The Leaden Heart

by Chris Nickson

  FIFTEEN

  There was more paper as he walked through the door upstairs at the Victoria. Wadded into balls, tossed across the table, scattered over the floor. One blank sheet on the table surrounded by small, torn scraps of notes.

  ‘What happened here?’ Harper hung up his hat and started gathering everything.

  ‘I’m trying to come up with these recommendations for the Guardians.’ Annabelle sat at the table, a pen in her hand. ‘The way things need change after the Redshaw case.’

  ‘Not having much luck?’

  She gave a deep sigh. ‘I know what I want to say, but I can’t make it come out right.’

  ‘Give it time.’

  She reached up and took his hand. ‘The sooner the better, that’s all. Before they forget about it.’

  ‘I know you. You won’t let them. What happened with that relief officer?’

  ‘I read him the Riot Act. We’ll see what happens there,’ she said darkly. He pitied any man who felt the rough side of her tongue.

  ‘What have you done with Mary?’

  ‘She’s over at Maisie’s. Can you collect her and bring some fish and chips back? The time got away from me.’

  ‘In a minute,’ he said. That caught her attention. ‘The chief called me in today.’

  He told her about the councillors’ demands, seeing her mouth set and her eyes harden. No mention of the North Leeds Company.

  ‘I know men on the council, too.’ Her eyes were blazing. ‘So do you. If they want to push this, we’ll see they have the devil’s own fight on their hands.’

  Harper smiled. ‘I’m hoping it won’t come to much. I just want you to be prepared.’

  ‘May’s as crooked as they come. Howe’s not far behind. Who’s going to listen to them?’

  ‘They have influence. Anyway, no need to worry about it for now. I just wanted you to be aware. In case …’ Of what? Rumours, innuendoes? Accusations?

  ‘If anyone says a word, I’ll bite their head off.’

  It was an evening for play, not books. A light breeze was blowing; still warm, but a good time to be outside, to feel it on his skin. Collar and tie off, Harper walked up to Jews’ Park with Mary, the only open grass anywhere near the Victoria. As she ran and played, he sat on a bench, watching and letting his mind wander until he was aware of a shadow close by. Harper turned his head and saw a smiling face.

  ‘I was looking out of my window and I thought, that must be Tom Harper.’

  ‘Moishe. It’s good to see you.’

  He meant it. He’d grown up with Moses Cohen in the Leylands, their old houses just a stone’s throw away from here. Cohen was broad around the waist now, his hair receding, eyes half-hidden behind thick spectacles. He owned the tailor’s shop on the other side of North Street, running it with one of his sons, the large family living in the rooms upstairs.

  ‘You’re looking well.’ Cohen settled on the bench with a contented sigh. ‘Prosperous.’

  ‘You look good, too.’

  An eloquent shrug. ‘I make a living.’ He beamed. ‘I’m a zayde now.’ A grandfather. ‘Isaac and his wife have a girl. Rachel. Born last month. Before all this heat.’

  ‘Congratulations. That’s Mary.’ He pointed her out. ‘Can you believe she’s seven now?’

  ‘They grow so fast, my friend. Before we can even blink.’

  It was true enough. Life changed, things slipped away. He only lived a quarter of a mile from here, but this was the first time he’d seen Moishe since … it had to be two years, when he’d ordered a new suit.

  ‘Business good?’

  ‘Good days, bad days. Not like you. Always steady work.’

  ‘Too steady.’ Harper sighed. ‘Long days.’

  ‘But better than rolling barrels at the brewery?’

  He laughed. That had been his job after he left school. Hard, physical work for years, until he was old enough to apply for the force.

  ‘Anything’s better than that.’

  ‘Not anything,’ Cohen said quietly. ‘Isaac is talking about enlisting if this war comes.’

  ‘What? Why?’ He couldn’t begin to imagine that. Certainly not with a new baby.

  ‘Says he wants to show that Jews are patriots, too. I told him he was just scared of being a father. If you want to be patriotic, I said, sew a few uniforms, don’t go and die fighting Dutchmen in South Africa.’

  ‘Is there anything I can do?’

