On Copper Street

by Chris Nickson

  Only charlatans could tell the future, though, and no one could change the past. It had happened. Henry was dead, Willie Calder, Talbot the jail guard. Now Sergeant Conway. All gone. It felt like a tale spiralling up and up.

  He’d catch up with Mrs Calder very soon. For now, though, he had too much to do. On the Otley Road he hailed a cab to go back to Armley.

  The curtains were closed although it was broad daylight. He stood by the step and knocked gently on the door. A woman aged somewhere around sixty answered. Iron-grey hair, gathered back in a bun, a shapeless black gown and kind, quizzical eyes.

  ‘I’m Superintendent Harper,’ he said. ‘I was the sergeant’s commanding officer.’

  A slow, silent nod of the head and she moved aside. The door to the parlour was open. The young woman inside tried to rise to her feet but he waved her back down. She was large, probably ready to give birth in just a few weeks.

  ‘I’m very sorry about your husband,’ he told her. ‘If I could change it, believe me, I would.’

  She was small, pale, all the life washed out of her by her husband’s death. ‘Thank you.’

  ‘I want to tell you that we’ll find the man who did this. Mark was a very good policeman. He’d only worked for me for a short time, but I was proud to know him.’

  ‘Fred Ash said he should join you.’ She looked at him, empty of tears.

  ‘No one could have guessed what would happen,’ he told her. ‘No one. But the force will look after you. All of you. I’ll make sure of it.’

  A few minutes of conversation and he left. What could he say? Her husband was gone, the only things ahead a hero’s funeral for him and a lonely life for her. He walked over to the room above the grocer’s shop they were using for the murder enquiry. Coppers bustled in and out. Watching, it almost seemed like a factory to him.

  ‘Anything worthwhile to tell me?’ he asked Ash.

  ‘Not much, sir.’ His eyes were bloodshot and feverish. Too long awake, too many hours focused on this. ‘Someone came forward with a better description of the killer. Saw him as he was running off.’ He handed over a printed sheet.

  ‘Very good,’ he said, although it added little to what they knew. Dark hair. Close to five feet ten. Wearing a bowler hat and a dark overcoat. Broad-shouldered, fast runner. ‘Maybe it’ll make someone think. There’ll be a piece in the Evening Post today, too.’

  Ash stretched. ‘It’s funny, sir. I can almost see him. Then I turn to bring him into focus and he vanishes again.’ He yawned.

  ‘Go home and get some rest. You’re exhausted.’

  ‘Sir—’

  ‘It’s an order.’ He tempered it with a smile. ‘You need good eight hours of sleep and a proper hot meal.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘I’ll look after things here.’

  TWENTY-FOUR

  The men all worked with a will, no one shirking. He went around, thanking each one of them; many had given up their free time, and they all deserved far more than he could give them. But his words brought smiles. One or two had memories of working with Conway and he stopped to listen.

  These were good men, solid men. Even if they might not all always be honest men, for now their hearts were in the right place.

  The superintendent was still there as night began to fall. Some bobbies had gone home. Others drifted in to replace them; the room was as full and lively as it had been that morning. The Evening Post had done him proud, interview on the front page with a big headline. He was reading it when a constable approached, helmet under his arm, a pale, bristling moustache, and stood at attention.

  ‘Superintendent Leeman’s compliments, sir, and could you go over to D Division in Wortley?’

  ‘Did he say why?’

  ‘Don’t know, sir. That’s the message I was asked to deliver, sir.’ The man was formal, eyes straight ahead, uniform perfect. In time he’d make a natural sergeant.

  As soon as he walked into the station at Wortley he heard the choir of drunks. It was still early and not even a Saturday night; they must have had something to celebrate. It felt disorientating to hear some joy after the bleakness of the last few weeks. There was more sorrow ahead – Kendall’s small funeral was in the morning, a memorial later, then a big service for Conway. Death wouldn’t leave him alone this year.

  Leeman was in his office, smoking a pipe as he read over a paper, the nib poised in his hand. He relaxed as he saw Harper.

