The Leaden Heart

by Chris Nickson

  ‘Go on.’ What else could have happened?

  ‘One of the Smiths has died. The one with the knife. Blow to the head when we were subduing him. Sissons went through his pockets. Turns out it was Jack Smith.’

  The man was breathing when Harper left; he was sure of that. But he wasn’t going to say a word. Dead now or at the end of a noose, he’d be gone either way. This just saved the expense. Jack Smith was no loss to the world.

  ‘What about the other one?’

  ‘Cursing up a blue streak in the cells, the desk sergeant said.’

  ‘Leave him there until morning.’

  ‘You ought to go home, sir,’ Ash said. ‘I’ll look after things here.’

  There was so much to do. A report for the chief, checking on the other men who’d been there … Harper closed his eyes for a moment. His entire body ached.

  ‘Sir?’

  He blinked. ‘What?’

  ‘You dropped off for a moment.’ Ash’s eyes were kindly. ‘Come on, let’s find you a hackney.’

  The man was right. He was in no fit state to do anything else tonight.

  He glanced at the doors to the operating theatre. ‘When you hear, you let me know immediately.’

  ‘I will, sir. Get some rest before we talk to John Smith tomorrow.’

  ‘Mrs Lyth?’

  She was a soft-faced woman, barely five feet tall, fair hair gathered in an untidy bun. In her late thirties, Reed guessed, with the raw red hands of a woman who’d just finished scouring the supper pots.

  ‘You live up the street,’ she said. ‘Your wife …’

  ‘That’s right.’ He smiled. ‘Catherine works for her.’

  Worry crossed her face. ‘You’re a policeman.’

  ‘I could do with a word, if you don’t mind. It’s important. It’s about Charlotte, the little one who’s with you. She’s been trying to set fires around town.’

  Harper slept until Annabelle came in and shook his shoulder. Already light, sun coming through the curtains, the air warm and comforting.

  ‘You’re—’ She stopped as he pushed down the sheet and tried to sit up, clenching his teeth so he wouldn’t yell. ‘Tom. What in God’s name happened?’

  He told her, watching as her face grew darker. Very slowly, he forced himself out of bed, fighting the pain until he was upright.

  ‘It looks worse than it is,’ he assured her. ‘But I think I’m going to need help with this shirt.’

  Things seemed a little easier once he was moving around, although every jolt on the tram made him wince with pain. Walking into Millgarth, Harper held himself erect. He was in charge, he needed to put on a good front for the men. In the detectives’ room he exhaled slowly.

  ‘How’s Pickford?’

  ‘Out of danger, sir,’ Fowler said as he looked up from a stack of papers. ‘But it’s going to be six months before he’ll be back on the job.’

  Heartening news. He’d live. But one good copper was dead because of this pair. He’d need to go and see McRae’s wife.

  ‘Are those the papers from the house?’

  ‘For whatever they’re worth.’

  ‘Any names mentioned?’

  ‘Not really. Looks like they were asking for loans from people they’d done business with. Everyone was refusing them.’

  ‘Where are Walsh and Sissons?’

  ‘Back out at the scene, sir, so they can put together a report.’

  ‘What about Ash?’

  ‘He’s been interviewing John Smith for the last …’ his eyes flickered over to the clock, ‘… hour.’

  ‘Carry on. If any names pop out at you, tell me.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  Reed picked up the receiver.

  ‘Whitby Police, Inspector Reed.’

  ‘We got them, Billy.’

  Tom should have sounded jubilant, he thought. Instead, his voice was as old as the grave.

  ‘Congratulations.’

  ‘We have one man dead, another wounded and gone for half a year.’

  Now he understood. ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘Jack Smith died resisting arrest.’

  He wasn’t going to shed any tears over that. Not after what they’d done to his brother and Hester and all the others.

  ‘What about the other one?’

  ‘Ash is interrogating him now. I thought you’d want to know.’

  ‘I appreciate it. Turns out I’m going to be in Leeds in a couple of days.’

  ‘Then come by. Stay if you want.’

  ‘I probably won’t have the chance. It’ll only be a very brief visit.’ He didn’t say any more than that. Tom’s mind would be too full of things to ask. ‘But I’ll stop at Millgarth.’

