Foul Trade

by BK Duncan

  Brilliant Chang let one of the sticks fall from his grasp. With a flick of the wrist he set it whirling softly from the end of the chain. A slight straightening of his arm and it increased in speed. Faster and faster until she could feel the displaced air slapping her cheek and hear a sound like a gale through rigging. She broke the spell to look at his face. There was a hard edge to his mouth.

  ‘Tell me, Mr Barley-Freeman. Do you know what violence really is? It is not murdering someone in an alley or fighting with a knife over a spilt drink. It is not killing someone at all - which would be too easy - but to leave them at the mercy of a more lingering fate.’

  Without shifting his gaze, he spoke down to May.

  ‘The Bow Kum Tong are not so well versed in subtlety and failed to understand that with your father.’

  May had felt she was beyond registering any more shocks. But this one electrified her nerve endings. Her spine tingled.

  ‘This quayside should not be witness to any more premature deaths, so I suggest that you take the young girl to safety and alert a policeman before I forget myself and give in to my desire to re-honour my standing in this community. You see, you have slurred me, Mr Barley-Freeman, by letting those who know no better think that I would allow a man to be forced to take cocaine on my premises. It is my philosophy that a drug should be treated with respect and taken with consent - like whisky, do you not think, Miss Keaps? The other way is the work of a thief of life. And I am not a thief. I am a businessman.’

  Alice shuddered in May’s arms and began coughing.

  ‘Take her now. The watchman will be making his way along the quay in the belief that he is about to offer me assistance. Please be so good as to tell him that I would rather he do whatever it is you wish of him. I will see you again, Miss Keaps, in your elegant skirt and blouse, across the courtroom. This man will see me every night in his dreams.’

  He released his fingers and the sticks whirled straight up in the air like a top. They had touched the black above the lamplight before they returned. Brilliant Chang caught them gently as if they were a bird fallen from flight and slid them back into his waistband.

  Chapter Fifty-Three

  May trudged along the street from the railway station on her return from the week’s holiday Braxton Clarke had insisted she take after the conclusion of the inquests on Miles Elliott and Vi Tremins. Alice had been kept in hospital under observation for three days. After she’d got home and they’d had a series of long and tearful heart-to-hearts May had taken her to stay with Aunt Bella and then continued on up the coast, sleeping in cheap guesthouses and walking every footpath she could find. But she hadn’t once been able to outpace her worry over their future.

  Jack Cahill was lounging on her front step. He was the last person May wanted to see. She didn’t feel like engaging in idle chitchat and wanted nothing more than to dump her things and take herself off to the bathhouse for a long soak.

  ‘All that fresh air under those wide skies has done you the power of good, Blossom of May.’

  ‘I thought you’d finally outgrown calling me that.’

  ‘Once a poet, always a poet. Or at least a man with a poet’s soul. I wanted to be the first to tell you the news.’

  She wished he’d move so she could get to the door. But he just sat smoking, an idiotic grin on his face.

  ‘Your man Barley-Freeman’s had the date set for his trial at the Old Bailey. I expect you’ll find your subpoenas waiting on the mat.’

  She pushed him to one side with her thigh; did he really think she’d needed reminding they’d be required as witnesses? May knew it was going to be especially traumatic for Alice and wished her sister could be spared the ordeal. Damn. The key wasn’t in the pocket of her windcheater; it must’ve fallen out in her knapsack. Now she’d have to put up with him for a while longer while she found it.

  ‘His father has engaged a barrage of slick lawyers - Sir Ernest filled me in on them over dinner - but he’ll still hang. And that’s not the only good news.’

  ‘What makes you think I want to hear any more?’

  ‘Because we’re two of a kind, naturally nosey, and deep down you hate the thought of me knowing something you don’t.’

  He’d forced a little smile from her with that one. ‘I suppose the sooner you spit it out, the sooner you’ll get off my doorstep and leave me alone.’

