Skin Like Silver

by Chris Nickson

‘A woman,’ she said emptily. ‘Poor thing. You look after yourself down there.’

  Even with half the platforms gone, the Arches were dark and frightening. Trains rumbled somewhere above, the river rushed below. No wonder the prostitutes liked it, he thought; you could hardly see your hand in front of your face down here. A constable was waiting with an oil lamp to guide him through the rubble. The water roared close, booming off the bricks, bringing a chill like December.

  The girl was sitting on the ground, an old blanket around her. Someone had brought a mug of tea and she held it in both hands while Constable Richards gazed down on her like a father. Another girl squatted close by, staring at the cobbles.

  ‘Her name’s Nellie Rider, sir,’ Richards said quietly, and drew the inspector away.

  ‘What happened?’

  ‘She and another lass came down. They’re mill girls, not earned a penny this week, thought they might make a little bit down here, if you know what I mean.’

  He nodded. Selling their bodies for the change in a man’s pocket.

  ‘Go on,’ he said.

  ‘To cut a long story short, sir, she made an arrangement with a chap and he took her back there.’ He pointed to one of the deep recesses that pocked the place. ‘When he was done, he refused to pay and brought out a knife. Threatened to kill her.’

  ‘What did she do?’ He glanced over at the girls.

  ‘Started screaming the place down. He cut her face, then he ran off. But she had a decent look at him when he lit a match to see her. With what happened before, I thought …’

  ‘You did right,’ Harper assured him. ‘Who’s the other one?’

  ‘The lass she came down with. Maud Wilson.’ Shaw patted his notebook. ‘I’ve got their addresses and the like.’

  ‘I’ll need statements from other girls who were down here, too.’

  ‘Yes, sir. I wouldn’t expect too much, though. That’s just how it is here.’

  He approached them carefully and knelt, smiling. He could see the wound slicing down the girl’s cheek. The blood had dried, but she’d carry the scar for the rest of her life. The other one, Maud, was biting her lip. She was a slip of a thing, all bones and angles.

  ‘I’m Detective Inspector Harper,’ he told them softly and held out his hands. ‘Come on, let’s get out of here, shall we?’

  Nellie was a tall girl in a thin cotton dress and worn clogs, a shawl covering her head. She put a hand over her cheek as they walked. Harper didn’t try to say anything more for now. They came out into the night by the railway station.

  After such deep darkness, the gas lamps seemed too bright, the sound of voices and the clamour of engines too loud. He took off his mackintosh and draped it around Nellie’s shoulders, Maud on his other side.

  He could see them properly now. Maud, so small, with her long dark hair, a face too pinched to ever be called pretty. Tracks on her cheeks where she’d been crying. Nellie hunched into herself, desperate to forget everything.

  The Scarborough Taps was still open, lights brilliant in the windows. He guided them across, sat at a table and ordered brandy for them both.

  ‘Drink that down,’ he said. It would help with the shock. Maud looked at him doubtfully then swallowed it in one gulp that left her coughing. Nellie patted her on the back and looked at him suspiciously, then sipped hers slowly. He waited until the colour started to come into their cheeks before turning to Maud.

  ‘Tell me what you remember,’ he said gently.

  ‘Me and Nellie, we work at the mill in Armley.’ The words spilled out in a raw voice. ‘But there’s no work this week, and we didn’t have no money.’ He nodded. ‘We walked in by the canal. We’d done it before. Thought there might not be too many girls around, what with that murder an’ all.’

  ‘Were there?’

  She nodded. ‘Men, too. How much for this and that, things you wouldn’t do for a guinea. We weren’t doing owt ’cept stand there, just trying to earn a few pennies. Then this fellow came up to Nellie.’

  He looked at the other girl. ‘Tell me about him.’

  At first she couldn’t speak, opening her mouth but no words coming out. For a moment he thought it was his hearing, then Maud put her arm around Nellie’s shoulders.

  ‘It’s all right now, pet. He’s a copper. Just go on and tell him.’

  The tale came one small piece at a time. The man had looked pleasant enough, smiling. A lad of maybe twenty. Fair hair, dirty face. Thin side whiskers.

