there anything you can think of about him?’ the inspector asked. ‘Something he might have said, or done?’
‘Not really.’ She bit her lower lip. ‘He’s the kind of guest everyone likes. No trouble, pays on time. But as soon as he’s gone you forget he was ever there.’
Not a bad talent for a criminal, Harper thought. ‘He had a scar.’
‘Right enough.’ She nodded. ‘I asked him about it. All he’d tell me was that he’d had an accident when he was young.’
‘If you remember anything else …’
‘I’ll send word, don’t you worry. I will tell you one thing before you go, though.’
‘What’s that?’ he asked with interest.
‘I hope you realize what a treasure you’ve got in Annabelle. If I hear you’ve been messing her around, I’ll give you what for.’
He grinned. ‘There’s no danger of that. Thank you for your help.’
As they were leaving she called out, ‘And Fred, don’t be a stranger.’
‘A stranger?’ Harper asked with a lopsided grin as they walked back along Woodhouse Lane. ‘Fred? Nellie?’
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