‘Why didn’t they call out? Why didn’t they scream? That’s what I don’t understand. There were people not far away. They’d have heard.’
That, Harper thought, was the crux, the question she’d come to ask.
‘I can’t give you an answer.’ He sighed. ‘Fear? Panic? They’d have been too exhausted and chilled after a minute. Their strength would have been failing. I wish I knew. I really do.’
She stood, held out her hand to shake his. ‘Thank you. I appreciate your time.’
‘For whatever good it did.’
‘It all helps.’
Harper didn’t immediately follow her out of the office.
‘The end of the month, eh?’ he said.
‘It’s time,’ King told him. He gazed at the cigar stub and tossed it in the ashtray. ‘You’ll like the new man. Younger and less cantankerous.’
‘It’s been an education, working with you.’
‘And it’s been a pleasure to see you rise through the ranks, although I’ll deny that remark if you ever repeat it. I suppose there has to be a leaving event?’
‘Of course.’
He nodded at the door. ‘You have quite a wife.’
Harper chuckled. ‘She keeps me on my toes. I’ll see you at the do, Doctor.’
‘Having a word behind my back?’ She was standing on the pavement, out in the heat.
‘Saying goodbye,’ Harper told her. ‘He’s retiring. I’ve known him a long time.’
‘His mind’s sharp enough.’
‘He’s good. And he seems taken with you. Did he give you what you needed?’
‘Yes.’ In the harsh light, the lines on her face seemed deeper than ever. ‘I might not have liked it, but he did.’
SEVEN
Saturday morning and the heat still smothered Leeds. Harper left the Victoria at six, hoping for a lick of coolness as he walked to Millgarth. No such luck. By the time he arrived, his clothes were soaked with sweat.
‘Morning, sir,’ Tollman said from his desk by the front door. ‘Worse than Burma, isn’t it?’
‘Burma? I thought you’d never been further than Wakefield.’
‘Well, no,’ the sergeant admitted, ‘but that’s what everyone’s saying. Whistle you up a cup of tea, sir?’
‘I’d be happy to see one.’
Walsh was there before him, already sitting at his desk in the detectives’ room.
‘Found the Smiths?’
He knew the answer. If they’d been arrested, someone would have telephoned.
‘Nothing, sir. Absolutely nothing at all.’ He frowned. ‘I do have some news on the burglar, but it’s not so good, I’m afraid.’
‘Go on.’
‘Some of the jewellery taken from Mr Hope’s turned up at a pawnbroker in Middlesbrough.’
Harper leaned against a table and folded his arms. Damn it. Nothing was going right.
‘How? I thought you sent them the list.’
‘I did,’ Walsh insisted. ‘The police up there were slow in circulating it. Evidently our man had been through the day before.’
Harper closed his eyes and breathed deep. If the force up there had been on the ball, they could have had him in custody.
‘I don’t suppose we have a better description?’
Walsh shook his head. ‘More or less the same as we had before, sir. Still calling himself Brown.’ He shrugged.
‘Right. I want you to send a list of stolen items everywhere on the line from here to Sheffield.’
‘Sir?’ Walsh looked at him questioningly.
‘Just in case he decides to go south next time. Let’s make certain.’
‘Mr Ash said you want us on something else later.’
‘That’s right. With a little luck, we’ll take down the Smiths tonight.’
‘On remand.’ Harper replaced the paper on the pile. ‘It’s a start.’
‘Mickey Davies didn’t look like a happy man when the magistrate told him.’ Ash grinned.
‘Good. Let’s hope it’s a little while before he has his day in court.’
‘Just until Monday, sir. Two days. Still, it’ll give him a chance to get used to the routine. He howled when the constable put the cuffs on him. Right in the middle of the Fleece. Gladdened my heart.’
‘I told you it was a good idea.’
‘Right enough, sir.’
Davies had spent four hours in the cells before Harper brought him to the interview room. Windows closed, the air stuffy and damp. He’d sweat; that was fine. He wanted Mickey to suffer. And he wanted to conduct this interrogation himself.
