Sense? How was that possible? How could you make sense of someone dying before their time?
Somehow, he reached Sheepscar. He had no memory of the streets he’d passed, for a moment he wasn’t even sure where he was. He looked up, and suddenly the noises of the city crashed into his head, the press of buses and trams and carts. It felt like too much, more than he could take.
‘Billy?’ Harper turned his head as the door opened. ‘I—’
He stopped.
Reed knew what he must look like. A man who was lost, a ghost in his own life.
‘Come on, sit down.’ Harper moved towards the stairs. ‘I’ll bring you a drop of brandy from the bar.’
‘No,’ he answered quickly. ‘Honestly. I don’t want anything.’
‘Are you sure? What is it? You look in a bad way.’
‘I just …’ He tried to grasp the words, but they stayed beyond his reach. Instead, he brought out a packet of cigarettes, hands shaking as he tried to light one with a match. There was only one way to say it. ‘Charlie committed suicide.’
‘Oh Christ, Billy. I’m so sorry. What can I do?’
‘Nothing. There’s nothing any of us can do, is there?’ he replied. His voice was empty, all the expression bleached away. ‘It’s too late. I didn’t really know him, not for years, but still … I couldn’t believe it when Hester told me. His wife.’
He paced around the room. Too many thoughts were shoving up against each other until he believed his head would overflow. Images of his brother when they were both young. Charlie had always been the one with charm. The women on their street had loved him, slipping him sweets and little treats.
Reed drew the smoke down deep, keeping it in his lungs before pushing it out.
‘He was two years older than me, but we did everything together when we were nippers. A right pair of shavers. We were best mates until I joined the army. I came home on leave, full of myself because I had a uniform. You know how it goes.’
Harper nodded. Billy didn’t wait for a reply. He needed to talk, to let it all out.
‘There was this lass Charlie fancied. I thought I was cock o’the walk, a proper soldier boy, a big man. I thought I’d show him, so I made a play for her. We ended up arguing, said a lot of things we didn’t mean. Then we started with fists.’ His shrug held a whole world of regret. ‘We didn’t speak for ten years after that. Once we did, it was only Christmas cards and a few words at weddings and funerals.’
Young men full of piss and vinegar, he thought. How many other families had stories like that? It was only death made you realize what you’d squandered along the way.
‘What made him do it?’ Harper asked. ‘Does his wife know?’
‘They have a shop. Just a little corner place. It’s never made a fortune, but it’s a fair location. They get by. Hester said that about six months ago, someone came in. Asked if they were interested in selling the business.’
‘Your brother said no?’
‘What else was he going to say? It’s all they have. They’ve been there for years, they live upstairs. Then last week, they got a letter. A new landlord had bought the building. He was putting up their rent.’ He paused for a moment, studying the ash on the tip of his cigarette. ‘Doubling it.’
‘Double? God, Billy, that’s awful.’
‘Charlie was at his wits’ end. They can’t afford to pay that kind of money. Seems like he went to the chemist yesterday morning and bought some rat poison. Never said a word to Hester. Made himself a cup of tea while she was out, put the stuff in and drank it down. Left her a note saying he couldn’t cope any more.’
What a brutal way to go. To choose poison … Harper couldn’t even start to imagine what must have gone through the man’s mind.
Reed looked up. No tears, even for his own brother. He’d been a copper too long for anything like that, a soldier for years before. He’d seen too much death, mourned too many men.
‘What are you going to do?’
‘I don’t know,’ he said finally. ‘The funeral’s the day after tomorrow.’ He stubbed out the cigarette in an ashtray. ‘I just want to be on my own for a while, if you don’t mind.’
‘Of course. You go ahead.’
‘Maybe things will seem a little brighter in the morning.’
But Harper doubted that.
‘His poor wife,’ Annabelle said as they lay in bed. ‘What’s going to happen to her?’
‘I’ve no idea,’ Harper sighed. ‘How was the meeting?’
