On Copper Street

by Chris Nickson

  ‘Seems very competent.’

  Alone, the superintendent took a fresh sheet of paper and wrote the names of everyone involved in the case, seeing how they connected. Maybe he’d find something in there …

  FOURTEEN

  Three hours later he still had his head down, concentrating on the work. The fist knocking on the door dragged his head up, then made him stand quickly. Kendall, gaunt as death and with a face that was almost white. Harper sprang forward and helped him into a chair. Dear God, he thought, could a few days have done so much?

  ‘Sorry, Tom,’ he said breathlessly, fanning himself with his top hat. ‘I came into town and I suddenly had a bit of a turn.’

  ‘You just sit there,’ Harper told him. ‘I’ll fetch a glass of water.’

  By the time he returned, he’d given orders to summon a doctor.

  ‘Thank you.’ Kendall gave a weak smile. ‘I just ran out of puff.’

  He took a sip of water and began to cough, bending forward and gasping for breath, holding up one hand, pretending he was fine as he clutched Harper’s arm with the other.

  ‘Talk to me, Tom,’ he said when he could speak again. ‘Tell me what’s going on here.’

  One eye on the door, Harper brought him up to date on the cases, finishing with the murder of Willie Calder.

  ‘You must have seen it in the paper.’

  Kendall nodded. ‘Doesn’t mean I believe a single word.’ He tried to laugh then sucked in some air and sat back, sweat on his forehead. ‘This guard. Does he have a record?’

  ‘No.’ It was one of the first things he’d checked this morning.

  ‘Find out where he worked before.’

  Harper stood back as Tollman escorted the doctor into the office. The physician reached into his leather bag, taking out a magnifying glass and a stethoscope. The examination took less than a minute.

  ‘He needs to be in hospital now.’ It was a blunt statement. Kendall looked up helplessly. He knew the truth just as well as the doctor and he was too tired to argue.

  ‘I want a hackney to take him to the infirmary.’ He stood by the front desk, counting tasks off on his fingers. ‘Send a constable to see Mrs Kendall and take her to him. And someone to inform the Chief Constable.’

  ‘Right away, sir,’ Tollman said. ‘Should I have someone accompany him to the hospital?’

  ‘I’ll do it.’ The man had watched over him when he was a green new detective. This was the least he could do in return.

  It was like lifting an invalid into the cab, weightless, nothing more than skin and bone. They sat and stared out of the window as the horse trotted along the Headrow, weaving in and out of carts.

  He could feel his heart thudding, but as he glanced across, the older man seemed content. Almost serene.

  ‘We’ll have you looked after in no time.’

  ‘Don’t you worry about me, Tom,’ Kendall said softly. He stayed quiet for almost a minute. ‘That guard at the prison. If you look back far enough I bet you’ll find he crossed paths with whoever paid him.’

  ‘Yes.’ More digging, more questions and shoe leather. But that was how the job worked.

  Ten minutes after they reached the infirmary Kendall had been examined and was on his way to a bed on the ward. He submitted without argument: a sure sign he was ill. Harper waited until the man was comfortable, then went outside and hailed a cab to go to Armley.

  Reed finished his report on the explosion, blotting the ink carefully. He was back in the rhythm of work, proud to button up the uniform in the morning and see the admiring stares on the tram into town.

  Two copies: one for the fire brigade records, the other for the owner of the factory. What he did with it was up to him; Reed had given his assessment and recommendations. His judgement: Jack Crabtree had no blame for the blast. It had either been a pure accident or due to negligence by Charlie Clay, the lad left in charge; it was impossible to know which.

  He sat back, thinking. Maybe, if the boiler hadn’t blown up, Crabtree would have revealed more. For a moment he’d seemed on the verge. Afterwards, when Reed returned, that moment had passed. He’d tried; he’d failed. With a sigh he pushed the file to one side and took the next one from the pile. A suspicious blaze in Beeston.

  It was the first time he’d seen Mrs Calder since he arrested the couple at the house in Headingley. The short time in jail had stripped away her civilized surface. All the planes of her face were sharp as flint, her eyes hard, hair greasy. The blue dress, the prison uniform, was smudged with dirt, the long apron a grubby off-white.

