Backlash

Chapter Twenty-One

The first thing Anna did when she got home was to ring Morag Kelly’s mobile phone. It was after ten so she hoped the young woman would pick up. It rang and rang, and she was impatiently about to end the call when someone answered.

‘Is this Morag Kelly?’

‘Aye.’

‘I wondered if you could help me. I am trying to trace Corinna Oates and I know you were in rehab with her.’

There was an intake of breath and Anna quickly tried to keep the girl calm, explaining that Morag was not in any kind of trouble whatsoever, but the call was very important as Anna was part of a police investigation attempting to find Corinna’s whereabouts.

‘Well I cannae help ye. I’ve not seen her since she ran off, and we wasnae that friendly anyway.’

‘But you knew her?’

‘Aye, but she’s nae friend of mine. When she left she nicked some of ma stuff, so even if I did meet up with her, I’d slap her face.’

‘I just need to ask if you remember maybe Corinna saying anything about where she might go.’

‘Nae, we’ve all been asked about her, but she never told nobody – she did a runner when we was supposed tae be workin’.’

‘You are being really helpful, and just one more thing: can you recall any of her clothes, what she might have been wearing?’

‘Nae, we hadda wear smocks cos we was doin’ the kitchen cleanin’; she could’ve worn something’ under the smock, but she wasnae wearin’ them then or I’d have noticed cos they were mine.’

‘What did she take of yours, Morag?’

‘Ma patent leather boots.’

‘Could you describe them to me? And maybe give me a better idea of what Corinna looked like?’

Anna spent a few more moments talking to Morag about Corinna. Eventually the young woman grew less suspicious and told Anna what she needed to know. Anna thanked her profusely for her help before hanging up. There was no way she could do anything about the information until morning, but it was another connection and one that might be another piece of the jigsaw.

Professor Hall, for all his pomposity, had evidently pulled out all the stops, as the following morning they received the official post mortem report on Mrs Douglas. Neither Anna nor Langton was at the station when it arrived, making Mike even more impatient than usual.

‘Where is she? We’re bringing in Timmy Bradford!’

Joan called her mobile, but it was turned off.

‘She’s not answering.’

‘It’s bloody ten-thirty, for God’s sake – what does she think she’s playing at!’

Barbara whispered aside to Joan that perhaps she was solving the case, but shut up quickly as Mike turned on her.

‘What did you say?’

‘Just had a call from Barolli, guv, wanting to know if we’ve solved the case, we’ve been giving him an update,’ Barbara improvised swiftly.

‘Good, how’s he doing?’

‘Oh he’s fine, up and out of bed and-’

Mike didn’t wait to hear any more as Langton walked in, signalling for Mike to join him in his office, which he treated like his own.

‘Barbara spoke with Paul Barolli earlier. He’s doing well and has managed to get out of bed,’ Mike informed Langton.

‘That’s good news,’ Langton replied.

‘Yeah well, the bad news is I can’t track Travis down and her mobile is turned off.’

‘She called me and said she was going to the NatWest at New Malden to speak with the bank manager and then coming back here,’ Langton informed Mike.

‘Doesn’t she want to speak to me?’ Mike asked.

‘She knows how busy you are so she asked me to tell you, which I just have. Now what’s happening with Timmy Bradford?’

‘He’s been at a bed and breakfast until we’ve cleared all the forensic work at his flat; he was allowed back to get some clothes,’ Mike told him.

‘How’s he holding up?’

‘Seems fine, asked about when he could arrange a funeral for his mother. Did you see the post mortem report?’

Langton hadn’t, so Mike showed him a copy, which he read at once, and then let it drop onto the desk.

‘Shit, a bloody heart attack!’

‘But it could have been caused by fear – there are bruises to her head and chest. She was hung up by the cord after she was dead.’

Langton wafted his hand.

‘Okay, let’s go over how we handle the interview.’

‘What about Travis?’

Langton gave him a direct look.

‘Your enquiry, Mike, never mind what she’s doing.’ He tapped the report with his finger and suggested they interview Bradford as a witness first before arresting him and having a solicitor present.

Anna’s immediate task that day had been to visit the bank manager, who told her that Bradford had called the bank twice a couple of days before he came in to collect the money. The original calls were taken by a cashier; Bradford had enquired about what he would have to do to withdraw money on his mother’s behalf and his mother, Mrs Douglas, had even spoken with the cashier, giving her password and approving withdrawal by her son. The call on the day he picked up the money was, as Anna already knew, thanks to the wiretap, to arrange for the time of collection.

