‘That’s how men dress,’ he told her. ‘You and your mam, you wear dresses, don’t you?’ The girl nodded. ‘Men wear suits and shirts and ties.’
‘But why, Da?’
‘Because that’s the way it’s always been.’ It was the only answer he could give her; he was already late. For all he knew, it was correct. He kissed the top of Mary’s head, then Annabelle’s lips, and left for work.
A hint of blue off to the east, but a chill breeze was whipping down from the north, enough to make him glad of his heavy overcoat. Spring hadn’t arrived yet. Walking down from the tram stop on Vicar Lane, he gave a newsboy a penny ha’penny for a copy of the Post. But as soon as he saw the headline, he stopped in the middle of the pavement.
POLICE STUMPED ON JAIL MURDER
It was true, but he didn’t want it all over the front page of the newspaper. Harper crumpled it into his fist and marched to Millgarth.
Ash and Conway were in the office, standing by the fireplace and warming themselves.
‘In my office,’ Harper said.
Once the pair of them were seated, he held up the paper. He could feel the fury roaring through his veins.
‘Well?’
‘It wasn’t me, sir,’ Ash said, and then Harper could see the hurt in his eyes. Stupid. He knew better; Ash would never betray the force. Harper turned to stare at Conway.
‘I haven’t spoken to anyone about it, sir,’ he said quietly. ‘And I’d never talk to reporters.’
‘Someone has. Go and see Governor Hobson at Armley. I want to know who spoke and I want them punished. Understood?’
‘Report back here at five,’ he told them.
The sergeant left, but Inspector Ash hung back.
‘This acid-throwing case, sir.’
With the murder of Willie Calder it had slipped to the back of his mind.
‘What about it?’
‘It deserves some time, too, sir.’
He was right. Two children hurt, damage that they’d carry for the rest of their lives. It was rare for Ash to request anything.
Harper looked into the dark eyes. ‘Fine. Spend the morning on Calder, this afternoon on the acid.’
‘Thank you, sir.’
‘I want you here at noon to bring me up to date.’
‘Yes, sir.’ A contented smile under the moustache. ‘Gladly.’
He did an hour’s work, treading water in the sea of paper, then pulled on his overcoat and began walking along the Headrow.
Kendall was sitting up in his bed, alert, almost back to his old self.
‘Tom.’ He cocked his head. ‘Shouldn’t you be in your office, Superintendent?’
‘I’ll call this my charity work,’ Harper said with a grin. ‘You’re looking better.’
‘It passed.’ He breathed out slowly. ‘Took long enough. Thank you for what you did. I’ve never felt like that before. At least they’ve said I can go home later today.’
‘I’m glad.’ The day before he’d wondered if Kendall would make it out of the infirmary alive, but now … The transformation had been so huge, so fast. The kind of thing to make him hope the man might defy all the doctors’ expectations.
‘How are your cases?’
Of course Kendall would think about that. He brought the Post from his pocket and unfolded it on the bed.
‘Nowhere.’
He waited as the man read.
‘What are you doing about it?’ Kendall asked. His voice was grave.
‘I sent someone up to Armley to find out who talked. I know it wasn’t Ash, and I’m sure it wasn’t the new man we have.’
‘What makes you certain?’
‘Ash recommended him.’ A nod; it was enough.
Kendall’s bony fingers tapped the newspaper. ‘I can see why you ducked out of the office. Have the reporters been hounding you?’
‘Not yet.’ He hadn’t even thought about that. They’d come like wolves, he was sure.
‘They will. You might as well get used to it.’
‘I can ignore them.’
Kendall shook his head. ‘Do you want some advice, Tom?’
‘Please.’ So much to bloody learn.
‘Give them a few minutes. Talk, but don’t say anything – and make sure it’s nothing that can be twisted.’
Harper laughed. It seemed so ridiculous.
‘I know it has nothing to do with policing, but it’s all part of your job now,’ Kendall told him. ‘You need to get used to the politics.’
Once again, he wondered at the wisdom of taking the promotion. The only thing he gained was rank; it seemed he’d lost everything else.