  ‘Uncle Paul was so impressed with my part in the wrapping up of the Miles Elliott case that he’s given me the job of roving crime correspondent for the whole of the East End.’

  May couldn’t be bothered to argue about how Jack had done little more than confirm some facts before she’d presented them to Braxton Clarke.

  ‘It’s a sop really because he’s got a deal going with the Nationals and wants me to drop my investigation into the gambling dens shenanigans. Although I’m still a little narked at having to hand over my passport to the big time, but rest assured that’ll come in due course. I must say I’m relieved it means I won’t have to look over my shoulder every five minutes for shadow-lurking Chinamen. Which is just as well as I’ve had it up to here,’ Jack chopped the side of his hand on his forehead, ‘with living in the rarefied atmosphere of Hampstead. Give me real people any day. Uncle Paul’s offered an advance on my wages in order I can buy a house in Poplar.’

  May wondered if he’d said that to spare her embarrassment over her own strained circumstances and was really about to be handed the mother of all gifts.

  ‘So that’s what I’ll be up to this afternoon. I’d appreciate any tips you could give me on the best areas.’

  She found the key at last. Should she warn him about the dangers of complacency? The Tong weren’t likely to forget he’d been snooping around the yen-shi den. An image of Brilliant Chang’s smooth smile when he’d acknowledged he was a drug trafficker came into her mind. Instead of being pleased her initial instincts about the suave Chinaman had been right she was unaccountably disappointed in him. She had so wanted to believe he was as noble as his countenance. Would she ever learn not to take people - especially men - at face value?

  Jack finally finished his cigarette and stood up. ‘And I know how badly you feel about what happened to Elizabeth Trow. I did some asking around over the water in Greenwich and it seems the coroner there has indicted a respectable married man and father who confessed in court to losing his temper when he’d been unable to perform. So it was a trick gone wrong, May, and nothing to do with you. I had a word with Uncle Paul and he’s arranged for the Poor Law Guardians to give her son a place at the Training School out in Essex.’

  May felt a stab of gratitude that something good would come out of so much pain; the boy would escape the stigma of the Institution and be taught a trade. He need never return to Poplar which, after all, must hold nothing but bad memories for him now.

  ‘I wrote a rather good article, even if I say so myself, about the whole Barley-Freeman business. Happened to mention in passing that you were the brightest and most diligent coroner’s officer from here to Timbuktu; there’s a copy of the edition on your desk. You might want to wave it under the nose of your new boss when you go into work tomorrow. The elections took place on Wednesday but the results haven’t been made public yet. Hope he’s a good one. Well, that’s all I came to say. See you around.’ He walked off.

  As she turned the key in the lock, May suspected she’d find out an awful lot more than the name of the new coroner by the end of the day.

  ***

  There was a note propped up against her typewriter asking her to go into the chambers as soon as she arrived. She hung up her hat and coat and put her shoulder bag by the side of the chair. This was it. The moment she’d been dreading ever since Dr Swan had given her the news of Colonel Tindal’s death. But the forthcoming prosecution of Horatio Barley-Freeman for murder had to count for something in her favour. Mr
Clarke’s report on the Miles Elliott inquest had made no reference to her somewhat unusual methods of investigation, and, reading between the lines, his replacement couldn’t fail to see the presence of an efficient officer who had gleaned all the evidence they could to assist the jury in making an informed decision.

  Nipping into the vestibule lavatory to wash her hands, she took the opportunity to check the collar of her blouse was sitting right and her new peach scarf knotted securely. She’d made a particular effort getting ready this morning. Polishing her best black strap shoes until they shone, and putting on a pair of expensive silk stockings she’d been saving for a special occasion. Reaching into the pocket of her skirt she plucked out the lipstick Alice had donated for the betterment of her image. As she twisted the tube to reveal the confident red she felt a gulp of sadness for poor Vi who had once used it to paint that wonderfully mobile mouth of hers. Despite what Barley-Freeman had said Vi had done in her jealousy (and, given her sister’s hazy recollections, they would probably never know the truth of that) May still thought of her as that vivacious, amusing, and open, woman who had sat at their kitchen table and held them enthralled with her wit and backstage wisdom. At that moment - whatever else happened afterwards - she had been a good friend to Alice. May tentatively slicked a thin layer of colour onto her lips. And then went over them again. It wouldn’t do any harm; there was no way she could disguise being a woman so she might as well advertise the fact. One last check in the mirror and she was as ready as she’d ever be for her first - and she hoped not her last - day in the new coroner’s employ.

