She pulled back to look into his eyes, searching for the truth there. ‘Aye, we are.’ She kissed him once more and stood. ‘Come on, or you’ll end up walking all the way back to Leeds.’
At the door she held him close, burrowing into his coat.
‘Billy?’ Her voice was muffled by the cloth.
‘What?’
‘I want someone who’ll come home to me every night. I don’t need a hero.’
Don’t volunteer for anything dangerous. That was what she meant. He smiled.
‘I think I’ve done my bit.’
She hugged him closer. ‘Go on, you’ll miss the train. I’d come with you but I can’t leave the children.’
‘It’s fine.’ He stroked her hair and let a sense of peace rise inside for a minute. But what she saw in him he couldn’t imagine.
This time he heard the sound. Wood on wood, a truncheon banging against the door. Harper was out of bed, reaching for his dressing gown and making his way down the stairs before Annabelle could stir.
He drew back the bolts and turned the key. A different young constable this time, out of breath from running, and a blast of frigid air from outside. The lad saluted eagerly.
‘What is it?’ He folded his arms, tucking in his hands.
‘Another body, sir. On Gower Street.’
For a second he thought he’d misheard the street. Christ. The Leylands again. It was like being caught in a bad dream.
‘Another Jew?’
‘I don’t know, sir. They just said to come and get you.’
‘Right.’ He thought quickly. ‘I’ll be there as soon as I can. In the meantime I want every available man in the area.’
‘Yes, sir.’ The bobby scribbled in his notebook.
‘Contact Woodhouse police station. Have them send someone to fetch Sergeant Reed.’
‘Anything else, sir?’
‘No.’
‘Right, sir. And happy New Year, sir.’
January the first. 1891, he thought as he closed the door. And it was off to a bloody awful start.
Upstairs, he dressed hurriedly. An extra shirt and waistcoat, the heaviest trousers he owned. Two pairs of socks. With all those clothes he felt bundled and bloated, but he’d be warm out there.
‘Tom?’ Annabelle murmured.
‘Just work.’ He kissed her forehead above the blanket and quilt.
‘Be sure you make that appointment with the doctor.’
‘I will. I promise.’ Trust her; even in her sleep, she never forgot.
He was there in ten minutes, breath steaming like a train. It looked as if half the Leylands was standing on Gower Street, men and women, young and old alike. A few were shouting, some wailing their grief, most of them just silent, eyes downcast, with too many memories of places where all this had happened before.
Harper pushed his way through the crowd. Four coppers in their dark blue uniforms formed a circle around the body to keep everyone back. Someone had placed an overcoat over the corpse. The arms were extended. The same mockery of a crucifixion as Abraham Levy.
Maitland was one of the ring guarding the dead man. He had one hand on his truncheon, eyes watching all the people around. He retreated as the inspector called him.
‘What happened?’
‘You’d better take a look at who it is first, sir,’ the man said, his face shadowed.
Harper gave him a curious look then pulled back the coat enough to see the face. Rabbi Padewski. He let out a long, slow breath, replaced the covering and stood. No wonder the crowd had gathered. This was the worst thing that could have happened.
‘What do you know?’
‘Not much, sir.’ Maitland kept his gaze outward, alert for any sign of trouble. The people were quiet for now, but the mood could turn in an instant, they both knew that. They could have a riot on their hands. ‘The clock had just struck one. I was over on Copenhagen Street and I heard someone shouting.’ He thought for a second. ‘Crying. I ran over and found him like this.’
‘How long have they been gathering?’
‘Started right away. They came pouring out. I’ve been keeping my eye on the young ones. I blew my whistle and the other lads came. I sent one of them to Millgarth to get a message to you.’
‘Good job.’ More men should arrive soon. Enough to disperse this lot, he hoped. He dared not take a proper look at the corpse with them all around; that would only inflame them. He needed to wait and hope the constables arrived quickly.
‘Did any of you see anything tonight?’ he shouted, then looked at Maitland to repeat it in Yiddish.
‘We didn’t see you,’ someone yelled from the back, and the murmurs grew like a wave. No, Harper thought. This wasn’t going to work.
‘How many of them do you know?’ he asked Maitland.
‘Most of them, sir. By face, if not all by name.’
