‘I’m not sure she always thinks so.’
‘But she does, Tom. I can see it in her eyes.’ He finished his meal. ‘I should go and work.’ He extended his hand and Harper shook it. ‘Thank you for all you’ve done. And please, monsieur, thank your wife, too.’
Suddenly, as he waited to cross Merrion Street, he felt it. He could hear again; it had come back. He stopped and held on to a lamp post to steady himself. Harper gently tipped his head from side to side, scared he’d imagined it. But it was definitely there, and no better or worse than it had been for months now. He gave a sigh of relief, rubbing his hands across his face.
He looked at his pocket watch; this time it had lasted more than six hours. It had vanished, yes, but the deafness might return at any time. He knew he needed to see a doctor again. Annabelle would insist.
But it was going to have to wait. He had too much to do. For right now he was fine.
He spotted Inspector Hill standing outside the synagogue with two officers from the fire brigade, all of them huddled deep in their greatcoats. The water from the hoses had turned to a sheet of ice that covered that road.
‘Found anything, Dick?’
‘Morning, Tom.’ He introduced the others. ‘I can tell you two things right off the bat.’
‘What?’ he asked with interest.
‘First thing, this was done by a man.’
‘I assumed it was,’ he said, surprised at the statement.
‘Most arsons are,’ Hill agreed. ‘Not all, though. But any woman would know how to build a better fire than this. They do it every day.’
That made sense. ‘What’s the second thing?’
‘He hadn’t been in the army. They learn how to make a fire, too. Out in the field you need that skill.’
‘That’s not a lot, Dick.’
‘Best I can do,’ he said. ‘Honestly, Tom, there’s not much more I can tell you. He used newspaper, pieces of wood, paraffin. There’s an old rag. That’s it. Nothing to give us any clues. They’ll be able to replace the door easily enough and I doubt there’s more than a little smoke damage inside. We were lucky that constable of yours saw it when he did.’
‘So there’s bugger all, really?’
‘More or less. I’m sorry.’
‘Better leave it to the real coppers, then, Dick. We’ll find him for you.’
Hill grinned. ‘A tanner on that?’
‘You’re on.’
‘Just give it me when you’re paid.’ Hill turned serious. ‘I’ll warn you though, Tom, I wouldn’t put it past him to try again. Maybe here, maybe somewhere else. Have your lads keep an eye out.’
‘I will.’
He crossed North Street, his mind on the blaze, and started to walk into the Leylands. Somewhere in the distance he could make out loud voices. No, he decided, it was just one voice, raised. And he thanked God his hearing had come back.
The inspector followed the sound, coming out on Gower Street. There were ten or twelve in the crowd, he guessed, all of them young. He spotted Abraham Levy’s girlfriend and his brother, listening intently to a man, his arms waving as he spoke loudly in Yiddish.
Twenty yards away a constable stood, watching them closely but doing nothing. He saw Harper and saluted.
‘What’s happening?’ the inspector asked. ‘Who’s the man speaking?’
‘Rabbi Padewski, sir. That’s his synagogue behind him, the Polish one. Started a couple of years ago. It’s what he’s saying, sir.’ The officer was young; he hadn’t even grown into his uniform yet, and his cheeks were still very pink and smooth.
‘You can understand it? A name clicked into his mind. ‘You’re Henderson, aren’t you?’
‘Yes, sir. I grew up on Star Street, heard the lingo as long as I can remember. He’s telling them that after the killing and the fire they ought to fight back.’
Harper blew out a slow breath. This wasn’t going to help.
Padewski looked to be in his early thirties. His wore his dark beard trimmed short in the English way, and his eyes blazed behind a pair of spectacles. He was a small, wiry man, and very animated, hands constantly moving. The thick overcoat seemed to engulf him and the hat was a size too large on his head, but the effect wasn’t comic. The man had presence.
‘They’re a young crowd,’ Harper observed.
‘Most of his congregation is young, sir,’ Henderson told him. ‘They think he’s got more about him than the old rabbi.’