‘I did everything I could, but they’re cutting the money for the workhouse.’ In the faint light through the window he saw anger and defeat flicker across her face. A battle lost. ‘There’s something I’ve been asked to do. I might need your help.’
‘What is it?’ He turned towards her, seeing the sorrow in her eyes, the fine lines of worry in her skin, a few more with each year.
‘Do you remember back in April, when a man drowned his daughters over in Holbeck?’
Of course he did. It had been in the papers for days. Everyone in Leeds had been outraged, then appalled; the girls were only four and six. They lived with their father and a woman. He worked, but spent all his money on drink and gambling. The type of thing Harper heard so regularly that it didn’t even startle him.
Finally, the woman had had her fill. A Saturday night. The man refused to hand over his wages to feed his own family or pay for a room where they could all live. At the end of her tether, she’d thrown them out, hoping it would force him to do something. It did. In the small hours, he pushed the girls into the canal and walked away. They couldn’t swim.
He was arrested the next morning and taken to Hunslet Road police station. Now he was in prison, waiting to be tried for murder at the Assizes.
‘I can’t remember his name.’
‘James Redshaw,’ Annabelle said. She sounded bleak. ‘The little ones were called Ada and Annie. He claims he went to the Holbeck Workhouse and asked them to take the lasses in, but they turned him away.’
‘Ah.’ Now he understood. If the workhouse had accepted the girls, they’d still be alive. ‘That’s why the Guardians are involved.’
‘The master over there says Redshaw had enough money to afford lodging for them all. The Holbeck Union’s asked us to investigate, to make sure they did everything properly.’ She gave a feeble smile. ‘I drew the short straw.’
The female Guardians worked with women and girls. Put on the committees where the men thought they could cause little trouble and have no influence. ‘How many on the panel?’
‘Three of us. I’m the only woman, of course.’ Her hands fidgeted on top of the sheet. ‘I’ve read the statements. It’s horrible, Tom. Those poor little things.’
‘What do you want me to do?’ he asked.
‘Take a look at everything and see if it’s all legal.’ She hesitated for a moment. ‘And someone to talk to about it, really. I’ve come across some awful things since I was elected, but this is the worst.’
She’d been a Poor Law Guardian for two years, voted in with a large majority. Since then he’d seen how hard she worked for the poor in Sheepscar, fighting for a fairer system. Every week it seemed as if there was a new skirmish.
He took her hand and stroked her fingers, feeling the solid gold of their wedding ring. ‘Of course. You don’t even need to ask.’
‘I know, but …’ The words seemed to fail her. ‘Do you know what struck me when I read all the reports? Not a single person ever wondered what Ada and Annie were feeling. How terrified they must have been before they died.’ She quickly brushed her eyes with the back of her hand. ‘It makes me so angry, that’s all.’
In the spare room, Billy Reed lay under the covers, turning restlessly. It was the heat, he told himself. Any excuse. But he knew the truth.
THREE
With a slither and a grunt, an old steam tram passed, filled with people. Harper strolled up Briggate, hands in the pockets of his trousers. He studied people, fa
ces. It was habit, ingrained during the days he walked a beat around here. It was still good to get out, to meander and watch. It kept him in touch with his city.
On the other side of the street, the arcades had torn the guts out of the old courts and yards behind the buildings. Still plenty left, but year on year they were disappearing.
He stopped and peered between some boards, already plastered with advertisements. White Hart Yard had gone, knocked down by the hammers. Soon enough there’d be something new in its place. County Arcade, with more shops, and a way through from Vicar Lane. There was plenty of money in Leeds and people wanted places to spend it. The city was growing prosperous, changing so quickly he could barely keep pace.
But Harper kept wondering what had happened to those people in Fidelity Court and the other tiny streets that didn’t exist any longer. Where had they all gone?
Leeds was filled with noise. Voices shouting, carts on the cobbles, machines thudding and pumping. Relentless, battering the senses every day.