  She’d been crying, her eyes red and damp. Ash sat with her, talking quietly. She nodded.

  Harper remained in the corridor, watching through the glass in the door. Better to leave it to the sergeant. He’d established a rapport; there was no sense barging in and ruining that.

  He walked quietly away, back to the governor’s office. Hobson had willingly abandoned it to the murder investigation. Conway sat at a desk, poring over a prisoner’s statement.

  ‘Any leads?’

  ‘Not that you’d notice, sir.’ He took out a packet of Woodbines and lit one, watching the stream of smoke rise towards the ceiling. ‘Our search came up with four homemade knives, even a still hidden away at the back of the laundry room. But not Calder’s papers. They seem to have vanished.’ He frowned and ran his tongue around the inside of his mouth. ‘How would anyone know he even had them? You only brought them yesterday afternoon. Did you tell anyone?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘It seems that Talbot knew. Someone gave him order to kill and to take them.’

  Harper had asked himself the same question.

  ‘He must have seen Willie with them. Maybe Calder boasted they’d make him rich or get him out of jail.’

  Conway frowned. ‘Talbot must have contacted someone. I’ve talked to the others who were on shift with him. According to them, he disappeared for a quarter of an hour.’

  Long enough to send a message. To whom, though? Conway was doing a good job. The lad could think on his feet. He’d make an excellent sergeant. And with Ash as inspector he’d have the best men in the city working for him.

  ‘Keep on it. Where’s the body?’

  ‘They took him to Hunslet this morning, sir.’

  Down to King’s Kingdom for the post-mortem. He looked around. There was nothing useful he could do at the prison. Ash and Conway seemed to have it all in hand; they were thorough.

  ‘I’ll leave you to it. Report to Millgarth this afternoon.’

  Another hackney ride, bouncing and bucking, smelling the thick industrial stink of Leeds. Plenty of muck, in the air and in the river. But that meant lots of brass, at least for a few men.

  Dr King stopped in mid-cut to stare at him. His apron was bloody, grey hair wild, and he had a cigar clamped between his lips.

  ‘You’re a superintendent now, eh?’

  ‘I’m not quite sure I believe it myself,’ Harper told him.

  ‘I remember when you were a constable and here for the first time.’ He moved the cigar to the other corner of his mouth. ‘Shouldn’t you have someone else attending this?’

  ‘I was there when it all began. I want to see it through.’

  ‘Laudable, laudable.’ He wiped his hands on some grubby linen and ran his fingers inside the high collar. ‘And here he is.’

  Naked, beyond help, Willie Calder lay on the table. The stab wound on his chest was livid and red. His torso had been opened from throat to groin, the flesh clamped back.

  ‘I only saw one wound last night.’

  ‘That’s all there is,’ King said. ‘It doesn’t take more than that. There’s nothing unusual about him from my examination. If you’re hoping for clues, you’ll go away empty-handed.’

  ‘Nothing hidden away on his body?’ It was unlikely; still, he had to ask.

  King stared at him sharply. ‘On his body? Don’t be bloody ridiculous, laddie. Take a look at him. Of course there’s not. He d
idn’t have anything in his pockets. Satisfied?’

  ‘Yes,’ Harper said reluctantly and the doctor shook his head.

  ‘Now, if you’ve finished with your damn fool questions, I want to complete this and then carry on with the rest of my work.’

  Late in the afternoon Tollman marched a bobby into his office to be disciplined. He’d been discovered in uniform in the back room of the Yorkshire Grey with a jug of beer and a prostitute. Robert MacDonald. His second offence: the year before he’d been found in a box at the People’s Theatre with a different whore.

  ‘What do you have to say for yourself?’ the superintendent asked.

  MacDonald stood sharp, at attention, looking straight ahead. ‘I’m sorry, sir.’

  ‘No, you’re not,’ Harper told him. ‘You might be sorry you were caught, but that’s all I can see.’

  The man’s eyes widened. The superintendent waited, but MacDonald had the sense to say nothing.

  ‘Well? Anything else?’

