Skin Like Silver

by Chris Nickson

  ‘I’m sorry, sir.’

  ‘I was an usher at his wedding.’ Kendall’s mouth twitched into a smile at the memory. ‘All of us in our uniforms. I’ll go and sit with his widow tonight. We’re a family in the force. Don’t ever forget that.’

  ‘I won’t.’

  ‘What would you do if you were leading the hunt? I’m meeting the other division heads in—’ he took out his pocket watch and snapped it open ‘—three quarters of an hour at the Town Hall, and it’s going to take me the better part of that to find my way there. I need ideas, Tom.’

  ‘I don’t have any. I really don’t.’

  TWENTY-ONE

  The fog had gone during the night, simply vanished, replaced by a wind from the west that brought cold, slicing rain.

  ‘At least it’s worse for Sugden out there,’ Reed said, shaking out his mackintosh. ‘He’s going to be freezing.’

  ‘Don’t get too comfortable,’ Harper warned him. ‘We’re all going to be out in it.’

  He’d still been in the office, writing up his conversation with Robert Carr, when Kendall returned the night before.

  ‘We’re going to do everything,’ the superintendent told him grimly.

  ‘Everything?’

  ‘Uniforms on house-to-house, everyone else beating the bushes. Including the detectives,’ he added pointedly.

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘The chief constable’s taking charge of the investigation himself.’ Before Harper could say anything, he continued: ‘I know what you think, but he’s a good policeman, Tom. He came up through the ranks, same as everyone else. He knows what he’s doing.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’ It was safer to keep his mouth shut.

  And now he was enjoying the fire before going out into the cold and wet.

  ‘As soon as Ash arrives we’ll get started.’

  ‘Where are we going?’

  ‘I hope you’re wearing stout boots. We’ve drawn Roundhay Park. There have been men out there since first light.’ He stared at the sergeant. His eyes were red, skin pale. ‘Are you all right?’

  ‘I’m fine. Why?’

  ‘I just wondered.’

  ‘Don’t worry,’ he said brusquely. ‘How the hell are we supposed to search the park?’

  ‘We’ll do what we can.’

  The door opened as Ash arrived, taking off his bowler hat and shaking the rain from it. ‘Bit damp out there, sir.’

  ‘You might as well get used to it.’ He reached for his coat. ‘We’re going to spend the day in it.’

  The horse tram trundled slowly along Roundhay Road. He watched people walking, holding their umbrellas like shields against the driving rain.

  ‘There’ll be the electric tram along here soon, won’t there, sir?’

  ‘End of the month,’ the inspector said. ‘Annabelle’s wangled us seats on the first one.’

  Ash raised his eyebrows. ‘She’s resourceful, isn’t she, your missus?’

  Harper laughed. ‘She can be when she wants something.’ He glanced across at Reed, his head against the window. He looked the way he had when he used to drink. Drawn, silent. For a moment he thought about saying something. But it wasn’t his problem. Nothing he’d said had ever made a difference, anyway.

  From the terminus they marched across the field, the dampness creeping up their boots. The wind pushed hard, rain like shards of ice in their faces. Down the hill to meet a uniformed sergeant outside the café by the lake.

  ‘Anything?’ Harper asked as the man saluted.

  ‘Not yet sir.’ He held up a map and pointed with his finger. ‘I’ve got men looking here and here. We’ve already been all around that castle.’

  ‘Where do you want us?’

  ‘We haven’t started on the Gorge yet, sir,’ the sergeant said hesitantly. ‘You could take there if you like.’

  It was thickly wooded, a steep valley. Almost impossible to search. The inspector sighed.

  ‘That’s fine.’ The three of them would hardly make a dent there.

  ‘I’ll send more men as soon as they report back,’ the sergeant offered.

  The park was quiet. Not a day anyone would be walking for pleasure. The path to the Gorge took them past Waterloo Lake, the water grey, whipped up by the wind. Mud clung to their feet. Harper turned up the collar on his coat.

  The Gorge began at the head of the lake, close to the folly. The castle, the sergeant had called it. A stream fed through the bottom of the valley. Bushes clung to the steep hillsides.

  ‘Right,’ he said. ‘Who wants where?’