On the far side of the Headrow, he sat in a small cafe across from the Grand Theatre, hearing the ghost of Sam the Newsman hawking his programmes. One more character who was history now, like the rest of old Leeds. Harper leaned back in his chair. No familiar faces in here, no one to pester him. A ham sandwich, a mug of tea, and chance to think in peace.
Billy hadn’t come down to breakfast. Harper wondered how long it had taken him to fall asleep. The weight of everything he’d learned the day before must be crushing his heart. And he couldn’t have done a thing to stop it. Billy was a copper, he understood things like that were a part of life. Always different when it was family, though, and you realized how powerless you really were.
He stirred a spoonful of sugar into his tea. No call from the chief constable yet, but no progress on the burglary. His men had questioned Hope’s servants: they were all clean. Well over a quarter of a million people in Leeds, more coming and going every day, and they had to find one. The needle in the proverbial haystack.
Answers. That was what he needed, Reed thought. He heard the Harpers moving around downstairs, smelled the bacon cooking. He didn’t want company, no questions or sympathy, the ordinariness of family life. His brother was dead and he had to know why. Hester had given him the facts, but when were they ever enough? Who was behind it all? Why raise the rent like that? What made the location of Charlie’s shop so important? Discovering things was his job. And it seemed like the very least he could do. The final thing.
He’d written a pair of letters during the evening. One to Elizabeth, telling her what had happened and saying he might need to stay on for a few days. She’d understand; anyway, at the height of a hot summer, she’d be too busy with the tea room to miss him.
The other was to his chief constable, requesting some extra leave. He had the time coming, and even in high season, crime in Whitby had been quiet.
As soon as the doors closed downstairs, everybody gone, he slipped out, coughing as he walked up the street. Two years of clean air on the coast had spoiled him. Leeds was hot and filthy; it caked his nostrils and tasted burned and bitter in his mouth as he walked towards Harehills.
The bell tinkled as he entered the shop and he saw Hester glance up from the other side of the counter. She was a small woman, a long apron wrapped around her body, dark hair going grey, cheeks sunk where most of her teeth had been pulled. A woman like so many of the others around here, pummelled by life and grief.
‘I didn’t know if you’d open up today,’ Reed said.
‘Got to make some money.’ She lifted her head, as if his comment had been a criticism. ‘I still have to eat and pay the bills. And find the brass for his funeral.’
‘I told you yesterday: I’ll pay for that.’
She folded her arms and stared at him.
‘And I told you: I won’t take charity from anyone. Charlie never would, and I’m the same.’
He was never going to win against stubborn pride. Instead, Reed said, ‘Would you mind if I took a look through all his papers? I’d like to have a sense of what was going on.’
Hester shrugged. ‘Help yourself. They’re in his desk. For whatever it’s worth. We both know how it’s going to end.’
He sat on his bed at the Victoria, poring over the papers he’d brought back from the shop. He’d glanced through them there, but it was impossible to concentrate with Hester bustling around. Serving, talking to neighbours and the undertakers to arrange tomorrow’s funeral.
For a short moment he wondered about Whitby, missing the place, the plain routine of work and the company of the men he commanded. More than anything, he missed Elizabeth. But he had to be here, he needed to stay until he’d taken care of this. After all these years he owed his brother that much.
Reed ran a hand through his hair and returned to the documents. He’d taken a walk around the area by Charlie’s shop before coming back to the Victoria. New houses were starting to go up, street after street of them, back-to-backs, one long row of terraces with tiny front yards. Foundations laid, brick walls beginning to rise. Another three months and they’d be finished. Trade at the corner shop would increase. Easy enough to see why someone had wanted to buy the business; soon enough there’d be very good money to be made here. Must have had advance information, if the offer was that long ago. He could even understand a landlord raising the rent. But doubling it? That was pure gouging. No wonder Charlie had felt so desperate.
He’d found something in the papers that made him suspicious. Payments to a man named Davies. Every month. They’d begun two years before, small at first, then a little more and a little more. Never enough to cripple, but still a constant, niggling amount. He knew what it sounded like. He’d discover the truth. Then he’d go hunting. Start paying back a very old debt.
