The Leaden Heart

by Chris Nickson

  ‘He says it looks like it was in her sleep. But …’

  The timing.

  He was already reaching for his hat.

  Hester lay on her back, two pillows under her head, the covers over her body. Nothing disturbed in the room, nothing awry. Harper bent, studying her face. It looked peaceful enough, eyes closed. The bruises had begun to fade; now her skin was waxy. No new cuts, nothing on her hands.

  The same layer of fine grit and dust on the furniture as everywhere else in Leeds. But nothing smeared or smudged. Everything looked normal in the kitchen and sitting room. Downstairs, the office and shop were both orderly, yesterday’s takings counted, sitting undisturbed in the drawer.

  He’d barely met the woman, but he’d liked her. A hard shell, there to ward off the world. Underneath, a widow trying to face everything alone.

  ‘The body goes to Hunslet,’ he ordered Ash. ‘I want Dr King to do a full post-mortem on her.’

  ‘Yes, sir. Puzzler, isn’t it?’

  ‘Very.’ It could be natural; in most cases he wouldn’t even question it. But under the circumstances … this felt wrong. With each pace around, he was more certain. No evidence, but he knew it. He moved from room to room, eyes searching. Something was missing. For the life of him, though, Harper couldn’t place what it was.

  Constable Barstow stood outside the door, keeping away the curious.

  ‘Were all the doors locked when you arrived?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘How did you get in?’ Nothing had been forced; he’d checked.

  ‘I, um, have a way with locks, sir.’ He reddened and stared down at the ground.

  ‘Did anything look unusual to you?’

  The man shook his head. ‘If it hadn’t been for all the fuss about these brothers, I’d have said she just died in her sleep. She was very upset, what with Charlie topping himself like that. The shop was open yesterday, same as ever.’

  ‘Mrs Reed had relatives nearby, didn’t she?’ This was Barstow’s beat; he knew who was who.

  ‘Plenty of them, sir. A cousin two streets away, another at the top of the hill. A pair of aunts and uncles on Harehills Lane.’

  ‘You did the right thing here.’

  ‘Thank you, sir. I don’t know, there’s just something not quite kosher about it, somehow.’

  ‘I feel exactly the same.’ He shook his head. ‘By the way, if I were you, I’d just keep that lockpicking skill quiet.’

  ‘I will, sir.’

  A thought struck him. ‘Where was the back door key? Do you know?’

  ‘No idea, sir.’

  Harper strode back inside. Not in the lock. He saw the empty hook on the wall. He’d used the key himself on Saturday night. He opened drawers and cupboards. No sign of it anywhere. Hester was too neat for anything to be awry. That was what had been troubling him. Someone had come in, then taken the key after locking the door on his way out.

  Murder. Now he was sure.

  Reed stared out at the estuary. The sky was blue, just a few clouds high in the sky, a hint of wind from the North Sea to stop it feeling too warm. Perfect weather for the holidaymakers. It seemed like a mockery.

  The conversation played over and over in his mind.

  ‘Billy?’ The connection was poor, crackling and buzzing.

  ‘Tom?’ He could feel his heart beating faster. ‘Have you arrested them?’

  ‘No. It’s Hester.’ The line faded to silence, then returned. ‘I said, it’s Hester.’

  ‘What about her?’

  ‘I’m sorry, Billy. She’s dead. Didn’t open the shop this morning. When the bobby went in, he found her in bed.’

  ‘But—’ he said, not sure he’d heard correctly. Dead? She couldn’t be.

  ‘I’ve been up there. I wish I had better news. I’m as certain as I can be that it’s murder.’

  ‘Tom …’ He closed his eyes and tried to swallow.

  ‘I’ll have more details soon. I just wanted to tell you.’

  ‘Yes,’ he said after a moment. ‘Thank you. Better than a telegram.’ He knew the words sounded empty, mechanical. ‘I can’t come. The chief will never agree. There’s just me and a constable here this week.’

  ‘We’ll find them.’ But Tom had promised him they’d look after Hester, too.

  He took out his cigarettes and lit one. The bad thing had happened.

  God only knew what Charlie had been feeling, the despair that crushed him and made him take his own life. At least he’d made his own decision. Hester intended to battle on. Bastards.

