SIXTEEN
Ash had pulled together four bobbies from the night shift, all of them eager for some overtime. Big lads, older, hard men, used to dealing with some of the worst trouble in Leeds. It should be enough, Harper thought, even if the neighbours gave them a problem. In the morning the Bank shouldn’t be too dangerous.
It wasn’t that far from Millgarth. He led them out, hobnails singing on the cobbles. The men stayed silent as they marched. Not even full light yet. The morning shifts had started at Black Dog and Bank Mills, only a few stragglers taken aback to see them on the streets as they passed. Light from the gas lamps reflected on the cobbles where rain had fallen earlier.
Surrey Street was short, back-to-back houses, only one way in and out of each one. A church hall stood at the end. Harper kept his men standing there for ten minutes, waiting in case anyone was out using the privy.
Finally he led them down, truncheons drawn. A light was burning in number eight. He hammered on the door and took a step back. As soon as it opened, he dashed forward, barging past one man and into the parlour, two of the biggest coppers right behind him.
Four men were gathered around the fire, laughter caught in their throats. One had his hand outstretched, reaching for a bottle. Harper saw a man’s eyes shift around, looking for a way out. He darted through, grabbing him by his jacket and pulling so hard that the man fell to his knees. He was young, with pale, wispy side whiskers and a cap on his fair hair.
‘Peter Grady,’ the inspector told him, ‘I’m arresting you on suspicion of rape.’
Grady’s friends stood, ready to square up to the police. It only took a few blows from the truncheons to make them think better of it. Harper kept tight hold of Grady, dragging him out into the chilly dawn.
Already a few people were gathering on their doorsteps, drawn by all the noise. Sweating, the inspector snapped the handcuffs on Grady’s wrist, tight enough to pinch.
‘Right,’ Harper ordered his men, ‘Let’s go.’
They knew enough to move quickly. Around here things could turn ugly in a breath. They hated the police, especially when the coppers were arresting one of their own. The inspector looked up, staring ahead. Four men were standing at the top of the road.
‘Keep going,’ Harper said. ‘Nice and steady.’ He kept one hand tight on the chain of the handcuffs, pulling Grady along.
The first stone missed by yards, skidding away. The second was closer.
‘You two. Get them.’ A pair of bobbies ran and the men scattered quickly. Another stone came from behind, striking one of the uniforms in the back and making him stagger. ‘Keep your order.’ He kept his voice loud enough to assure the men, in control. A rock caught a constable on the neck. He went down, then stood straight back up again, dazed, blood flowing.
A flurry followed – pebbles, wood, a couple of cobblestones, anything that came to hand. The inspector turned his head and something grazed his cheek, stinging hard. A crowd was growing, men and boys, screaming insults. They were smart about it; close enough to cause some damage, far enough away to disperse if the police charged.
‘Go faster,’ Harper ordered. They needed to be out of here quickly, before things could grow. The pace increased to a fast trot. Not running; bobbies never ran away.
It felt like cat and mouse all the way to Marsh Lane. They kept coming near enough to taunt, then quickly melted back. Missiles kept falling. Then finally it stopped, and the footsteps behind them faded away.
The policemen stopped, catching their breath and checking their wounds. Every one of them had been hit, even Grady, with a wound on his scalp, his mouth grim. Harper wiped the blood off his cheek.
Walking wounded. Cuts and bruises; nothing too bad. They’d escaped lightly. He took a tighter grip of the handcuffs.
‘Good work,’ he told the men, and started the procession back to Millgarth.
Sergeant Tollman delivered Grady down to the cells while the officers drank tea.
‘A bit hairy there for a while,’ one of them called out. There was nervous laughter around the room.
‘We made it, though,’ Harper praised them. ‘Good discipline.’
‘We should have waded in,’ the man complained. ‘Could have taken a few more of them.’
‘Just broken some heads,’ another suggested.
He left them to blow off steam. They deserved it. Another few minutes and it could have been much worse. He’d let Grady stew until afternoon before he questioned him.
