Convicted Innocent(47)

Horace continued to say nothing, though he thought the existence of the prizefighting pit under Harker premises counter to the young Harker’s claim of his family’s innocence.

Well, the old detective conceded inwardly and reluctantly, it was possible they knew nothing of it.

“‘I am a murderer among other things, and justly deserve censure for my crimes,’” Duke went on. “‘But I enjoin you to leave my family alone from this day forward. These men here with me are loyal to my cause of justice, but my crimes are my own. You will do as I ask and then let them go free.’”

“Or—?” Horace spoke in the pause that followed.

“‘Or the two you sought and my uncle—’” Duke broke off with a grimace at the script in his hands, “‘—or my uncle, who is not a Harker, will die. Do as I wish, and you may leave with them when we are finished here. Unmolested, unhindered.’”

Horace pursed his lips. “I want to be certain those two are mine.”

At a gesture from the blonde, off came the hoods and the inspector was pleased to see both Lewis Todd and David Powell standing there.

…Even if both men looked horribly wretched. Had they really been captives only a few days? Lewis could barely stand and was bleeding from wounds in both legs (the heavies on either side were keeping him upright). The little papist, who wasn’t quite so battered, kept shooting half-terrified glances at his friend as though he were anticipating horrors Horace hadn’t yet discovered.

Their appearance wrung a displeased grunt from the inspector; he managed to keep his anger otherwise in check, however.

“What do you want?” he asked softly.

Duke looked down at his parchment, skimming the words, and then flipped to the next page.

“Oh.” The uncle was shocked. “He says…he wants – by your hand only, no other’s….”

“Read hit.” The fair-haired fellow interrupted.

“Of course…. It says, ‘I, Nicholas Harker, want you, Detective Inspector Horace Tipple, to kill me.’”

Horace grunted. He didn’t know what to think about that.

As he digested this demand, the inspector noticed it had incited Lewis’s friend to shout something incomprehensible into his gag and tug against his restraints and guards. The gestures were ineffectual, though, and one hulking thug cuffed the little priest roundly about the ears until the fellow’s brief struggles subsided.

Horace saw something glisten on the little papist’s face and thought it might be tears.

“This isn’t the trade I was told of at the police station.”

Duke skimmed a little more, then read, “‘Having killed me, you will trade your freedom for theirs. You may go to prison a murderer, and perhaps even take my place in the noose. My family’s lawyers are very proficient, and this outcome would be ideal. At the very least, however, my death will end your career, which would be minimally sufficient.’”

Instead of responding to this, the inspector turned to Nicholas Harker and asked, “Why did you kill Frank O’Malley?”

The question caused another, nearly instantaneous uproar.

Harker shouted something Horace didn’t understand, though he thought it an expression of fury (perhaps O’Malley had angered him grievously?), and both Todd and Powell looked at each other in what could only be dismay before they both wrenched at their captors’ holds.

Awful though he looked, Lewis almost managed to wrest himself free, but then the blonde strode over.

If he were obeying someone’s signal, Horace hadn’t noticed. The fair-haired fellow struck the tall policeman with a closed fist to the ribs, and though the jab didn’t seem too hard, Lewis dropped like a stone. His guards let him tumble to the floor.