  ‘I’ll take the bottom, sir,’ Ash offered. ‘I don’t mind getting a bit wet.’

  ‘Billy?’ The sergeant shrugged. ‘All right, then. You take this side, I’ll take that.’

  At least the cold air had settled his stomach, Reed thought. He breathed deeply. But his head was still pounding, he wasn’t thinking well. His own fault, and he knew it. Worse because he’d hardly drunk in months.

  He’d seen the disappointment on Elizabeth’s face. He’d felt ashamed; he’d let her down, chipped away a bit at the trust between them. Reaching out, he slashed at a bush with the branch he’d picked up. His feet slid in the dirt and he had to grab a tree limb to stay upright.

  Water dripped off a leaf, down the back of his neck. This was a waste of time. You could hide whole platoons here. Finding one man was going to be impossible. They needed a line of coppers, a yard between each, working their way along the whole length of this place. That was the only way.

  He’d been weak last night. He’d given in. Reed poked at another bush and moved on, head down. That was going to be the last time.

  They went up the valley and back, ending up at the lake again and coming out into a short, heavy squall of rain. Nothing. All they had to show was the dirt that clung hard to their boots. A squad of coppers, snug in their waterproof capes, was marching over the grass.

  ‘Let’s give them the pleasure of going over it again, shall we?’ Harper said wearily. ‘I don’t know about you, but I need a cup of tea and somewhere warm to sit.’

  ‘I wouldn’t say no,’ Ash agreed. ‘A chance to dry out would be good, too.’

  But the café was closed up tight for the winter, and nowhere within a mile to get out of the rain.

  ‘You can try the Mansion, sir,’ the uniformed sergeant suggested, gesturing towards a large house at the top of the hill, ‘but I think it’s empty.’ He shivered, pulled out a handkerchief and blew his nose. ‘I’ll be rubbing myself with liniment for weeks after this.’

  ‘Where next?’ the inspector asked. There wasn’t going to be a break. They might as well get on with the bloody job.

  ‘If you’ve a mind, go along that road there.’ He nodded towards the winding street that led down to the park. ‘Anyone could hide in the gardens there.’ He winked. ‘Takes you all the way back to the tram stop, too. Happen you gentlemen might make it home in time for your supper.’

  Harper laughed. The man was doing him a favour. He glanced at the others. They both looked as miserable as sin.

  ‘Thank you, Sergeant. We’ll gladly do that.’

  ‘We’ll find him,’ the sergeant said. ‘I worked out of Hunslet for almost ten years. I knew Charlie Peters. There was no one better. This bastard isn’t going to get away.’

  ‘Where in God’s name have you been, Tom? You’re filthy,’ Annabelle said when she saw him. She stood, hand on hips, glaring at him as he stood in the parlour. ‘Take those boots off. You’re tracking mud everywhere.’

  Sheepishly he obeyed, telling her about the fruitless day.

  ‘You’d better get changed, too. You look like you brought half the park home with you.’

  In clean clothes he felt better. The fire was blazing, the tea warm in his belly. He settled back and closed his eyes. Just for a minute, he told himself.

  He woke, trying to climb out of sleep as she shook his shoulder.

  ‘You were dead to the world,’ Annabelle told him with a s
mile. ‘Supper’s ready. Come and get something inside you.’

  ‘What have you decided about the suffrage committee?’ Harper asked as they ate.

  ‘I haven’t,’ she answered quickly. ‘I’m still thinking about it.’

  ‘Is something wrong?’

  ‘No.’ She shook her head. ‘I just need to think about it, that’s all. It’s a big step. I’d have to go to meetings all over the country. Things like that.’

  There was more, he was certain of that. He knew her well enough by now. She’d never been hesitant or reticent about things. She was always one to plunge into things. He looked at her for a moment. She was toying with her food, not really eating. If she wanted, she’d tell him. Better to leave her to make the decision alone.

  Harper was still thinking about it the next morning as he walked out to Cross Green. Someone had claimed to have spotted Sugden peering out through an upstairs window on Easy Road. Just the one report, but it was enough.

  ‘What do you think the odds are, sir?’ Ash asked. The rain had blown away during the night but the chill remained, a reminder that they were deep in autumn now.

