Still, he understood why Miss Ford wasn’t too worried. The men who wrote the letters might rage or feel they were right, but they weren’t the type to act. No signatures, no addresses. They were scared little men, fearful of a changing world. But not killers. They’d only have courage with a pen in their hand, where they could stay anonymous. Compared to them, the men standing quietly outside the meetings were brave.
Another road that led nowhere. Just like all the others in this bloody case. After half an hour he took out his pocket watch, winding it as he glanced at the time, then stood.
‘Tom!’ the superintendent called.
The office was wreathed in smoke from Kendall’s pipe. He could smell the pomade from the man’s hair.
‘Close the door and sit down. What’s going on about Sugden?’
‘Reed and Ash are searching.’
‘The chief constable wants me in charge of the investigation. It’ll show we’re serious.’
Harper nodded. Billy wouldn’t be happy, but he knew it made sense. They’d never had anything like this in Leeds before. Two men shot dead. In cold blood, out in the open. It needed a senior officer. Kendall might spend most of his time behind a desk now, but he’d been a good detective; he’d taught Harper his trade.
‘Every officer has Sugden’s description,’ the superintendent continued. ‘We’re running sweeps through each division.’
‘He knows how to hide. Just ask Billy.’
‘I will,’ Kendall told him. ‘I’ve talked to Dick Hill, we can keep Reed until Sugden’s caught.’
‘That’s good.’
The superintendent sat back. ‘You’ve looked for him. What do you think?’
Harper shook his head. ‘He’s smart. Cunning. You’ll have your work cut out trying to find him.’
‘What do you think he’ll do?’
‘I don’t know. Billy might have more idea.’
Kendall nodded. ‘What progress have you made on the Carr murder?’
‘Nothing,’ he replied in frustration. ‘We caught the rapist from the Arches, but he’s not the killer.’
‘What leads do you have?’
They discussed the case for ten minutes, the superintendent taking notes.
‘What are the chances of solving this?’ Kendall asked finally. ‘Be honest, Tom.’
He didn’t want to answer. Each day he felt that the likelihood of finding the murderer was slipping farther and farther away. But the image of Katie Carr after they pulled the rubble off her body, half-skin, half-metal, wouldn’t leave him alone. He woke in the night and saw it. He had to discover the person responsible for that.
‘I’ll find him,’ he said finally and saw Kendall nod. He understood the way some cases wormed under the skin.
‘And the dead baby?’
The inspector shook his head. ‘I thought we had something but it hasn’t panned out yet.’ Like everything lately, it was trying to grasp clouds.
‘Keep at it.’
‘I will.’
There was noise in the office as Reed and Ash returned.
‘Send the sergeant in, Tom.’ Before the inspector could leave there was another question. ‘Tell me, do you think Reed’s heart is in this?’
‘Oh yes,’ he replied with no hesitation. ‘No doubt about that.’
Boar Lane was busy. Men in bowler hats, top hats, a few trying to cling to summer with straw boaters. Buses and trams ploughed by and the hackney carriages tried to save time, dodging around the wagons, horses plodding under their loads or boys pushing small carts as they ran.
He crossed the road, trying to avoid the piles of horse dung that littered the street. The Griffin Hotel seemed like an oasis, as hushed as a bank or library.
Barnabas Tooms sat at his usual table, a mustard yellow waistcoat stretched across his large belly, luxuriant whiskers combed out over his cheeks. He looked well-fed and self-satisfied. But he was a man with information. Harper took a deep breath before he sat down.
‘Twice in just a few days,’ Tooms said with a condescending smile. ‘Should I be flattered or worried?’
‘You said Neville Carr had a mistress.’ He didn’t want to exchange any pleasantries with the man. One day they’d find proof that Tooms was breaking the law and it would be a pleasure to throw him into a cell. Now, though, the inspector needed his knowledge. And he loathed himself for it.
‘That’s right.’ The man moved a little more upright and took a sip from a glass of beer. ‘What about it?’
‘I’d like her name.’
Tooms took a cigar from the pocket of his suit jacket and made a performance of lighting it.
