The Leaden Heart

by Chris Nickson

  ‘I went to see Seth Myers today,’ Harper said.

  ‘I wasn’t aware you knew him.’

  ‘He owes me a favour. I decided it was time to collect.’

  The inspector raised an eyebrow. ‘Anything interesting?’

  ‘I’ll find out tomorrow.’

  ‘We’re going to have a very thorough file, sir.’

  ‘There’s still one piece I want to find.’ The link to the Smiths.

  ‘What if we can’t, sir?’ Ash put down his knife and fork. ‘What if it’s not there?’

  It was a fair question. He was hoping against hope for the evidence. If he couldn’t find it, what would he do with all the information? There was enough in there to damn May and Howe.

  ‘You could pass it to the chief constable, sir.’

  ‘We’ll see. Do you want some pudding?’

  A still, warm night, no breeze to stir the leaves. Soot smuts hung in the air; they were part of the landscape of Leeds. He found Sissons standing under the tree, eyes fixed on the Dunns’ window. A light glowed inside. Behind the curtain he could pick out the shadows of two figures moving around.

  ‘Have they stirred outside at all?’ Harper asked.

  ‘Not since I’ve been here, sir. But they’re busy enough.’

  There was nothing to do but stand and wait. A detective’s lot in life.

  ‘Are you enjoying plain clothes so far?’

  ‘I am, sir.’ He still sounded enthusiastic. ‘Better than being on the beat, if you know what I mean.’

  ‘I do.’ He’d felt that way himself. Even after all these years, he still did. ‘One thing about this job, you’ll always have something different. Even if it’s not always entertaining.’

  ‘Honestly, I don’t mind this, sir. Gives me a chance to think.’

  ‘What do you think about, Mr Sissons?’

  ‘This and that, sir.’ The lad sounded so earnest it was hard not to smile. ‘Believe it or not, I conjugate Latin verbs. It fills the time and it keeps me alert.’

  Harper chuckled. He’d never have predicted that answer. Still, to each their own.

  ‘Keep your eyes open and learn from the others. They’re good. Just don’t get cocky, or I’ll see you’re gone before you know it.’

  ‘Yes, sir. Of course.’ Even in the darkness, he was certain the lad blushed.

  ‘Are you in lodgings?’

  ‘No, sir. With my parents in Beeston.’

  ‘What does your father do?’ Talk passed the time. And a good way to know the man.

  ‘He works in a coking plant. I have two sisters, they’re both pupil-teachers. One of them’s going to qualify soon.’

  He could hear the pride in the man’s voice. ‘And you like to study, too.’

  ‘Yes, sir. Those couple of days at the college made me think.’

  ‘You’re not going to leave us?’

  ‘No, sir.’ Sissons sounded shocked at the idea. ‘Definitely not now. But I would like to study classics properly sometime, sir.’ A hint of a smile. ‘I know it’ll never happen, but …’

  A man with intelligence and ambition. He’d work out well.

  Close to half past eleven, the light in the room went off and Harper tensed. Ten minutes later, the Dunns still hadn’t emerged. The only sound was a drunk bawling a song outside the Cemetery tavern on Woodhouse Lane.

  ‘They’ve gone to bed,’ Harper said finally. ‘Find Sergeant Fowler and call it a night.’

  ‘Yes, sir. Goodnight.’

  The quickest way to the Victoria was cutting down the hill, then a short walk to Sheepscar. He set out at a quick, steady pace, thinking hard. Either the Dunns were preparing to flit or they were getting everything ready for a burglary. Tomorrow, he decided. And they’d catch the couple in the act.

  He was on Meanwood Road when he heard them. A boot scuffling and kicking a stone behind him. If he hadn’t been alert, still all too aware of May’s threat, he might never have noticed. Soon enough even his poor hearing could pick out more. Two men, no more than twenty yards behind. Neither of them speaking. He slid the cosh out of his pocket, feeling the weight of it in his hand. The prickling of goose pimples on his arms. It was going to happen. He’d be ready for it.