  ‘Eh?’ His mind had been elsewhere. Or maybe he simply hadn’t heard.

  ‘The odds of Sugden being here, I mean.’

  ‘It’s probably not him.’ They couldn’t be that lucky. Not when most of the force was hunting the man all over Leeds. ‘But we’ll be very careful, just in case.’

  No one was going to forget what had happened to Peters. A photograph of him, proud in his uniform, had gone up in the entrance to every police station in Leeds. Fallen in the line of duty. The notice had circulated: the funeral was set for the following day. Everyone in their best uniform. For once, Harper would put on the top hat and black coat without complaint.

  ‘Yes, sir,’ Ash said grimly.

  Constable Williams met them by the bridge over the railway cutting. The tracks below stood out as bright metal lines among the greens and dull browns.

  ‘Morning, sir.’ Williams gave a crisp salute. ‘I’ve been asking around. If it’s Sugden, no one else has seen him.’ There was an eagerness under his words, as if he hoped the killer was in the house.

  ‘Who lives there?’ the inspector asked.

  ‘That’s the thing. It’s old Mrs Mayhew and her daughter. Never been a man in the place that I’ve seen.’

  ‘Will they be at home?’

  ‘I don’t even know the last time the old lass set foot outside the door, sir. Her daughter does all the shopping and that. Keeps everything neat as a pin.’

  ‘Any connection to Sugden that you know?’

  Williams shook his head. ‘Nothing anyone seems to recall.’

  But it wasn’t far from here down to Hunslet, where Sugden had been raised. Ten minutes’ walk, no more than that. Close enough to the streets he knew well. Maybe he’d been wrong. Sugden could be hiding out there.

  ‘Softly, softly, then,’ he said. ‘Do you know Mrs …’

  ‘Mayhew, sir. I pop in once a week, and I often see the daughter out and about.’ He stopped, suddenly thoughtful. ‘I didn’t notice her anywhere yesterday.’

  ‘Tell me how the house is laid out.’

  There’d be no repeat of the last time. They’d go in ready, with a plan. Fast and forceful. Wright used a stick to draw a plan of the place in the dirt. Nothing unusual: parlour at the front, scullery behind, two bedrooms upstairs. A back door leading to the yard and the privy. The inspector stared at it for a moment.

  ‘Who else has a key?’ he asked.

  ‘Annie Bates at number thirty-three,’ Wright answered.

  ‘Here’s what we’ll do …’

  Constable Williams rapped on the door. Harper stood to one side, out of view, waiting. Ash was at the back, in the ginnel.

  No answer.

  ‘Try again,’ he whispered.

  But there was nothing.

  ‘Use the key.’

  It clicked quietly. Harper moved, pushing his way into the parlour. A fire had been lit in the grate, but it had burned low. Someone was here. Where?

  The inspector turned to Williams, a finger to his lips. Then he peered around the doorway into the scullery. Empty. That left upstairs. His heart was beating so hard he thought the sound must fill the house. At the bottom of the steps Harper paused for a moment. His throat was dry, his head filled with silence. He took a deep breath and started to climb, alert for any shadow or movement, moving softly.

  Gently he pushed open one door, letting it swing all the way back to the wall. Grey light came through the window. Empty. There was only one room left.

  His palms were sweaty. He stood to one side of the door, reaching out, his fingers closing on the doorknob, the metal cold against his skin. This was it. Nowhere else he could be.

  He waited. Sugden had to know he was out here.

  Ten seconds, twenty. Thirty. He counted them off in his head. All the way to sixty. He closed his grip on the knob. In one movement he turned it, threw the door back and dashed into the room.

  The pair had been bound with twine, wrists and ankles, rags stuffed into their mouths to keep them quiet.

  ‘God,’ he heard Williams say. They freed the women and helped them up. Miss Mayhew was crying, hands over her face. Her mother’s expression was hard, a concentration of fury.

  ‘Get Ash inside,’ Harper ordered the constable. ‘Make some tea, I’ll help them downstairs.’

  It took half an hour to piece the story together. The women sat together, Mrs Mayhew with an arm around her daughter, rocking the younger woman back and forth.