That was obvious. Padewski spoke with real passion; it was impossible not to listen. And Feldman came from an older generation. He was a good man, but how could he hope to speak for the ones who’d grown up here, who’d lived a different life? They wanted someone with fire, with life. Someone like this.
Harper could pick out a few of the Yiddish words, but nothing more. The man spoke too quickly, his voice angry and bitter.
‘What’s he saying now?’
‘More of the same, sir.’
‘Tell me about him. Is he always like this?’
The constable looked at him and chewed a lip thoughtfully. ‘He’s been here about six months. A bit of rabble rouser since he arrived, sir. A lot of the older ones round here aren’t too sure about him.’
Padewski raised his voice to the climax of his speech, then he was done. The inspector had heard the tone before, the same stridency in men addressing strikers or political meetings. A couple of the listeners gathered around him while others wandered away, stamping their feet and rubbing their hands.
‘How’s his English?’ Harper asked.
‘Good as yours or mine, sir.’ Henderson chuckled. ‘He grew up in Manchester.’
The inspector waited until the rest of the crowd had drifted away then walked over to the rabbi. He wasn’t large but he towered over the man. Yet it was Padewski who seemed bigger, with his penetrating gaze and questions in his eyes.
‘Rabbi, I’m Detective Inspector Harper.’
‘I know who you are, Inspector.’ The only accent in his voice came from Lancashire. ‘You’re investigating Abraham’s murder.’
‘And the fire.’
Padewski nodded. ‘And you haven’t caught anyone for either.’ It came out as an accusation.
‘No, sir, not yet.’
‘Are you close to an arrest?’
Harper smiled gently. The man was trying to provoke him. ‘You know I can’t tell you that, sir.’
Padewski snorted. ‘You’ve got nothing.’
‘I can’t tell you any details, sir, I said that.’ He remained polite, vaguely official. ‘But there is something you can do.’
‘What’s that?’ Padewski asked suspiciously.
‘All this talk, it’s not helping us.’
‘Talk?’ the rabbi asked sharply, raising his eyebrows. ‘You don’t want us to talk now?’
‘Sir, you’re welcome to talk all you like.’ He tried to keep his voice patient and pleasant. ‘This is England, it’s a free country. But stirring people up like this makes everything harder for us.’
‘I’m not stirring anyone up.’ The man was serious, his gaze concentrated on Harper’s face. ‘I’m simply reminding them of things. You mentioned England, Inspector. We might be Jewish but we’re still as English as you. We were born here. All I’m telling them is that no one should treat us differently just because of our religion.’ He paused for a second. ‘Or perhaps you don’t agree?’
‘You said you know who I am, rabbi. You’ll know my politics.’
Padewski gave a thin smile. ‘I’ve heard.’
‘I treat everyone equally.’
‘That’s good to know, Mr Harper. But then you shouldn’t object to me talking to people. They need to hear the message that they’re as good as everyone else. You’ve seen the signs around town?’
‘I have. I know we have problems in Leeds, sir. We just don’t need more of them.’
‘Who’s been causing the problems? It’s not us. We haven’t murdered anyone or set any fires, have we?
We’re not putting up notices saying “No Christians Wanted.”’ The man was sharp and fiery, but that was his business. A scholar needed to be able to argue.
‘You know the answer to that, sir.’
Padewski pursed his lips. ‘Tell me, do you know much history, Inspector?’
‘Not really, sir.’ He wondered why the man had asked the question, what it meant.
‘Go back through time, all the way to the Bible. You’ll find it’s always the Jews who suffer. Maybe it’s time to say enough is enough.’
‘Let the police take care of the law and order, please sir,’ Harper said. ‘That’s our job.’
Padewski held up one gloved hand and counted on his fingers.
‘One Jew dead, a fire at our great synagogue, both in a matter of days. Is that the police doing their job well?’
‘If there are more problems between people, it’s not going to make our job easier.’ He tried to hide the tension he was feeling, to let his face and his words remain calm and reasonable.
‘Find the killer, Inspector. Find the arsonist.’
‘That’s what we’re trying to do. What we need is cooperation here.’