‘What’s in it for me?’
‘A favour in the future.’ Selling his soul, he thought.
The man rubbed a hand across his chin. ‘All right. Her name’s Bertha Davis. She lives in Headingley.’
Harper stared at him. ‘Street?’ If he had to be in debt to this man, it was going to be worthwhile.
‘Bennett Road.’
The inspector nodded. He could find her from there.
‘Will you have a drink with me, Inspector?’
‘No, Mr Tooms. I won’t.’
The man inclined his head.
‘Your choice. I’ll let you know when the bill is due.’
Reed trudged through the mud by the canal path. He was supervising the men scouring the area from the centre of Leeds out towards Armley. Three on each side of the water, slashing at the long grass and undergrowth with sticks.
He’d spent an hour with Kendall, going over the map of Leeds, answering questions about Sugden, making suggestions.
‘He’s not anywhere around people,’ the sergeant said. ‘I’m sure of that. Someone would have seen him and reported it. He’s keeping his distance. We need to search every piece of woodland.’
The superintendent sighed. ‘We don’t have enough men for it. It would be impossible in the big parks, anyway.’
‘Then let’s do what we can,’ Reed said urgently. ‘We can flush him out.’
‘He might come out shooting.’
The sergeant looked at Kendall. ‘Which is better, sir? Shooting at us or at civilians?’
The superintendent grimaced and nodded. ‘Go ahead, then. I’ll send out squads to look.’
And now Reed was by the canal. Another group, led by Constable Ash, was heading down to Knostrop. There were coppers beating bushes in Gotts Park, Gledhow Woods, out by Kirkstall Abbey. Maybe they’d get a glimpse and force him out into the open. Maybe not. But at least they were doing something.
A squall of rain passed and he ducked under the trees for shelter, his gaze shifting around the ground and finding nothing.
‘Sarge! Over here!’
It was one of the men from the far side of the canal. Reed had to dash to the lock and edge his way across, water close on one side, a long drop on the other. The constable was standing by a camp, hidden from the towpath by bushes. It was the same type of bivouac he’d seen in Meanwood, quick to put up, easy to leave.
‘It’s this, sir. Caught the light.’ He knelt and held up a shotgun shell.
‘Very good,’ the sergeant said. There were the remains of a small fire. He placed his hand on the ashes. Still a little warmth. Sugden hadn’t been gone more than two hours. But where? ‘Spread the line wider,’ he ordered. ‘He’s been here. Maybe he’s still somewhere close.’ He looked at the men who’d gathered round him. ‘Keep your wits about you. He’s armed.’
Reed watched as they moved away. It wasn’t success, but it was a small start. Everyone home safe, he thought.
Neville Carr had done his mistress proud, Harper decided. A decent through terrace house on a good street in Headingley. Bertha Davis. An actress. That was what the neighbours claimed, although no one had ever seen her perform in anything. The man visited her twice a week, Tuesday and Thursday afternoons, staying until early evening.
‘Pulls up in a hackney and walks in, bold as brass,’ the woman three doo
rs down told him. ‘Dun’t even bother knocking on the door.’
‘How about other callers?’ he asked.
She folded her arms and smiled. ‘Two who come regular. Gentlemen.’ She pronounced the word with spiteful relish. She had little more to say about Carr, and nothing kind about Miss Davis.
‘Right little madam, she is. Never a good morning or how are you. Acts like she’s Lady Muck.’ The woman glanced along the street. ‘She ought to know better. There’s always a time when you need your friends round here.’
He hadn’t called on the woman. He wasn’t even sure why he wanted to know about her. The way Carr had acted after the shooting, perhaps, his lack of concern for the victims. Something about the man rubbed him the wrong way. Or because everything was worth knowing on a case where he felt he knew nothing at all.
There was nothing to connect Neville Carr to Katie’s murder. But there wasn’t any evidence to tie anyone to it. The inspector was clutching at every straw and he knew it. And he prayed one of them might be the right one.
By seven he was exhausted, grateful to drag himself up the stairs at the Victoria. The living room was warm and welcoming, a fire burning in the grate, curtains drawn against the night.