  ‘No, sir.’

  ‘Then you’re fined three days’ wages. And the next time it happens you’ll be sacked from the police.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’ He could see the fury on the man’s face, the way he gritted his teeth before answering. ‘Thank you, sir. It won’t happen again.’

  It would; he knew that. Another month, another year, MacDonald would be standing there again and he’d tell the man to turn in his uniform.

  ‘Dismissed,’ he said wearily.

  By six his eyes felt gritty. He needed Ash and Conway here, to know what was going on at Armley. Waiting … it always seemed to be the worst part. Not knowing, impotent.

  Finally, close to half past, the pair of them arrived. Conway took his time, glancing around the office for the first time then hanging up his heavy overcoat and bowler hat.

  ‘What have you found out?’

  ‘Mrs Calder was very helpful with a list of her husband’s clients,’ Ash said. ‘People he bought from and the ones he sold the goods to.’

  ‘That’s a start. What about his murder?’

  Ash sighed. ‘She has no idea, sir. But she did say there were parts of his life he kept very secret from her. And she’d never heard of J.D.’ He tapped his head. ‘Willie kept everything up here, nothing written down.’

  Damn it, he thought. ‘That doesn’t help us, does it?’

  ‘I’m sorry, sir.’

  He was being unreasonable; he knew it. But what he needed were answers, not brick walls.

  ‘Mr Conway. What about you?’

  ‘I’ve been hunting the guard, sir. If he’s left Leeds through the railway station, no one’s spotted him. The other guards at the jail don’t know much about his life outside work.’ The man smiled. ‘But I might have something.’

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘I went to the place he worked before. An ironmonger in Farnley. Turns out he was let go for theft.’

  Harper raised an eyebrow. ‘They hired him as a guard at the prison after that?’

  ‘He didn’t mention it when he applied, sir, and no one checked.’

  Dear God, Harper thought. Not that Leeds City Police were much better; it appeared they’d take almost anyone, too.

  ‘How does that help us?’

  ‘The ironmonger told me where Talbot worked before that.’ His eyes twinkled. ‘Turns out he had a job with a silversmith.’

  ‘What?’ The hair rose on the back of his neck. ‘Where?’

  Conway’s expression darkened. ‘That’s where we hit a wall, sir. It was an old chap. He died. That’s why Talbot was looking for another job.’ Harper opened his mouth to speak, but the man continued. ‘I’ve checked, sir. It’s the truth; the silversmith died and the business closed. Nothing suspicious about the way he went.’

  If Talbot was stealing silver from his employer, he might have known Calder and Henry White. If. He sighed.

  ‘Right, gentlemen. Well done.’ He nodded at Ash. ‘Get that list copied and out to every division. I want all those men brought in for questioning.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  Harper turned to Conway. ‘See if you can track down any relatives of that silversmith. Did he talk about the business, any suspicions about Talbot? You know how to do it.’

  ‘I will, sir.’

  ‘Start tomorrow,’ he ordered. Nothing was going to bring Calder back, and Henry White was in the ground, food for the worms. A few more hours wouldn’t make any difference. He slid two letters from his drawer and pushed them across his desk. ‘From now on it’s Inspector Ash and Sergeant Conway. Congratulations, gentlemen.’

  It was a pleasure to see them both beam so widely and shake hands. Harper recalled the way he’d been when he became a sergeant, then an inspector. Overjoyed but wary. Scarcely able to believe it at first, like each new rank was a suit of clothes he still had to grow into.

  It felt exactly the same now. Awkward and uncomfortable.

  ‘Go home,’ he told them. ‘Get some rest.’

  He watched them leave together, grinning and happy. They both deserved it. Now he had a visit to make before he climbed the stairs at the Victoria.

  FIFTEEN

  In the hospital, Mrs Kendall sat beside the bed. The only sound was the quick clack of her knitting needles as she worked, her hands moving rapidly.

  He tapped lightly on the door and she paused, looking up, then smiling.

  ‘Hello, Tom. It’s good of you to come down.’

  Kendall was sleeping. All the agitation had fallen away from his face; he looked younger, carefree. But his breathing was so slight that Harper had to watch to be certain the chest rose and fell.