  He hadn’t even asked how she’d died. He’d been too shocked by the news. As certain as I can be. That meant he had nothing. Found her in bed. She was always careful about locking the doors; he’d seen that on the night he stayed. He knew who’d done it. So did Tom. They hadn’t needed to kill her. They’d already buried her alive when they drove her husband to suicide.

  Now he had to rely on someone else to bring them some justice.

  A knock on the door. A young constable, barely past his training.

  ‘Sorry to disturb you, sir. But a man’s just come in. Says his pocket’s been picked.’

  ‘Can you look after it?’ Reed asked. ‘Take down the details.’

  Still early, but the tea room already had a few customers. Elizabeth was out in the yard, checking a delivery and laughing with the driver as he left. She turned as the back door opened, seeing the expression on his face.

  ‘Billy, what is it?’

  He told her and watched the colour rush from her cheeks.

  ‘That’s … that’s awful. What did Tom say?’

  ‘Not much. He’s going to tell me more later.’

  She put her arms around him. ‘I’m sorry, Billy, luv. I really am.’

  Too late for sorrow, he thought. Hester’s death needed more than that.

  ‘Suffocation,’ Dr King said. ‘No doubt about it.’ He looked at the younger man beside him. ‘What do you think, Dr Lumb?’

  ‘Definitely.’ He was an inch or two smaller than King, in his early fifties. Creased, weathered skin like aged leather, a full head of dark hair, intense eyes, thin lips.

  ‘This is my replacement, Superintendent. And a very fine police surgeon he’ll be. Experience in Egypt.’

  They shook hands. The man was wearing a pale linen suit, just right for the hot weather.

  ‘My guess would be smothered with a pillow,’ Lumb said. ‘It fits with the pressure. She was found in her bed?’

  ‘That’s right,’ Harper agreed. ‘But I didn’t see any signs of a struggle.’

  ‘It’s there – we found some light bruising on her wrists.’ Lumb looked at him questioningly. ‘Could there have been two people working together who killed her?’

  ‘Yes.’ Oh yes.

  ‘Then I’d say one held her while the other forced the pillow over her face.’

  King beamed, like a teacher watching his pupil perform well.

  ‘What else can you tell me?’ Harper asked.

  ‘We found some cotton fibres in her mouth. That’s why we believe it was a pillow,’ Lumb continued. ‘I could give you all the medical jargon, but suffocation is probably enough.’ He gave a nervous smile and glanced at King.

  ‘The superintendent has seen his share of bodies, Doctor. The summary is all he needs.’

  ‘It is.’ He smiled at Lumb. ‘Thank you. Don’t take this wrongly, but I hope we don’t see too much of each other.’

  The man chuckled. ‘That might just be the strangest welcome I’ve ever received.’

  He had his confirmation. Murder. Billy had been right: men like the Smiths always returned.

  ‘We put everything into this,’ Harper told them. ‘Everything. I want these men found and in custody.’

  ‘What should we do about the burglar, sir?’ Walsh asked.

  ‘On the back-burner for now.’ With a little luck, he’d remain quiet for a while. ‘The inspector’s talked to a few people who live in properties the br
others own. Walsh, you have a word with the ones who sold to them. Bring me every detail you can find.’ He turned to Fowler. ‘They’ve paid cash for over thirty properties. That must have cost a few thousand. It came from somewhere. Very likely this North Leeds Company. I want to know about them.’

  ‘Why would they set up this Harehills Development Company, then?’ Walsh asked.

  ‘It’s a good way to keep their distance,’ Harper said. ‘Whoever runs the North Leeds Company tells the Smiths which properties to buy. They’re the front for it all, and they handle all the problems. If there’s any comeback, the people at the North Leeds Company can deny any responsibility.’

  ‘And the Smiths do all their dirty work,’ Fowler added.

  ‘Exactly,’ Harper agreed. ‘In return, they get a slice of the money. And the people pulling the strings can stay safely in the background.’

  It was clever, he had to admit that. And thanks to the law, impenetrable.

  Ash spoke quietly into the silence. ‘Once we catch the Smiths, do we have any solid evidence against them, sir?’