‘I have to thank you, Inspector,’ Dr King said. The two bodies from the factory lay on slabs, both covered with old sheets. ‘You keep me in business.’ He lit a cigar, filling the air with smoke. ‘Two together this time.’
‘It’s not what I’d have chosen,’ Harper said.
‘None of us knows when we’ll go, or how.’ King examined the cigar as if he was surprised to see it there. ‘It’s why I keep on working. God knows I’d rather die in my traces than bored at home.’ He raised an eyebrow. ‘What am I going to do, raise chrysanthemums in Far Headingley?’
He was surprised to hear the man so reflective. Usually he was brisk and caustic.
‘Is there much you can tell me about these two?’ he asked.
‘You already know they both died from gunshot wounds,’ King answered. He stood behind his desk. Papers tottered in a dangerous, untidy pile on one side, the other taken up by a large glass ashtray filled with cigar butts. ‘There’s nothing more I can tell you.’
‘How far away was he when he fired?’
‘No more than ten feet,’ the doctor replied after a little thought. ‘If he knew what he was doing it was impossible to miss.’
‘He’d been a soldier.’
King nodded. ‘An armed lunatic who’s been a soldier,’ he mused. ‘Not a pleasant combination. I hope you find him soon, Inspector.’
‘That makes two of us,’ Harper told him.
‘Let me take a look at that cheek. Nasty cut.’ He took a bottle from a shelf and a piece of cloth from the pocket of his coat. ‘This will hurt a little,’ he warned.
It did, enough to make him flinch.
‘Don’t be a baby,’ King told him, moving away. ‘It’ll stop any infection.’
‘Thank you.’
‘One more thing, Inspector, since it’s just the two of us here.’
‘What?’
The doctor smiled. ‘That hearing problem of yours is growing worse, isn’t it?’
Harper raised his head in surprise.
‘I’m a physician,’ King continued gently. ‘I know you think I spend all my time with dead bodies, but I keep an eye on the living, too. I’m right, aren’t I?’
‘Yes,’ he admitted after a moment. ‘But—’
‘But what?’
‘Who else knows?’ He took a slow breath. He didn’t want this on his record. It could lead to dismissal, unfit for duty.
‘I’ve no idea. I haven’t told anyone. I’m not about to, either, if that’s what worries you.’
‘Thank you.’ He felt abjectly, stupidly grateful.
‘Have you seen anyone about it?’
‘Dr Kent. He said there’s probably not much to be done.’
‘Kent is good,’ King said with a nod. ‘You won’t remember Charlie Graham, will you?’
‘No. Who was he?’
‘A superintendent with B Division. Must have been, what, twenty years ago now. Before your time. Stone deaf in his left ear.’
‘What happened to him?’ Harper asked.
‘Nothing,’ the man said triumphantly. ‘He was good at his job. No reason to let him go just because he couldn’t hear too well.’ He raised an eyebrow. ‘Food for thought, Inspector.’
‘Yes.’ He turned to leave. As he placed his hand on the doorknob he heard King say, ‘I wouldn’t be surprised if the men you work with knew about your problem. It’s hard to hide, you know.’
‘You’re Peter Grady?’ Harper asked.
The man sat in the interview roo
m, the handcuffs tight on his wrists. He was thin, a spare, bony man. Curly fair hair and an attempt to grow mutton chop whiskers, like fluff on his face. Something to make him look older
‘Yes.’ The s came out as th. A lisp. Just as Nellie Rider had described. Ash was going to escort the girl down here after her shift at Armley Mill. It would be confirmation. But the inspector was already certain he had his man.
‘You’ve been hard to find. You haven’t shown up for work, you’ve disappeared from your lodgings.’
Grady shrugged. ‘I’d had enough.’
Harper paced, moving behind the man. ‘I don’t believe you, Peter.’
‘It’s the truth,’ Grady protested.
‘You vanished after you raped someone in the Arches.’ He kept his voice even, sounding reasonable. ‘When that happens they’re usually guilty.’
‘I never.’ But there was weakness and defeat in his voice.
