Chapter 40
The sun had passed beyond the roofs of the houses, casting the streets into blue shadow.
Merchants threw blankets and tarps over their wares, hitched animals to their carts, or dragged displays back into the shallow stalls built into the first levels of the market’s buildings.
The street was crowded with families, most of which walked in the same direction, toward the mosque.
Joseph Clark strode down the street among them like he had a business appointment to keep.
Alexander trailed him, not bothering to keep much distance between them.
At the corner stall overhung with a faded white-and-yellow striped cloth, Clark went to the right.
This was the fourth time Alexander had gone past this stall today: when he’d followed Clark to the mosque, then ran back to the agora, and when he returned to slip the note Banks had written for him back into Clark’s boot.
It being Friday, the sermon had kept Clark inside just long enough for Alexander to replace the paper and get away before the mosque had emptied.
Navigating the kemeralti to the mosque that many times in quick succession had carved the route into his mind, and he knew the narrow street Clark walked now didn’t lead to the mosque.
Sweat snaked down Alexander’s back as he followed Clark deeper into the disjointed streets of the kemeralti. His quarry’s pace didn’t slow as the light faded further from the sky.
When Clark turned west, Alexander was so surprised he knew exactly where they were that he stopped in the middle of the road, causing a veiled woman to bump into him with an undignified grunt.
She rushed away from his murmured apology, and he turned to stare after Clark as he approached the han of Ali Fethi Bey.
As he had hoped, his forged note demanding Clark meet with his buyer immediately had brought Alexander directly to who had been paying for the stolen artifacts.
It became perfectly clear in a flash of understanding: Clark was working with Bey. Bey was buying the stolen artifacts from Clark. And if Clark was working for a man like Bey, interesting enough to the British government that Nick Hale was surveilling him, that meant Clark might be in deep.
The money. The money. Clark needed money; that was why he played cutthroat cards, why he would risk his career and the preservation of history to steal and sell what they discovered in the agora.
And if Clark was willing to risk so much, what might he have done to keep his actions secret? Would he have killed a young man who’d discovered it? Frame an innocent woman?
Fury ignited in Alexander, rage like he’d never felt before. It coursed through him, sudden and hot, galvanizing his body into action.
He was a step behind Clark before he knew what he was doing. The rapid tattoo of his boots on the ground must have alarmed Clark, for he swung around like Alexander had called his name.
Clark was clumsy when panicked. He scrambled away from him and immediately tripped, which was how Alexander caught him before he’d even had the chance to flee. He lifted Clark to his feet, only to hit Clark square in the jaw and knock him down again.
Clark’s dusty face registered shock for only a second before it twisted into fury. “Ashton, what the—”
Alexander dragged Clark to his feet, ready to beat the man to a bloody pulp right there in the street for acting as if he had no idea of the damage he’d—
“Ashton,” said a taut, low voice.
A pair of hands interposed themselves atop his own, pushing down.
It was Nick, his cap pulled low over his face. “Not here,” he murmured, and grabbed Clark by the back of the neck.
He forced Clark ahead of him, and from the way Clark went rigid, Alexander guessed there was a barrel of a pistol pressed to his ribs. “Let’s go somewhere a little more private for this chat, shall we?”
After checking to ensure no one had followed them from Bey’s house, Nick shoved Clark into the back seat of a beat-up motorcar one street down.
Alexander got into the back seat with him, and Nick started driving.
“Joseph Clark,” Nick said over the noise of the motorcar, “thirty-seven years of age, residence in London. Corporal in His Majesty’s army stationed mostly in Belgium, discharged 1918.
Eight years as a researcher at University College London, specializing in the field of archaeology of the Roman era, which has sent you to numerous countries, and in each one, you’ve had a rather close relationship with the nearest broker of antiquities.
” He took a sharp turn, sending Clark tumbling into Alexander. He shoved Clark back into place.
“What is this?” the man spat, returning Alexander’s glare. It seemed his shock had worn off. “You hired some thug to kidnap me?”
“A thug.” Nick laughed. “I don’t know whether to be flattered or offended.”
Another sharp turn and Nick cutting the engine brought Alexander back to awareness of their location.
They were no longer in the kemeralti, though they hadn’t gone far.
The surrounding buildings were skeletons.
Nick had pulled the motorcar into a structure composed of two walls and a lintel draped with cloth that Nick whipped down and tossed over the car when they got out of it.
