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partner named Carter. Out of the blue. Three months later he sold up altogether. Not long after that Carter had a finger in a couple of drinking clubs in Armley and Hunslet. Soon after that it was his whole hand. You get the picture?’ He waited for a nod. ‘They were all doing well. There was no reason for Nat or the others to sell up. And since then there have been a few more. Another club. Some businesses here and there.’
    ‘He’s putting together an empire?’
    ‘On the quiet. Unless you were looking you wouldn’t even know he was around. But he’s becoming an important man, there’s no doubt about that. A dangerous one, too.’
    ‘What’s he done?’
    ‘Him?’ Doughty lit a Woodbine, coughed, and plucked a strand of tobacco from his tongue. ‘He’s not the sort to do anything himself. He has people to do all it for him. You know the type. They come around for a quiet chat and the threat’s usually enough.’
    He’d run into men like that over the years, men who thought with their fists and their feet. All you had to do was wind them up, give them their orders and let them go. The war had produced thousands of them who’d never made it all the way back to Civvy Street.
    ‘A man to avoid?’
    ‘If he’s after you, it’s probably too late. The way I hear it, he knows plenty of important people down in London. People in the ministries.’
    ‘What do the police think?’
    Doughty shrugged. ‘Maybe they have a weather eye on him. Perhaps some of them are taking a few quid from him. No one’s made any complaints against him yet. Happen they have more important things on their minds. And Scotland Yard …’ He shook his head sadly.
    ‘Who works for Carter around here?’
    Doughty counted out the names on his fingers.
    ‘Big Chalky White, you know, the one from Burmantofts, John Dodge, Rob Anderson. Familiar?’
    ‘Anderson. I’ve met him a couple of times.’ He was a man who stuck in the mind, easily six feet three, with a scar that ran the length of his cheek and a pair of dead eyes.
    ‘If he comes for you, Mr Markham, the best thing you can do is run.’ He downed the pint in a single, long gulp. ‘And that’s your lot. I’ve given you value for money.’
    ‘Where does Carter live?’
    ‘He keeps a room at the Metropole. Doesn’t stint himself. But he doesn’t need to, does he?’ Doughty put the cigarettes and matches in pocket and stood. ‘Good luck. If you’re dealing with him, you’ll need it.’
    After he’d gone, Markham sat for a minute. He felt in his pocket for cigarettes and brought out the packet of Lucky Strikes. American cigarettes were almost impossible to find in England. But Carter had them.
    At least he now had an idea who he was up against. He couldn’t go to the police, not if they were certainly receiving backhanders from the man. Baker wouldn’t believe him, and if the gun appeared he’d be happy to see Markham banged up. He was on his own. He finished the smoke, crushed the butt in an ashtray and left.

CHAPTER SIX
    The telephone rang, the bell a stark sound that filled the office. For a moment he considered ignoring it. If Carter wanted to reel him in, let him do it later rather than sooner. But the sound persisted; finally he picked up the heavy Bakelite receiver.
    ‘Mr Markham, this is Mrs Hart. Joanna Hart.’ Her voice was subdued and tentative.
    ‘Mrs Hart. I heard about your husband. I’m very sorry for your loss.’
    ‘Thank you.’ She hesitated. ‘My father’s taking care of all the details. I just can’t face it.’ She sounded completely different to the scheming woman who’d come into his office the Friday before. All the brightness had been dulled and the words made her seem younger and fragile. ‘The housekeeper told me you’d been by. I just wanted to ask you to destroy whatever you’d found. It doesn’t matter any more, does it?’
    ‘I don’t suppose it does.’ There’d been next to nothing, anyway. ‘I’ll return the rest