Anna’s next stop was to see Pete Jenkins. He was, as she had requested, examining the pair of patent leather knee-high boots. The size and description fitted the ones mentioned by Morag Kelly; they were also in good condition unlike the other shoes found at the basement. Anna asked for them to be bagged up.

‘What about the DNA test? Did you get anything for me?’

Pete nodded and they headed into the lab. She was buzzing, her adrenalin pumping, and she couldn’t resist asking him for the result.

‘Am I right?’

‘Aren’t you always?’

‘Is that a yes, Pete, is that a YES?’

‘Not quite yet, the hair was too degraded to get a full DNA result, but I did get a mitochondrial DNA profile, which is inherited from the mother’s side. I’ll need a sample from the mother to make the comparison and access to the Scottish DNA database.’

‘Leave it with me, and thanks, Pete.’

Anna rang Glasgow on her drive back to the station, asking to speak to DCI McBride, who came onto the phone with obvious irritation. She thanked him for helping her trace Morag Kelly, but she now needed another favour, and one that was connected to Eileen Oates. When she explained the importance of it, he agreed to set the wheels in motion.

Just after twelve-fifteen, Timmy Bradford was brought to the station in a patrol car. He was a little over-bright, joking about how he hoped none of his friends saw him as they’d think he’d been arrested. He was led into the interview-room corridor and asked if he would like coffee or a tea, but he said he’d stick to water as he didn’t drink either. When he was shown into the room, Langton and Mike were sitting side by side waiting.

‘Morning, Mr Bradford,’ Langton said, smiling.

‘Morning.’

Bradford took a seat opposite them.

‘Thank you for agreeing to come in to see us, we just need to clear up a few things. You can have a solicitor present, if you want.’

‘Why should I want a solicitor – am I under arrest?’

‘No. Just standard procedure to ask in cases like this.’

‘I don’t want one.’

Langton rested his elbows on the table and waited.

‘Listen, I come in because it’s about that ten grand belonging to my mother. By rights that money is mine, right? So I’m here and I’d like to know when I can get it back, cos I’ve got to arrange and pay for her funeral. I mean, everyone’s been very nice to me, I’ll give you all that, but I have things I’ve got to organize, understand me?’

‘Do you go to the dog tracks on a regular basis?’ Mike asked.

Bradford nodded but seemed surprised by Mike’s sudden line of questioning.

‘Yeah I do, dogs, horses, I like a flutter.’

‘On the night you say Henry Oates broke into your flat…’

‘Me mother let him in.’

‘Sorry, yes of course, you have said that the reason you weren’t at home until midnight was because you were at Wimbledon dog track,’ Mike reminded him.

‘Yeah, I’m a regular there, why? It’s the truth.’

‘Back a few winners, did you?’

‘No, I was on a real losing streak, tearing up the betting slips all night, not one winner.’

Langton tapped the table twice with his pen and took over the questioning.

‘You’re definitely on a losing streak, Mr Bradford, a very big one, because on that specific night the track was closed for refurbishment,’ Langton remarked.

Bradford blinked and then gave a half smile, unsure of who would ask the next question.

‘No way.’

‘Let’s not mess around any longer, because you are very close to being arrested on suspicion of assisting an escaped murderer.’

Bradford opened and closed his mouth.

‘I don’t understand what’s going on here.’

Langton began opening a file in front of him.

‘Why you got me here? I thought it was about me money.’

‘Is it about the money, Mr Bradford? We know you were in touch with the NatWest Bank in New Malden before Mr Oates came to your mother’s flat.’

‘This isn’t right.’

‘So do you agree that before Mr Oates stayed at your flat you had already arranged-’

‘Listen, my mother wanted me to get ten grand out so we could go on a luxury cruise, that’s why I was doing all the arrangements, and it just coincided with Oates turning up.’

Langton leaned back in his chair, smiling.

‘You are a very good actor, Mr Bradford, in fact so good I think you could have taken it up as a profession, but right now I am getting very tired of this performance. I believed you and Detective Chief Inspector Lewis here also believed you, that big act in the Kingston Lodge Hotel about how fearful you were for your mother – that was, I suppose, partly due to nerves. I mean, you didn’t expect to get picked up, did you? But then you played it to the hilt, didn’t you? DIDN’T YOU?’

