The Leaden Heart

by Chris Nickson

  ‘Is your rent paid? Harper asked.

  ‘Until the end of the month. Charlie took care of it before he …’ She couldn’t bring herself to say it. Everything was too raw, just waiting beneath the surface ‘It’s in the rent book.’

  ‘We’ll make sure they can’t do anything.’

  Billy could see Tom had more questions, dozens of them. He made a small gesture with his fingers: they could wait.

  ‘I’ll stay here,’ Reed told him. ‘Clean everything up and make sure she’s all right.’

  Harper scribbled down the address and handed it to Sergeant Tollman.

  ‘I want a constable going by this shop every half hour.’

  ‘Yes, sir. That’s Barstow’s beat. He’s a good man, he’ll do it.’

  ‘Tell him that if there’s any sign of trouble, I want arrests, not words. Understood?’

  ‘Absolutely, sir.’

  ‘John Smith and Jack Smith. A pair of brothers. Does it ring any bells?’

  Tollman started to laugh. ‘We’ve had more of both over the years than I’ve had hot dinners.’

  ‘These two would be somewhere around thirty. Might well be brothers. One of them has a nasty streak.’

  The sergeant’s face became serious. ‘Doesn’t sound familiar, sir.’

  ‘See what you can find, will you?’

  The men were all out. No matter; he could do this himself.

  A sweltering walk over to the Town Hall. The kind of weather when anger flared. But it was too hot, too wearying for violence. Except for a pair of men wanting to take over a corner shop, he thought.

  Why hadn’t he heard about them? They’d developed a business right under his nose, and he didn’t know a damned thing about it. He’d seen the way Billy looked at him. Accusing. And he had every right. He should have been aware, on top of something like this and stamping it out.

  Hester Reed’s beating had been deliberate, calculated. They wanted to intimidate. The Smith brothers …

  What about the real owners, hiding themselves behind a lawyer? What did that mean? Who were they?

  The clerk in the planning office glanced up in surprise as he entered.

  ‘The other day you discovered that the Harehills Development Company had bought a place,’ Harper said.

  ‘I remember, sir,’ the man said. ‘I remember it well.’

  ‘I want to know what else they own. Everything. It’s police business. Can you find that? And the names and addresses of the sellers, please.’

  The clerk nodded. ‘I’ll have to go back through all the transactions. It might take me a few hours. There’s only me here, sir.’ He gave a wistful, lonely smile.

  ‘This afternoon?’ Harper asked. No harm in pressing; this was important.

  ‘Tomorrow,’ the clerk answered. ‘By eleven, sir. I’ll make sure the list is ready for you.’

  ‘Mickey Davies has been a busy boy,’ Ash said.

  Harper had sent the others home. Fowler and Walsh had spent another frustrating day hunting the burglar. Plenty of shoe leather and talk, but no results. Tomorrow he’d have them tracking down the Smith brothers. Now, though, he sat with the inspector.

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘The usual story, sir. He picks businesses whose owners are too scared to fight back or come to us.’

  The police had failed. They should have arrested him long ago. He’d failed. This was his responsibility, his area. He’d never really gone after Mickey. As he’d told Billy, it had never seemed important enough.

  ‘Do you have a list?’

  ‘I’m getting there, sir.’

  ‘How many of them are willing to testify?’

  ‘Three so far. Four if Mr Reed’s sister-in-law will join them.’

  ‘She has other problems at the moment.’ He explained what had happened.

  Ash ran a large hand over his moustache. ‘Smith … it’s always a good alias, isn’t it? I don’t recall this pair, though. The Harehills Development Company. I’ll keep my eyes open. When do you want me to bring Davies in?’

  ‘Find one more willing to testify,’ the superintendent told him. ‘I want him sewn up so tight that he can’t escape. Anyone who works with him, too. And let’s get after these Smiths. I want them off the street.’

  ‘Fowler and Walsh on it, sir?’

  ‘Yes.’ Short and terse. He’d been too cocky and let things slide with Davies. He wasn’t going to make that mistake again.

  ‘What about the burglar?’

  ‘They’re going to have to cover both.’

  ‘I can’t sleep, Da.’