‘You might even like it in time,’ Kendall told him. ‘Just make sure you spend more time solving crimes than I did.’ He gave a rueful smile. ‘That’s my only regret.’
‘Don’t you worry about that.’ He fidgeted with his hat, moving it round in his hands. ‘And I should get back to work.’
‘Thank you for coming, Tom. Even more for the other day.’
A quick handshake, and he was gone.
‘I might have something, sir,’ Ash said.
‘Tell me about it over some dinner.’
Now they were in the George on Lower Briggate, feeling the building shake every few minutes as trains rattled by on the viaduct.
He’d returned to Millgarth to find reporters for the Post and the Mercury waiting. He did what Kendall advised and surrendered a few minutes to them. A few anodyne statements, a pair of bland answers, and they left, satisfied.
‘What have you found?’ he asked Ash after the waiter brought his liver and onions.
‘I’ve been talking to a few of those men Mrs Calder named, sir.’ Ash cut into his meat pie and gravy pooled on the plate. ‘Asked them about anyone named J.D.’
‘Well?’ Harper wondered hopefully.
‘Nothing. One of them did know Henry White. And Talbot, the guard. By name. He even says he saw them together a few times.’
That was a big step forward. ‘Do you believe him?’
Ash nodded. ‘I was very careful with my questions, sir. The only way he could have answered was if he really did know.’
‘Then that’s another piece of the puzzle.’ Slowly, very slowly, things were beginning to build.
‘Still doesn’t help us find the killer, does it, sir?’
‘Not yet.’ He exhaled slowly, frustrated. ‘How can someone called J.D. be involved in this and we have no idea who he is? How can he stay that deep in the shadows?’
‘Maybe Sergeant Conway can find out at Armley.’
‘Let’s hope so.’
He felt more hopeful. A pale sun had come out, there was early spring warmth on his face, and he was beginning to believe that, bit by bit, they could uncover the murderer.
Harper pushed open the door of the station and stopped suddenly. The place was silent. At first he thought it must be his hearing. But where was Tollman? No one behind the desk.
The telephone began to ring, the bell loud and shrill. No one rushed to answer it. Eventually it fell silent.
He stood, scarcely daring to breathe.
Careful not to make a sound, Harper moved around the counter, grabbing the truncheon the sergeant kept there. He looped the strap over his wrist and fitted his fingers around the hard wood.
Harper edged down the corridor, straining to listen. His palms were slick with sweat. He could feel the clammy dampness on his back. Something was wrong. Dangerously wrong.
He eased a door open with his fingertips, watching it glide away from him. Nothing. His heart beat a tattoo in his chest. A second door. Nobody there. Next, the detectives’ room. He waited, his mouth dry, trying to swallow, hand resting on the knob. A twist, a sharp turn and he pushed it wide open.
Just enough time to twist himself off to the side, out of the way. The shotgun blast was so loud it made his bad ear ring. Plaster fell. No wounds he could feel. Nothing screamed with pain as he scrambled to his feet and charged into the room.
&nbs
p; The man had the gun broken open, fumbling as he tried to put in a fresh cartridge. Harper brought his truncheon down hard. The shotgun fell as the man screamed and clutched his hands. Before he could do anything Harper hit him again, a swift crack on the skull. He watched as the man crumpled to the floor.
It seemed that he’d hardly done a thing, barely moved but as he turned the man over and clicked the handcuffs closed on his wrists, Harper was panting as if he’d run a mile, hands shaking. He knew the man’s face: Constable MacDonald, the bobby he’d disciplined the day before, reeking of gin.
Where were the men? What had MacDonald done to them?
The noise of the shot still filled his ears as he hurried through the station. Tollman and another officer were locked in a cell downstairs. A bruise blossomed over the sergeant’s eye. He held his handkerchief to a cut on his forehead.
‘Heard the shot, sir.’ His voice was hoarse, creaking. ‘I thought he’d got you.’
‘No such luck. It’ll take more than that.’ Harper grinned. ‘Are you all right?’
‘He took me by surprise.’ It was more apology than explanation. ‘Walked in and pulled his gun.’