Langton slapped the table so hard the water bottles jumped.

‘She was already dead, wasn’t she? WASN’T SHE? All that bullshit about Oates threatening to hang her – what’s the matter with you? You think we’re so dumb we can’t get a time of death for her? That we can’t get evidence that she was never hanged? Strung up, yes, but she was already dead, wasn’t she?’

‘I want a solicitor.’ Bradford kept his head down.

‘Well now that I’m arresting you for not only harbouring Oates, but also on suspicion of being complicit in your mother’s murder, you can have one.’

Mike Lewis then cautioned Bradford and took him to the custody area to be booked in and the duty solicitor Mary Adams was called to represent him.

Anna went into the viewing room to watch as soon as she got back to the station. Barbara got up to leave as Anna sat down.

‘No, stay put, I need you to fill me in on what’s happened to date.’

‘Well, he’s denying that he had anything to do with his mother’s death, he’s admitted lying about going to the dog track, but he said he was forced to do it because Oates had tied his mother up and threatened him. He’s also said that his mother had asked him to withdraw ten thousand in cash to pay for a cruise and she had signed the necessary papers. He claims Oates found them and then threatened to kill his mother if he didn’t withdraw the lot and give it to him.’

Anna looked at the monitor screen as Langton suggested that they now go from the beginning again as Bradford was plainly lying.

‘I’m telling you the truth.’

‘Really? Then how do you explain that your mother was already dead before Oates had even escaped from the quarry?’

Anna sipped her coffee, watching Bradford’s reaction, which did not give much away. He was drinking from a bottle of water, then turning the cap this way and that.

‘What’s he got on you?’ Langton asked.

‘Who?’

‘Henry Oates. What’s he got on you to make you hide him and then get the money out?’

Bradford shook his head and mumbled something inaudible.

‘Listen to me, Timmy, we know someone called you from payphones reverse charge, you knew he was coming to your mother’s flat, so why didn’t you call the police?’

No reaction.

‘You are an intelligent man, Timmy. If you are protecting him…’

‘I’m fucking not.’

‘So what made you let him into your flat? Why did you help him?’

There was no reaction, and then Anna leaned forwards as Langton searched through a file and whispered something to Mike. Mike reached for a separate file on the trolley and passed it to Langton.

‘Have you ever seen any of these girls, Timmy?’

Out came the photographs of their victims, each one laid flat in front of Bradford, but he shook his head over and over again.

‘I’ve never seen any of them, I swear before God.’

Langton quietly told Bradford that they were the young women that his friend Oates had admitted to killing.

‘Jesus Christ, I had nothin’ to do with them. I’ve never seen any of them before in my life.’

Langton gathered up the photographs and stacked them on the edge of the table like a pack of cards.

‘It’s hard for me to believe that. You see, I can’t understand why you would let him hide out in your flat, unless you were involved. You were the one who originally took him to the quarry, you-’

‘I had nothing to do with any of them.’ Bradford was becoming very agitated and starting to sweat.

‘You expect me to believe you? You’ve lied about your mother. She was eighty-two years old, wasn’t she? You think she deserved to end up dead, strung up on a pulley over her bath?’

‘No,’ Bradford replied quietly.

‘What happened, Timmy, did she find out you were trying to steal her money, caught you red-handed faking her signature on a cheque and you argued?’

Bradford was beginning to break, his body language indicating that he was finding it hard to control himself. His hands were clasped at his sides and he was still sweating, with stains spreading under the armpits of his denim shirt.

‘Let me tell you what I think happened: you had this argument with your mother and you snapped, you didn’t mean to hurt her, you couldn’t stop yourself, you needed that money and…’

‘She wouldn’t give it to me.’ Bradford blurted it out.

Anna stood up and looked to Barbara.

‘Got him, he’s going to spill the beans.’

‘You want a coffee?’

‘Nope, I need to make some urgent calls,’ Anna said as she left the room.

The next time Anna saw Barbara was when she hurried into the incident room an hour later.

‘DCS Langton wants the gold bracelet from the evidence locker room.’

‘How’s it going in there?’ Anna asked.

‘Well it’s not really, they still haven’t broken him.’

Anna raced down into the basement to unlock the evidence cage with Barbara hurrying alongside her.

