Harper could still feel the blood pulsing in his neck. He took a moment to steady his breathing.
‘This one’s got a knife,’ Ash called out. ‘Nasty looking bugger, too.’
‘Take them down to Millgarth,’ the inspector ordered, watching as they were marched away. No Reed. Good. He must have scarpered before everything started.
Harper waited, standing alone in the road, the fog all around him. The cobbles were shiny and slick in the faint light from the gas lamps. Two full minutes passed before he heard the footsteps.
‘We got them all,’ he said.
Reed halted beside him. ‘They were going to attack anyone they saw,’ he said. ‘They wanted me to be part of it. An initiation.’
‘At least we stopped them before there was any real trouble. They’ll be going down for a while.’
‘Alfred didn’t come.’
‘I’ll get that from them.’ The inspector’s voice was hard. ‘Was Boyd there?’
‘Yes.’
‘Who’s the leader?’
‘He’s called Tom Blake. Little fellow, strong, got a tattoo on his right hand. Seemed to think he was cock o’ the walk.’
‘Any other names?’
‘Peter, Bernard.’ He shrugged. ‘I’m not sure who’s who.’
‘It doesn’t matter. I’ll find out. I’ll need your report first thing. Everything that happened tonight.’ He saw Reed nod. ‘I don’t want you around the station tomorrow, Billy. Let them think you ran off and we didn’t catch you. Go and see Elizabeth. Surprise her.’
He brightened. ‘She’d like that.’
‘Give her a treat, then. You’ve done a good job here.’
He watched the sergeant walk away then began to stroll to the station. After a few paces he turned. The questions could wait until morning.
‘What time is it?’ Annabelle stirred as he climbed into the bed. He tried to be quiet, but his weight on the mattress woke her.
‘A bit after midnight,’ he said, putting his arm around her.
‘How’s your ear?’ Her voice was full of sleep, inviting as she rolled into him, curling against his body.
‘No more problems.’ With everything else happening, he’d forgotten about it.
‘Make the appointment tomorrow, Tom.’ He heard her breathing slow as she fell back to sleep.
THIRTEEN
The inspector sat and read. God only knew when Reed had written it, but the pages were waiting on his desk when he arrived shortly after six. It was much as he’d imagined. The group had gone hunting in the Leylands, looking for anyone on his own. No one had talked about murder, but if it happened, they wouldn’t lose sleep over it. Maitland had taken a statement from Solomon Shavitz, the victim. He’d simply been in the wrong place at the wrong time, on his way home from seeing an old friend. At least he’d escaped any real injury.
Blake had been in command of the men. There was little more to tell. They’d spotted Shavitz and chased him, not that he could move quickly. The sergeant had vanished before the attack.
No one had mentioned Alfred.
‘Have someone bring Blake to the interview room,’ he told Tollman.
It was no more than a table and two chairs, with a single barred window that looked out over the yard. The glass was frosted over. Harper scratched at it, clearing enough to see officers exercising the police horses on the hard, icy ground.
He turned as the door opened and a constable brought the man in, pushing him down on to one of the chairs. Tom Blake was stocky, with short, bandy legs. Wide shoulders under an old jacket, a small body full of strength. He had heavy beetle brows and angry eyes; a moustache covered his upper lip. A crude Union Jack tattoo, probably done in jail, covered the back of his right hand.
In his old shirt, a waistcoat that sat snug against his large chest, torn moleskin trousers and working man’s boots, the man looked like a labourer.
‘Your name’s Thomas Blake.’
The man stared directly at him with hatred. ‘That’s right.’
‘Do you deny attacking a man in the Leylands last night?’
Blake straightened his back and pulled his shoulders back, at attention while he sat.
‘No,’ he said with pride.
‘How long had you been planning it?’
‘We had a few drinks and we decided to have a little sport.’
Harper slammed his hand down on the table. The sound filled the room. ‘Do I look like a bloody idiot? I know you’ve all been in the Cross Keys in Kirkstall.’