The constable helped him to his feet as Harper turned the key and opened the door. The sergeant looked old and unsteady.
‘Don’t worry, he won’t be giving you any more trouble.’ He was still breathing hard, scared to think about what had happened. ‘Get him down here,’ he told the constable. ‘Then I want a doctor in to look at Mr Tollman and the prisoner. In that order.’ He thought for a moment. ‘And once you’ve done that, make us all a cup of tea.’
‘Yes, sir.’ He dashed off.
Tollman sat on the bunk in the cell, too worn to move.
‘Need a hand?’
‘If you don’t mind, sir.’
Harper held him by the arm, steadying him as he climbed the stairs and returned to the front desk. He could hear the bobby trying to move the man in handcuffs.
‘Just drag him,’ he yelled. Then, to Tollman,
‘MacDonald. Who’d have credited it?’
‘I never expected that from him,’ Tollman admitted. ‘He wasn’t a good copper, but …’
Anger, drink. A grievance. Revenge on those who’d caused him pain. It had happened before, although that was usually bobbies caught out on their beats and given a kicking. Never at a police station. And never a man with a gun.
‘Times are changing,’ Tollman said with regret. ‘And not for the better.’
All he could do was nod his head in agreement.
‘Do you want to go home?’ Harper asked.
‘I’ll be fine, sir.’ He managed a grin. ‘Might be more than you can say for MacDonald by the time he reaches court.’
He inspected the damage in the passage. The shot had taken chunks of plaster from the wall. He knew exactly how lucky he’d been. Even a hair slower, he’d be on the floor now, his life bleeding away.
Harper shivered. Too close. Far too close. Christ. He swept tiny pieces of debris from his hair and clothes. His best suit, as well. At least it wasn’t ruined; that was about the only good thing from the business. Annabelle would never have forgiven him.
SIXTEEN
He wrote his report and sent it to the chief constable. Workmen would arrive in the morning to repair the wall and the door to the detectives’ room. As good as new, at least on the surface. Dive below that and nothing could ever be the same again. Everyone who walked into Millgarth would be a suspect. No copper would ever feel completely free or safe in the station.
The reporters had been back, of course. He’d left Tollman to deal with them. But one person he hadn’t been able to keep out was Annabelle. She stormed through the door, eyes blazing with anger and fear, stopping short when she saw him.
‘Someone came into the Victoria and told me. I took a hackney straight down.’ She held him at arms’ length, eyeing him up and down. ‘Are you hurt?’
‘No.’ He wasn’t going to say more than that. She didn’t need to know exactly how lucky he’d been. ‘Where’s Mary?’
‘I left her with Ellen.’ She took a breath. ‘I didn’t want to bring her in case …’ She hugged him close and he stroked her back, feeling the fine wool of her jacket, smelling her faint perfume. A little of the hearing had returned in his bad ear; it was no worse than before, as far as he could judge. That alone felt like a miracle. ‘For God’s sake, Tom. I was that worried about you.’
‘Not a scratch,’ he whispered. In more than fifteen years on the force, this was the closest he’d come to death. And he’d still managed to walk away without a graze.
‘I thought being a superintendent would make you safer,’ Annabelle said and he began to laugh. It was so ridiculous. She was right; behind a desk he should have been in no danger. Instead, it had come to him. Only restlessness and sheer luck had saved him. He shook his head, amazed by the good fortune of it all.
‘Would Ellen mind looking after Mary for a few hours, do you think?’ he asked suddenly.
‘I daresay she’d enjoy it.’ Annabelle eyed him suspiciously. ‘Why?’
‘I’ll meet you in front of the Grand Pygmalion at six and take you out.’
Her eyes narrowed.
‘What are you up to, Tom Harper?’
‘I’m alive,’ he told her. ‘I’m unhurt. I want to take my wife out to celebrate that.’
There was plenty to do first. The chief constable had telephoned; so had the mayor. The other stations had sent messengers, some on foot, some by bicycle, to check everything was truly well.