‘He’s opened the floodgates, we’ve had tears and at one point he even tried to get on his knees to beg forgiveness. Bradford’s got a lot of debts from his gambling and there’s some heavy guys onto him so he needed to get some cash to pay them off.’

Anna began to dig around for the bag containing the gold bracelet. ‘Did he explain why he helped Oates?’

‘No,’ said Barbara as Anna handed her the little bag. ‘He won’t say it.’ She held up the bag. ‘Maybe this is connected?’ Then she hurried back to the interview-room corridor to hand over the bracelet.

Anna slipped back into the viewing room a few moments later and Barbara rejoined her. Bradford now looked in bad shape – his hair was sodden and his face was shiny from sweat. He was hunched in his seat, his hands clasped tightly together.

‘Sorry for the delay, Mr Bradford,’ smiled Langton, ‘but I now need to take you right back to when you first heard from Henry Oates on the night he escaped…’

‘I’ve told you, I’ve told you, he just turned up.’

‘But we have these two calls, Timmy, one at 3 a.m. from Hammersmith where he dumped the police car after he escaped, and the other at 5 a.m. from Soho, which is about a two-hour walk from Hammersmith.’

Joan tapped on the door of the viewing room and told Anna that DCI Alex McBride was on the phone, urgently wanting to talk to her. By the time Anna had taken the call and returned to her seat Mike and Langton had still made no headway. Mike was now asking the same questions. All they got for an answer was that Bradford was scared not to help Oates, but he had admitted he had slapped his mother during an argument.

‘Did Langton show him the bracelet?’ Anna asked Barbara.

She shook her head. ‘It’s amazing, isn’t it? They kind of go round and round in circles.’

‘It’s called wearing the suspect down,’ Anna said drily.

‘Well I know that, but one minute he does look worn down through his lies, and then the next he claims that he’s telling the truth. One minute he admits to pushing or slapping his mother, the next he denies it, and yet we have the time of death that makes it impossible for Oates to have killed her.’

Anna focused on the screen as Langton laid out the plastic evidence bag containing the gold bracelet. He gently flattened the air out of it with his hand.

‘Have you ever seen this before, Mr Bradford?’

‘No.’

‘Let me take it out so you can get a closer look.’

Langton held the bracelet up and then rested it across his wrist.

‘Look at it, Timmy, take a good look at it.’

Bradford’s chest heaved and he straightened his back, shaking his head.

‘Take hold of it, Tim, really, go on, have a good look.’

Anna tensed up, leaning forwards, wondering what Langton’s intentions were. But disappointingly Bradford showed little reaction.

‘No.’

‘Why does it worry you to touch it? Here, take hold of it.’

‘I don’t want to.’

‘It’s not your mother’s, is it?’

‘No.’

Langton looked through the stack of photographs and placed the one of Angela Thornton down in front of Bradford.

‘You know this girl, don’t you?’ he asked as he placed the bracelet beside the photograph.

It was astonishing because Bradford started to cry like a kid. Snot dripped from his nose and he wiped it with the cuff of his shirt, then he put his head in his hands and started sobbing heavily.

An hour later Bradford asked for a bathroom break. Langton had been given a real talking-to by Bradford’s solicitor, Miss Adams, as she had no disclosure regarding Angela Thornton and felt that Langton was being, at times, overbearing with her client. They had a very heated discussion and by the time Langton came into the incident room he was in a real temper. He paced in front of Anna’s desk, snatching at a sandwich she’d brought in for him.

‘I can’t bloody break the little sod: every time I think he’s going to come clean he backs off and turns the water-works on.’

‘I thought you were onto something with the bracelet and the photo of Angela. It did get a big reaction – it was the first time he really broke down.’

‘I’d like to break his sodding little neck.’ He sighed.

‘Do you think there is a connection between him and Angela Thornton?’

‘I don’t honestly know. I was just trying it on because that’s another fucking scenario we need to explore.’

He wiped his fingers on a paper napkin, rolled it up into a tight ball and tossed it into the wastebasket.

‘We believe that Oates has some hold over Bradford, right? And it’s a big one, so is there any possibility that it was the two of them? That they’re both killers, and did all of the murders between them?’

Anna shook her head.

‘No, I don’t buy that; Oates has admitted to the murders. Why would he protect Timmy if he was an accomplice? It couldn’t have been the two of them with Mrs Douglas if she was already dead.’