  No, and he knew it. ‘We will.’

  ‘If they’re that clever, they’ll have a lawyer. He’ll get them out inside an hour.’

  ‘Not if he can’t find them,’ Harper said. ‘Bring them in, and we’ll play hide and seek with his clients. Let him try and find the buggers while we build a case against them.’

  Ash grinned. ‘Just like the old days, sir.’

  ‘Find them,’ Harper ordered. ‘I want this pair put away.’

  NINE

  Someone had placed a bunch of flowers by the door of the shop. They’d wilted in the heat, the colours already fading. But it was a touching gesture.

  Constable Barstow wasn’t the only one with lockpicking skills; every copper who’d walked the beat knew a trick or two. A few seconds and he had the back door open. Inside, the building was stuffy and dusty, as warm as a hothouse.

  He needed to see it with fresh eyes.

  The faint scent of death lingered in the bedroom, the sickly-sweet hint of decay. The bed lay unmade, as if someone might come back at any moment to tidy it. The curtains were closed, but light still streamed in, enough for him to search. Harper crawled on the floor, looked under the bed.

  The sense of Hester Reed still filled the place, as if her ghost was hovering, but there was nothing to find, not there or anywhere upstairs. In the office, the bag with the takings was still in the drawer. Leaving it had been a clever touch, another way to make the death seem natural.

  Half an hour and he gave up, letting himself out again, then used his tools to make the door secure. As he opened the gate, a man was waiting. Older, in his seventies, a couple of patches of white stubble on his face that the razor had missed, and a pair of intelligent brown eyes. He seemed to stoop more than stand, one hand gripping a heavy walking stick.

  ‘What do you think you’re doing?’ He raised the cane; there might not be a lot of strength in those arms, but it could still do some damage.

  ‘I’m with the police,’ Harper said, and brought out his card.

  His expression changed. ‘Finally reckon there was something wrong about her death, do you?’ As he spoke, Harper saw the gaps where the man’s front teeth had been pulled.

  The superintendent stared. ‘Do you know something, sir?’

  ‘I live over there.’ He pointed across the ginnel. ‘Don’t sleep too well, I get these pains in me legs most nights.’

  ‘Did you see anything the night Mrs Reed died?’ Please God, let him be a witness.

  ‘Heard. Couldn’t get up to see, it were too painful. But me hearing’s as good as ever. Sounds, like scraping and someone whispering.’

  Dammit. Still, he’d listen to the man.

  ‘What time was it? Do you know?’ he asked.

  ‘Ee, I couldn’t tell you.’ The man shook his head. ‘Don’t have a clock. Always had the knocker-up to wake me when I could work.’ He thought for a moment. ‘Long since dark, and not near morning. That’s the best I can do.’

  Even in the short nights of late July, that still covered a few hours. ‘Could you try and remember everything you heard?’

  ‘It was like they was trying to be quiet, you know? My missus, she didn’t even stir.’

  ‘They? More than one?’

  ‘Oh aye. Definite. I could pick out two voices.’ He was quiet for a moment, eyes narrowing as he tried to remember. ‘Not what they said, mind. They was too quiet for that. Two men.’

  ‘Young? Old?’

  The man shrugged. ‘Couldn’t tell.’

  ‘How long could you hear them?’

  ‘Only a little while. Then, a bit later, there was more and the sound of footsteps. Going that way.’ He gestured down the ginnel.

  ‘Did anyone come around yesterday, asking if you’d seen or heard anything?’ He’d ordered a house-to-house for the entire area.

  ‘Some young bobby. Didn’t look old enough to wipe his own arse.’

  ‘Did you tell him all this?’ If he had, and it hadn’t been reported …

  ‘Course I didn’t. Not with me missus there. She’d think I was going daft. But I know it was real.’

  ‘You’re right. You tell your wife that if she asks. And if you remember anything else, let Constable Barstow know. He’ll make sure it reaches me.’

  ‘Reet enough.’

  It wasn’t much, he couldn’t take it to court. But it was confirmation. Now he just had to find these men.

  Reed sat in his office, the receiver tight against his ear.

  ‘I’m sorry, Billy,’ Harper said as the line crackled and fizzed. ‘She was suffocated with her pillow. They did everything they could to make it seem natural. Didn’t even steal the day’s takings.’