  Mary had kicked off the sheet, lying there in her nightgown, a heat rash on her calves. He’d read her two stories as she squirmed around on the bed.

  ‘Would you like me to tell you a secret?’

  Her eyes grew wide. She nodded. He brought his head close enough to feel the warmth coming off her skin and began to whisper.

  ‘An old copper once told me the best way to go to sleep. He said he’d learned it when he was a soldier in India. Do you know where India is?’

  ‘No.’ She shook her head from side to side, hair flailing across the pillow.

  ‘It’s a long, long way off, on the other side of the world. He told me that you have to lie very still and imagine each part of your body falling asleep. One by one. Start at your feet and move up. It works, too; I’ve done it myself. Go on, close your eyes and try it.’

  He sat and waited. Five minutes later he crept out of the bedroom with a smile on his face. That part was a joy. But the evening turned sober as he sat with Annabelle and Billy.

  ‘Hester’s bruised and battered,’ Reed said. ‘That man has experience. He knew exactly what he was doing.’

  ‘Poor woman,’ Annabelle said. ‘Give me ten minutes with him and I’d make him wish he’d never been born.’

  ‘Was she able to give you a better description?’

  Reed shook his head. ‘She’s still too shaken. Her cousin is staying tonight. Keep an eye on her. Hester’s determined to open up in the morning.’

  ‘Do you want me to pop in and see her?’ Annabelle asked.

  ‘She has plenty of family in the area. I’ll be there all day tomorrow, too.’

  ‘The man on the beat will go by often,’ Harper said. ‘We have one advantage. This pair don’t know the police are looking for them yet.’

  ‘Saturday’s going to be the day,’ Reed said. ‘When they return.’

  ‘We’ll be ready.’

  ‘I go back to Whitby on Sunday.’

  ‘I know. We’re going to find them. We’ll make them pay.’

  With a nod, Reed left, footsteps climbing to the attic.

  ‘At least you two seem to be making some progress,’ Annabelle said.

  ‘If that’s what you call it.’ He sighed. ‘Rough day?’

  ‘I’ve spent most of it trying to track down this woman Redshaw lived with. It’s like she’s vanished off the face of the earth.’

  That was easy to do when you were poor. Disappear into a crowd, change your address, change your name. No one would ever know.

  ‘Ask the man on the beat in Holbeck. They should be able to help.’

  ‘Could you introduce me? It might grease the wheels.’ She hesitated. ‘There’s one other thing, Tom. I’d like to speak to the police surgeon.’

  ‘Dr King?’ he asked in surprise. ‘Why?’

  ‘He did the post-mortem, didn’t he? I want to hear it all.’

  ‘Are you sure?’ King’s Kingdom, that was what they called the mortuary under Hunslet Road police station. Not a pleasant place for anyone to visit. Especially a civilian.

  ‘I need to know.’ She stared at him imploringly. ‘For myself.’

  He had to visit, anyway. King was retiring at the end of the month. Going out with the century, he said. He was in his eighties now, already long-established in the job when Harper joined the force years before. His leaving would mark the end of a long era.

  ‘All right.�
�� She’d go with or without him. Things might be easier if he was there.

  ‘Looks like we might have a winner, sir.’ Walsh’s voice was full of excitement as he held up a small sheaf of letters.

  ‘What?’ Harper asked as Fowler and Ash crowded round the desk.

  ‘I’ve heard back from the forces in York, Middlesbrough and Durham,’ he said, laying the replies out like playing cards. ‘They’ve all had a man going round the pawnshops selling jewellery. Not the same places or towns each time. None of it was reported stolen locally, that’s why the pawnbrokers bought it.’

  ‘And those places are all on the railway line between here and Newcastle,’ Fowler pointed out.

  ‘Anything since our burglar started working here?’

  Fowler glanced at the letters again.

  ‘No. The last was a month ago. That means he’s probably due another visit.’

  ‘Send them a list of everything taken in Leeds and ask them to circulate it. Do they have a name? Any idea what he looks like?’

  ‘He calls himself Brown.’ Walsh shrugged. Almost as anonymous as Smith, Harper thought. ‘He’s in his thirties. Dark hair, plenty of pomade. Clean-shaven. Good suit. That’s it, sir.’

