There was no rush to return to the fire station. Reed walked through the market and down to Millgarth. A greeting from Tollman, then squeezing through the corridor where two workmen were repairing the wall, smearing it thickly with fresh, damp plaster.
He’d heard all about it. Everyone in Leeds had. Harper the hero, one of the newspapers had called him. Yes, it took courage to face down a man with a shotgun, and Tom had never lacked that. It was one or two of his other qualities that left something to be desired. The ones that were never mentioned.
He rapped on the office door. The superintendent looked up from his papers, mouth broadening to a smile.
‘Come on in, Billy.’ He sniffed the air. Reed knew the smoke and dampness clung to his uniform. ‘Straight from a job?’
‘Yes. Nothing that big, though. Sir.’
‘Give over. You know better than that,’ Harper told him. ‘How long have we known each other? There’s no one else around, is there?’
Reed took out his cigarettes and lit one. ‘I was thinking about the acid attack again.’
‘I thought you’d handed that back to Ash.’
‘I couldn’t let it go,’ he admitted, without saying why. Earlier, the hose trained on the blaze, he’d come to understand something. He was a fireman now. That was where he succeeded or failed. Much as he liked the idea, he couldn’t play the copper any longer. He needed to pass on what he’d learned and be done with it.
‘Did you find something?’
‘I had a nose around a couple of pubs. Ran into someone who was talking about some filthy business.’
‘What sort?’ He watched the superintendent cock his head, angling it so he’d be able to hear everything clearly.
‘Church folk and young girls.’ He shrugged. ‘No names, no pack drill. But it’s like the man who told me said: you don’t get smoke without fire.’
‘You know better than that when it comes to rumours, Billy.’ All too often they had no substance at all.
‘Maybe,’ Reed agreed. ‘It’s still worth a look. It would explain a lot, like those families who took their children out of Crabtree’s Sunday school class and left the church.’
Harper nodded. ‘I’ll tell Ash. He’s been thinking along the same lines. This gives him a little more information. Good work.’
Reed smiled. ‘From what I’ve read, you’ve done some good work of your own.’
‘Don’t believe a word of it. I was lucky. I still get the terrors when I think about it.’ He held up his hands. ‘These started shaking and I had to wait until they stopped. I thought I was over it and it happened again last night. Lucky I was at home.’
‘I see that in the fire brigade, too.’
Harper stared at him eagerly. ‘What’s the solution? How do you stop it?’
‘There isn’t one, Tom. It’s like life: you just take a deep breath and get on with it.’
EIGHTEEN
It was early afternoon when Ash returned, with Conway at his side. No sign of Sergeant Calder.
‘We left him asking around in Hunslet, sir. He knows the area, after all. The three of us went to see Dr King.’
‘What did he have to say?’
‘What you’d expect. A single blow killed Talbot, nothing else needed. No sign of a fight, no grazing on his knuckles. Sounds like he was with someone he trusted and he turned his back on them.’
Harper took the papers from his desk drawer.
‘He’d hidden these away in his coat lining. I’d left them with Willie Calder. The only thing is, these aren’t all of them.’
‘What about the rest?’ Conway asked.
‘It seems as if Talbot only kept the ones that refer to J.D. He probably threw the others away.’
‘J.D. could have killed Talbot,’ Ash said.
‘I’m quite certain he did,’ Harper continued. ‘But he didn’t find the papers because they were hidden in Talbot’s coat lining.’ It gave a shape to the killing, a reason. He stared at the officers. ‘Find J.D., gentlemen.’
The room was hot, flames leapt in the fireplace. Harper felt the sweat trickling down his spine. He stood over by the window, anywhere that might be a little cooler.
Kendall’s chair was close to the hearth, but he still had a heavy rug over his lap. He sat hunched over, seeming even smaller than he had in the hospital. It was as if the life was slowly leaking out of him, like air from a balloon. All so quick, too; hardly a moment had passed since he was the superintendent and Harper just the inspector.