‘You had a knife. You threatened to kill her.’ The inspector brought a blade from his waistcoat pocket. They’d taken it off the man before they put him in the cell. ‘Is that yours?’
‘Yes.’ That sibilant sound again. ‘You know it is.’
‘You threatened to kill her. Just like the other woman in the Arches.’ He waited, but Grady remained silent. ‘Well?’
‘No.’ He was looking down.
‘It’s not going to look good for you in court. You run away, almost start a riot when we try to bring you in. It’s going to add a lot to your sentence. And if you murdered the other woman down there it’ll be hanging for you.’
‘What?’ He started to rise and the constable standing guard at the door began to move forward. Harper put a hand on Grady’s shoulder and pushed him back down.
‘How was it when you killed her, Peter? Did you feel powerful? Did you get a taste for it? Is that why you went back to the Arches? You were going to kill that second girl, weren’t you?’
‘I never killed no one!’ He shouted the words.
‘Why was Catherine Carr down there? Did she say? How did you find her?’
The man shook his head.
‘Did she struggle, Peter?’ he pressed. ‘Is that why you used your knife on her? How long before the fire was it?’
‘I didn’t,’ Grady roared.
This was easier than he’d expected. The man had no fight in him.
‘You did. And I’ll see you in court for it.’
‘I wan’t even there that night.’
Harper leaned forward so his mouth was close to Grady’s ear. ‘Not a big leap from rape to murder. Or are you still going to deny that, too?’
‘I …’ The air had gone out of him. ‘I raped that lass. If she’s so bloody stupid she dun’t ask for the money first, she gets what she deserves.’
Harper smiled. ‘And the killing? How did you do that?’
Grady turned his head to look up at the inspector.
‘I din’t. Honest, I wan’t there. All I knew was what people said.’ He was almost in tears, desperate to be believed.
‘Where were you the night of the fire?’
‘Out.’ His voice was low.
‘Where?’
‘Drinking.’
‘You didn’t go drinking alone, Peter.’
‘Friends. Lads I know.’
‘I need their names. And what happened later.’ There was more, he could sense it.
‘I went down to Butts Court.’
It was a small street running off the Headrow. A good place to find prostitutes. God, he thought, Nellie wasn’t his first rape.
‘What did you do there?’ He wanted to hear the man say it.
‘She was stupid.’ Grady almost spat the words.
‘That’s not an excuse,’ Harper told him coldly. ‘You raped her.’
The man stared straight ahead, lips pushed tight together.
‘Two rapes,’ the inspector said thoughtfully, then paused for a heartbeat. ‘How many more, Peter? How many more do you want to plead to?’
‘None.’
‘You’ll feel better if you tell me, Peter. Get it off your chest.’ He made it sound like an invitation. ‘Are you sure?’
‘Yes.’
They’d been searching the woods for two hours before they found the camp. It was a small bivouac, well hidden among the trees, branches carefully placed together to give shelter. There was no sign of a fire, but that was hardly surprising. It had rained, the wood was damp, and Sugden wouldn’t have wanted anyone to know he was there. He’d been trained to make camp with no blaze, to live wild.
Reed knelt, feeling the ground. Still damp, although the grass was bent. He couldn’t tell how long since someone had been here. The man could have left this morning or in the middle of the night. Whenever he’d gone, they were on a hiding to nothing looking around here. Sugden was wily. He was long gone.
There was no clue, not a trace of anything around. Steps through the grass led to a path, but from there … he couldn’t even begin to guess. The sergeant took off his bowler hat and ran a hand through his hair.
Reed had wanted this case. He’d asked for it. When the man had shot off a round at the funeral, he believed he’d have the kind of understanding of Sugden’s mind that other copper couldn’t manage.
Now he knew just what a mistake he’d made. Two men were dead. He’d read the stories in the newspapers that morning. Lunatic On The Loose. Mad Killer In Leeds. Guaranteed to terrify everyone and have them watching out.
How could he burrow into Sugden’s mind and discover what he was thinking? Revenge, that’s what the man had said. But who knew what he saw as slights, who he had grudges against?