  ‘I see.’ He’d known it since the first news arrived. Known it in his gut. He ought to feel angry. But there was nothing, just emptiness. He was in Whitby, looking out at the water and hearing the gulls, not in Leeds. There was nothing he could do.

  ‘The funeral’s tomorrow.’

  ‘I told you, Tom, I can’t go,’ he said. ‘I asked my chief and he refused. We’re at the height of the season. I’ll have to send a wreath.’

  ‘I’ve put everyone on the case.’

  ‘Catch them soon.’ Words. A little salve on an open wound. For who, though? Tom or himself?

  ‘We will.’ A hesitation at the other end of the telephone. ‘I really am sorry, Billy.’

  ‘Just find them, will you?’

  ‘The Board of Guardians has voted to provisionally give the workhouse master in Holbeck a clean bill of health. No responsibility for the deaths of Ada and Annie Redshaw.’ Annabelle sighed.

  ‘You told me he did everything properly. By the book.’

  ‘I know.’ Her voice was tired. They lay in bed. A thin breeze fluttered the curtains. Not a cloying heat, but warm enough for the old cotton sheet to feel like a weight on his body. ‘I’m not saying he did anything wrong.’ She rolled on to her back. He could just make out the silhouette of her body as she stared at the ceiling. ‘It’s the rules. They’re the problem. If this happens, you have to do that. The master told me himself that something looked wrong with Redshaw. But since the man had enough money for lodgings, he couldn’t take in the girls. His hands were tied. I told the board I’d put my name to it if we debated ideas to make sure something like this never happened again.’

  ‘How did that go down?’

  ‘How do you think? They didn’t need my vote to pass the motion. Very grudgingly, they told me to come up with some proposals and they’d be discussed if we had time.’

  ‘A better system?’ Harper asked.

  ‘Like I said before: something that would let him use his own judgement.’

  ‘And do you think they’ll make time to listen?’

  ‘Two minutes at the end of a meeting if I’m very lucky,’ she snorted. ‘They just want something simple, keeping the books in order, everything cut and dried. But how c
an we look after people if we turn them away?’

  He thought about Hester Reed. What more could he have done to keep her alive? Nothing. In his head, he knew that. But it didn’t stop the guilt growing inside. He’d failed her. He’d failed Billy.

  ‘How much did it cost them to buy all those houses?’ he asked Ash.

  ‘Best part of five thousand pounds by my arithmetic, sir. You won’t get that by saving your ha’pennies.’

  Harper let out a low whistle. More than most people would see in their entire lives.

  ‘Have you discovered where it came from?’

  ‘Has to be this North Leeds Company, sir.’ He rubbed a hand across his moustache. ‘After all, they own this company the Smiths run. It’s just two and two, isn’t it?’

  ‘And it’s legal.’

  ‘We’ve never come across this type of crime before.’

  ‘Find out whatever you can. With what they’re bringing in from increased rents, someone’s making money.’

  Harper attended Hester Reed’s funeral. He had to go, a quiet observer at the back of the church, then at Beckett Street cemetery, standing a little distant under the shade of an elm tree. She was buried next to her husband, his grave still so fresh that the mound of earth hadn’t even begun to rest.

  He bowed his head at the prayers, feeling a weight settle on his shoulders. Billy’s wreath lay by the coffin as it was lowered. One by one, relatives came forward to drop their handfuls of earth.

  He gazed around the crowd. Nobody who resembled the description of the Smith brothers. Yet he spotted one familiar face, hanging on the fringes. Jeb Pearce. What was he doing here? He’d never even lived in Harehills.

  As the service ended and people began to cluster in groups, Harper followed Pearce down the path and out past the railings that guarded the dead. The workhouse stood across the street, the stark warning of poverty. Pearce wasn’t strolling. He was hurrying down the street towards the tram stop outside the Fountain Head pub.

  Easy enough to catch up with him. Jeb was short and round, the black suit tight around his belly as he waddled away, sweat running down his face from the effort. A bowler hat sat awkwardly on his head.

  ‘Going somewhere?’ Harper asked. ‘You’ll miss the funeral tea.’