‘Tom?’ Annabelle called from the bedroom.
‘It’s only me.’ He place his palm against the teapot. Still hot. He poured a cup and slumped into an armchair. She bustled through, dressed in a elegant burgundy gown with a small bustle, fastening a bracelet around her wrist as she bent to kiss him.
‘Is that dress new?’ he asked. He couldn’t recall seeing it before.
‘I had a quick trip to the Grand Pygmalion.’ She smiled and him, and twirled around. ‘Do you like it?’
‘It suits you,’ he told her admiringly. ‘What is it tonight? Another meeting?’
‘Licensed victuallers,’ she answered with a sigh. ‘You know what that means.’
‘A bunch of landlords drinking as much as they can.’
‘I have to show my face. It’s good for business. Just for a little while, though. I won’t be late.’
‘Do you want me to come with you?’
Annabelle grinned. ‘You don’t look as if you could move, let alone have a good time.’
‘That’s true enough.’
‘Anyway, I need to make them all jealous when I announce we’ll be on that first tram to Roundhay Park.’
‘I hope it’s worth it. All that food and drink’s going to cost a fortune.’
‘And the memories will be cheap at twice the price. How many will be able to say they rode the first electric tram, eh?’ She came and kissed him lightly. He smelled her scent, something delicate with a touch of lemon. ‘I’d better get going or they’ll all be gossiping about me.’
The nudge on his shoulder woke him and he struggled to open his eyes. The cup of tea was still there, cold. Annabelle was unpinning her hat.
‘Go to bed,’ she told him gently.
‘I will,’ he mumbled. ‘How was the meeting?’
She shrugged. ‘Same as usual. Everyone talking and no one listening. Ducked out as soon as I could.’
He stood and stretched. ‘Are you coming?’
‘In a little while. I thought I’d read first.’
‘I had an interesting talk with Dr King today,’ he said.
‘Interesting?’ she asked in astonishment. ‘I thought he only talked about dead people.’
‘He’d guessed about my hearing.’ She stared at him. ‘He says he’s probably not the only one, either.’
‘No one else has mentioned anything?’
Harper shook his head.
‘Not a word. But he told me about a superintendent who was deaf in one ear and kept his job.’
‘That’s good, isn’t it?’
‘I hope so,’ he said. ‘I’m going to have to tell the super sooner or later. Every time I’m out I miss something. A word, a whole sentence sometimes.’
‘I know.’ She took his hand. ‘I know.’
SEVENTEEN
Two days of searching for Sugden, and no more trace of him. Harper heard the complaints and grumbles from the constables who had to spend their shifts wading through mud and bushes on the hunt.
He saw it in the frustration and anger on Reed’s face when he came in to the station, Ash trailing behind him, and sat talking with Kendall. It was like searching a hundred haystacks on the trail of a single needle.
The newspapers were hounding the police and demanding action. All they managed was to whip up fear. People sent in notes, saying they’d seen Sugden here, there, everywhere around Leeds. Constables were sent. But it was never him, just a waste of time they could have spent elsewhere.
And Harper’s luck was no better. Still nothing in the Catherine Carr case. He’d dug into Neville Carr’s family. It didn’t take long to discover a few things about his son, Gordon. He was in his early twenties. Didn’t have a job, seemed to spend most of his time with his friends, out drinking. He’d been arrested several times when he was eighteen and nineteen. Fighting, drunken behaviour, insulting a policeman. Once an accusation of rape that had been dropped. Harper was willing to bet that Tooms was behind that. There’d been nothing in the police records for a couple of years, but the inspector doubted he’d suddenly become a law-abiding citizen. Tooms was just more efficient, heading off trouble early. All to help Neville Carr’s political career.
The rumours about Gordon were easy to track.
‘Fifty pound,’ a man in Holbeck told him. ‘A man come over, cash in his hand. That’s how much he give us. Right there, as long as we said no more about it.’ Behind him, in the house, Reed could hear a baby crying as a woman tried to soothe it. ‘That’s a lot of money.’