‘Once they’ve dispersed I want you to talk to some of them. Quietly. See if anyone knows anything. I need fact, not rumour. Start with the ones who were here when you arrived.’
‘Yes, sir.’ He cocked his head. ‘Reinforcements on the way,’ he said with a relieved smile.
It was another few seconds before Harper could make out the tramp of boots marching over the cobbles. Then the uniforms arrived in their ranks. Ten of them; the night sergeant had done well to find so many.
It was by the book. They worked politely but insistently, slowly pushing everyone back. Five minutes and it was over, all of them dispersed, men on the street corners to stop the crowd flooding back.
Harper crouched and pulled the coat away again. Padewski’s spectacles and hat were missing. He’d been carefully arranged, arms spread wide in the shape of a cross. Two pools of blood on his chest where he’d been stabbed, but little blood under him. Exactly the same as Levy. And once again, two bronze pennies covering the sightless eyes; did they mean anything? The rabbi had been killed somewhere else and brought here, right outside his own synagogue. Whoever did this knew exactly who Padewski was.
Normally he’d send the body over to Dr King, the police surgeon. The man usually managed to find something useful. But not this time. The body needed be in the ground before night came again, out in the Jewish cemetery on Gelderd Road; that was their way. He dare not argue the case, certainly not when the corpse was a rabbi’s.
But unlike Levy, Padeweski hadn’t gone easily to his death. There were the beginnings of bruises on his cheek and jaw, and his knuckles were scraped, blood dried on them.
‘A terrible sight, Inspector.’
He looked up at the words and saw Rabbi Feldman standing there, the heavy coat, scarf and glasses making him seem larger. His body was stooped, resting heavily on his walking stick, eyes sorrowful behind thick spectacles.
‘Yes.’ He stood, feeling the cold in his knees.
‘The same as Abraham, from the look of him,’ Feldman said accusingly. Harper stayed silent; there was nothing he could say yet. ‘And no killer.’
‘We’re doing everything we can, Rabbi.’
‘Not enough, Inspector.’ He shook his head. ‘We need people like Piotr Padewski. They’re the future.’
‘I talked to him a day or two ago.’
‘Then you know what he was like.’
‘I had a glimpse,’ Harper said.
‘We were very different, but people listened to him. They respected him. And he believed what he said.’ Feldman gave a small, sad shake of his head. ‘I’d like a minute alone with him, Inspector.’
‘Of course.’ He walked away, pulling Maitland aside. ‘Where does Padewski live?’
The constable tilted his head towards the synagogue.
‘Above there, sir.’
‘Married?’
‘Wife and two young kiddies.’ His mouth moved into a grim line. ‘The little one’s nobbut a baby.’
God, Harper thought. The woman would be able to see her husband’s body from the window.
‘What’s the wife’s name?’
&nb
sp; ‘Sarah, sir. She’s as English as he is. Was.’
‘Right. I’m going to see her. You’d better arrange something for the funeral with Feldman.’
‘Yes, sir.’
The door stood to the side of the building. Someone had taken care in painting it, putting on several coats to leave it shiny. Someone was proud to live here, to make it home. He hesitated before knocking, then let his knuckles fall softly on the wood.
She came down the stairs in a rush of footsteps, pulling the door back quickly. She held an oil lamp in one hand, the glow bright enough to show her eyes were red from crying.
Sarah Padewski wore a heavy black dressing gown drawn tight around herself, a dark woollen shawl gathered around her shoulders. Her thick, unruly hair was gathered into a braid that hung over her shoulder. In the faint light he could make out a small round scar on the olive skin of her throat.
‘I’m Detective Inspector Harper,’ he told her. ‘May I come in?’
She nodded and turned, holding the lamp high and leading the way up the steps and leading him into a room filled with furniture. A desk on one side, over by shelves heavy with books. A dining table, papers stacked along one side. A pair of chairs gathered close to a fireplace. Closed doors led elsewhere.
‘I’m sorry …’ he began, but she didn’t wait for him to continue.
‘I heard people shouting. I got up to take a look.’ The woman had a flat Lancashire accent, the words coming out empty. ‘He was down there.’