  Harper slowed a fraction, letting them gain ground on him. When they were about five yards away, he stopped suddenly and turned. The men halted, haloed under the gas lamp. Not the Smiths. He’d never expected that; they were too sly to risk attacking a policeman. These men were both stocky, years of labour showing on their bodies, wearing old jackets and shirts without collars. Their caps were pulled down low and they had kerchiefs covering the lower part of their faces.

  ‘Can I help you?’

  For a moment they stood absolutely still, unsure what to do now. Not professionals, that was obvious. Then one of the men charged towards him. A stupid move. He had his head down like a rugby player aiming for the try line. Too easy to sidestep at the last second and bring the cosh down hard on his head. The man crumpled on the pavement.

  His friend wavered, looking around for an escape, before he turned and started to run. But he was too slow. Harper was already on him. A sharp blow to the hip sent him crashing to the ground, howling with pain. A second to the knee meant he wouldn’t be going anywhere.

  Harper stood, panting hard. If they were the best May could afford, he had nothing to worry about at all. That fear niggling inside had been for nothing. He dug through his pockets until he discovered the police whistle and began to blow.

  TWENTY-FOUR

  ‘I want them taken to Millgarth. Keep them in the cells overnight.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’ Two constables had arrived, heavy footsteps echoing off the buildings as they ran.

  ‘Of course, sir,’ one of them said doubtfully. ‘Only that one, don’t you think he needs a doctor? He’s spark out.’

  The other attacker was still moaning, curled up like a small child. Harper nodded sharply. ‘Have them both checked.’

  ‘Are you all right, sir?’

  ‘Never better,’ he replied with a smile. ‘I’ll fill out my report in the morning.’

  He felt as if he was walking on air. After building it all up in his mind and imagining the worst, it had been nothing. Over in a moment. The walk home only seemed to last a few seconds. That sense of victory was still there as he unlocked the front door of the Victoria and crept up the stairs. Everything in darkness. He eased Mary’s door open, standing and watching her as she slept, before tiptoeing away.

  Annabelle stirred as he slid into bed. A small grunt, but nothing more. Harper lay, staring up at the ceiling and waiting for the adrenaline to drain out from his system. Then he’d be able to rest. All the danger he’d imagined had turned out to be hot air. Never mind a teacup, it wasn’t even a storm in a thimble. May was all bluster. He could be broken.

  Two folders sat on his blotter. Harper opened the top one. Harold Bowling, aged forty-two. A few years as a boiler stoker in a factory that ended after he broke his arm. After that, a history of convictions for assault and robbery. The photograph showed a round, belligerent face, cropped hair and aggrieved eyes.

  The other was Ben Deighton. In and out of prison since he was twelve. Affray, theft, violence, he’d done it all. Squat, thick features, a broken nose and dull expression.

  ‘Drag them up to the interview room,’ he ordered.

  ‘I’d like to be there, if you don’t mind, sir,’ Ash said. ‘I arrested Deighton a time or two. It’ll be like a family reunion.’

  ‘The more, the merrier.’

  He’d managed almost four hours of sleep after his mind finally slowed, and woke refreshed and curiously content. Not a scratch on him and it had all been done before he knew it. An anti-climax. No battle, no fight in the men who’d come for him. Harper knew he should have felt more: fury, outrage, overwhelming relief. But there was nothing.

  They were a sorry pair. Bowling with a grubby bandage around his skull, Deighton holding on to his friend and lim
ping heavily. Pushed on to the chairs, they looked sullen and defeated. Good, he thought. Men like that always talked. Ash stood by the door, arms folded, looming over the men like death.

  ‘We know you attacked me,’ Harper began. ‘Let’s take that as read. What I want to know is who hired you to do it.’

  ‘Nobody,’ Bowling answered. ‘Saw you and thought you was an easy mark.’

  ‘That’s a good start. You’ve got the lie out of your system. Now, why don’t we try the truth instead?’

  ‘He offered me a pound to help him do you,’ Deighton said.

  ‘Is that right? A pound for five minutes’ work. Quite a bargain.’ Harper slammed his hand down on the desk. ‘Looks like you weren’t up to the job. Either of you.’

  ‘He’s lying. It was him as offered me the money,’ Bowling protested. He tried to stand, but Ash’s large hand pushed him back down.

  ‘Blaming each other. I’d say that’s progress, wouldn’t you, Inspector?’