Nick hustled them into the ruin across the debris-strewn street. One could see the darkening sky through the half-collapsed roof, but the walls were more or less intact, and its windows were boarded up, providing a sense of security.
Clark looked around uneasily, his sneer fading. He seemed to realize what sort of trouble he was in, being taken to a defunct building of blackened walls and fire-gnawed furniture.
Unable to wait any longer, Alexander asked, “Did you kill Martin Neill?”
A laugh burst out of Clark. “What?”
In two strides, Alexander had Clark by the collar. “You heard me. Did you kill Martin Neill?”
Clark shoved at his chest. “Get off me, you—”
Lifting the man nearly off his feet, Alexander swung Clark around and slammed him into the wall.
The structure around them wobbled and creaked ominously, but Alexander didn’t care.
He might finally have the person responsible for not only a murder, but the imprisonment of his wife. “You’ll answer me, Clark. Now.”
“No,” Clark snarled. “No, I didn’t kill anyone, damn you.
Now get off me!” He shoved away from Alexander again, and this time, Alexander let him go.
Clark took a hasty step away, then made a show of brushing down the front of his jacket.
“I don’t have to say anything. To either of you.
Where do you get off, pinching me off the damn street? ”
“You’ve been—”
Nick cut Alexander off, his voice easy. “You’re quite right, Mr. Clark. You don’t have to answer any of our questions. But considering you’ve set my friend’s wife up for murder—”
Clark shot a look at Alexander. “Your wife?”
Alexander glared in reply.
Nick leaned against a blackened wardrobe with an arch expression.
“Yes, his wife. You set her up for murder. Actually, you’ve been harassing her for weeks, according to what I’ve heard.
” Clark didn’t reply. He stood with arms crossed, looking bored.
“What was it, Ashton? Set a snake on her, then trapped her in the ruins. My favorite—apart from the accusation of having an affair with the murdered man, of course—was trying to topple a ruin on her head.”
“My favorite,” Alexander said quietly, “was drugging her when he knew I was out of the way.”
Nick let out a low whistle. “You know what they say, Ashton, sour grapes—”
“I didn’t want her for myself,” spat Clark, a sneer on his face. “What would I want with that pushy cow?”
Alexander knocked Clark into a broken chair with a punch to the jaw.
Nick sounded bored. “Mr. Clark, unless you want to be pummeled to a pulp, I suggest you keep your opinions to yourself.”
Clark drew himself up and glowered at Alexander, pushing his stringy blond hair out of his face. “It doesn’t make a difference what I say about her.”
“It does to him,” said Nick. “And it does to the crew, and that police inspector. Your ‘evidence’ is what got her arrested, according to my sources. But the question remains, why? Why have you been harassing her? Even an annoying woman could be dealt with without so much, er, enthusiasm.”
Alexander had crossed his arms closely against his chest, hoping to suppress his inclination to continue beating Clark. He wanted answers. But even outnumbered in a ruined house far from his friends, Clark’s arrogance was tireless. It made his blood boil.
Clark smiled unpleasantly. “Just passing the time.”
Nick hummed and reached into his pocket.
As he drew out cigarettes and a lighter, Alexander didn’t miss Clark’s twitch.
Nick didn’t either. With a wry smile, he passed a cigarette to Clark and lit it for him before his own.
He blew out his smoke lazily. “You can rest assured, with the exception of Ashton here losing his temper, you have nothing to fear from us.”
Clark blew smoke and glanced at Alexander with annoyance. “As I said, I found her irritating. Why bother dogging after her for a month before I could get to my real work? The sooner she realized her mistake and turned tail, the sooner I’d be rid of her.”
“I see,” said Nick evenly.
“And what concern is it of yours?” Clark asked, his eyes narrowed. “Who are you? Why do you know me?”
“I’m a friend of the accused. I don’t like my friends to be locked up in foreign jails because someone decided to play a little joke on them.”
Clark let out a noise of derision. “Well, if that’s all—”
“You still haven’t gotten to the point, Mr. Clark,” said Nick, his voice ringing.
“And you still haven’t told me why I should answer any of your questions.”
Alexander grabbed his shirtfront and slammed him against the wall. “Because I’ll be damned if Saffron hangs because of a worm like you.”
He stared into Clark’s pale eyes for a long moment before throwing him to the ground again.