‘You’ve got a real mystery, Tom,’ Kendall said after hearing about Talbot’s death and the papers in the coat lining. He nodded eagerly, eyes alive for the first time since the visit began. ‘I’d agree with you, though. J.D. sounds like the real suspect.’
‘But we can’t find anyone with those initials. Do they mean anything to you?’
He could see the man thinking, working through the files in his mind, all the memories of criminals. Years of them.
‘Three,’ Kendall said finally. ‘But they’re all dead now.’ He gave a small, wan smile. ‘Not a lot of help, is it?’
‘I’m afraid not.’
The servant arrived with a tray, teapot and cups. Mrs Kendall bustled in behind, taking over and pouring. He understood. She wanted to keep an eye on her husband; she knew how fast he was slipping away. Every minute had meaning.
‘Too many bodies, Tom,’ he said once they were alone again. ‘You’ve got three of them now. Stand back and look at the bigger picture. That’s what you need to do with your rank. Let Ash and – what’s the new fellow’s name?’
‘Conway.’
‘Let them do the leg work. You promoted them, so trust them and leave them to get on with it. You’re the one who needs to be able to connect all the pieces.’
Sound advice. But could he keep himself removed enough from the case to take it?
‘Have you asked about this J.D. at the other divisions?’ Kendall asked.
‘At the meeting. Nobody knows the initials. But at least we’ve decided we need to share information and make our records central.’
‘About time, too. It’s more than I ever managed,’ Kendall admitted with a sigh. ‘New brooms, eh?’ He smiled.
‘It doesn’t help us catch him.’
‘Not with this one. It might with others. One more thing, Tom.’
‘What’s that?’
‘Tollman dropped in. He told me what you did when that madman took over Millgarth.’
Harper hadn’t intended to mention it. The story in the newspapers had been enough. All he wanted was to forget, to put it all behind him, to lose the fear. No more hands shaking when he least expected it.
‘Don’t believe all he says.’
‘I don’t think Tollman exaggerated. You did more than I could have.’
‘I did what had to be done. Nothing more than that,’ he said firmly.
The conversation continued for a few minutes. He could see the man growing weary and made his excuses. In the hall, as he shrugged into his coat, Mrs Kendall said, ‘Thank you for coming. It means a lot to him, you know. One or two have visited. Not many, though.’
He wasn’t surprised. Illness scared people; they were afraid they’d catch something.
‘It’s always good to see him. He seems happier out of the infirmary.’
‘He is,’ she agreed. ‘But it won’t be much longer now.’
‘He might hold on.’
She stopped him with a hand on his arm. ‘We both know the truth and we might as well admit it. Denying it isn’t going to help at all. Poor Bob, he’s like a spring winding down now he’s not working any more.’
‘I’m sorry.’ It was all he could think to say.
‘Don’t be,’ she told him. ‘He loved what he did. And we’ve had a good life together. But the thing about lives, Mr Harper, is that they end eventually. All of them. And maybe that’s not bad.’ She sighed and smiled. ‘Maybe you’ll see it yourself when you’re older. Many years from n
ow,’ she added.
‘I’ll come and see him again.’
‘Please do. He’d like that.’
He was still awake when Annabelle came back from speaking at the suffragist meeting. Downstairs the pub was busy, a Saturday night crowd out to celebrate and forget work, bills, everything, for a few hours.
He didn’t hear the hackney on the cobbles outside, or her footsteps on the stairs. The first he knew was when she burst into the parlour, face flushed with excitement and pleasure.
‘You should have seen them, Tom.’ Annabelle dumped her papers and books on the table. Harper rose from the chair and hugged her. ‘They were on their feet, cheering. I really think we’re getting somewhere.’
‘I’m glad.’ She’d put so much into the movement. Her belief, her time as a speaker and secretary of the Leeds branch. A publican, a businesswoman who’d grown up poor but made a success of her life: someone like that was a proper inspiration, a powerful voice for suffragism.
‘No problem getting Mary to bed?’
He laughed. Every time it was the same question, as if he’d never done it before.