  ‘I’ll try and keep John Smith here for you.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Reed answered. ‘But no need.’

  It wasn’t going to bring back Charlie and his wife. Much too late for that. Maybe it would be better to let the dead find their peace.

  Harper stood outside the interview room, one hand on the door knob. He needed to see this man up close, to hear his voice and his words.

  Smith was slumped back in his chair, wrists weighed down with heavy manacles that were attached by a chain to his ankles. His face was a mass of cuts and bruises. As he smiled, he showed gaps where his teeth had been knocked out.

  ‘I should have done for you last night.’ A rough voice, full of bragging and threats. Small, dark eyes pinpointed with hate.

  ‘Then you missed your chance,’ Harper told him.

  ‘Your lot murdered my brother after you’d gone.’

  ‘You killed one of my men.’

  ‘Shame it wasn’t more.’

  ‘You’re going to hang for it. And all the other deaths.’

  ‘Prove it was me.’ He raised his head, defiance in his eyes.

  ‘I don’t need to. Last night was enough. The two of you killed one copper and tried to murder another. That’s a death sentence.’

  Smith’s expression changed. Something lingered on his face that Harper couldn’t read. ‘Doesn’t matter, anyway. I was born to hang. Known it for years.’

  ‘At least you won’t be disappointed.’ He turned to Ash. ‘Has he said much?’

  ‘A whole lot of nothing, sir. Round and round in circles.’

  ‘Who put up the money for you to buy all those properties?’

  A sly smile. ‘Maybe we already had it.’

  ‘No, you didn’t.’

  ‘Then you’ll never know, will you?’ With effort, Smith raised his hand to his mouth and made a locking motion. ‘Never.’

  He could feel the anger welling up, the urge to lash out with his fist. From the corner of his eye, Harper saw Ash raise his fingertips off the desk. A warning: let it go. No point in giving Smith the satisfaction. He’d seen the man now, he’d heard him. He wasn’t going to break. He’d be laughing as they put the noose around his neck. The strange thing was that Harper felt absolutely nothing. No anger, no sorrow. A void.

  ‘I’ll leave him to you, Inspector.’

  ‘Very good, sir.’

  He’d no sooner seated himself in the office, trying to make sense of it all, than the telephone rang.

  ‘It’s Dr Lumb, Superintendent. I thought you’d like to know the results of the post-mortems.’ No warmth in his voice at all, severe and professional.

  ‘Yes, yes, of course. Thank you.’

  ‘Your man McRae first. The shotgun blast sent a splinter from the door through his left eye and into his brain. Death was instantaneous, if that makes things any better. If he’d been standing a few inches to the right he’d still be alive.’

  ‘I see.’ The accidents of fate. At least there’d been no time for it to hurt. But that would be little comfort to his wife and children.

  Lumb’s voice hardened. ‘The other man is a different matter. He was held face down in the dirt until he suffocated.’

  ‘He was resisting arrest,’ Harper said.

  ‘By the tim
e that happened, Smith already had a skull fractured in two places and his right wrist shattered. He couldn’t have done any more harm.’

  ‘I was there, Doctor. He’d just knifed one of my constables who’s lucky to be alive.’

  ‘All I can report is what I’ve learned from the body.’

  ‘And I can tell you what I saw. He was armed and ready to kill again. My officers did what they needed to do.’

  ‘On your conscience be it, Superintendent.’

  No, conscience didn’t come into it. The world was a safer place without Jack Smith. He wouldn’t be losing any sleep over that.

  Another hour and Ash appeared.

  ‘He’s still not saying anything worthwhile, sir. Won’t give up the source of the money.’

  ‘What do you think? Worth another go later?’

  The inspector shook his head. ‘We’d just be wasting our breath. He looks like he wants to die.’ He frowned. ‘Looking forward to it, in a way. Said at least he’d be with his brother and his mother again.’

  ‘Then let’s get him up before the magistrate and remanded for the assizes.’

  ‘Yes, sir. I talked to Fowler. He hasn’t come up with anything worthwhile from the papers. No mention of our friends on the council.’