  ‘I knew his mam years and years back,’ Mrs Mayhew told them. ‘He was just little then. She’d bring him with her when she came to visit.’ Hot tea had brought some colour back to her cheeks. Her knuckles were gnarled and twisted around the cup. ‘He was a lovely lad then. Good as gold.’

  He’d come the evening before last, just after dark. Not long after he’d killed Constable Peters, Harper thought. When the daughter answered the door, he’d pushed his way in and held the shotgun on them both. He wanted food, a place to wash and somewhere warm to sleep.

  ‘Did he speak at all?’ the inspector asked. Sugden had been silent when he’d seen him at the asylum. And he’d said nothing when he killed people.

  ‘Course he did,’ Mrs Mayhew said dismissively. ‘He’s not had his tongue cut out. Polite, he was, too. Kept apologizing for what he had to do. Said he didn’t have any choice.’

  He’d put them both in the back bedroom and locked the door. The next day the three of them had sat by the fire.

  ‘I asked him why he did it,’ Mrs Mayhew said. ‘All them people.’

  ‘What did he say?’

  ‘Just that it was his revenge.’

  The same thing he’d said before. But he hadn’t even known two of the people he’d murdered.

  ‘Did he explain that at all?’

  She shook her head, pulling her daughter close as the younger woman began to cry again, making the soothing noises only mothers knew.

  ‘What else did he talk about?’

  ‘His sister. Kept calling her poor Katie. How he loved her when he was small, then she went off to be a servant and he hardly ever saw her any more.’ She paused, staring straight ahead, then raised her gaze. ‘Said he was going to kill the man who’d killed her.’

  Harper’s head jerked up. ‘Did he say who that was?’

  ‘No,’ she answered simply. ‘I asked him. He just said it would be the last thing he did.’

  The silence seemed to grow large in the room.

  ‘How long ago did he leave?’ the inspector asked eventually.

  ‘He come into the bedroom first thing. It was still pitch black outside.’ He waited for the rest. ‘He had that gun, I could make out the shape of it. I thought he was going to kill us.’ But he hadn’t, Harper thought. Why? Because of kindnesses he remembered from childhood? Because he’d had food and shelter there? God only knew. ‘He just said he had to
tie us up.’ She snorted. ‘He made sure it wasn’t too tight. Said someone would find us soon.’

  He left Constable Williams with the women. He could take their statements. Outside in the cold, the inspector looked at Ash.

  ‘What do you make of that?’

  ‘A bit strange, really, isn’t it, sir?’

  ‘Very.’ Sugden hadn’t harmed the women at all. He hadn’t even threatened them by the sound of it.

  ‘I’ll tell you what worries me, sir. It’s like he knows who killed Mrs Carr.’

  ‘Or he imagines he does.’

  If Sugden had really known, he’d have gone after the murderer first. Wouldn’t he? It was impossible to know all the things tumbling and swirling in the man’s mind. He’d shot innocent people with no compunction, but let two women live. No rhyme, no reason.

  ‘Who do you think he means, sir?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ Harper admitted with a sigh. They had a man keeping guard on Carr’s house. There was someone at the boot factory. The superintendent had posted one more at Neville Carr’s home. He glanced up and down the street. ‘He’s long gone from here. Let’s go back to the station.’

  ‘Cross Green?’ Kendall asked in astonishment. ‘That’s just a stone’s throw from here.’

  ‘He’ll be somewhere else by now,’ the inspector said. ‘You can bank on it. But he’s after whoever he thinks killed his sister.’

  ‘Who?’

  All Harper could do was shake his head. ‘Just that it would be the last thing he did.’ He waited a heartbeat. ‘The last,’ he repeated.

  The superintendent rubbed his palms slowly down his face. He looked weary. Haggard. There were bags under his eyes and his usually immaculate suit was rumpled. His tie sat slightly askew, his shirt collar grubby.

  ‘Who do you think he means?’

  ‘I’ve been racking my brains all the way back here. Beside the Carrs I can’t think of anyone.’

  ‘We have men on them.’

  ‘Maybe there’s someone from her past that we don’t know about, someone he blames,’ Ash said slowly. Harper turned to look at him. ‘Some old sweetheart of hers that Sugden remembers. He can’t know who really killed her, sir, can he?’