For a moment he saw a flicker of fear in the man’s eyes. Good.
‘It’s not the first time you’ve attacked someone in the Leylands, is it?’ the inspector continued.
‘Never been there before.’ Blake smirked.
‘I don’t believe you.’ He opened the desk drawer and brought out the knife Ash had discovered the night before. ‘Look familiar?’
‘That’s mine,’ he admitted, a hint of pleasure in his voice.
‘Going to use it, were you?’
‘It’s for protection. Nasty out there. Dangerous.’
‘It’s for killing,’ Harper told him. ‘It’s like the knife that killed Abraham Levy on Christmas Eve.’
‘Wasn’t me.’ Blake folded his arms.
‘Where were you on Christmas Eve?’
‘Drinking with the rest of the lads.’
‘Where?’
‘Cross Keys until it closed. Then my house. Ask any of them. Ask my missus, she’ll tell you.’
Harper had no doubt they all would. He decided to change tack, to try to take the man off guard. ‘What about the fire at the synagogue?’
‘You what?’ Blake asked, and his surprise seemed so genuine that the inspector believed him. That was a dead end.
‘Who’s Alfred?’
‘Someone we know. A rich man. He helps us out. A bob or two here and there when we need it.’
‘He arranged last night.’
Blake kept his mouth shut and shrugged.
‘What’s his name?’ Harper asked, his voice low.
‘Alfred. You bloody know that.’
‘His full name. His real name.’ He waited a moment. ‘Might go easier on you when you’re in Armley jail if you tell me. I know the warders there. They can make a sentence seem like a long, long time.’
‘He’s Alfred,’ Blake said. ‘That’s all I know. It’s God’s honest truth. It’s all he ever told us.’
‘So you were willing to kill for a man you didn’t even know?’ Harper asked.
‘He only wanted us to rough someone up a bit, to keep all the bloody Jews scared. He’d promised us ten bob for it.’ It was a great deal of money for a few minutes’ work. But Blake sounded earnest, almost believable.
‘How much did he pay you to kill Abraham Levy?’
‘I told you, we didn’t have nothing to do with that.’
‘What about the fire at the synagogue?’
‘No,’ Blake insisted.
‘What work do you do?’
‘Nothing. Can’t find anything.’ The man’s face hardened again.
The inspector didn’t believe him. There were jobs. Probably he’d been sacked for drunkenness or idling, and no employer was willing to take him on.
‘How did you meet Alfred?’
He had to drag it out. Alfred had come into the Cross Keys one day at the beginning of December. None of them had ever seen him there before. He’d bought them drinks, begun talking to them, asking how they felt about this and that before talking about the Jews and the Irish and how they were ruining England.
He’d arranged to meet them again the following week, and asked them to bring friends who thought the same way. One of the men invited Boyd. Alfred arrived, placing two shillings in front of each man there. That night he had them go out and paint words like Jews Go Home around the Leylands. At the next meeting he gave each man an extra shilling for the job. The week after, it had been breaking windows, and the same pay.
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br /> But not murder, Blake insisted. And not arson. The night before had been the first violence.
Two hours later Harper had had enough. He yelled for the constable to take the man back to the cells and bring up the next. No murder, nothing more on Alfred. None of his threats or promises worked.
He asked questions all morning, going through each of the other men. Dinner time came and went. Harper drank cup after cup of tea to keep his throat wet. Every time, the story was the same. The only name they knew for the man was Alfred, and they did what he wanted because he paid them. They all admitted the attack, but they hadn’t murdered Abraham Levy or set the fire. They’d all been drinking together until late on Christmas Eve. The inspector sent out a man to check the story. Blake’s wife and the landlord at the Cross Keys said the same thing.
And no one knew the toff as anything more than Alfred.
Finally he had to admit defeat. They were telling the truth. He signed the paper to send them all off to the cells at the Town Hall and up before the magistrate.
‘Tom,’ the superintendent called. He entered the office, still fuming. ‘Close the door.’ The noise outside in the station was muffled. ‘Did you get anything from them?’
