Skin Like Silver

by Chris Nickson

  ‘Do you have his address?’

  The clerk muttered a complaint, took a ledger from the shelf and leafed through it.

  ‘Fifteen, Industrial Street.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  Harper stayed in the yard for a few more minutes, trying to talk to some of the workers. They eyed him suspiciously, none of them willing to say anything. Protecting Waite or loathing coppers? It didn’t matter; either way the result was a threatening, sullen silence.

  Industrial Street was what he expected, back-to-back houses that had stood neglected for too long. Even as he knocked on the door of number fifteen, he knew no one was there. There was something about the sound, hollow inside. He looked through the window and saw a bare room.

  ‘They’ve done a flit, luv,’ a voice said. He turned to see the woman next door, standing with her arms folded. ‘Left last week.’

  ‘Do you know where they went?’

  ‘Didn’t tell anyone they were off. Piled it all in a cart one night. I watched them go.’

  ‘Was there someone in the family called Barbara?’

  The woman cackled. ‘Her and her sisters. Little trollop. He kept kicking her out and her mother kept taking her back. Quieter round here since they’ve gone.’

  ‘And you’ve no idea where?’

  ‘Don’t bloody care, neither.’

  Barbara Waite. He rolled the name around. More and more it sounded as if she was the one who’d put her dead baby in a parcel. What the hell was she thinking? She’d gone, her parents had gone.

  He’d have the local beat constable ask questions. There might be bits of information he could pick up. The picture of the child, lying there in Dr King’s mortuary, came into his head. And after it he saw Catherine Carr, the metal covering her like a second skin.

  With a shake of his head, Harper walked on. He had work to do. Last night’s rape. It might be connected to Carr’s murder. All they had was Nellie’s description. Even with the lisp to go on, he couldn’t see how they’d ever find the man. He didn’t have any idea where to begin.

  ‘You look different in plain clothes,’ Inspector Hill said with a grin.

  ‘Feels different, too, sir,’ Reed said. There’d been a message waiting at Millgarth; report to the fire station on Park Row.

  ‘How’s the investigation coming along?’

  ‘Slowly. It’s nothing to do with the fire, though.’

  Hill lit a cigarette. The sergeant could see the man’s eyes studying him.

  ‘Do you want me to pull you off it, Billy? It’d be easy enough.’

  He took a long time to reply. It was tempting. Back to the routine he’d come to know, the roar of excitement in his head as the engine sped along the street. Home to Elizabeth at the end of a shift. Dead on his feet, maybe, but there.

  ‘No. I’d like to see this one through, sir, if that’s all right.’ He wasn’t sure why he said it. Maybe it was the way to clear things properly with Tom Harper.

  And the thinking, asking questions, trying to look two or three steps ahead, it had all slithered back under his skin. The uncertainties that came with being a detective.

  ‘That’s fine. I can spare you.’ He chewed the skin at the edge of a broken fingernail. ‘I’ve been watching you since you joined the brigade, Billy. You’ve done well.’

  ‘Thank you, sir.’

  ‘You picked things up quickly and the men respect you. When you come back I’d like to train you as a fire investigator.’

  ‘Sir?’ The suggestion took him by surprise.

  ‘You know about fires now. You know how to think, how to ask things. You’d be ideal for the job if you’re interested.’

  ‘I am, sir. Yes.’

  ‘Good.’ Hill smiled. ‘That’s settled. Tell Tom Harper to get this one solved fast. I want you back here.’

  The evening had grown chilly. He stood in the shadows, watching women filing into the Mechanics’ Institute for the suffragist meeting. Hardaker, the union man, stood on the steps, nodding his greeting, two other big lads close by.

  Harper saw Annabelle, deep in conversation with a woman he didn’t recognize, his eyes following her until she vanished through the doors of the building. Reed and Ash were close, in an alley next to the Coliseum, just up Cookridge Street.

  A group of men stood on the pavement, staring at the women. He could see the anger in their eyes. Why, he wondered. What scared them so much about women wanting the vote? There were perhaps ten of them, one or two young, most middle-aged. Some looked like labourers, one of two wore suits like clerks.

  Voices came from inside the building and Hardaker wandered over, pulling a pipe from his pocket and lighting it.