  ‘Bang some sense into him with your truncheon.’ Cohen sounded weary to his core. ‘I’m tired of arguing.’

  Mary ran up, breathless. ‘Da, Da, a boy over there took a ball from a girl so I made him give it back.’ A rush of words that his hearing took a moment to follow. She was grinning, proud of herself. ‘I said you were a policeman and if he didn’t do it you’d arrest him.’

  Harper heard Moishe begin to laugh; he couldn’t stop smiling himself.

  ‘That might not be the best way to do it,’ he told her carefully. ‘Do you remember Mr Cohen?’

  ‘How d’you do, sir?’ She gave a very quick curtsey, then dashed off again.

  ‘A few more years and she’ll be bringing boys home …’ Cohen said.

  ‘Don’t remind me. I pity any lad who tries to take her on.’

  He let her play a little while longer, then called her name. Time to go home. Moishe put a hand in his pocket, drew out a penny and solemnly presented it to her.

  ‘For a young lady,’ he said. ‘But don’t spend it until tomorrow.’

  Wide-eyed, she nodded. ‘I won’t, sir. Thank you.’

  ‘And you, Tom, come and see me. You’re due a new suit and I have a cloth that will be perfect for you.’

  ‘I promise. Look after yourself. And your son.’

  Cohen clicked his tongue. They shook hands.

  ‘One of the girls over there said their cat has just had kittens and she said we can have one when they’re old enough if we like.’ A torrent of words and a hopeful look.

  He took a deep breath. ‘Why don’t you ask your mam in the morning?’ With any luck, she’d have forgotten all about it by then.

  Plenty of people were still promenading as Billy Reed and his wife strolled up Flowergate. She had her arm tucked through his, chattering away about the day at the tea shop. The takings were tucked away in a bag, ready to bank in the morning.

  He let her talk, barely hearing what she said. He had too much on his mind. That morning, the night constable had reported a possible arson behind a shop on Baxtergate. Quick and crude; Reed had seen that immediately. He knew fires, he’d been an investigator with the Leeds brigade. This was amateur work, it had burned itself out before it could do any damage. But at the height of the season … that was enough to worry him. For now, though, he’d keep quiet. No sense in causing a panic yet.

  They turned on to Silver Street, and the shade from the houses felt deliciously cool. Just right, he thought. A pair of girls were playing with a whip and top outside number seventeen, still wearing their school pinafores. Sisters, by the look of them; the same black hair and dark eyes.

  He’d noticed them once before and never given them a thought; just two children. As they neared, the older one looked up and asked, ‘Excuse me, sir, but are you from Leeds? Only someone told me you was, that you was a policeman.’

  ‘That’s right, luv.’ It was Elizabeth who answered. ‘We’re both from Leeds. Have you been there?’

  The girl glanced at her little sister. ‘We’re from Leeds, too. Only we live here now. Our ma died, and our pa couldn’t keep us.’

  ‘I’m sorry to hear that. I have children, too. How old are you?’

  ‘She’s seven, missus, and I’m ten. Eleven next week.’

  ‘Do you like it in Whitby?’ Reed asked.

  ‘I think so,’ the girl answered. ‘We like to play on the sand and Mrs Lyth is good to us.’ She gestured at the house behind her. ‘But we’ve only been here a fortnight. We don’t know no one yet.’

  After their
father couldn’t keep them, they’d ended up in the Leeds Workhouse all through the winter and spring, the girl said. Then they’d been told that a woman would look after them and they’d been brought on the train to Whitby with three other children.

  She gazed up and down the street. ‘It’s not like the Bank.’

  Reed laughed. This was about as different as he could imagine. Good, clean air, clear skies, the sea in the distance. He looked at the pair, thinking that Annabelle might have helped make the decision to send them here; she was on the Board of Guardians. Still, they were better off in Whitby. There might be a future for them here.

  ‘What are your names?’ Elizabeth asked.

  ‘I’m Catherine Bush,’ the older one said. ‘People call me Cathy, but I like Catherine better.’ She smiled at her younger sister. ‘She’s Charlotte.’

  ‘I’m Mrs Reed, and this is my husband.’ She smiled down at them. ‘You enjoy playing while you can.’