‘They didn’t kill Levy or start the blaze.’ He paced around the room, clenching and opening his fists.
‘Do you believe them?’
‘That’s the problem, sir,’ Harper admitted. ‘I do.’
‘Then we need to find out who did it.’ Kendall’s voice was cold. ‘Where’s Reed? Why isn’t he with you today?’
‘I told him not to show his face here while I was questioning them. I’ve got his report.’
‘I suppose he’s earned a day off,’ Kendall agreed grudgingly. ‘It was good work, Tom. Did that Frenchman get off without a problem?’
Muyrère. He hadn’t even thought about the man.
‘As far as I know, sir. He should be on his way to America by now.’
‘Let’s hope it’s warmer there for him, eh?’ He paused for a heartbeat. ‘You’d better get to it, Inspector. The Chief wants answers. It’s both of us on the line.’
The café on the far side of the market was filled with men in search of hot food and a little warmth. Harper found an empty table in the corner and ordered the sausage and mash. His belly growled. The tea was stewed, so strong the spoon could stand up in it, but it hit the spot, and the food took the edge off his hunger.
‘Anyone sitting there, Inspector?’
He looked up to see Tom Maguire, a cup and saucer in his hand.
‘Help yourself.’
‘You look like the weight of the world is pressing down on you.’ He was smiling, red hair tousled, his suit unkempt, waistcoat buttoned wrong.
‘Long day.’
‘I hear you had a long night, too.’
‘Word gets around.’
Maguire shrugged. ‘Leeds, Inspector. You know what it’s like here.’
He knew. And all the gossip in town seemed to find its way to the union organizer.
‘What about you, Mr Maguire. Keeping busy?’
‘Every minute of every day.’ The lightness vanished from his voice. ‘The mills, Mr Harper. The way they treat the girls there …’ He shook his head. ‘Sitting for hours in the hope of work, not getting paid a penny. No dinner. And all the while, the owners grow richer. Do you see the fairness in that?’
‘No.’ It wasn’t a new tale; things had been the same as long as he could recall. Strikes, government commissions; in the end he wondered if they made any difference at all.
‘We fight. We educate.’ He knew that Maguire had published poems about it all. He’d seen one in a magazine once. A fair effort, though he was no judge. Heartfelt, anyway.
‘Do you think you’ll win?’ Harper asked.
‘Eventually. Not in my lifetime, but it’ll happen.’
‘What happens then? Paradise?’
‘Man lost Paradise, if you recall your Bible, Inspector. It can never last.’
Harper chuckled. ‘You don’t give much comfort, do you?’
‘I’m honest. I want justice for everyone.’
‘You don’t think I do?’
‘I know you do,’ Maguire said earnestly. ‘But you work for the law. That’s not the same and you know it, Inspector. Laws are for those rich enough to buy them. The factory owners, not the mill girls.’ Maguire drained the cup and stood. ‘The only problem is that you work for the law and you believe in justice, too. Uneasy bedfellows. I’ll bid you good day.’
Law and justice, Harper thought as he walked back to Millgarth through the fog. People appeared and vanished like ghosts. Only the sound of coughing made them real. Sometimes the two things could be the same. Maguire was right, though; all too often, they had nothing to do with each other. But he’d made his choice; he’d sworn to uphold the law. He’d find justice wherever he could.
Harper walked out along North Street, slipping into Cohen’s tailor shop across from Jews’ Park. The warmth from the stove was sweet relief after the bitter wind outside.
‘It’s New Year’s Eve, Tom,’ Moses Cohen laughed as he came through from the back. ‘What is it for you tonight? A ball? A party?’
‘I’d be happy with some hot food and an early night,’ Harper said wearily.
‘Is that wife of yours wearing you out already?’ He grinned.
‘Cheeky bugger.’ But the inspector was smiling, the gloomy mood lifted for a minute. ‘How about your wife? Still under her thumb?’
‘Always,’ Cohen said happily. ‘She rules the home.’
‘And the boys?’