‘Not a peep out of her. Come on, tell me all about it.’
He listened as she went through it all, until her words began to fade as tiredness took over from elation.
‘What about you?’ she asked.
She’d already left by the time he arrived home. Ellen had given Mary her supper then brought her down to him.
‘I visited Kendall,’ he answered quietly. ‘He’s not long for this world.’
‘Maguire, Kendall. And it’s only March.’ She shook her head. ‘It’s not a good start to the year, is it?’
Sunday. The weeks seemed to slip by too quickly, gone before he even realized it. Spring had arrived, even in the middle of the city. The smell of new life, buds on the trees, and the sense of warmth in the air pierced the smoke and the soot.
Today all the machines were quiet. No pall of smoke pouring from the chimneys and the factories as Harper strode along North Street, past Cohen and Son, Tailors, where Moses and his family lived above the shop, beyond the tangle of streets that made up the Leylands, where most of Leeds’s Jews made their homes and their livings, more of them arriving every year.
He’d spent half the night awake with Annabelle’s gentle breathing as the backdrop to his thoughts. In his mind he saw the faces of those who were dying and those already gone.
And he considered the job.
For the last week he’d tried to be Kendall, to do things the way Kendall would. He’d tucked Tom Harper in around the edges. And he’d discovered he couldn’t work that way. It felt wrong. He was a working copper. He’d been promoted because he was good at his job. He solved crimes. If he spent his time behind a desk, he wasn’t doing the thing he managed best.
He had to be a superintendent on his own terms. He needed to be out there, to be part of the investigations. He’d still take care of the forms, the reports and the meetings, but that would be one part of the work, not all of it. Leeds Police was going to have a very active superintendent at A Division. And if the watch committee didn’t like it, they could demote him.
Decision made, he walked into Millgarth with a smile on his face. The corridor smelt of fresh plaster. The wall was startlingly white where it had been repaired. The door to the detectives’ room was new, not even varnished yet. Another month and they’d be as battered and worn as the rest of the police station. The story of MacDonald and his gun would pass from news to legend. It would slide into history. Slowly forgotten and better that way.
An hour of paperwork, keeping his head above water, and he’d had enough. The city was Sabbath quiet until the church bells began ringing. St John’s first, then the Parish Church, and finally Holy Trinity over on Boar Lane.
Harper put down his pen, blotted his signature on the form, and slid into his coat, tapping his hat down on his head before leaving his office.
It wasn’t that far to Copper Street, no more than a few minutes’ walk up the cobbles of the Bank. He stopped outside Henry White’s old house. Upstairs, the curtains were drawn, and even his tin ear could make out the sound of voices inside, a mother and her children. Someone new was making a life there.
Round the corner, on Brass Street, he knocked on the door of number thirty-seven. Mrs Thorp answered, her face tightening as she recognized him.
‘What do you want?’ she asked.
‘You didn’t waste any time renting out Henry’s house.’
‘Why would I?’ she said. ‘The will went through without any problem. It’s not making me any money if it’s empty.’ The woman eyed him. ‘Did you bring me back them keys?’
He smiled to himself. She wasn’t the type ever to forget a debt or a slight. He reached into his pocket, pulled them out and dropped them into her waiting hand.
‘You ever find what they was for?’
‘Yes,’ he told her. She waited, but he wasn’t about to say; it didn’t concern her. ‘Did you find anything else when you were clearing out Henry’s house?’
She shrugged. ‘Not much. Sold it all to the rag and bone man.’ She snorted. ‘Not that he gave me more than a few pennies. Told me I should pay him to drag it away. Anything else?’
‘No, that’s all.’ He raised his hat. ‘Good day to you.’
As he walked in to the station he could feel it; a dampening of the mood. Subdued, muted. He looked at Tollman.
‘Bad news, I’m afraid, sir.’ He took a breath. ‘Mr Kendall died this morning. A heart attack. I just got the message from Chapeltown.’