It was a year’s wages for a working man. A fortune. Too much to resist. And there was more, like the man in Chapeltown who’d been beaten and dropped the charges.
‘Ten pounds and they paid for the doctor,’ he explained, looking down at the ground. There was a pale scar on his cheek.
Other sums paid to stop charges of vandalism and theft. Gordon Carr seemed like a spoilt child. Maybe he’d grow out of it in time, Harper thought. Marry and take on some responsibility. But most likely the man would never change. He’d seen it before. All he cared about was the moment, his own pleasure. Money could take care of the rest. The bills didn’t matter.
Robert Carr the wife-beater, his son the ambitious man who cared little for his workers, and his grandson a wastrel. It wasn’t an attractive family. He pitied Katie Carr. All she’d wanted was some security and she’d ended up with Carr. Then dead.
None of it helped him find her killer. But every piece of information had its value. If not now, then later.
Another morning, grey and dismal with the threat of rain. Harper saw Reed and the super studying the map of Leeds, pointing at different areas. It was a wild goose chase and they both knew it. But what else could they do? Sugden had vanished. The only real chance was to catch him quickly when he came out again.
Sugden’s revenge wasn’t complete yet. That was what they all believed. They were waiting and hoping they were ready.
‘Sir?’ Williams, the constable from Cross Green, stood by his desk.
‘Sorry, I was thinking.’ It was true enough, even if he hadn’t heard the man. ‘Have you found something?’
‘Maybe,’ the copper answer slowly. ‘There’s a family moved into the manor a little while back. Call themselves Wilson. Mother, father, daughter.’
‘That’s interesting.’ It fitted with the Waites. ‘What else have you found out about them?’
‘Nothing, really, sir. Keep themselves to themselves, the neighbours say.’
‘Could be worth a visit.’
Williams smiled. ‘I was hoping you’d think so, sir.’
It was an easy enough walk, heading up to St Hilda’s like a beacon at the top of the hill.
‘They’re on Lucas Street, sir. It’s a nothing place, blink and you miss it.’<
br />
‘Show me,’ Harper told him. He could feel it inside, this was the one; he’d find Barbara Waite, the girl who’d bundled up her dead baby and put him in the post.
Williams was right. Lucas Street was barely there, a road of six houses off South Accommodation Road, running along the hillside. He stood for a moment looking down into Hunslet below, then followed the constable, waiting as he knocked on the door.
It took a long time until someone answered, then a girl was standing there. She was in her middle teens, thin-faced and dark-haired, with quick, nervous eyes. Her old dress was shapeless, faded and forlorn, her feet in woollen stockings, but no shoes.
As soon as he saw her, he knew. She did, too. Panic crossed her face and she started to close the door. Harper reached out and pushed to keep it open.
‘Hello, Barbara. I’ve been looking for you. I think we need to have a talk.’
‘I thought if I took him to the hospital, people would say I’d killed him.’ Her eyes were pleading. It hadn’t taken long to get the story, how her labour had started and her mother had come to help. The baby stillborn, not breathing even after they slapped him. ‘I knew what they thought of me,’ she continued. Once she’d begun it all came in a torrent. ‘I could see it. And that bloody Holy Joe as come around, he was the worst.’
‘Mr Martin?’ Harper asked.
She nodded. ‘That’s the one. Always going on about how I was a sinner when all I wanted was to make enough to live.’
He sat at the table and listened.
‘Why did you think people would say you’d murdered your son?’ he asked finally.
‘Because that’s how it is, in’t it?’ Mr Waite began. ‘I’ve heard about it.’ His thick arms were resting on the table, fists loosely bunched.
‘If you’d gone to the infirmary they’d have looked after you. Plenty lose their children at birth,’ he said gently. Mr Waite snorted. ‘It’s true,’ Harper continued. He wasn’t even sure how to ask the next question. ‘What made you send him in a parcel like that?’
‘Reckoned someone would find him and bury him, and no one would trace it back to our lass,’ Waite told him bluntly. ‘Look after your own, that’s what you have to do. Even one like her.’ He nodded at his daughter.
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