The rabbi gave him a sharp look. ‘By keeping our mouths closed?’
‘By not inflaming things. Violence breeds violence, isn’t that what they say?’
Padewski smiled. ‘In the Old Testament – our Bible, Inspector – they say an eye for an eye.’
‘When we find the killer, he’ll hang. That’s the law here. You know that as well as I do. We don’t want any more deaths on the way, rabbi.’
‘No one wants death, Mr Harper. But tell me, would you rather we just sat here and became targets for everyone?’
‘We’ve increased the number of officers around here.’
‘For the moment.’
‘And we’ll find whoever murdered Abraham Levy,’ Harper promised.
‘I hope so, Inspector.’ He tapped a gloved finger against his temple. ‘We’re Jews, we always remember. You understand?’
‘Perfectly.’
‘But we’re English, too. This is ours.’ He pointed at the ground. ‘All of it. Just as much as it’s yours. We’ve been running for centuries, Inspector. Tell me something, what’s the most common profession around here?’
‘Tailor,’ he answered. It seemed that almost every man made clothes.
‘And do you know why?’ Harper shook his head and the rabbi smiled again. ‘Because all a tailor needs is his needle. He can run and keep his skill. These young ones, the clever ones, their parents want them to become doctors. Can you guess the reason?’
‘A doctor can work anywhere.’
The rabbi nodded approvingly. ‘Very good, Inspector. This is our land, we want to be here. But before anything, we’re Jewish. Deep inside, we know we might always need to run again. Nowhere is ever safe.’ He paused. ‘Do you know why the Jewish tailors all work around here?’
‘Why, sir?’
‘Because none of the big firms will hire them. They don’t want Jews. Only as outworkers. Did you know that?’
Harper nodded. He’d always thought it foolish not to employ men with real skill, like cutting off your nose to spite your face. And now the signs were going up. What was happening to Leeds?
‘The police don’t care where you come from or what religion you are,’ the inspector insisted. ‘We’ll look after you, sir. The same way we look after everyone else.’
Padewski shook his head sadly. ‘I hope so. But if you don’t, we’ll look after ourselves.’ The words sounded like a threat. ‘Good day, Inspector.’
Harper watched as the rabbi disappeared into the synagogue. The man was going to cause problems unless they solved this very quickly. Kendall was right; time was against them. The only good thing to salvage from this morning was the return of his hearing.
ELEVEN
Before noon, Harper was waiting on the Town Hall steps. He stood, tucked behind one of the wide stone pillars, watching as Reed paced around the open space, smoking and moving to keep warm.
As the clock struck the hour another man approached, a wiry figure with a sharp, rat-like face. He was familiar, one of the lot they’d pulled in from the Cork and Bottle. The pair began to walk and Harper followed, trailing them to Wellington Street until they joined the queue for the omnibus out to Kirkstall.
He needed to make a quick decision. Wait with them for the bus or begin walking? One thing was certain: he wasn’t going to let Billy disappear with the man, not knowing where he’d gone. After a moment’s hesitation he strode out, passing the stop quickly and seeing Reed’s small nod as he went by. He’d gone almost half a mile before he heard the clop of hooves and the vehicle passed, the horses dull in their traces. The sergeant and the other man shared a seat inside.
At least walking kept him warm, breath wreathing his head as he moved. The omnibus was slow enough to keep in sight without much effort, and the rhythm of his steps gave him a chance to think. His hearing. How long until it happened again? What if it didn’t return next time? A chill ran through him that had nothing to do with the weather. He tried to push the idea from his head. Half a mile became a mile, then two, until he could see the ruined tower of old Kirkstall Abbey down by the river. Cramped streets of houses poked like fingers up the hill, most so new that the bricks were still rosy red.
As Reed and the other man alighted he hung back. They crossed the road and entered the Cross Keys public house. Now he needed somewhere to wait.
‘This Alfred lives all the way out here?’ Reed asked as they walked into the warmth of the pub. ‘It’s bloody miles.’
‘Worth it,’ Boyd told him. ‘Wait and see.’