‘I see. Thank you.’ He walked through and settled behind his desk. Kendall’s desk until so recently. The office still smelled of the shag tobacco he smoked. The scent had become embedded in the place.
Five minutes later he was on his feet again, walking out and hailing a hackney.
It was too soon for the house to have the look of mourning. The body would barely be cold yet.
The servant let him in, bobbing a quick curtsey. Her eyes were rimmed and red from crying.
Olivia Kendall sat quietly in the parlour. A fire was set in the grate, but not lit; there was none of the overwhelming heat of yesterday.
‘I’m sorry,’ he told her. He never knew what to say. Words always seemed contrived and false.
‘Don’t be.’ She gestured for him to sit. ‘It was quick. That’s the blessing, as if God didn’t want him to suffer.’
Was she religious, he wondered? Kendall had never mentioned it.
‘It was over in a few seconds,’ she continued. ‘This morning. He was sitting up in bed. Kitty had brought us tea. He put his down on the table and turned to me. Then it happened.’ A smile that was a mix of sadness and relief. ‘As fast as that. No pain, the doctor said …’
Better than the torment cancer would put him through. Quick, over in a moment. If there was any good way to die, that had to be it. At home, in his own bed.
‘I’m glad.’ But it sounded wrong, he thought; inadequate, callous.
‘So am I,’ she said firmly. ‘You never want to see someone suffer. Not when you’ve loved them for years, Mr Harper.’
‘The police will give him a good send-off—’
She was shaking her head. ‘Family and friends only. That’s what he said. I know he’d want you there. I’ll put a notice in the paper, but that’s all.’ She hesitated for a moment. ‘Would you let the chief constable know?’
‘Of course.’ It was the least he could do. But the man would insist on a memorial service later, that was certain. Kendall had been a decorated senior officer.
Gently, he turned down the chance to see the corpse. He’d rather remember the man who’d taught him to be a detective, someone vital who he’d served under for so long. Outside, walking down the street, he breathed deep, drawing the air into his lungs, feeling alive and grateful.
Reed leaned back in his chair, listening to Ash.
‘Superintendent Harper passed on what you
’d heard in the pubs. I thought it might be useful to hear more.’
There was no deference in the man’s voice now. Why should there be? Ash was an inspector; they were equals. And he’d earned the promotion, no doubt about that.
‘I told him everything I knew,’ Reed said. ‘It’s just gossip.’
‘There’s often a reason for it.’ He saw Ash’s mouth twitch into a smile under his thick moustache. ‘It ties in with some of the things I’ve heard, too. Was there any detail? Any names?’
‘Nothing like that.’ Reed shrugged. ‘Just talk. The man had been drinking. I thought it was worth passing on; there might be something in it. How does it fit in with what you’ve learned?’
He asked a few questions as Ash explained.
‘You’re right, it all seems to go together very neatly,’ Reed agreed.
‘It’s getting people to talk about it that’s the problem.’ Ash turned the battered bowler hat on his lap. ‘Of course, you’d know that. Any idea how to approach it?’
‘Well—’ Reed began. Then the bell began to clang, and the fire station became a welter of noise and action. The clerk dashed in and shouted, ‘Up on Woodhouse Lane, sir, by the church,’ while men fitted the horses into their traces on the engine.
‘I need to go,’ Reed said.
‘Of course.’
Conway paced around the superintendent’s office. He’d only stayed seated for a minute, then he was up on his feet and walking around, as if keeping still constrained him too much.
‘You remember I said that Talbot had worked for a silversmith when he was young?’
‘Yes, I do,’ Harper answered. Following the sergeant’s movements was making him dizzy.
‘I managed to track down the silversmith’s relatives and asked if they knew anything. The son didn’t, but he still had his father’s ledgers and notes.’
‘Oh?’ It was strange, the things people kept. Somewhere, in a trunk, he still had the cap his father wore to work every day. He hadn’t looked at it in years, but it seemed like the essence of the man. A keepsake. Daft, and he knew it, but …
On Copper Street Page 17