  ‘I see.’

  ‘Sissons and Walsh will be back later, but I wouldn’t expect much from them, either.’

  John Smith. Was it loyalty that kept his mouth shut? Or just to claim some small victory? It didn’t matter either way. They didn’t have the name they needed. And there was only one other way to try and get it.

  ‘We’re taking a walk to Park Square,’ Harper said. ‘I want to try Dryden the lawyer once more. See if he’ll tell us who owns this damned company.’

  He knew Dryden wasn’t going to give an inch. But he had to try. It was the last, desperate roll of the dice.

  Halfway along Commercial Street, he needed to rest for a moment. His ribs hurt, a sharp pain that stabbed inside. Harper took shallow breaths, leaning against the stonework of the Leeds Library building. Eventually he nodded, ready to move on.

  ‘Maybe you need another day off, sir,’ Ash suggested.

  He shook his head. ‘I’m fine now.’

  The ribs would heal. He was going to see this through.

  They were shown straight through to Dryden’s office. Better that than sitting in the waiting room, making his clients nervous.

  ‘I hadn’t expected to see you again, Superintendent.’ The man was on his feet, the large desk a gulf between them. ‘I thought I’d made my position clear the last time.’

  ‘John Smith is in custody, charged with murder. His brother is dead. That means the Harehills Development Company doesn’t exist any more.’

  Dryden cocked his head. ‘Why would that alter things?’

  ‘When we find out who owns the North Leeds Company—’

  ‘There is no legal way you can discover that.’ Dryden’s voice overrode his, growing more confident with each word. ‘You’re going to have to accept that.’

  ‘And you refuse to tell us?’

  ‘I do. I’m completely within my rights, as I’m sure your police lawyer has already told you. Was there anything more?’

  ‘This involves murder,’ Harper told him. ‘The Smiths shot one of my men last night.’

  ‘The North Leeds Company doesn’t condone any violence. I’m sorry for what happened, but the company was in no way responsible. I trust you’ll understand that. John and Jack Smith acted off their own bat.’

  Harper turned on his heel and strode out. Ash followed close behind.

  ‘We tried, sir,’ he said as they crossed the small park in the middle of the square.

  ‘No. We lost.’

  Later, alone in his office, he gently ran his fingertips over the break in his ribs, feeling the tenderness and the pain, desperate to itch where the bandage rubbed against his skin. May and Howe were going to walk away from this. He had absolutely nothing to connect them with the Smiths. But they were guilty. There was no shred of doubt in his heart.

  TWENTY-NINE

  ‘Thoughts worth a penny, Tom?’

  Crossley stood in the doorway.

  He started to rise, but the chief waved him back down. ‘I heard about it. How are the ribs?’

  ‘Painful,’ he admitted.

  ‘It’s a tragic business about McRae. I’m on my way to visit his widow.’

  ‘I’ll join you, if you don’t mind, sir. I was going, anyway.’

  ‘Is it ever really worth the cost?’ Crossley stared out of the window as the carriage moved into traffic.

  ‘I wish I knew the answer to that, sir. We have to hope it is.’

  ‘I see one of the Smiths died resisting arrest.’

  ‘He was the one who knifed Pickford.’

  Crossley nodded slowly. ‘What about the other one? Have you found out much from him yet?’

  ‘Ash worked on him, but he’s not given us a thing. Says he’s looking forward to being with his brother again.’

  ‘So we’re never going to find out who’s at the top of the tree.’

  ‘That’s how it looks, sir.’

  ‘The councillors haven’t been to see me again. I don’t expect they will, now.’

  A sly change of topic, Harper thought. Crossley knew the truth as well as he did.

  ‘That’s some good news, at least.’

  ‘And more men are volunteering to be specials. We’re going to need them very soon. Be grateful for that, too, Tom.’

  What could you say to a widow whose grief was still so raw? Mrs McRae’s eyes were red and swollen from all the tears she’d cried. She was trying to understand that her husband would never come home again. The children had gathered round her, the youngest just four, the eldest a grave, sombre girl of fifteen.

  The chief handled it well, Harper thought.