  May knocked on the door to the chambers with more determination than she felt. The response was bright and immediate. To smile or not to smile? She didn’t want to look as if she didn’t treat the job seriously but neither did she want to seem unfriendly. She opted for what she hoped was an expression of professional courtesy. It was the only time she wished she wore glasses; at least then she’d look intelligent.

  She twisted the handle, pushed the door, and walked in. The half-smile became a gape. Braxton Clarke was sitting behind the desk, silver-framed photographs and a mahogany pen tray neatly arranged in front of him.

  ‘Welcome back, May. How are you? How’s your sister - Alice isn’t it? I trust you enjoyed your holiday and are invigorated and refreshed. You’re certainly looking tip-top this morning.’

  She could only nod and mumble in reply.

  ‘Surprised to see me, eh? As the LCC decided to subsume the role of Poplar Coroner into the post responsible for the whole of the North-Eastern District, I decided it was about time I set myself a new challenge and applied. And, look, I was successful. I’ve you to thank for that really; I wouldn’t have been able to present myself nearly so well at the hustings if I hadn’t absorbed some of your insights into how things tick in this neck of the woods.’

  May wondered if it would do any good to beg him to let her keep the clerk’s job. After his outburst at her overstepping her authority that time, going back to typing and filing was the best she could expect.

  ‘Don’t stand on ceremony, you make me feel as if I am about to issue an indictment. Take a chair. I feel the need to clear the air concerning a few things before formally instituting the new regime.’

  From the angle at the side of the desk, May could see the photographs were of two young boys hanging off the neck of a big black dog, and the second a wispily beautiful woman in an off-the-shoulder evening gown standing in a garden. She was laughing into the camera. Seeing them made her feel unaccountably worse.

  ‘I paid a visit to the Town Hall the other day and read through some of the files you’d had stored there. A few I decided to review in detail but in general wanted to get a flavour of the major causes of death in the East End - you never can tell very much from the official statistics. And I came away with a real appreciation of what a thorough job you did compensating for Colonel Tindal’s inadequacies. Your subtle approach showed loyalty and integrity beyond what he had any right to expect. On behalf of the Lord Chancellor’s Office, I’d like to sincerely thank you for that.’

  Why couldn’t he just tell her and get it over with? It was too humiliating to have to listen to an end of term report, no doubt consisting of every one of her misdemeanours.

  ‘But to bring us more up to date. On the Miles Elliott inquest, you demonstrated great tenacity, dedication to the job, and bravery; without you following up on your intuition, I doubt Barley-Freeman would ever have been brought to justice. I received a letter from Mr and Mrs Elliott while you were away. They are immensely grateful that they no longer have to contemplate their son may have killed himself with a drugs overdose. However, I would be unforgivably negligent if I didn’t temper any praise with carpeting you for putting yourself in extreme physical danger during the course of your investigations.’

  He tapped his fingers on the edge of the desk and looked at her under lowered brows.

  ‘Oh well, having laboured the point, I doubt you’ll ever find yourself making the same mistake again.’

  He dipped into his drawer and pulled out a file which he slid across the desk. Even upside down May could read the name George Arthur Keaps. She felt as chilled as if a secret shame had been exposed.

  ‘I came across this. The name struck me of course so I included it in my pile to be studied in depth. True to form, Colonel Tindal appears to have been blinded by his distrust of expert medical opinion. Because, if he’d had the right questions asked, he would’ve discovered it was impossible for your father to have voluntarily drunk so much whisky without passing out with glass in hand. Not dissimilar, in fact, to the revelation that Miles Elliott wouldn’t have mixed cocaine with the amount of opium he’d smoked. Your father was heavily involved in the Trades Unions wasn’t he?’