  ‘Yes, missus. Thank you.’

  In the house, Elizabeth unpinned her hat, looking thoughtful.

  ‘Poor little things. It can’t be easy for them, living somewhere new. That older one, she’s sharp, isn’t she?’

  ‘Very,’ he agreed.

  ‘And if she’s almost eleven, she’ll be leaving school. She’s going to need a job, and I could use a hand at the tea shop. What do you think, Billy?’

  He grinned at her. ‘It sounds like it was meant to be.’

  A restless, prickly night. Harper fell asleep quickly, but as soon as he dropped off, the dreams began. People tumbling from the skies to land on jagged rocks that broke their bodies. Men chasing him as he tried to hide in the shadows. Every time, he’d jerk awake covered in sweat.

  Finally, a little after four, he gave up and slid out of bed. The streets were silent as he walked to work, still too early for the knocker-up. The lights were on at Millgarth, but even in the police station there were the hushed voices of the small hours.

  An early edition of the Post lay on the front desk: Leeds Boils! was the headline. After so many days of it, that hardly seemed like news. There’d be more of the same weather today. Saturday, payday, and men would be out drinking tonight. Tempers would spark. There’d be blood on the streets later, no doubt about it. The constables would have their hands full, and the cells would be packed with people.

  But there was nothing he could do to change human nature.

  His eyes felt gritty. In his office, Harper searched out the thin book that listed all the councillors, their addresses and responsibilities. Know your enemy. He’d read that somewhere; it seemed like an excellent idea. Howe was on the planning committee, of course. He’d probably arranged that himself. Two of the others who’d gone to the chief – Thomas and Wilson – served on there, too. How many pies did they have their fingers stuck in? Hart he knew; he was on the watch committee that oversaw the police. May’s protégé, he’d do anything the old man wanted. And May himself … not just the watch committee, but also planning. Well, well, well. When had he forced his way on there?

  For a moment, he considered writing a note to Crossley. No point: the man was an excellent politician as well as policeman. He’d already know exactly what every councillor did.

  Harper sat back and stared at the map of Leeds he’d put up on the far wall. Pins for murder, pins for property. Plenty to bring in good rents for the North Leeds Company year after year as the building boom carried on sweeping through the city. More money to be made in putting up the houses. It took capital, but men like Howe weren’t short of a few bob. He’d have been able to spend five thousand to acquire thirty-five shops. So would May.

  He opened the book, checking the names again. Both May and Howe were lawyers, although God knew where they’d find the time to practise. They’d know how to hide ownership of places.

  Arrest the burglar. Put the Smiths in jail. That would shut them up. Catching the Smiths would put the fear of God in them. But he was nowhere close to that.

  May was dirty. It had been a joke for years, the envelopes changing hands, the favours done. And Howe was as bad, with his nepotism and the curious deals that tucked a few pounds in his pockets. Somehow, though, they’d remained untouchable. Time for that to change.

  He needed evidence. Irrefutable proof. Easier said than done, especially with everything else going on.

  A tap on the door. Harper glanced at the clock, surprised to see it was after six, the sun already high and hazy.

  ‘Come in.’

  Sissons, looking neat in his shirt and tie and carrying a leather attaché case that bulged with books.

  ‘You look just like an eager student.’

  ‘Yes, sir. Thank you.’ The man gave a wide smile. ‘I thought I’d blend in like this.’

  ‘I’m sure you will. Have you learned anything helpful yet?’

  ‘I’m still finding my feet, sir.’ He gazed down, embarrassed by the admission. ‘But I’ve had a chance to watch and listen a little.’

  ‘Any candidates for the burglar?’

  ‘Three that I’ve found so far.’

  Three? That was more than he’d expected. ‘Tell me about them.’

  Instead, Sissons unlocked his case and brought out a sheet of paper, everything written down in a careful copperplate hand.

  ‘I thought it would be easier this way, sir.’

  ‘Very good.’ He glanced at the report. Carefully put together. The man had been busy. ‘I need you to be quick. There was another burglary. I’m sure you heard.’

  ‘I did, sir.’

  ‘We don’t have the luxury of time.’