  He could be any one of ten thousand men in Leeds. Still, they’d snagged a thread. Now they could begin tugging. Meanwhile …

  ‘Good job,’ he told them. ‘Keep on that. But I want you after these Smith brothers too. We know they’re clever and they’re a vicious pair – you’ve heard what they did. Let’s drag them out from under their rock. I want them absolutely terrified.’

  ‘I have your list, sir,’ the planning office clerk said. Two sheets of paper, neatly folded.

  ‘Thank you. How much do they own?’

  ‘Thirty-five properties, sir.’ The man’s voice was grave. ‘All purchased in the last nine months, and none of them for full market value. That’s the best part of one a week. I should have noticed. I’ve listed the addresses, the sellers, purchase price and date.’ He gave a small, dry cough. ‘I included when planning applications were submitted for the new houses near each one, and when they were passed, plus the names of the builders.’

  ‘That’s very thorough. Thank you.’

  Thirty-five, Harper thought as he walked back to Millgarth. Thirty bloody five. They’d pulled together an empire right under his nose and he’d known nothing about it. It didn’t matter how little they paid for each property, it still spelled money. Real money. And behind all that, this North Leeds Company. What the hell was going on?

  ‘If you’re going to spend the day here, you might as well make yourself useful,’ Hester said before Reed could settle in the office at the shop. ‘There’s stock needs to go out on them shelves and two sacks of beans that need shifting.’

  The bruises had flowered into brilliant yellows and greens and purples on her face, and she moved stiffly, trying to mask the pain in every step. But she was standing behind the counter with a fresh, clean apron wrapped around her body. There’d be no shortage of customers today; plenty would be curious about her being closed the day before.

  ‘Glad to help.’ He did as she directed, took a broom to the floor, sweeping out all the dust to the street, then on to the cobbles of the road, before going up to the flat and making them both a cup of tea.

  ‘How do you feel?’ he asked as he put a mug down in front of her. Hester glanced around, making sure the shop was empty before she spoke.

  ‘Scared.’ Her voice was subdued as she stared at the liquid. ‘I suppose that’s what they want, isn’t it?’

  ‘It is. We won’t let anything happen.’

  ‘I know, but … you won’t be here after Saturday, will you? I’m not saying as I don’t appreciate all you’ve done, but what happens when you’ve gone? There’s next week and the one after, and the one after that.’

  ‘Tom Harper promised,’ Reed said. ‘He’ll do what he says.’ He had to hope the man was as good as his word.

  ‘Like as not,’ she said. ‘After all the pressure, then Charlie, then the funeral, them two caught me when I was low.’

  ‘You said Charlie paid the rent to the end of the month.’

  ‘That’s right, luv.’

  ‘What will you do after that? If they put up the rent again?’ He had to ask. He needed to know before he returned to Whitby.

  ‘Pay, I suppose,’ she replied in a weary voice. ‘We have a little bit put by.’ Her mouth twitched into a brief smile. ‘I can’t just do a flit, now can I? I don’t want to, anyway. This is my home. I’m staying.’

  ‘Good,’ he told her. ‘You can’t leave. Not with all your friends round here.’

  ‘That’s right.’ The bell tinkled as a customer entered, and she straightened her back. ‘Morning, Mrs Chappell, luv, how can I help you?’

  ‘I’ve found five people willing to testify against Mickey Davies,’ Ash said. ‘When do you want me to drag him in here, sir?’

  Harper sat back in his chair and smiled. ‘Right now would be perfect.’

  ‘My pleasure, sir.’

  ‘Take a constable with you.’

  ‘Sir?’ He raised an eyebrow, as if Harper had insulted his dignity by suggesting he’d need help.

  ‘It’s always more impressive when a uniform puts the cuffs on someone and marches them off. People remember it.’

  ‘You’re starting to think like a superintendent, sir.’

  Harper laughed. ‘God forbid. Bring him in and let him stew in the cells for a few hours, then we’ll have a talk with him. Any news on the Smiths?’

  Ash shook his head. ‘Nothing so far.’

  Damn.