The bobbies were waiting for orders. Their uniforms were sodden from the tall wet grass. They looked cold and unhappy.
‘Carry on to the end of the woods,’ he told them. It was only a couple of hundred yards. ‘Call it a day here after that. Go and get yourselves warm.’
That cheered them. A few smiles, the will to work returning now the end was in sight. But where the hell did they look after this?
Harper stared out of the window of the omnibus, not even certain why he was travelling back to Adel. Maybe there was something more that Miss Ford could tell him. Something she didn’t even realize. God knew he was running out of options.
And the journey gave him a chance to think about Dr King’s words. Did the others know about his hearing? He thought he’d always concealed it well. Did Superintendent Kendall know?
Sooner or later he’d have to admit it. At least now he knew about an officer who’d kept his job even though he was deaf. It gave him a little heart. Once this was done and Catherine Carr’s killer was in jail, he’d tell the super. Her face slipped into his mind and he shivered.
‘Someone walk over your grave?’ the man next to him asked jovially.
‘I hope not,’ he answered with a sad smile.
Miss Ford was in the library, going through her correspondence. A pile of letters waited for her attention, and her nib flew across the paper. It was a comfortable room, the fire roaring, shelves all the way to the ceiling, lined with books. The window looked out on a bare autumn garden of greens and browns, piles of dead leaves neatly raked.
As soon as she saw him she stood, hope in her eyes.
‘Have you found him?’ she asked, her face falling as he shook his head.
‘I wish I had some good news.’
He told her what he’d discovered, wondering if any of it might jog something in her mind. But she just listened attentively.
‘Tell me,’ he said when he’d finished, ‘have you received any threats?’
Miss Ford smiled. ‘Me personally? Or the Suffragist Society?’
‘Both.’
‘You don’t get change without annoying people, Inspector. And if you don’t upset people, you’re not trying hard enough.’
‘What were they? Letters?’
‘Letters, notes, all manner of things.’
‘Have you kept them?�
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‘A few. Most are rants, not even worth the paper they’re written on. If I thought they were important I’d have shown you before.’
‘I’d still like to see them.’
She nodded and went over to a cabinet, digging through the files on a shelf.
‘Have you told the police about them?’ Harper asked.
‘Why?’ She handed him the folder. It was half an inch thick. Many of the notes were scrawled, a few well-formed. ‘I’ve seen how effective your force has been at our meetings.’
He’d apologized for that before; he wasn’t going to do it again.
‘Can I take these?’
‘If you like.’ She shrugged. ‘I wouldn’t take them too seriously, Inspector. If they were real, they’d have acted on them.’
‘Perhaps someone found an easier target,’ he told her.
She was silent for a long time.
‘I hope not,’ Miss Ford said quietly. ‘I’d rather someone had killed me.’ She cleared her throat. ‘But honestly, I’ve never paid too much heed to those.’ She nodded at the folder. ‘Let them get it off their chest if that’s what they want. We’ll win in the end.’
He didn’t believe her. If she was so unconcerned, why had she kept them?
‘I’ll look into them,’ Harper said as he stood.
‘Your wife is a remarkable speaker,’ she said.
He smiled. ‘She’s a remarkable woman.’
‘Did she tell you I’ve asked her to speak again?’
‘She did.’
‘I think she’s an excellent addition to our platform.’
‘I’ll tell her you said so.’
The woman returned his smile. ‘Please do, Mr Harper. And I hope you find Catherine’s killer very soon.’
‘We’re doing everything we can.’
She looked into his eyes and nodded slowly.
‘I believe you.’ She took his hand in her own. ‘And I wish you well.’
Thirty letters. They ranged from barely legible, misspelled venom about women to pages of argument written in careful copperplate that still made no sense. Just reading them made his head reel. When he’d finished he put them all away then went and washed his hands. He felt dirty, tainted. Staring in the mirror he laughed. Every day he dealt with the worst people could do to each other. But it took words to make him feel unclean. Stupid.
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