Davies held up his hands as he sat on the battered chair. He was a heavy, fleshy man, his crooked nose broken several times over the years, and the promise of menace at the back of his eyes.
‘You can take the cuffs off now. I’m not going to hurt anyone.’
Harper shook his head. ‘Is that what you reckon? Threats are how you make your living, Mickey. Can’t trust a man like that.’
‘You what?’ His eyes narrowed. ‘Who says so?’
‘We have testimony from five different people.’
‘They’re lying.’
‘Protection.’ Harper clicked his tongue. ‘That’s a nasty game. Preying on people. It’s my fault. I should have stamped on you long ago.’
‘I told you, they’re all lying. You probably told them what to say.’
The superintendent ignored the words. ‘We even have account entries from one man. Every week, right there in ink. You’re going to jail, Mickey. With any luck, it’ll be for quite a few years.’
‘Who wrote that he was paying me?’ Davies protested. ‘I’ll sue him for libel.’
‘You’ll have a hard job. He’s dead. Committed suicide last weekend.’
‘Then you don’t know!’ Davies sat back, triumphant.
‘His wife’s still alive. You didn’t do your homework properly. His brother’s a police inspector in Whitby. Used to work here, in fact.’
It was a pleasure to see the man’s face fall, the way he tried to recover, all bluster and bravado that meant nothing. Harper let him talk, then said: ‘The inspector’s waiting outside. He was telling me he’d enjoy a word with you. Would you like me to leave the pair of you alone while I have a cup of tea?’ Threaten the man who liked to issue threats. Turn the tables and bully the bully. He started to rise.
‘No.’ Davies was sweating hard, the drops shining on his face.
He wasn’t so tough after all. Half an hour and Harper had a list of the businesses that paid Davies money. Maybe not all, but enough; he’d been making a comfortable living from it. Now he’d damned himself.
‘What do you know about buying property?’ Harper asked.
‘Eh?’ Davies stared at him, not understanding. ‘Property? What are you on about?’
‘Making sure you pay as little as possible for it.’
‘That’s not my racket.’ Harper believed him. It was far too subtle and complicated for a man like Mickey.
‘Ever heard of the Harehills Development Company?’
‘Don’t mean a thing. Honest, it don’t.’
‘What about John and Jack Smith?’
‘Are you having me on?’ he asked. ‘Names like that?’
‘Do you know them?’
Davies simply shook his head.
‘Take him back down to the cells,’ Harper told the waiting constable.
Salad for tea once again, with a few slices of ham. If this heat lasted much longer, they’d turn into rabbits. But it was too hot to cook. Noise drifted up from downstairs, men already celebrating payday.
‘Don’t you like it, Da?’ Mary asked. ‘You haven’t eaten much.’
Her plate was empty, as always. But she knew the rule: no pudding if you don’t eat everything in front of you.
‘I’m just thinking. I have to go out to work again soon.’
‘But it’s Saturday night,’ she said.
‘That’s what happens when you’re a
policeman,’ he told her. ‘Your mam has a meeting, too, so you’ll be with Ellen.’
‘And spoiled rotten, probably,’ Annabelle said as she came from the kitchen with three small cream cakes. ‘These are from that new bakery on Chapeltown Road.’ She sniffed. ‘I can’t say they look that good, but we’ll give them a chance.’ She’d run her own small string of bakeries in the past; her standards were high. ‘Harehills tonight?’
‘Yes.’ Billy had been there all day. Fowler and Walsh should have reached Hester Reed’s shop already. Ash would arrive soon enough. The beat constable would pass every half hour. Between them, they’d keep Hester Reed safe. ‘Guardians meeting for you?’
‘For what it’s worth.’ She sighed. ‘We’ve written an interim report of the Redshaw investigation. I still haven’t been able to track down that woman he was living with. That’s on my list for next week.’
Harper turned to look at Mary. The cake had vanished from her plate, not a crumb left, and she was beaming.
‘I’d better go,’ he said, kissing her on the forehead. ‘You be good for Ellen.’