  ‘I’m sorry to drag you away, Tom. I wouldn’t bother if it wasn’t important.’ He shouted for one of the bobbies and gave an order. ‘Something you should hear.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘She’ll be here in a minute. We arrested her with those drunks and she’s three sheets to the wind herself.’

  Her hat was tipped at a strange, unnatural angle on her head, hair spilling out of its pins. The woman leered when she saw Harper.

  ‘Brought me a fresh one, have you, luv?’ She stumbled, holding on to the desk for support. Her dress was old, faded and worn, shiny in patches. Her gaze kept shifting away.

  ‘Shut up, Addie,’ Leeman told her. ‘Tell this gentleman what you told me earlier.’

  ‘About what?’ She slurred her words, confused.

  ‘About Talbot.’

  ‘Oh.’ She composed herself, standing like a schoolgirl and swaying slightly.

  ‘Used to have a good time with him.’ She chuckled to herself then jerked her head up, turning serious. ‘He told me once that he knew someone important.’

  Harper shot a glance at Leeman. ‘Important?’

  ‘That’s what he said,’ the woman mumbled, turning her head to look at him.

  ‘Who? Did he say?’

  ‘Don’t know. Didn’t ask.’ Her mouth curled into a smile. ‘But he told me it was a man who’d killed people.’

  ‘What?’ Suddenly he was digging his nails hard into his palms. ‘Did he give you a name? Anything?’

  ‘Just that no one could touch him.’

  Leeman nodded to the constable by the door. ‘Give her a drink and turf her out,’ he said, then turned to Harper. ‘That’s all she knows. I thought you’d want to hear it for yourself.’

  ‘Yes.’ But what it all meant, he didn’t know. Someone important? A killer? Who? ‘Thank you.’

  ‘Hard to believe, isn’t it?’

  ‘You seem to know her,’ Harper said. ‘Is she telling the truth?’

  ‘I’ve had her in here about once a month for years. Has a few drinks and gets loud. That’s as bad as she gets.’ He sighed and shrugged. ‘Most likely we’ll find her frozen to death in a gutter one night. Anyway, yes, I believe her.’

  ‘Whoever Talbot was talking about might have been the one who killed him.’

  ‘Or the people he fleeced over taking things into prison for their relatives.’

  ‘I don’t think so, do you? I could see them beating him for that, but not killing.’

  ‘Maybe you’re right. But anything that helps us catch Conway’s murderer …’

  ‘Is very welcome,’ Harper agreed with a grateful smile. They shook hands. ‘I appreciate it.’

  Now he had to try and fit that into the puzzle.

  Ash was back in Armley, looking a little better than he had before, as if he’d managed to find a few hours’ rest.

  ‘I’ve got something interesting to tell you,’ Harper said.

  ‘What does “important” mean, though, sir?’ the inspector asked when he’d finished. ‘A councillor?’

  Harper shook his head. ‘It couldn’t be. There’s not a man on the council who’d dirty his hands by killing anyone himself.’ They might be venal, but none of them had the courage for something like that.

  ‘They could pay someone to do it.’

  ‘Maybe.’ But the way the woman Addie had spoken, it sounded like someone who’d done the act with his own hands. ‘It’s something else for the pile, at least.’

  ‘I’ve got one, too.’ Ash reached into the desk drawer and brough
t out a Webley revolver. ‘This was handed in half an hour ago.’

  Harper handled it carefully, breaking open the chamber. Still four bullets inside. ‘Where was it found?’

  Ash picked out the spot on the map. ‘Right there, sir. Some little lad came across it and took it home.’ He shuddered.

  Four bullets left, and Conway had only been shot once. Christ …

  ‘Did he fire it?’

  ‘No.’ Ash shook his head. ‘Just as well, too. I think it must have been too heavy for him. He tried to take it out to play with his friends tonight and his mam saw it. She made him bring it down here.’

  ‘Thank God for that.’ There could have been a boy or two dead by now.

  Harper picked it up again, feeling the iron weight of the weapon. This was it. This had to be the gun that had killed Sergeant Conway.

  ‘Have you sent men to go over that waste ground?’

  ‘Someone to guard it for now. We’ll look properly once it’s light.’