MacDonald was in a cell, shackled hand and foot. He’d come round with no problem after the doctor had seen him. Suffering from a little concussion and still drunk. But he’d be sober enough when he appeared in court. He wasn’t likely to be a free man for many years.
Harper shuddered as the blast echoed through his mind. The split-second he realized he was looking at a gun and dived away to the side.
‘Bit of a to-do, sir?’ Ash asked as he walked in. ‘And you didn’t invite me?’
‘Just a visitor who decided to redecorate the station.’
Ash surveyed the damage. ‘He hasn’t done a very good job. I preferred it the way it was.’
‘He’s behind bars if you want to tell him.’
‘I’m sure there are plenty already queueing up to do that.’
‘I daresay.’ He hadn’t asked; he didn’t want to know. As long as MacDonald could walk into court and the injuries didn’t show, that was all he cared. The man deserved whatever he got. ‘You spent the afternoon on the acid case?’
‘Yes, sir.’ He settled himself more comfortably on the chair. ‘I had an interesting little natter with Mrs Crabtree.’
‘Does she know who did it?’
‘No. It’s painful to see. She’s torn apart.’
He could only imagine what it must be like. To have your child disfigured that way would be … he didn’t possess the words to describe it.
‘What, then?’
‘It was more what she didn’t say, really.’ He paused, gathering his thoughts. ‘I had the sense she was hinting at something but she daren’t come out and say it.’
‘Daren’t?’ he asked in surprise.
‘To do with her husband.’
‘What? She thinks he did it?’ That was ridiculous.
Ash shook his head. ‘That he caused it.’ He paused and corrected himself. ‘Or something he did caused it, anyway.’
Even if she came out and accused him, it would hold no weight; no court could force her to testify against him.
‘Did she give you any idea what it is he’s supposed to have done?’ the superintendent asked. His interest was piqued.
‘She began talking about the families that have left the church.’
‘How do you mean? She wanted you to talk to them?’
‘I think so, sir. I tried one of them but nobody was home. I’ll see them both tomorrow.’
‘Very good.’
He turned to Conway; the pair of them had arrived together. ‘Tell me what you’ve learned at Armley.’
‘Not much about Willie Calder, sir. I decided to look a bit harder at the guard.’
‘I thought we already knew about his part,’ Harper said.
‘It seems he has a bit more of a past than we thought, sir. He was a bit of a lad when he was young. Did some thieving for a gang in Hunslet before he found a proper job. That’s how he first met Henry White. He’d keep a little back for himself, go up to the Bank and flog it to Henry.’ He paused and ran his tongue over his lips. ‘There’s a rumour he killed someone, too. About ten years ago.’
‘Gossip or something more?’ Harper asked. Talk was cheap and murder was rare.
‘I couldn’t find anything to back it up. He was probably just boasting to make himself sound big. You know how it is.’
‘Yes.’ If he had a conviction for everyone who was supposed to have committed murder there’d be no criminals left in Leeds. He saw Conway look nervously at Ash.
‘Excuse me, sir, but are you all right?’
‘Me?’ he asked. ‘I’m fine. Why?’
‘It’s just that your hands are shaking, sir.’
He looked down. The sergeant was right. It was slight; he hadn’t even noticed. Christ, but how? He couldn’t even feel it. He pressed his palms down on the desk.
‘It seems I am,’ he said, surprised. ‘Perhaps we’d better call it a night, gentlemen. Back to it tomorrow.’
Alone, he stared, trying to will it to stop, but his body wouldn’t obey. Shock, he decided. It would pass.
He was ten minutes late. She was waiting impatiently in front of Monteith’s, the huge department store on Boar Lane. The Grand Pygmalion, people called it, four floors of everything a family could desire.
He’d hurried along the streets, weaving in and out of the crowds on their way home. Now she was looking at him with one eyebrow raised.
‘What time do you call this?’
‘Something came up as I was leaving. I’m sorry.’ He’d spent too long in the office, trying to keep his hands still. In the end he’d had to give up.
Annabelle was surrounded with bags, five that he saw.
‘How could you buy so much?’ he asked. ‘You only had an hour and a half.’
On Copper Street Page 15