  ‘Those are the usual ones,’ he said. ‘Sometimes more. This lot don’t cause any real trouble.’ A policeman passed on the other side of the street, head down, rain cape covering his shoulders. ‘First one of your lot I’ve seen on the beat round here in months.’

  ‘He won’t be the last,’ the inspector assured him. He kept his eyes on the men. ‘What about the ones who do cause trouble?’

  ‘If they come, they’ll be along later,’ Hardaker told them. ‘Some Dutch courage first so they can taunt women.’ He spat. ‘Wait around and they might appear.’

  He’d stay until it was over, then go home with Annabelle. But the men standing there now worried him more than the ones who might arrive later. Silent, or muttering quietly amongst themselves, they had a bitterness burning deep inside. If they could get away with it, who knew what they might do.

  Someone came down the street, boot heels echoing on the pavement. Harper glanced up, recognizing the face as the man moved under a gas lamp. Patrick Martin. He seemed about to stop, then noticed the constable starting back up the hill and moved on briskly.

  ‘That one who’s just gone by,’ the inspector said to Hardaker. ‘Does he ever stand here?’

  Hardaker nodded. ‘Always looks like he’s praying.’ He chuckled. ‘Your lad must have scared him off. Good bloody riddance, too.’

  Interesting, Harper thought. What would Patrick Martin be doing outside a suffragist meeting? And why hadn’t he stayed tonight?

  Time passed slowly enough for him to feel all his aches and pains, shifting from one foot to the other. Then he heard the scraping of chairs and the women began to emerge. He waved Reed and Ash across and they stood together, close to the union men.

  ‘What do you think?’

  ‘Ugly bunch,’ the sergeant said.

  ‘Make sure they don’t follow any of the women. If they try, take them in and question them.’

  ‘I know one of them,’ Ash said. ‘Him at the end. He lives two streets from me. Arthur Jones. Quiet sort.’

  ‘Does he live alone?’

  ‘Married. His wife’s a timid little thing.’

  ‘If nothing else happens, walk home with him. Have a quiet word,’ Harper ordered. ‘Hardaker said the real troublemakers sometimes turn up now.’

  But tonight was quiet. The women passed under the glare of the bystanders and went on their way. Finally Annabelle emerged with Miss Ford, the two of them finishing their talk at the top of the steps before parting.

  He waved and she approached with a smile.

  ‘Three coppers waiting for me?’ she laughed. ‘I didn’t know I was that dangerous.’ She gave Harper a kiss on the cheek. ‘Hello, Billy, hello, Mr Ash. So what are you lot doing here?’

  He explained it later as they walked up the Headrow.

  ‘You think it might be one of them who killed Katie?’ she asked, and shuddered.

  ‘I don’t know,’ he answered truthfully. ‘But just keep your eyes open.’

  ‘I asked around again tonight, if anyone knew her. She was always there, I thought she must have talked to someone.’

  ‘Any luck?’

  She shook her head. ‘It’s so sad, Tom.’ She put her arm through his. ‘We all thought someone knew her and none of us did. If I’d just sat down with her.’ Annabelle sighed
. ‘Come on, let’s have a drink before we go home. We had to give one of the girls at the new bakery the sack this afternoon. I need some laughter.’

  ‘Inspector Hill said that?’ Elizabeth asked. ‘Wants you to be an investigator?’

  Reed nodded. ‘He said I’d start training with him when this case is done.’

  ‘Do you want to do it?’

  ‘Yes.’ He smiled. He’d walked all the way home, along York Road and Beckett Street, and barely noticed the distance. It would be the perfect job.

  ‘That’s wonderful news.’ He folded her in his arms and he heard her slow sigh of contentment. She’d come in after him, barely had time to take off her coat before he was bubbling over with the news. ‘Where are the children?’

  ‘John’s not back yet. The others are playing. I gave them supper.’

  ‘You’re a good man.’ She pulled away to fill the kettle and slide it on to the hob. ‘We had a problem this afternoon.’

  ‘What sort?’

  ‘One of the girls was thieving at the Burmantofts shop. I thought the takings didn’t look right, so I asked Annabelle. She came over when she was collecting all the bakery money. It was Lorraine; do you remember her?’