‘You were quiet during supper,’ Harper said. They’d gone down to the bar, two glasses of lemonade in front of them. All the windows and doors open wide, begging for a wisp of breeze.
‘Just thinking,’ Reed replied. He lit a cigarette and blew out a stream of smoke. ‘I discovered that Charlie had been paying money to someone for a couple of years. A little every week. Michael Davies. The name is in his accounts. Do you know him?’
‘Oh yes. Mickey bloody Davies.’ His voice was filled with disgust. ‘Protection racket. You know how it works, Billy. How much was your brother forking out?’
‘Five bob a week.’
‘He was getting off lightly, then. What about this new landlord? Have you discovered who it is?’
‘There’s nothing in Charlie’s papers. I’ll find out tomorrow, after the funeral. I’d like to stay on for a few days, if you don’t mind. Sort everything out.’
‘Of course. As long as you need. Once you come up with some names, let me know. We’ll work it together. I’ll take care of Mickey. Don’t worry about that.’
‘What about your burglar? I saw the papers.’
Harper shook his head. ‘Ash and the men are looking after that. There’s not much else going on. Either all the criminals have vanished on their holidays or the heat’s making them sleepy.’
Reed had always been an excellent detective, ferreting and nibbling away at things until he found the truth. They’d made a good team in the old days. Before the falling-out. But they were older now, both of them higher in rank. Maybe even a little wiser, Harper thought wryly. Perhaps it was time to make sure those old wounds healed properly. Well past time, really. The whole thing had been his fault in the first place.
‘Let’s make sure we do right by your brother, shall we?’
‘Billy seemed a little brighter after you came back up.’ They lay in bed, barely touching; the night was too warm to snuggle. Harper could feel the dampness on the back of his neck where it touched the pillow.
‘He needed to get a few things off his chest. You didn’t have much to say for yourself earlier.’
‘I was thinking,’ Annabelle replied. ‘I went over to Holbeck Workhouse today and ta
lked to the master.’
‘The one who turned the family away? What did he have to say for himself?’
‘He showed me the records. It’s all there. He made Redshaw turn out his pockets. Seventeen and threepence. The master counted it himself. That’s more than enough to afford lodgings for him and the girls. The master was in the right. Those are the rules, Tom. He did everything by the book.’
‘Could he have altered the entry later?’ Things like that happened all the time; any trick to make themselves look better.
‘No. There are others right below it. He was being straight. He did recall that Redshaw didn’t seem to quite know what he was doing. Begged the workhouse to take the girls.’ She let the words hang in the air.
‘Did he threaten to kill them?’
‘Not there. Turns out he had earlier, when he was in the pub. I took myself there, too, and had a word with the landlord. He claims he kicked Redshaw out when the man was too drunk to make sense. After that I went and looked at where they’d been living. It was an old stable. The door wouldn’t close properly and half the roof was gone. Can you imagine trying to raise two kiddies in a place like that?’
He could. He’d seen people living in worse. But he didn’t need to mention that now.
‘If he had the money, why didn’t he rent somewhere?’ Harper asked. ‘Redshaw was in work, wasn’t he? He could afford it.’
‘He liked to keep his brass for drink and betting. That’s what everyone said.’
Harper didn’t speak for a long time. What could he really add?
‘From all you’ve told me, it sounds as if Redshaw was the only one to blame.’
‘In the end, he was,’ she agreed. ‘But it’s awful, Tom. The system worked the way it’s supposed to, and we still have two little girls dead.’
‘What can you do, though? Really do, I mean.’
‘I haven’t stopped digging yet. I want to know it all. I can’t bring Ada and Annie back, but maybe I can change things so it won’t happen to someone else.’
‘How?’
Her silence lasted a long time. ‘I’m still trying to sort that out. But if I don’t try, I don’t think I’ll be able to live with myself.’
The Leaden Heart Page 2