  May unstuck her tongue. ‘Yes.’

  ‘I was fortunate enough to be having dinner with the Minister of Labour the other evening and our discussion turned to the subject of the perennial state of unrest in the docks. His view was that much of it has been due to the wharf owners trying to prevent a repetition of the strikes of 1912 and to that end they’ve been orchestrating systematic retribution against those instrumental in leading them. And that got me thinking.’ He leant forward. ‘It is a possibility that what happened to your father was that he was targeted as a troublemaker and consequently forcibly filled with alcohol and frogmarched to the edge of the quayside. After that it doesn’t much matter whether he fell of his own accord or was pushed. A decent coroner’s jury would return a verdict of an act endangering the life of another and ultimately occasioning his death at the very least. Most likely murder with malice aforethought.’

  May felt the blood drain from her face.

  Braxton Clarke laid a snow-white pressed handkerchief on top of the file. ‘If you will excuse me, May, I think there ought to be something I should be attending to in the courtroom.’

  As he brushed by her she could smell the woody spice of his cologne.

  She’d never felt so grateful for good breeding. Left alone she screwed the handkerchief around and around in her fingers in an effort to ward off the tears. His analysis had sparked off so many thoughts she didn’t know where to start. There was the shock of knowing her father’s death may have been deliberate, and the consequent relief there was no inherited black dog of melancholy waiting to knock Alice off balance into despair. But the wharfinger who’d employed her father had been Alexander Laker. The man she’d gone to speak to and seek his advice. And it’d been he who had told her about the drugs syndicates’ belief she was corruptible. What if they never had and he’d planted that idea in her head in the hope she’d slacken off the investigation? Because Old Sun, Dunbar, and Hubbock’s wharves - all owned by Alexander Laker - shared Limekiln Basin with Anchor, and Charlie had said the Tong were beholden to a wharfinger who let out his premises for opium dens. Had Miles smoked his drug not ten minu
tes’ walk from Elliott Shipping?

  The side door opened and Braxton Clarke folded himself back into his chair.

  ‘Now, we may not have worked very long together but I think I’ve got a pretty good inkling of what you’re like, May Keaps, and I want you to promise that you’ll do nothing to follow up on my dock owner conjecture-’

  ‘Wharfinger. They’re called wharfingers.’

  ‘-Not without proof of evidence. And if you come across any, you’re to bring it to me first.’

  She wanted to do the cross my heart and hope to die gesture but settled for a simple nod.

  ‘That’s that then. I hope you understand that once I came across the records of your father’s inquest I couldn’t not delve a little into them. And sharing my conclusions with you was in some way a partial repayment on behalf of the Elliotts. I hope it’ll change a few ways in which you see yourself; maybe lighten up a little on trying to get everything right all of the time. You’ve nothing to prove to anyone. Particularly to yourself.’

  May did feel as though she might need the handkerchief now. She blew her nose as discreetly as she could. The cloth came away covered in lipstick. Damn. She’d forgotten about that. It was probably smeared all over her face now. She wondered if she could ask leave to go to the lavatory, but Braxton Clarke had replaced the file in his drawer and looked intent on embarking on something else. Well, the inevitable had to come sooner or later.

  ‘I was under pressure at my appointment to seek the services of a deputy coroner. As Colonel Tindal’s one-sided arrangement of keeping me on his books seems to have worked out so well for all concerned, I’ve agreed to take shares in the man who’ll be taking over my old role as deputy for City of London and Southwark District. But with his consent of course. So that’s sorted to everyone’s satisfaction. As I’ll be based for the most part at the court in Shoreditch, what I need here more than anything is a decent and efficient officer - one who is able to be my eyes and ears on the street but who also knows the appropriate time to seek the services of law enforcement.’