  Annabelle adjusted his tie, standing back to look at her work before giving a nod of approval. Mary stood, awestruck by her father’s clothes. She’d never seen him dressed like this before. But this morning was Kendall’s funeral, and Harper owed the man the courtesy of appearing in a detective’s formal uniform. The wing collar bit into his neck, the frock coat and striped trousers felt too tight. His top hat rested on the table.

  ‘You look a picture.’

  ‘I don’t feel it.’

  ‘Da, why are you wearing those clothes?’

  ‘Because it’s an important occasion.’ It was the simplest answer.

  ‘Are you sure you don’t want me to go with you?’ Annabelle asked.

  ‘You barely knew him,’ Harper replied. And she had three hundred leaflets to deliver. The council election was a month away and she was campaigning for the Independent Labour Party candidate. She’d been out tramping the streets around Sheepscar yesterday, too, knocking on doors and talking to the women, and she’d be back doing that tomorrow and all the days after until people voted, with Mary at her side. Their daughter would grow up with politics in her blood.

  A kiss from each of them and he was gone, out into the morning. Only two minutes before a cab came by and he was looking out at Chapeltown Road. It was all houses now, as far as the eye could see. Leeds was growing so quickly that it seemed to be devouring the empty land. Soon there would be no more villages scattered around, they’d all be consumed by the city.

  He stood with Sergeant Tollman in St Martin’s Church, the only other policeman at the service. Kendall’s children were there on either side of their mother. Grown, adults, the sons the image of the father.

  He’d never seen most of the congregation before. Relatives and friends, about twenty of them, following the coffin out to the graveyard as the last notes of the organ drifted away.

  The gravediggers began shovelling sod on to the coffin and he made his quick farewells. Mrs Kendall would understand, she’d been a copper’s wife for years.

  ‘I wasn’t sure if you’d be able to come, with that poor man shot.’ She gave a teary nod. ‘But thank you. You were always his favourite at Millgarth, you know.’

  Olivia Kendall was all in black, her plain, modest gown and hat out of fashion. But who cared about little things like that now? Sorrow and pain filled her eyes and her face was pale with loss. She could no longer hide the things she’d pushed down while her husband was dying. She didn’t need the mask any more. So many years together and now she was alone. She reached into a large handbag and brought out a small box.

  ‘He wanted you to have this, Tom. He talked about it.’

  Surprised, he reached out and took it, not sure what to say.

  ‘There’s a note inside,’ she continued and swallowed. ‘He wrote it. He was very prepared, you see. That was his way, no loose ends.’ She pressed her hand over his. ‘Just don’t forget him.’

  ‘Don’t worry,’ he told her. ‘I never could.’

  At home, changing into ordinary clothes, he placed the box on the mantelpiece, out of Mary’s reach. It felt strange to be here during the day, the rooms so empty and quiet, as if they’d been abandoned.

  ‘How was it, sir?’ Ash asked.

  ‘Quiet. Everything the way he wanted,’ Harper answered. ‘Have you searched where that lad found the revolver?’

  ‘Had the men out first thing.’ His face showed nothing. ‘They haven’t come up with anything else yet, sir.’

  He hadn’t expected much. But deep inside he’d hoped for something to help them.

  ‘Any good tips from the newspaper article?’

  ‘Just rubbish, sir. Sorry. I was thinking about what you said yesterday, sir, that Talbot knew someone important.’

  ‘Go on.’ The superintendent settled in a chair.

  ‘We’ve been thinking of important as someone with status. But what if it’s not? It could be someone who has the power to get things done.’

  Harper pursed his lips. ‘Isn’t that the same thing?’

  ‘No.’ The inspector leaned forward, big hands clasping his knees. ‘I mean the type of man who can arrange things. They’re all over town.’

  Now he understood. Fixers. Hard men with brains who could organize anything for a pound or two. Men who inspired fear in their neighbourhoods, who thought themselves untouchable.

  ‘It’s possible.’ He wasn’t sure he bought the idea, but it was something when they had nothing. ‘Ask the local coppers. They’ll know who those characters are around here. Bring them in and make them sweat.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’ There was satisfaction in the inspector’s voice.

  ‘Show them the gun and see how they react. Do we have anything else to pursue?’