  ‘No.’ The faces all blurred into one.

  ‘She’d only been there two months. Took over a fiver in that time.’

  ‘What did you do?’

  ‘We had her in the back. She denied it at first.’

  ‘They always do,’ Reed said.

  ‘She’s on her own with three little ones.’

  ‘You have four and you never stole.’

  ‘I know, but …’

  ‘You pay a fair wage,’ Reed said. ‘You told me that.’

  Elizabeth gave a sad nod. ‘I was the one who had to let her go. She walked out in tears.’

  ‘She’s lucky you didn’t call the police.’

  ‘That’s what Annabelle told her. Gave her a right dressing down. I know we did the right thing. It just felt so hard, that’s all.’

  He held her close and let her cry. She had too good a heart. She’d seen something in him and hadn’t let him run away.

  ‘She’s the one who chose to steal,’ he reminded her. ‘She brought it on herself.’

  ‘I know. I could understand, though. Maybe that’s why I feel so bad about it.’ She wiped the tears from her eyes. ‘Anyway, tell me about this new job. What will you be doing? Will you still be fighting fires, too?’

  They were late home, but for once he didn’t care, sitting in the hackney with his hand on her knee. People had been singing along to the piano in the Horse and Trumpet and Annabelle had joined in, letting herself go and roaring with laughter when it was done.

  ‘That was good,’ Harper said. He leaned back, closing his eyes. His head felt clearer, refreshed.

  ‘I enjoyed it.’ Annabelle turned her head lazily. ‘Just make sure you’re not too tired when we get home, Tom Harper. Not when I’ve put my good gown on.’

  NINE

  Harper looked through the notes waiting on his desk. Dr King had released Catherine Carr’s body. The beat man in Burmantofts hadn’t found more on the Waites, but he thought they had relatives in Cross Green; he’d try to find out more.

  There was nothing more he could do on the dead baby case for now. Good, he thought. He had enough on his plate without that. He’d find Barbara Waite eventually.

  ‘What did that chap who lives near you have to say?’ he asked Ash when the constable arrived. ‘Why does he stand outside the suffragist meetings?’

  ‘He doesn’t feel women should have the vote, sir.’

  ‘How does standing and watching help?’

  ‘I’m not rightly sure.’ He exhaled slowly. ‘He tried to tell me, but it didn’t make much sense. He thinks if enough of them stand there, the women will know men don’t want it.’

  ‘What does he think they’ll do?’

  Ash shrugged. ‘No idea, sir. Like I said, it didn’t make a lot of sense. But I don’t think he’d hurt anyone. He was shocked when I told him about Mrs Carr.’

  ‘Some people can play-act very well.’

  ‘He seemed genuine to me.’

  ‘What about you, Billy?’ Harper asked as Reed entered. ‘Anyone following women last night?’

  ‘No. All quiet.’ He took off his overcoat and stretched.

  Outside, it was still dark. Soon enough it would seem like there were only a few hours of daylight. Already it seemed as if half of Leeds had winter coughs. It would only grow worse, Harper thought.

  ‘Right,’ he started, ‘this is what—’

  The door banged open and Tollman marched in.

  ‘I thought you’d better know, sir. I just had a telegram from the asylum in Menston. That Stanley Sugden escaped last night.’ He paused. ‘More than that, a farmer out there told them this morning that his shotgun is missing.’

  This changed everything. Why had he gone, Harper wondered. Why now? What did he want? Sugden was a lunatic, he was violent, and he was probably armed.

  ‘Billy, find out all you can about him,’ he ordered quickly. ‘You said he was sacked from Carr’s?’

  ‘That’s right,’ Reed replied.

  ‘I’ll go out there and warn them.’ He turned to Tollman. ‘I want an officer keeping watch at the factory on Meanwood Road. Ash, you come with me.’

  He had too bloody much to do. And after last night he wanted a word with Patrick Martin. Another relentless day, and he still had no idea how to begin looking for the rapist in the Arches.