  ‘Yes, sir. Of course.’

  Harper picked up the constable’s report. ‘Now, what made you pick out these men?’

  SIXTEEN

  Another murder. Another bloody murder. He could hardly believe it. Billy Reed sat in his office, staring out of his window down to the River Esk. Harper’s letter lay on the blotter, a brief summary of what Leeds police had managed to discover.

  And here he was, miles away. No evidence, that was what Tom had written. No idea who the brothers were; nobody knew them. He could feel the frustration in the words. Three dead and they were getting nowhere.

  All he could do was read about it in hurriedly written letters. Far off and helpless. He lit a cigarette and hoped today wouldn’t bring another report of a fire.

  ‘Did anyone whisper any secrets to you yesterday?’ Harper asked.

  ‘I wish to God they had, sir.’ Walsh sighed. ‘Just more of the same. Blank looks and people shaking their heads. These two might as well have dropped from the sky.’

  ‘Well, we know that didn’t happen. They started out somewhere. Anything back from the other forces yet?’

  ‘We’re still waiting to hear from a few, but none of them seem to know the Smiths by any name, sir.’

  ‘I did some checking on older deaths in Harehills,’ Ash said. ‘There’s only one that might be their doing. But people said the chap had a dicky heart for years.’ He shrugged. ‘Not a chance of proving anything.’

  Brick walls everywhere.

  ‘Pass the description Hester Reed gave us to all the beat bobbies. Let’s see if that brings anything.’ He didn’t expect it would, but he was growing desperate.

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘Cameron.’ He turned to Ash. ‘Any sign he had a close involvement with the Smiths?’

  ‘Not that I’ve been able to dig up, sir. I told you about his past. Seems that once he passed his wild years, he applied himself to the grocery trade. Then his uncle lent him the money to buy a shop and he turned up in Harehills. Everything paid back, fair and square. Unless I’ve missed something, he was exactly what he appeared to be.’

  Another possibility vanished. Every way they turned, they were stymied.

  ‘Nicholson. We know how the brothers were aware of the quarry. But he had brushes with two lots of criminals … if I believed in coincidences, I’d call that unfortunate.’

  �
��It could just be that, sir,’ Fowler said. ‘After all, they were years apart.’

  ‘It’s possible,’ Harper agreed. ‘But do some digging. You’re good with papers and forms. Take a look.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’ He pushed the spectacles up his nose. ‘I’ll get on it.’

  ‘Nicholson will be back from holiday tomorrow,’ Ash said.

  ‘I hadn’t forgotten. I’m sure he’ll be at the quarry Monday morning. We’ll pay him a visit.’ He glanced round the faces. ‘You know what to do. This pair are leading us a merry dance. It’s about time we made the music stop.’

  He chafed. But there was nothing he could do out there that others weren’t already handling, and he had responsibilities in the office. Rotas, leave requests. A constable came to see him fumbling over his words as he explained that he wanted to join the army and fight in South Africa. The chief was right: they’d need plenty of specials if they were going to keep Leeds safe. If not … he didn’t want to think about that. It might not be his concern, anyway, if May and his friends had their way.

  Out for his dinner. Not to the usual places, the cafe at the market or White’s Chop House. Instead, he wandered over towards the grand offices of the assurance companies and banks, fanning himself with his hat as he walked. Into the Guildford, then the Green Dragon, finding the men he wanted off in the corners where they spent most of their days. You didn’t last long as a detective without building a web of contacts. And you didn’t rise in the ranks without people owing you favours. It was time to pull in a few of those. Quiet words over a drink, setting things in motion. Walking up the Headrow, he glanced back at the Town Hall. What did they think, that he’d roll over without a fight?

  Saturday afternoon and town was packed. The work week was done, people shopped in the market, going up and down the streets and gazing at window displays. Saturday afternoon and still he had nothing. His men had been in and gone again. Not a word to report. Harper banged his hand down on the windowsill, so hard that the glass rattled in the frame.

  The only ray of hope was Sissons and the people he’d identified. Harper had telephoned Newcastle and spoken to a detective sergeant. But he’d just transferred from Carlisle; he didn’t know anyone yet.