  ‘Always a pleasure when thieves fall out, sir,’ Ash agreed.

  Not much more than a grain of sense between them. Breaking them down wouldn’t take long. Come up with the right names and he might achieve something.

  ‘True, in’t it?’ Bowling said. ‘He offered me the pound.’

  ‘Didn’t.’

  ‘Shut up,’ Harper barked, and the room fell silent. ‘Someone offered you both money.’

  No answer. Ash put his hand on the back of Bowling’s neck and Harper saw the man shudder a little.

  ‘The superintendent asked a question. It’s polite to answer.’

  ‘Ask him.’ He jerked a thumb at Deighton.

  ‘Well?’ Harper asked. The man seemed to squirm on his chair, grimacing as he moved.

  ‘This bloke I know. He come up to me in the pub.’

  ‘When? Where?’

  Deighton swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple jumping. ‘Night before last in the Palace. We was having a drink, him and me.’ He tilted his head towards Bowling. ‘Said he’d give us a fiver for a job. Good money, that.’

  ‘Who was he?’

  ‘Charlie.’

  ‘Charlie who?’ Ash leaned over them, his voice filled with menace.

  ‘Cutter,’ Bowling said. ‘Got a scar here.’ He ran a dirty fingertip down his cheek. Harper glanced at the inspector, seeing him nod then leave the room. He could believe this story. It tasted like truth.

  ‘Why did Charlie Cutter want you to attack me?’

  ‘Didn’t ask. Not when he was offering money,’ Deighton told him.

  ‘Who was paying him?’

  ‘Don’t know. But he never said you was no copper. Just called you a gentleman.’

  Inside, Harper smiled. The first time he’d ever been called that.

  ‘Never mind. You’ll have plenty of time in prison to think about it.’

  ‘The word’s out to the men on the beat, sir,’ Ash said. ‘We should have Charlie in here later on today.’

  ‘I’ve met him before. He’s hardly any brighter than those two.’

  ‘Shouldn’t be too hard to pry a name out of him, then.’

  Another fire. At the back of a building on Grape Lane this time. The same method as before, with the same results. A scorched door, but no damage done. Twigs and paper heaped together, three matches to start the blaze. No paraffin, nothing at all to help it along. Done by someone who didn’t have a clue. But who? And why? There was nothing to connect this place to the last small fire. They appeared to be utterly random. No rhyme, no reason, and that worried him more than anything.

  Reed had been out patrolling every day, along with his sergeant and his constable. But there was a limit to how much ground three people could cover. He’d been reluctant, but after the second fire he’d warned shopkeepers to stay alert. Not much more he could do, except be ready as soon as anyone spotted smoke. So far they’d had two false alarms: someone burning rubbish in his garden and a call to the smokehouse where they were turning herring into kippers. But it was better to waste the time than miss something. He needed to find the firestarter before they got lucky. And he had no clues at all.

  It was filling his days. At least he had the real police work he’d been craving, and it kept his mind off the lack of progress in Leeds. Billy had received another letter from Tom Harper, but it just said the same thing in different ways: the investigation was barely inching ahead.

  He realized it all seemed so distant now. He had a devil of his own to find before someone died.

  ‘Sir!’ Walsh’s shout jerked his head up from the piece of paper in front of him. Recruitment figures so far for special constables. It was encouraging. The first intake was training, a second forming. Leeds would be covered once the fighting in South Africa began. They’d definitely need the men: already close to fifty police officers had gone, and more would join them as soon as war was declared.

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘We’ve had a good sighting of the Smiths.’

  Harper was on his feet, chair scraping over the floor. He felt the electricity running through his body.

  ‘Where?’

  ‘Hunslet. A corner shop. Two men came in to buy cigarettes. The shopkeeper recognized them from the photographs. As soon as they left, he sent someone to fetch a bobby.’

  ‘I want that area flooded with men. Everyone we can spare. House to house in the streets all around.’

  ‘Very good, sir.’

  ‘You’re a sergeant now. You can supervise.’

  Walsh beamed. ‘Glad to, sir.’

  ‘I want to know everything you find. And if you discover where they are, send for me. You understand?’

  ‘Absolutely, sir.’