  ‘I’m sorry, sir. It’s like an empty larder.’

  ‘Do what you can.’

  TWENTY-FIVE

  He didn’t want to do it. But he’d run out of options. With a murdered copper there was a clamour for results. Quick results. And so far he hadn’t been able to give the people of Leeds one damned thing.

  It wasn’t far to the jail, no more than a few minutes’ walk. Inside, as the heavy wooden gate banged behind him, the world felt a little colder, the chill creeping into his bones.

  Governor Hobson was happy to oblige. After Willie Calder’s murder here, Harper expected nothing less. He still had to wait, though, a long half-hour in the small, airless room where the walls seemed to press in on him, and a scarred table and two wooden chairs the only furniture. He was here to sup with the devil himself and he didn’t have a long spoon.

  Finally the man arrived, escorted by a pair of warders. They seated him and stood back a pace.

  ‘I need to talk to the prisoner alone,’ the superintendent told them.

  ‘Orders, sir,’ the senior guard replied. ‘We have to stay. He’s a very violent man.’

  Harper knew that well enough. After years of trying, he’d finally managed to arrest Tosh Walker six years before. He was guilty of many things, but they’d put him away for prostituting young girls, abusing them. He’d remain behind bars for a long time yet.

  Even in his jail uniform, Walker was an important man. He still possessed a small empire outside. Bit by tiny bit, it had crumbled a little over the years. But his wife and his brother kept the core of his businesses strong, waiting for when he might eventually be released.

  Walker looked healthy, as if he’d prospered behind bars. No doubt he had. A few small scars on his face. More on his hands, Harper noticed when the man raised his manacled wrists. The price of skirmishes and victory.

  ‘Well, well. Inspector Harper.’ He gave a deliberate pause. ‘I’m sorry, Superintendent now, isn’t it? I should feel honoured.’ His eyes were hard, glinting. ‘Married as well, and with a pretty little girl, I hear.’ He let his tongue linger over the words.

  It was a goad, but Harper wasn’t going to let himself show anything. He wouldn’t give Tosh Walker that satisfaction. Just a blank face.


  ‘I’m here to make you an offer, Tosh. The best one you’ve had since you were sentenced.’

  ‘Oh aye? What’s that, then?’ He’d caught the man’s attention.

  ‘I could go after that wife of yours. Your brother, too. From what people are saying, they’re always together anyway. Day and night, I hear.’ He watched as the man’s expression hardened. ‘I don’t mean a quick raid and hope for the best. I’ll be back there every day, every month, taking all your businesses apart until there’s nothing left. When you come out of here you’ll be able to go and join them in the workhouse.’

  Force: that was what Walker understood. To him, anything else was fatal weakness.

  ‘What are you after?’ he said finally. His voice was quieter. Hardly defeated, but thoughtful.

  ‘Names.’

  ‘What sort of names?’

  ‘I’m after the one that connects Henry White, Willie Calder, and Claude Talbot.’

  Walker threw back his head and laughed. ‘That desperate, are you?’

  ‘Well?’

  The man raised his hands and made the chains jangle. ‘Look at me. I’m in here. They’re so scared they need to have me like this. And you really think I know what’s going on outside?’

  ‘Take them off,’ Harper ordered.

  ‘Sir …’ the guard began, but the superintendent repeated the command.

  ‘I’ll take responsibility.’

  Warily, they obeyed. Watching Walker closely as he rubbed his wrists.

  ‘Don’t try and kid me, Tosh. You know exactly what’s happening,’ Harper said. ‘You have a finger in more pies than you can count, in here and outside the walls. If you don’t help me, you’re not going to have a single bloody thing left. That’s a promise.’ He let his words hang in the air. ‘Now, do you want to start again?’

  ‘What do I get if I help you?’

  ‘I told you. Things stay as they are.’

  Walker looked around the room. ‘I want to be out of here sooner.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Then I’m not going to help you.’

  ‘Fine. Suit yourself.’ Harper stood quickly. The guard moved forward to replace Walker’s manacles. ‘I’ve told you what I’ll do, Tosh. You’d better remember, I’m a man of my word.’