  ‘I hope Fowler and Walsh can track them down.’ He nodded towards the map of Leeds he’d put up on the wall, pins showing every property they’d bought. ‘They’ve managed all that on the quiet. Every place on there is close to where new streets have been built, and we’ve never even had a whisper.’ That was what really angered him. Not knowing, letting a couple of thugs grow rich without anyone realizing. They were bright. They were dangerous. So was the man behind them. ‘As soon as Mickey’s in his cell, I want you to visit some of those places. Ask how much the rent’s gone up, whether they’ve had visits from the Smiths.’

  ‘Yes, sir. It doesn’t make us look good, does it?’

  ‘It makes us look like a bunch of fools.’ He could feel the anger rising and took a few breaths. ‘I’d like to catch this burglar before the chief drops by for another little visit. I have a job for Saturday, too. For everyone.’

  For once, he was there before her. Hunslet Road felt airless, heavy with the stink of metal and oil. Harper ran a finger round his collar, feeling the dirt and grit. The shirt stuck to his back again and there were lines of sweat inside his hatband. Finally a hackney drew up, the driver slipping from his seat to open the door, and Annabelle stepped down.

  ‘I’m sorry I’m late,’ she said. ‘That’s usually your line, isn’t it?’

  ‘Are you absolutely certain you want to do this?’ Harper asked again. ‘It’s not pleasant down there.’

  She looked into his eyes. ‘I told you, Tom. I’ve got to. I’ve seen enough bad things in my life.’

  But not like this, he thought. It took a strong stomach for the mortuary.

  Down the stairs, and he saw her wrinkle her nose and cough at the harsh stench of carbolic soap. Dr King was waiting in the corridor. He was growing rounder by the year, eyes still bright and eager behind his spectacles, the stub of a cigar between his lips.

  ‘Superintendent. And you must be Mrs Harper. A pleasure, although I don’t know why you’d want to marry this one.’ He gave a small bow.

  ‘I won him in a raffle and they won’t take him back.’

  King roared with laughter, eyes twinkling with approval. ‘You’ll do, my dear. You’ll do very well. Your husband says you’re a Guardian.’

  ‘That’s right.’ She gave a brief summary of the investigation.

  ‘I see. We’d better go in
to my office.’

  Thank God for that, Harper thought. At least he wasn’t taking her into the examination room.

  ‘Do you remember the girls?’ Annabelle asked.

  ‘Of course,’ King replied, striking a match and lighting the cigar. At least the smoke covered the other smells. ‘I remember them all.’ He tapped his bald head. ‘Everything up here.’

  ‘How long did they survive in the water?’

  ‘That’s not an easy question to answer,’ he replied slowly. ‘I was told they couldn’t swim. They were probably panicking, so no more than a few minutes.’ He shrugged. ‘That’s an educated guess. But it would have been a terrible time for them.’

  ‘What if they’d cried out and someone had come along to help …?’

  ‘If it happened quickly enough, I expect they’d have survived,’ King told her.

  ‘Five minutes?’

  He thought, studying the ash on the tip of his cigar, then said: ‘Less. Closer to three. It was April, so the water was still very cold and they were both small. Malnourished, but that’s nothing unusual.’

  ‘But could they have been saved?’

  ‘Of course.’ He snorted. ‘Their father could have done it by not throwing them in the canal, for a start. If I remember the notes, he did it and walked away, hoping someone would hear, and save them.’

  ‘That’s what he said in his confession,’ Annabelle agreed. ‘He took it all back later, though.’

  ‘Then he was lying,’ King told her. ‘They didn’t jump in of their own accord.’

  ‘What about bruises?’

  ‘More or less what I’d expect to find. They were petrified, they must have been flailing around and trying to save themselves. To climb out, I expect.’

  ‘I’ve been down to the canal. There are no ladders or handholds.’

  King nodded. ‘That makes sense. I’ve been a police surgeon for fifty years, Mrs Harper.’ His eyes looked around the room. ‘I’ve worked down here since they built the place. That’s why they call it King’s Kingdom. A strange little tribute. I’ve seen enough to ruin my faith in man. But I’m not sure I’ve ever seen anything quite as callous as that. Still,’ he added, ‘if you’re asking whether Redshaw beat them regularly, the answer is no. Just the usual childhood bumps and scrapes.’