  He was going to be there when the brothers were captured, to snap the cuffs on them himself and hear the lock click shut around their wrists.

  ‘What are you waiting for?’

  He’d barely gone before Tollman put his head round the door.

  ‘Just wanted to let you know, sir. They’re bringing Charlie Cutter in.’ He frowned under his moustache. ‘He might be a little the worse for wear, if you know what I mean.’

  ‘I don’t care if he’s been put through the bloody mangle. Tell me when he’s here.’

  Yes, he thought. The tide had definitely turned. He was going to win this one and he was going to do it soon.

  Charlie looked battered. The shoulder seam on his jacket was ripped, the sleeve hanging off. Blood and bruises on his face, and the white scar on his cheek seemed to glow. Wrists cuffed behind him as he sat with his back straight in the interview room.

  Finally, as Harper stood and stared at the sorry figure, the dam seemed to burst and the feelings raged through him. All the anger, the bile, the frustration at the cases that still stood unresolved.

  ‘Simple question,’ he said. ‘Who paid you to have me attacked?’

  ‘Don’t know what you’re talking about,’ Cutter replied.

  Harper grabbed him by the hair, jerking him up to his feet, and slammed him back against the wall. Before Charlie could react, the superintendent’s hand was round his throat, pinning him in place and very slowly squeezing. The man was choking. He didn’t care. It would be so easy to throttle the life out of him now. Simple to put it down to an accident, resisting arrest. No one would question it. For one quick moment, the satisfaction of it seemed to overcome him. But then he’d never hear the name. And he knew whose name he wanted to hear.

  ‘Are you a little deaf?’ Harper hissed.

  ‘No.’ Cutter had just enough breath to speak and try to shake his head.

  ‘I was starting to wonder, Charlie, since you didn’t answer my question. Do you want me to repeat it?’ A nod. ‘Who paid you to have me attacked?’

  ‘Can’t say.’ The words struggled out of his mouth. Harper’s fingers tightened a little on the man’s windpipe.

  ‘I didn’t catch that.’

  ‘I can’t say.’

  ‘Oh, you can,’ Harper told him. He brought
his face close, seeing the panic rise on Cutter’s face. ‘And you’re bloody well going to. I get very nasty when people try to hurt me.’

  Without warning, he let go. Cutter staggered forward, gulping down air.

  ‘Do you want another go at answering?’

  ‘He’ll kill me.’ He. That confirmed it wasn’t the Smiths. Which left …

  ‘Who?’

  But Cutter just pushed his lips together and stared ahead.

  ‘Who’ll kill you, Charlie?’ he said. ‘Who’ll put you in your grave?’

  Nothing.

  ‘It’d be a pity if a whisper went around that you’d told me.’

  ‘You wouldn’t.’ There was panic in Cutter’s eyes. The doubt was there now.

  ‘What sort of bet would you put on that? Wager your life on it, would you?’

  But whatever Harper tried, Charlie wouldn’t budge. He was too scared to give up the name. The inspector took a pace closer and the other man flinched. He could intimidate, he could go from a whisper to a shout, but nothing helped.

  An hour and a half of it, until Harper was hoarse, his voice rasping in his throat.

  ‘Take him back to the cells,’ he said with disgust.

  A mug of tea tasted like balm as he swallowed and sighed.

  ‘Any word from Hunslet yet?’ he asked.

  ‘No, sir,’ Tollman replied.

  Damnation. Maybe they were passing through, on their way somewhere else? One step forward brought another going back.

  By the time Fowler and Sissons arrived, his temper had settled. He’d talk to Cutter again later. Let him spend a few hours behind bars, not that it was his first time.

  ‘You look like two gentlemen who’ve had a fulfilling day.’

  If only that were true, he thought. They seemed exhausted and dejected.

  ‘Sorry, sir,’ Fowler told him. ‘We’ve been through every single transaction for the last year. If they’ve bought another property, they’ve hidden it well. The only place bought by brothers was the one they had in Hyde Park.’

  Another road that led nowhere.

  ‘Give yourselves a break for a few hours. We’re going to watch the Dunns when it’s dark. They’ll do something tonight. I can feel it in my water.’ Another lie. But worthwhile if it gave them some heart.