Dark Briggate Blues Read Online Free PDF Page A

questions, then the telephone’s been ringing all morning. The only thing she could do was sit there and cry. I made her phone her parents. She needs her family around her, people who’ll look after her. Poor lass was shaking like a leaf when I arrived. She’s torn to pieces by it.’ She glanced up at him. ‘Who wouldn’t be, eh?’
    ‘True,’ he agreed. ‘Thank you.’ He began to turn away.
    ‘Do you want me to tell her who called, luv?’
    ‘Mr Markham.’
    ‘Don’t you worry, I’ll let her know. Markham.’ She repeated the name with a satisfied nod.
    He sat in the car, hands gripping the steering wheel. Not even the middle of the morning yet and he felt as if he’d lived through an entire day. He started the engine and set off back into town.
    The telephone rang before he had a chance to sit down, the bell ringing loud and urgent.
    He answered with the number and heard the clunk of coins dropping in a telephone box.
    ‘Mr Markham?’ a man’s voice said.
    ‘That’s right.’
    ‘I understand that you’re missing something.’ The hairs on the back of his neck prickled and he drew in a breath without thinking. The Webley stolen from his desk. ‘Well, Mr Markham? Do you know what I mean?’
    ‘I do,’ he answered quietly. ‘Who are you?’
    ‘Tell me,’ said the caller, ignoring the question, ‘would you like the return of the … item? Or perhaps I should see it ends up in official hands?’
    He didn’t know the voice. Not local. From the South. Long vowels.
    ‘What do you want?’
    ‘Many things, Mr Markham.’ The man sounded amused, in control and taking his time. ‘But for the moment I’ll settle for your attention.’
    ‘You have it,’ he said.
    ‘Do you know the Adelphi?’
    ‘Yes.’ It was a grubby old Victorian pub at the top of Hunslet Lane, just over the river.
    ‘Be in there at, oh, let’s say one o’clock. I’ll tell you more then.’
    ‘How will I know you?’
    The voice turned to a chuckle.
    ‘You won’t need to, Mr Markham. After all, I know you.’

CHAPTER FIVE
    The line went dead. Markham replaced the receiver and looked at the clock. A little after noon. Soon enough he’d know exactly who was so keen to set him up. Someone had known he was back in the office. Why? he wondered. What the hell was going on?
    ***
    In the service, as part of his military intelligence training, they’d taught him how to shadow someone and how to throw off a tail. Everything hammered into him in drill after drill. He’d never been as good as some of the others. His friend Ged Jones seemed able to disappear in a crowd. But Markham could get by. He walked out purposefully, taking a quick note of the faces on the street as he crossed Briggate, slipped through County Arcade and Cross Arcade, then along Fish Street, ending up staring at the reflections in a window on Kirkgate to see who was behind him.
    The man was an amateur. By the time he came out into Kirkgate he was almost running, staring around nervously until he spotted Markham. Older, NHS specs, his overcoat buttoned up and belted with a scarf at the neck and a hat was pulled down on a ruddy, jowly face. It was no one he recognised, no one he could remember ever seeing. But the face was imprinted on his memory now.
    He set off again, ambling back to Briggate and stopping often, then down to the bridge over the river Aire. The buildings were old, decayed and black from a hundred or more years of dirt that had built up layer on layer.
    The Adelphi probably hadn’t changed since the turn of the century. An old gas lamp still hung over the front door. Inside, the pub was dark wood, dull brass and bevelled etched glass, all neglected and in need of a thorough cleaning. At the bar he ordered an orange squash.
    A table and two chairs sat in the middle of the snug. This room was different; freshly scrubbed, the hearth black-leaded, tiles gleaming and windows shining.
    ‘Have a seat, Mr Markham,’ the man by the window said. The