  Soldiers were marching on the parade ground at Carlton Barracks. Reed stood for a moment, watching. The rhythm of tramping boots was too familiar. The barked commands, the rushed obedience of the company. But the recruiting office was quiet. No one joining up today. Only the corporal in his dress uniform, sliding the newspaper out of sight as he smartly stood to attention.

  ‘Can I help you, sir?’

  ‘Detective Sergeant Reed with Leeds Police. I’m looking for the records of someone who served with the regiment.’

  ‘Of course.’ The man smiled. ‘You look like you were in yourself.’

  The comment didn’t surprise him. One soldier could always recognize another.

  ‘A while ago.’

  ‘Afghanistan?’

  Reed nodded.

  ‘You had it bad out there, sir.’

  ‘Yes,’ he answered shortly. ‘We did. Where would I find the records?’

  ‘Administration building, the next one along from here.’ The corporal saluted. ‘An honour to meet you, sir.’

  They found what he needed. He sifted through the papers, copying details into his notebook. Sugden had grown up in Hunslet, joined the army as soon as he was old enough. In Afghanistan from ’78 to ’80. Mentioned twice in despatches and put up for a medal. That was impressive; he must have seen some heavy fighting. Stayed in for another two years after he came home, but his disciplinary record had grown worse. Finally he’d been discharged in ’82. Reading between the lines, it was probably only his gallantry abroad that had stopped them court-martialling him. The regiment didn’t do that to a hero. He skimmed back, looking at the training Sugden had undergone. He’d been a sniper and a scout.

  Christ, thought Reed.

  The smell of leather hit them before they reached the gates, mixing with the putrid stink of the tannery down the road. The regular thumping of machinery came from inside the factory, and smoke poured from the chimney.

  Harper was pleased to see a bobby already on duty there, eyeing everyone who arrived. He gave the man Sugden’s description and moved across the cobbled yards. Two boys were struggling to load boxes on to a cart. A foreman strode purposefully from one building to another. The noise grew louder as they walked.

  ‘I’ll see Neville Carr,’ Harper said to Ash. ‘You talk to the people in the office. Find out why Sugden was dismissed, and who else was involved.’

  ‘Right you are, sir.’

  The office was as luxur
ious as he expected. Heavy leather armchairs, a thick rug, a large desk stacked with papers. Neville Carr was a younger version of his father, face already jowly, hair receding, a dyspeptic expression under his thin moustache.

  ‘What is it?’ he asked testily, removing a pair of spectacles and putting down his pen.

  ‘I’m sorry to disturb you,’ Harper said. ‘But I wanted you to be aware that a former employee of yours named Stanley Sugden has escaped from a lunatic asylum.’

  ‘Well?’ Carr stared at him. ‘What’s that to do with me?’

  ‘He was dismissed from here. He has a shotgun and he’s violent. I have a constable guarding the entrance.’

  ‘Then it’s taken care of, isn’t it?’ He dismissed the matter.

  ‘There’s one more thing, sir. He’s the brother of your father’s wife.’

  Carr gave an exasperated sigh. ‘Bloody woman. Bad enough when she was alive, now she’s gone and she still can’t leave us alone.’

  ‘You didn’t care for her, sir?’

  The man rubbed his chin. ‘No,’ he answered bluntly. ‘I don’t know what my father was doing, marrying a damned servant. It wasn’t as if anyone was going to accept her.’

  ‘He said they were happy.’

  ‘He just wanted someone around. A companion. Then she started getting all those strange ideas. The best thing she ever did was leave.’

  ‘And now she’s dead,’ Harper said.

  ‘Brought it on herself. Associating with people like that. The world would be a better place without them.’ He replaced the glasses on his nose. ‘Is there anything else, Inspector? I have work to do.’

  ‘No, sir. That’s all.’

  As the inspector went back down the stairs, he believed he could learn to loathe Neville Carr.

  He met up with Ash at the omnibus stop. The constable nodded and folded his newspaper away as Harper approached.

  ‘What did you learn?’

  ‘Sugden was dismissed for getting into a fight with his foreman, sir. He’d been told that he needed to keep his beard covered or shave it off. He wasn’t too happy at the order.’ The constable gave a grim smile. ‘Seems they had a bit of a ruckus. Took two other men to pull Sugden off. He was in a rage.’