  ‘How is he?’

  ‘Not so well.’ She reached out and stroked the back of her husband’s hand. ‘The doctor gave him something to help him rest. They won’t come out and say it, but I don’t think it’ll be long now.’ She gave a wan smile. ‘I think it was the work that was keeping him going.’

  ‘Is there anything I can do?’

  She shook her head. ‘Just come and see him when he’s awake. Tell him what’s going on at the station. That’ll raise his spirits.’

  ‘What about you?’

  ‘We’re prepared. We’ve known about this for months.’

  It wasn’t the answer he expected. Not even one that told him much. But it was all she was going to offer. He wished her goodnight and walked back down the corridor, out into the evening.

  ‘Penny for them.’

  ‘What?’ Reed blinked, realizing he’d been staring at nothing.

  ‘You were miles away,’ Elizabeth said. She had the account book for the bakeries open in front of her, copying numbers from a small pile of receipts.

  ‘Just thinking.’ He took a sip of tea. Stone cold. ‘About the acid attack.’

  She put down the pen and blotted the page. ‘I went to see Annie again today.’

  ‘How is she?’

  ‘Mending. Well, her body is, at least,’ Elizabeth added after a moment. ‘Do you remember how she used to be?’ He shook his head; he’d never really known the girl. ‘Always liked to laugh, ready to smile. Now it’s hard to get a word out of her. Do you know what she told me?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘She said she felt like a monster. That’s such a horrible thing for a girl to say. God, Billy, she’s only thirteen. I just wanted to hug her and never let her go. She’s coming back to work next week.’

  ‘What? Serving people?’ Reed asked, surprised.

  ‘In the back, out of sight.’

  ‘Do you think she’s ready?’

  ‘She says she is. The girls will look after her. And it’ll be better than just sitting at home and brooding.’

  ‘I feel I let her down. I haven’t found out who did it.’

  ‘You did your best.’ Her face softened. ‘That’s all anyone can ask.’

  But failure rankled. It always had, it always would.

  ‘I haven’t given up, you know,’ he said impulsively.

  E
lizabeth looked at him quizzically. ‘But you’re back on the job, Billy love. Where are you going to find the time? And didn’t you say Ash is working on it?’

  ‘He can’t do everything on his own.’

  She hesitated before gently asking, ‘Do you think it’ll make a difference to Annie?’

  He didn’t understand. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Even if you find out who did it, it’s not going to change the rest of her life, will it? And if it ends up in court she’ll have to be there, in front of everyone.’

  He didn’t understand. ‘You don’t want it solved? But the Crabtree boy—’

  ‘Is disfigured, too.’ She looked at him with affection. ‘I know. He’s going to have to learn how to deal with life, the same as her. Knowing who did it and why isn’t going to put things back the way they were.’

  ‘It was a crime, the man who did it has to pay for that.’

  ‘Yes,’ she agreed solemnly. ‘He does. But I wonder about the price of it all.’ She shook her head. ‘Maybe I’m wrong.’ It was her way of making peace, ending a discussion on a hopeful note.

  ‘We’ll see.’

  But now he could feel the grim determination rising again. He’d find out who threw that acid. No one respected failure.

  Harper adjusted his tie as he stared in the mirror. He was wearing his best suit, the beautiful grey one Annabelle had given him for their first Christmas together. Four years on and it was a little snug around the waist, but Moishe Cohen’s wonderful stitching and the quality of the cloth still made it perfect.

  He heard the rustle of her dress as she came up behind him and ruffled his hair, grinning.

  ‘I was very glad to see you weren’t neglecting your duties at home last night, Superintendent.’

  ‘Simply serving the public, ma’am.’

  ‘You’d better not be serving all the public that enthusiastically,’ she warned. But her eyes sparkled.

  ‘Da?’ A small hand tugged at his trouser leg. Mary was dressed, her hair in ringlets, gazing up at him.

  ‘What is it, sweetheart?’

  ‘Why do you wear that?’ She mimicked tying a tie. He looked at Annabelle. She shrugged, looking amused as she waited for his answer.