‘I will. What are you drinking?’
The men were waiting in a back room. Six of them gathered around a small table in the middle of the day, Reed thought. Working men with no work, grime ingrained in their skin, anger and frustration in their eyes. Boyd nodded, said hello to one or two, getting grunts in return. But no Alfred. No one who looked like a toff.
Reed waited and wondered for five minutes. The others kept a sullen silence. Then a man burst in, closing the door behind himself and looking around the room. He was in his twenties, in a clean, dark suit, the jacket cut halfway to his knees, trousers tight against his legs. His dark, curly hair shone with pomade, a thin moustache and bushy sideboards showing off a handsome face. He carried himself confidently, a glass of whisky in his hand. So this was Alfred, Reed thought. Boyd had been right; the man looked like a toff. But there was definitely something about him. He had the sense of a man who expected people to please him.
Before Alfred took the empty chair, he went around the table, placing a silver florin in front of every man except Reed. He sat and took a drink before he cleared his throat.
‘Who’s this?’ he asked Boyd.
‘Billy Reed. Used to be in the West Yorkshires.’ A couple of men nodded their approval. ‘He’s one of us.’
‘Mr Reed.’ Alfred uttered the name slowly, as if he relished it. He had a cultured voice, educated, exactly as Boyd had said. But there was a mocking look in his gaze, as if he could see beneath the skin, all the way to the truth. It was eerie, and left the sergeant uneasy.
‘I was told there’d be men like me here,’ Reed said.
‘And what kind of man are you?’ Alfred sounded amused.
‘One who believes England should be for the English.’
‘Very good,’ Alfred turned to Boyd again. ‘You vouch for him?’
‘Yes.’
The man dipped his head briefly. ‘Then welcome, Mr Reed. You can call me Alfred. You’re among people who have the same feelings as you.’
‘Billy,’ the sergeant said.
Alfred stared at him. ‘Tell me, Billy, which are you, a talker or a man who prefers action?’
‘Action,’ he replied quickly, and for a moment he believed it.
‘Well, lads, we have someone who’s not afraid.’ He was smiling, an edge
of disbelief in his voice. ‘Have you ever killed anyone?’
‘In Afghanistan.’
Alfred took another sip of the whisky, then asked, ‘What would you do if someone ordered you to kill?’
‘Who did you have in mind?’ Reed asked.
Then man smiled again, a slight curve of his thin lips. ‘I didn’t say I had. It was just a question. But if it was an Irishman or a Jew, how would you feel?’
Reed shrugged. ‘Wouldn’t bother me.’
Alfred put his glass down on the table and stared at him, his eyes never blinking. ‘All you have to do now is prove yourself. Come back tomorrow and I’ll have something for you.’
Reed paused. ‘All right,’ he agreed finally.
‘We’ll see you tomorrow.’ His gaze was intense and piercing as Reed stood up and left.
Harper was frozen, trying to remain still and out of sight. He moved around and pushed his hands deep into his pockets, his muffler covering his mouth and nose. Finally he saw the sergeant emerge alone and start walking back towards town.
He waited, counting out three full minutes in case someone came from the pub to follow. Then the inspector marched quickly, constantly checking over his shoulder, until he was close to Reed. He trotted the last few paces. Billy turned, his hands clenched into fists, ready for a fight, before shaking his head.
‘God, Tom, I thought they were coming after me.’
‘You’re safe, there’s no one. So who’s this Alfred? What did you make of him?’ the inspector asked.
It took Reed a long time to answer, sorting through the thoughts in his head. ‘He has an air about him.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘There’s …’ Reed fumbled for the words. ‘I had the feeling he was just playing with me. Like he knew who I really was.’ He paused. ‘He scares me.’
He stared at the sergeant. ‘Have you ever seen him before?’
‘I don’t think so. He didn’t look familiar.’
‘You don’t have to go back if you don’t feel safe.’
‘No, I’ll be fine,’ Reed said after a long pause.
‘If you think there’s any danger, I want you to run.’
Two Bronze Pennies Page 9