  ‘He spoke funny,’ she said suddenly.

  ‘How?’

  ‘Like he couldn’t say an s proper. Came out sounding sort of th.’

  A lisp. Good. That would help to find him.

  They’d fixed a price and he’d followed her into one of the alcoves. But once they were alone he put his hand on her throat.

  ‘He just seemed like he wanted to hurt me,’ Nellie said softly and a blush rose from her throat. ‘Really hurt me.’

  She hadn’t asked him for the money beforehand; the jingle in his pocket has been temptation enough. When he finished, she told him how much and he refused to pay.

  ‘He brought out a knife,’ she continued.

  ‘Did you see it?’ Harper asked.

  Nellie shook her head. ‘He put it agin my cheek. I could feel it.’ Without thinking, her fingertips moved to the cut. ‘He said he could kill me and they’d never find him. I started to scream. I thought I was going to die.’

  The inspector ordered another brandy for her. She was no more than a girl, so shaken it would take a long time for her to recover. If she ever did. And she’d always carry his mark. Was he the same man who’d murdered Catherine Carr?

  He had more questions, but she had no answers to give. She’d only seen his face for a moment. He was taller than her, but that was all. Finally he told them, ‘I’ll have a constable walk you home.’

  ‘What am I going to tell my mam?’ Nellie asked.

  ‘Don’t worry about that for now,’ Harper told her. ‘You’re safe, that’s what counts.’

  By four he’d written up his report and was waiting when the café at the market opened. Bacon, eggs, tea; it helped. He felt weary. Another lost night.

  Constable Richards had talked to all the other girls from the Arches that he could find. One man was much the same as another to them, as long as he had money. They never looked at faces or listened to voices. One thought she remembered a lisp, but she couldn’t be sure.

  A murder and a rape in the Arches at night. There could be a connection. But the description could fit so many men. The only distinctive thing was the lisp.

  ‘Incident in the Arches last night,’ he told Reed when the sergeant arrived.

  ‘What?’ He paused, overcoat half off. ‘Another murder?’

  ‘Rape. But he cut her when she screamed and threatened to kill her.’

  ‘Do we know what he looks like?’

  ‘Not really,’ Harper said in frustration. ‘She got a glimpse, that’s all. He had a lisp.’ He ran a hand through his hair. ‘What did you find out about Carr?’

  Reed settled at his desk. ‘Took over the boot factory from his father forty years ago. He’s expanded the business and brought in some big contracts. They supply half the boots to the army now.’

  ‘Impressive,’ Harper said. It explained why Carr could afford his big house in Chapel Allerton.

  ‘Employs four hundred. Quite a ruthless character, from what people say.’

  ‘How do you mean?’

  ‘A bit of baksheesh here and there to make sure he gets people to sign on the dotted line. Palms greased. A lot of his business is in the Empire. India, Africa.’

  ‘What about his workers?’ the inspector asked.

  ‘No better or worse than anyone else. I looked at the death of his first wife. No talk of foul play or anything suspicious.’ He glanced at his notebook. ‘Married Catherine Carr seven years back. Friends thought he was mad to marry a servant. Probably half of them were jealous.�
��

  Ash arrived as he was speaking.

  ‘Who runs the factory now?’ Harper asked.

  ‘Neville. He’s the oldest son. Been in charge for three years now and raking in the money. There are two other children. The daughter’s married to someone in London and the other son’s in the army.’

  ‘At least he won’t want for boots,’ Ash added drily.

  ‘See what else you can find on Catherine Carr’s brother, too.’

  ‘I thought he was in the asylum,’ Reed said. ‘He couldn’t have done it, could he?’

  ‘No.’ Harper thought about Stanley Sugden, wondering how he’d reacted to the news of his sister’s death. If he’d even taken it in yet. ‘But it might shed some light on things.’

  ‘All right.’

  ‘Tramway Street?’ Harper asked Ash. ‘Anything useful?’

  The constable grimaced. ‘Half of them were at work. A few remembered hearing some fast footsteps, but that’s all. Nothing to help us. I’ll go back when more of them are home, sir. Might have better luck then.’