‘I always am, Da. You know that.’
A quick peck on the cheek for Annabelle.
‘I hope it goes smoothly.’
Then he was away, striding up Roundhay Road.
Saturday night was full of music. Somewhere in the distance a German band was playing. Trombones and tubas bellowing away, something with no real tune to it. At the bottom of the street where Reed’s shop stood, an organ grinder cranked out his noise. The children loved it, dancing all around, eyes wide, laughing like they’d never known anything so wonderful. Women stood in the doorways, fanning themselves as they talked, toes tapping, one or two singing along.
It was quieter after he closed the door. As the bell rang, Hester appeared. The bruises were still there, vivid and awful.
‘They’re all in the back,’ she said. ‘I suppose you’ll want a cup of tea.’
‘Have you ever met a copper who refused one?’ Harper asked.
‘No,’ she agreed. ‘Nor a biscuit, neither.’
With five men packed inside, the room was cramped.
‘Any trouble today, Billy?’
‘Nothing at all.’ He sat at the desk, smoking a cigarette and rubbing his chin. ‘It’s been busy. Hester’s kept me working.’
The superintendent turned to Ash. ‘Right. What have you found?’
‘I went to see some of those people in properties the brothers own, sir. Rents have all gone up. Enough to squeeze them hard. They’re all shops. They can just make enough to get by if they struggle and scrimp. New houses near all of them, so more trade. Looks like the Smiths picked their places very well.’
‘Tell me what you’ve learned about them, Sergeant.’
Fowler turned towards Walsh, then back again. ‘Very little, sir,’ he admitted. ‘They don’t seem to go to the usual places. Some people think they’ve heard the name.’ His mouth turned down. ‘But it’s Smith, so who knows? Best I can tell, they seemed to pop up out of nowhere a bit under a year ago.’
The same time they began buying property. Who the hell were they? Where did they come from? They hadn’t just sprung up from the ground. How had they operated without the police hearing even a whisper? Someone had to know.
‘The moment they show up here, we arrest them,’ he said. ‘Understood?’
And then they’d find out who was behind this mysterious North Leeds Company that ran everything.
They were prepared. Now they simply had to wait. Every time the shop door opened, they tensed, ready, holding their breath as they stared at each other. But nothing more than a stream of customers.
‘What time are you going to close?’ he asked Hester when she came through with more mugs of tea.
‘Ten,’ she replied. ‘Eleven if we’re busy.’
The minutes dragged by. Fowler took a book from his pocket and began to read. Ash produced a pack of cards, laying them out to play solitaire. Walsh brought out a folded magazine.
Harper sat, bored. He’d forgotten what this was like, all the tricks to while away the time. Billy sat with his eyes closed, looking as if he was sleeping. Thinking, most likely. Remembering.
Finally, Hester came through to the back with a broom in her hand.
‘I’m calling it a night,’ she said. ‘It’ll go faster if you lot help me.’
Sweeping the floor and the pavement outside, taking the back door key off the hook on the jamb, then putting the rubbish in the bin, making everything neat. And no sign at all of the brothers. Barstow came by on his beat, saluting as he passed. Quarter past eleven and they were done. The street was quiet, most of the windows dark.
‘What do you think, sir?’ Ash asked. ‘They might have had word we were here.’
Not a bad thing if true; at least they’d think twice before returning. He glanced over and saw Hester lowering the blind. Light from the gas mantle caught the bruises on her face.
‘Tomorrow you’re going hunting.’ Harper looked at the men. ‘I want them. Do whatever you have to do.’
‘I’ll stay here tonight,’ Reed said. ‘Just in case. There’s a spare bed in the flat. Sunday tomorrow, the shop won’t be open.’
EIGHT
Harper stirred his tea.
‘How was the meeting?’
‘What you’d expect.’ They’d avoided the subject all through breakfast, until Mary had gone off to spend the morning with Maisie. ‘As soon as they heard the workhouse master in Holbeck did everything correctly, you could practically hear the relief in the room.’ Bitterness seethed under her words.