‘Yes, yes, I know that,’ he snapped.

Anna found it difficult to know what to say to Langton as he was in such a foul mood.

‘Listen, let me dig around and see if I can find any connection between Bradford and Angela Thornton, because of the way he reacted the first time he broke down.’

‘The little fucker could get an Oscar nomination for his performances; it’s hard to get anything out of him.’

Anna suggested that in the next session they should pull back on the accusation about his mother. They now knew she had died of a heart attack, so maybe if they went softly and encouraged Bradford to talk about the possibility of it being an accident, that he had never intended to hurt her, he would divulge more about his relationship with Oates.

Langton checked his watch and agreed that he would give it a go.

Bradford appeared to be calmer. He’d washed his face and hands, and sat pressing back into his chair, his solicitor beside him. Mike reminded him that he was still under caution, and that anything he said might be used as evidence in court. Before Langton started the interview Bradford cleared his throat and said that he had been answering all their questions truthfully, and he was still very distressed about what had happened. He then gave a long rambling explanation of how he had been out shopping and when he returned Oates had already been let into the flat by his mother. He said that Oates had tied her up and she was lying on the sofa in her nightdress and had wet herself. He said she had sticky tape wrapped around her face and hands and her feet were tied with the cord from her dressing gown.

‘I’d fancied a beer so I just walked round to the offlicence, they’re open until late, and I made up that story about the dog track because I didn’t want to admit that Oates scared me.’

Anna licked her fingers as she sifted through her pages and pages of notes. In fact she had filled up one notebook and was on to her second. Eventually she found what she was looking for, her interview with Ira Zacks. She had made only sporadic notes, mostly about the last time he said he had seen Oates and his work in the clubs. She closed her eyes, willing herself to remember. She recalled he had said that Oates only worked for him briefly as he was not suitable, but no matter how many times she went backwards and forwards through her jottings she couldn’t find what she was looking for, so she snapped her book closed and crossed to stare once more at the incident board. She concentrated on Angela Thornton’s missing persons details and then it clicked.

She absolutely had to speak to Ira Zacks. She knew that he hadn’t been granted bail and was awaiting trial for drug dealing, so she called Brixton Prison, stressing it was of the utmost importance and involved a murder enquiry. There was a long delay as she hung on waiting before eventually being told that it would take at least half an hour for them to bring Ira Zacks to the governor’s office, always supposing he would agree to talk to her. Frustrated, she even suggested that she could make the journey to the prison in person. She insisted it had nothing to do with his drug charges but it was imperative she speak to him and for them to explain who she was and that they had met before.

Anna waited impatiently for nearly an hour, but eventually the call came.

‘He’s through, Detective Travis.’

‘Thank you. Mr Zacks, I don’t know if you remember me – I came to your flat to ask you some questions about Henry Oates.’

‘Yeah.’

‘I am really grateful that you have agreed to talk to me.’

‘Yeah.’

‘You mentioned to me that you ran a business supplying doormen to a number of clubs in London.’

‘Not any more.’

‘But you did, and you had a very successful business.’

‘Yeah.’

‘You started off in the East End, is that right?’

‘Yeah, Mile End Road, near the boxing club.’

‘Do you recall the names of any of the men you employed?’

‘It’s not exactly employed – I give ’em the job and they give me a cut; it wasn’t like I employed them back then, if you know what I mean, and I didn’t have no contracts, it was verbal with me.’

‘Yes, I understand, it’s just very important if you could remember any of the men that worked for you and I realize it is a long time ago, but perhaps they were ex-boxers…’

‘Yeah.’

‘I am talking nearly five years ago, so it might be a test of your memory.’

‘You don’t say. What’s in this for me anyway?’

Anna licked her lips and decided to test Zacks’ empathy.

‘You remember me showing you a picture of a little girl that was missing? Well, if you could remember – you have children of your own and…’

‘Yeah, yeah, it’s to do with Henry Oates, right?’

‘Yes.’

‘Well I only used him the once and he was no use, didn’t have a suit either, but it wasn’t in Mile End, that was over in Kilburn.’

‘So do you remember anyone working for you in Mile End?’

There was a pause and she could hear his heavy breathing.

‘Yeah, okay, Brian Heigh, middleweight, good bloke.’