  ‘Let’s hope so. I’m going to need you both this evening. There’s a suffragist meeting at the Mechanics’ Institute. I want to see the men who gather outside.’

  ‘What are we looking for?’ Reed asked.

  Harper sighed. It was a good question. Before he could answer it, Superintendent Kendall marched through the office, summoning the inspector with a wave of his hand. Harper raised his eyebrows to the others and followed.

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘What the hell’s going on, Tom? We had one murder in the Arches. Now there’s a rape there, too. Almost another killing, from what I heard.’

  ‘I don’t know if they’re related yet.’

  ‘What do you think?’ he asked.

  All Harper could do was shake his head. ‘It’s too soon to tell. Possible, that’s as far as I’d go.’

  ‘What are you doing?’

  He explained, watching the superintendent nod.

  ‘So we’re no further along?’

  ‘Not a jot. We’re not going to be until we have more information. And getting it is going to be the problem.’

  ‘I hear you’ve had Reed looking into Carr.’

  ‘Yes, sir. We know he beat her when they were married. Like I said, I’m looking into everything.’

  ‘Just tread carefully. That’s my advice. He has the ear of the chief constable.’ Kendall brought an old briar pipe from the pocket of his jacket. As he lit it, the raw smell of shag tobacco filled the room. ‘And don’t go dragging him in here. Not unless you have something very solid. Do you understand me?’

  ‘Perfectly sir.’ How often had they had discussions like this over the years? But this time he’d do what he was told. He didn’t have anything on Carr, anyway.

  Harper sat at his desk, reading through one of the folders that had arrived. Sugden’s records from the asylum. He’d handed the other to Reed, everything the police had on the man.

  The governor at Armley jail had sent Sugden out to Menston because of his sudden, ungovernable rages. He seemed to have calmed; there were only two reports of them in the last year. Still, if they were giving him regular doses of bromide and sleeping draughts, that wasn’t a surprise.

  He talked little, either to the staff or other patients and spent most of his waking hours reading or staring out of the window, exactly the way Harper had seen him. What was in his head? What had happened to him?

  He glanced up at the shadow over the desk. Reed, the folder open in his hands.

  ‘I’ve been saying your name for the last minute,’ he said.

  ‘Sorry. I was caught up in this,’ he lied. ‘What is it?’

  ‘Sugden. The last job he had was at Carr’s factory. He got into a fight with a foreman and they sacked him. Spotted him outside three times after that.’

  Did it mean anything, he wondered? He didn’t see how it could relate to the murder.

  ‘There’s more than that,’ the sergeant continued, ‘Sugden was in the army. Joined as soon as he was old enough. Served in Afghanistan during the war.’

  ‘What happened to him?’

  ‘I don’t know, but he was back on the street by ’82. Looks like he never settled properly, couldn’t hold a job. He had a temper.’

  His voice trailed away. Harper knew what Billy was thinking: there but for the grace of God. Reed had spent ten years with the West Yorkshires, he’d fought over there. He’d lived on the razor edge of violence for years. It had blunted since he’d met Elizabeth and stopped drinking so much. Sugden was the man he could quite easily have become if the dice had rolled differently.

  ‘Take a look at Catherine, too,’ he said. ‘Maybe there’s something to find in her past.’ It might be worth a visit to the boot works to discover what had happened out there with Sugden. And it would be a chance to meet old Mr Carr’s son.

  But first he needed to give some time to the dead baby who’d been put in the post.

  A visit to Mabgate, another to Cross Green. In both cases the reports were wrong, mothers and babies both fine. Barbara Waite still seemed the likely candidate. He made his way back to Quarry Hill and knocked on the door where no one had answered before.

  Nothing.

  He glanced through a cobwebbed window. There was a battered table inside, but not much else. No clothes, no sign that anyone lived there. He tried the knob, feeling it turn, and entered.

  ‘Miss Waite,’ he called. ‘Are you there?’

  It was empty. A rusted iron bedstead in an alcove, stripped bare. No clothes. All he could find in a corner was a bloody rag, some string, and a piece of brown paper, the type anyone would use to wrap a parcel. He picked them up.