She’d been asleep when he returned the night before. He’d tumbled into bed, itchy from the heat. But he’d still managed eight solid hours.
‘You haven’t given up on this, have you?’
‘No.’ Annabelle said. ‘I—’
They heard the footsteps on the stair. Billy returning.
‘No problems during the night,’ he said before Harper could ask. ‘I’m going to pack my grip and get off to the station.’ He vanished up to the attic.
‘What were you going to say?’
‘I’m not done with it by a long chalk.’
Reed didn’t like farewells. Never had. They always reminded him of the army, comrades leaving for different postings, men you might never see again.
‘You make sure you give Elizabeth my love,’ Annabelle said as she hugged him. ‘And look after yourselves, the pair of you.’
Harper walked with him into town. The roads were empty, no more than a few trams passing. Quiet, the factories closed for the day. Almost peaceful. Only the haze and the pressing warmth remained.
‘They probably got wind we were waiting,’ Reed said after a while. ‘They’ll be back.’
Harper knew he was right. Men like that always returned. It was their nature.
‘We’ll find them. Mickey Davies goes on trial tomorrow. He’s off to prison. I’ll make sure they end up the same way.’
‘Once you catch up with them.’ He worried about Hester. She seemed strong enough, but it was all a front. He could see it in her eyes. Charlie’s death, the threats, the beating; she was barely clinging on. ‘Look out for her, will you, Tom? I’d stay longer if I could.’
‘I will. I’ll keep you up to speed.’
It had been a bad few days in Leeds. Still, a tiny sliver of good had come from it; he felt closer to Harper than he had in years. He was starting to trust him again. And he’d be glad to be back in the clean air, feeling the sea breeze. Seeing Elizabeth. The brief separation was a powerful reminder of how much he loved her.
The smell of coal filled the station. People bustled around, porters pushing their carts full of luggage. It was dirty, smoky, shrill with sound, alive.
On the platform, they shook hands.
‘Take care of yourself, Billy.’
‘Always. You look out for that family of yours.’
As the train pulled out, Reed stared at the
miles of houses and streets, red brick and black soot. Something bad was going to happen. It was out there, just waiting for its moment. And all Tom Harper’s promises wouldn’t be able to hold it back.
On Monday afternoon Harper sat at the back of the courtroom and saw Mickey Davies found guilty of extracting money with menaces and intimidation. The testimony of four shopkeepers and Charlie Reed’s account book left him with no defence, no matter how his attorney blustered. The jury only needed ten minutes for the verdict before the judge sentenced him to three years.
But he barely felt any satisfaction as he walked back to Millgarth. One down, that was a start, but two still to go. At least the burglar hadn’t struck again.
The Smiths. Buying property ought to mean a trail of paper and forms. Yet those led nowhere: just the stone wall of a lawyer. Their names: John and Jack Smith. As anonymous as bloody air. Where had the money come from to buy so many places? It was business. A new type of crime and a new type of criminal. Clever, elusive, vicious, and they barely left a ripple. Try as he might, he couldn’t begin to understand them. It was like trying to grasp mercury.
Tuesday morning, a little after six, and he felt the stir of a breeze as he stepped out of the Victoria on to Roundhay Road. He stopped, turning his head to face it. By the time he reached Regent Street, it had grown into a light wind, the first he’d felt in weeks. Harper passed men on their way to work, smiling with the simple pleasure of being outside.
With the window wide, his office was cooler. He settled down to the paperwork that came with running a division. Four years into the job, he’d finally come to accept it, to surrender to the routine.
He was halfway through the pile when Ash tapped on his door. His face was grave, eyes thoughtful.
‘We need to go out to Harehills, sir.’
‘Why?’ He could feel an alarm ringing in his head. ‘Did the Smiths come and see Hester?’
The small pause before the man replied set his heart beating faster.
‘I don’t know, sir. But she didn’t open her shop this morning. The constable knocked but there was no reply. He managed to get in, and he found her dead in her bed.’
‘What?’ Harper pushed the chair back as he started to rise.
The Leaden Heart Page 6