She waited; he was clicking his tongue against his teeth.

‘Tony Jackson, he used to be there, but I don’t remember nobody else. Wait a minute, there was one of the guys I knew from York Hall, he worked there a few times, shit, can’t remember his name.’

‘Describe him to me.’

Ira exhaled and said she was asking a lot and then without hesitation he said, ‘Of course, it was Tim Bradford, there you go, shows my grey cells are still working, nice fighter, but bled like a stuck pig. I remember him now, lived up the road in Bromley-by-Bow, but he didn’t do more than a few months.’

Anna’s hand was shaking as she replaced the phone, and she had to take a few deep breaths before she could write down the information. Then she made her way to the interview room, tapped on the door and opened it. ‘DCI Travis with a message for DCS Langton,’ she said for the benefit of the tape. Langton came out, closing the door behind him.

‘I tried the softly-softly and he still won’t give it up.’

‘Try this.’

Anna explained to him about the Mile End connection, and her idea that the night Angela Thornton had disappeared, Bradford could have been working the doors on the club. He had lived just up the road from there and had never been questioned about her disappearance as they had CCTV footage of her leaving the club and heading for the Tube station. Anna had also checked with the DVLA to confirm that at that time Bradford owned a car. It was a red Ford Fiesta and a witness had claimed to have seen a red car parked close to the Tube station, although the car and driver had never been traced. Langton folded the notes and gave a brief nod of his head, but he took a few moments before he returned to the interview room.

Anna sat in the viewing room, watching as Langton took his seat, intrigued as to how he would handle the new information. First he set aside the files he had been using before the interruption. He then stacked them onto the trolley. He next removed the Angela Thornton file and the exhibit bag with her bracelet, setting them in front of him. He took out his fountain pen, drew his notebook close, wrote something and then replaced the cap.

Bradford looked at his solicitor then back to Langton. Meanwhile, Mike had been given Anna’s latest findings, which he read before returning them to Langton.

‘My client has been in custody since midday and it is now 7.30 p.m.,’ the solicitor pointed out. ‘If you have no further questions to put to him and are not charging him with any offence then I suggest-’

Langton ignored her and cut in.

‘Tell me about the time you worked on the Mile End Road, Mr Bradford.’

Bradford’s mouth dropped open.

‘What is this in reference to?’ his solicitor asked.

Langton held up the photograph of Angela Thornton.

‘The murder of this girl, Miss Adams.’ He turned to Bradford. ‘What happened, Tim, you see her dancing around, having a night out with her friends, too good for the likes of you, you try and get a date, did you? She turn you down, did she? Look at her, LOOK AT HER!’ He slapped the photograph down on the table. ‘Just a washed-up amateur boxer, only jobs you could get were working the doors, and there was this lovely girl, shiny blonde hair, blue eyes, and this lovely bracelet – was it that you were after? Did you want to nick her gold bracelet? You’d never be able to afford anything as nice as this to give to a girl. You were still dependent on your mother and stepfather; he didn’t like you, did he? Reckoned you were a big free-loader…’

As Langton talked it was like watching a tight spring begin to uncoil. Bradford was squirming in his seat, his fists clenched one minute, the next pressing down on his thighs. His body twisted, and he kept moving his head from side to side as if his neck was stiffening up.

‘Can I give you a lift, love, can I give you a lift in my red Ford Fiesta?’ Langton adopted a singsong voice, smiling. ‘You can trust me, love, I work the doors, I protect people, I don’t let in the tough guys, I look out for the customers, you can trust me, get in the car, I can take you home…’

Langton stopped smiling as he leaned across the table and raised his voice.

‘But you didn’t take her home, did you? DID YOU? How did you break her little gold bracelet? Grab her by the wrists, did you? Smack her around, did you? Punch out this lovely little girl, look at her face, look at her face, Timmy.’

‘I want to speak with my solicitor,’ Bradford said softly.

‘You do that and I hope she advises you that it would be in your best interests to tell us the truth about everything!’ Langton shouted.

Anna thought that Langton was going to reach over and grab Bradford by the hair and shove his face down onto the table. But before he could launch into another likely scenario of what might have happened that fatal evening, Bradford began to punch his own chest. His fists smacked hard into his flesh, ape-like, but far from an animal show of superiority, it was a pitiful show, his last fight, before he broke down and the floodgates opened.