  Back at Millgarth, he waited as Tollman finished talking to a man complaining about a hackney driver. As the man left, the desk sergeant rolled his eyes.

  ‘I don’t know what he expects me to do,’ he muttered. ‘What is it you need, sir?’

  ‘I’d like to talk to the beat man for Quarry Hill.’

  Tollman glanced at the clock. ‘I can have him here in a quarter of an hour, sir.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  Constable Robb looked as if he’d walked the beat for the last forty years. He had a broad, kindly face under a moustache heavily peppered with grey.

  ‘This’ll be about Barbara Waite, sir?’ he asked.

  ‘Yes. It looks like she’s flitted.’

  ‘I’m not too surprised, sir. Haven’t seen her for a few days now.’

  ‘Tell me what you know about her.’

  There wasn’t much. She’d only lived there for three months. A prostitute, everyone knew that, already well along with the bairn by the time she moved into the place. She was a small girl who looked younger than her years, and the baby didn’t show too much. Men came and went regularly, but there was no trouble, no complaints from the neighbours.

  ‘Any family?’ the inspector asked.

  ‘Not a clue, sir,’ Robb answered. ‘I heard she came from Burmantofts, but I don’t rightly know.’

  ‘I see.’ Not much help, but it was a start. As an afterthought, he asked, ‘Do you know Mr Martin?’

  ‘From the Town Mission? I run into him most days when I’m on my rounds.’

  ‘What’s he like?’

  The constable shrugged. ‘They’ve had worse in the area. He’s very earnest, but he really does try to help people when they need it. He’ll put his hand in his pocket if he has to, and that’s more than you can say for most of them religious types. Why, sir?’

  ‘I met him, that’s all. He seemed to be …’ Harper tried to think of the right word. ‘Very ready to judge.’

  Robb grinned. ‘Like I say, he’s not as bad as some. I know he looks stern, but there’s a decent heart beats under it.’

  Burmantofts, he thought. He knew someone there …

  ‘Hello, Elizabeth.’

  She was standing at the back of the bakery, watching as the girls served customers. H
arper wasn’t sure if she’d be here; she ran all three of Annabelle’s bakeries, dividing her day between them. She turned at the sound of his voice, then her face broke into a smile.

  ‘Hello, Tom.’ Then he saw the flicker of fear. ‘Has something happened to Billy?’

  ‘Nothing like that,’ he assured her. ‘I just want to pick your brains, that’s all.’

  ‘Come through. We can talk in the back.’

  It was a small room. In the mornings he knew it was full of loaves and cakes. Even now, half-empty, it still had the heady, welcoming scent of fresh bread.

  She perched on a high stool. ‘I haven’t seen you in too long.’

  ‘I know. It’s good to be working with Billy again.’

  ‘I think he likes being back,’ she told him with a smile. ‘But he’d never admit it.’

  Harper had his doubts but said nothing.

  ‘He’s a good fireman. That’s what Dick Hill said.’

  ‘Every time he leaves for work I just pray he’ll be home later.’

  He nodded. It was the most dangerous job on the force. ‘Sooner him than me. But I need to ask you a question. Some local knowledge.’

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘Do you know a family named Waite? They’re supposed to live up this way.’

  Elizabeth pursed her lips and thought. After a little while she shook her head.

  ‘It doesn’t ring a bell.’ Then she cocked her head. ‘No, there’s a fellow who comes in sometimes. Someone called him Waite. Let me think.’ After a few seconds she was able to place him. ‘He’s at the brick works. What’s he done?’

  ‘Nothing. He might be able to help me, that’s all.’

  ‘He’s the only one I can think of.’

  ‘It’s a start. I’ll let you get back to work.’

  The brick works were filled with dust. It clung to his skin and tickled the back of his throat, making him cough. He’d barely gone ten yards into the place before he was covered in the stuff, wiping his lips to clean them.

  ‘I’m looking for a man called Waite,’ he told the clerk in the office. The man looked up, impressed by a policeman here.

  ‘Not here,’ he replied dully. ‘He left last week.’

  The inspector felt a tingle. ‘Another job?’

  The man shrugged. ‘Just said he was leaving and wanted to be paid what he was owed.’