‘Ah.’ Under his beard, the man’s expression turned serious. His shoulders slumped and he seemed to age. ‘I sent Isaac into town today, just a small errand. On his way back, a group of young men started to chase him. He had to run for his life. I had to stop Israel going looking for them.’ He looked up helplessly. ‘This, the notices … What’s happening here, Tom?’
He didn’t know how to answer. On the way home through the small, dirty streets he heard the hum of sewing machines in the countless sweatshops. So many lives, all of them so desperate but hopeful, all of them on a knife edge. And no answers.
FOURTEEN
It had snowed out in Middleton; the better part of two inches covered the ground. Reed’s boots crunched through it as he walked from the railway station, his breath clouding in the cold air. Night had fallen, gas lamps giving off a soft glow that reflected the white on the street. He passed the shop where Elizabeth worked. It was still open, still busy.
Down the street and around the corner. In the distance he saw a small fire burning off the gas at one of the pits, flickering bright against the darkness. He knocked on the door of a terraced house, hearing the voices inside, and he smiled at the thought of seeing her again.
On the way down he’d stopped at the barber in Hyde Park and told him to remove the stubble that had grown back on his cheeks. It was time for a proper change, to throw off the past completely. But when she opened the door and looked up at him, he wondered if he’d made a mistake. Her eyes were quizzical, suspicious; she didn’t recognize him.
‘Hello, Elizabeth,’ he said and her expression opened. She reached up and touched his face, fingers sliding over the smooth skin.
‘Billy. I …’ He could see her redden with embarrassment. ‘Get yourself in here. It’s too parky out there.’
The kitchen was warm, a kettle sitting to the side of the range, steaming gently. Darning sat on the table, socks and stockings waiting to be mended.
‘I didn’t know you at first,’ she apologized. She hugged him fiercely then stared at his face. ‘I’d no idea who it was. You get that coat off, I’ll make you some tea.’ She bustled around, stealing glances at him.
‘Where are the children?’ he asked? He’d brought a bag of sweets for them to share.
‘Already in bed. They’ll be sorry they missed you. This is late for out here, you know.’
S
he put the cup in front of him with a pair of broken biscuits from the shop, then sat and stared.
‘It suits you,’ she said finally as she scrutinized his face. ‘Makes you look younger.’ Elizabeth shook her head and smiled. ‘It’s just going to take me a while to get used to it, that’s all.’
‘It was a shock to me, too.’
‘Why did you do it?’
‘Work.’ He began to explain, reaching across to hold her hand. Her expression darkened as he told her about the men at the Cork and Bottle, then Alfred and his crew.
‘What were they thinking of, asking you to do that?’ Her outrage exploded when he finished. ‘You could have got yourself killed.’
‘I volunteered,’ he told her gently. ‘It was the only way we were going to find out.’
‘You’re more than they deserve, you are.’ She leaned across and kissed him. ‘I hope they appreciate you, Billy Reed. I know I do. I’ve missed you.’
For an hour they talked and spooned. She sat on his lap, arms around his neck. Finally Reed looked at the clock, sighed and said, ‘I need to go. The last train will be leaving soon.’ He didn’t want to leave. He felt content here with her. Happy.
‘Tell me something,’ Elizabeth said. She seemed hesitant, almost reluctant.
‘What?’
‘We’ve been seeing each other a few months now,’ she began.
‘I know.’
‘What are your intentions, Billy Reed?’ She stifled a giggle as soon as she spoke, reddening at her own words. ‘That’s a terrible thing to say, isn’t it?’
She was trying to make light of it but he knew she was serious. He’d thought about her over the last few days, aching to see her again. But she scared him. She was outgoing, able to chatter nineteen to the dozen while he was so often quiet. She embraced life in a way he never could. But he’d come to understand that he needed her. He loved her. It had taken time for him to realize it, and the feeling was disturbing. It left him off balance.
‘We’re courting,’ he answered. His voice was husky. He didn’t like having to give a name to it, to be put on the spot.
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