  ‘You’ll receive a pension,’ he finished, ‘and there’s a fund for the families of officers who die on duty.’

  She gave a dull nod. Then it was his turn.

  ‘He always did his job bravely, I know that. I worked with him. As good a copper as I’ve ever seen. We’ll miss him.’

  ‘Do you have children?’ Mrs McRae asked.

  ‘A daughter.’

  ‘How do you think she’d feel if she was told you were dead? What about your wife?’

  Just like the question May had asked when he issued his threat. But this time it was like a soft scream.

  ‘Like you,’ he answered, and she nodded.

  The visit to the infirmary was easier. The ward sister allowed them five minutes with Pickford.

  ‘He’s dead, in’t he? The one who got me.’

  ‘Yes,’ Harper told him.

  ‘Good bloody riddance. Beggin’ your pardon, sir.’

  ‘No need. The other one will hang.’

  ‘Not like anyone will miss ’im, sir.’ He started to cough. A nurse came and bustled them away.

  Out in the air, Crossley began to walk back to the Town Hall. It was only a few hundred yards, but he took his time.

  ‘No great rush, Tom.’

  ‘Thank you, sir.’ The bouncing ride in the carriage had left his ribs complaining. He was just beginning to realize how drained he felt.

  ‘I hear you and your inspector have been asking questions.’ A throwaway sentence, saved until now.

  ‘We have, sir.’ No point in denying it when the man already knew.

  ‘A couple of clerks told me.’ He gave a smile. ‘Don’t worry, they have no love for our friends. Have you found enough?’

  Enough for what? There was nothing to say they owned the North Leeds Company. And the council wouldn’t care about corruption. They were probably all at it.

  ‘Not for what I need,’ he answered.

  ‘Pity,’ Crossley said. ‘I’m sure your file would make for interesting reading.’ That was all. ‘Look after yourself, Tom,’ he said as they parted. ‘Let your ribs heal.’

  A s
low stroll back to Millgarth. His body ached, a mix of guilt and frustration filled his soul. He’d never expected the brothers to be armed. His fault; he should have anticipated it. What could his men have done, though? They still needed to break down the door …

  Two murderers taken off the street. That was the headline all the men selling newspapers were shouting as he passed. Harper bought a copy of the Evening Post and glanced through the story. Praise for the dead and wounded police heroes. The details of the Smiths’ crimes hinted at by the writer.

  He’d achieved something. He should have felt proud. For the last few weeks, this was what he’d wanted, to have the brothers gone. Instead, he was empty. He’d never have the real truth – who put up the money, who pulled the strings. John Smith would hang and keep his silence. Whoever hired him would walk away, thinking their hands were still clean.

  He entered the station through the yard. The back door opened and a constable led Smith out. On his way to court, still wearing the manacles. As soon as he saw Harper, the prisoner charged the copper aside, stumbling forward in his chains, pure hatred on his face.

  ‘You did Jack. I’m going to kill you.’ He had his wrists held high, fists clenched.

  Harper stood his ground. No running, no dodging. Waited until Smith was close enough to smell his breath, then he grabbed the man’s arm, sending him off balance and crashing down to the ground.

  Smith was panting hard, flecks of spittle round his mouth, the vacancy of madness in his eyes.

  ‘You,’ he said. ‘You, you, you, you.’

  ‘I’m sorry about that, sir.’ The embarrassed constable grabbed Smith and hauled him to his feet.

  ‘Don’t let it happen again.’

  ‘No, sir.’

  He watched as Smith was dragged away. Wanting to kill, wanting to die; maybe they were two sides of the same coin.

  In the detectives’ room, the men sat quietly. The map with its pins had been taken down from the wall, the reports written and filed away.

  ‘I don’t suppose Smith said more?’ Harper asked.

  ‘No, sir,’ Ash replied. ‘Just became more incoherent with every question.’

  ‘Let’s make sure his lawyer doesn’t try to plead madness.’ He turned to Fowler. ‘It’s all done. You’ll be on your way to the army soon.’

  ‘Next Monday, sir. I talked to my friend this morning. A month at Aldershot then I’m shipping out to Cape Town.’