Sometimes he felt that he spent his life speaking to the grieving or the guilty. Those were the faces that stayed in his mind at night. Theirs were the voices he heard when he walked.
He sat on a wooden chair, seeing the wet marks his boots had left on the swept boards.
‘Tea,’ she said suddenly. ‘You must be frozen after being out there.’ Before he could speak, she scuttled away, disappearing through a door. He heard her moving the kettle on the range, the light clatter of cup and saucer. He knew what she was doing. Every moment put off the time when he’d say her husband was dead. She’d seen his body, but until the words were spoken it wasn’t real. If she kept moving the truth might not catch up to her.
He stood by the window. Rabbi Feldman was deep in conversation to Maitland. The light from the gas lamps formed a soft circle around them, with Padewski’s body lying on the ground. From here she’d have been able to make out his face. There’d have been no mistake, no confusion. He tried to imagine how he’d feel, looking out from the windows above the Victoria to see Annabelle lying on the pavement.
‘I put milk in,’ Sarah Padewski said. ‘No sugar. I hope that’s fine.’ The words were so normal, so everyday, but he could hear the note of fear at the edge of her voice. He had no choice but to say it.
‘Mrs Padewski, I’m sorry. I have to tell you that your husband’s dead.’
‘We have two children, you know,’ she continued, ignoring what he’d said as if she’d never heard it. ‘David’s four and Rebecca’s almost a year old.’
‘I’m sorry,’ he repeated, looking into her eyes until she gave a small, defeated nod and pushed her lips together to stop the tears forming. ‘I need to ask you some questions about your husband.’
‘I …’ He waited for her to speak. ‘I need to see to his funeral.’
She began to edge away, hands fidgeting with a lace handkerchief. As long as she kept busy she didn’t have to think. She didn’t have to face the future.
‘Rabbi Feldman’s downstairs,’ Harper said gently. ‘I’m sure he’ll come up to see you in a few minutes.’
‘Yes.’ It was a word, something to fill the emptiness.
The inspector cleared his throat. ‘Mrs Padewski, where did your husband go tonight?’
It took a moment to focus her thoughts.
‘He went to visit Mrs Cohen on Star Street. And he had a meeting with the youth group.’
‘Where was it? What kind of meeting?’ Harper kept his voice low and soft.
‘They meet every week. Peter teaches and then they talk.’
‘Where do they meet, Mrs Padewski?’
‘There’s a building on Poland Street. They use that.’
His mind pictured the road, trying to pick out the exact place. ‘What time does the meeting usually finish?’
‘They can go on very late sometimes.’ She gave a sad, liquid smile. ‘Peter likes to argue. He enjoys picking things apart.’ He remembered the way the rabbi had been when they talked. ‘I’m usually asleep when he comes home.’
Her gaze was turning distant. He was losing her to memories and sorrow.
‘I’ll have Rabbi Feldman come and sit with you,’ he said, unsure if she heard.
Feldman stood in the cold, watching men wrap Padewski in a shroud before carrying him away in a handcart.
‘She needs you,’ Harper said, and the man bowed his head.
‘Two men dead and a synagogue burnt. Find them, Inspector. Find them now.’ His voice was deep and weary, his words a plea.
‘I will.’ But he didn’t know how. Alfred’s men were in jail. Someone else had done this. It had to be the same ones who’d killed Abraham Levy; the pennies on the eyes were like a calling card. And he had no idea who they could be.
‘May God give you help.’ The rabbi put a hand on Harper’s shoulder and walked towards the synagogue.
The inspector took out his pocket watch and sighed. Five minutes to three; a bitter welcome to the brand new year. Harper saw Maitland down on the corner, talking rapidly with a young man. He strode towards them, hands deep in his pockets.
‘This is Daniel Orbaum, sir,’ the constable said. The short, skinny youth at his side gazed down at the pavement. He had pale blond hair under his hat, the light catching the faint down on his upper lip. ‘He was with Rabbi Padewski tonight.’
‘You were at the meeting on Poland Street?’ the inspector asked.
‘Yes.’ The lad raised his head to show intelligent blue eyes. His shirt had a collar but no tie, and his overcoat was too large for him. He could almost hear the boy’s mother telling him he’d grow into it in time. He was probably seventeen or eighteen, but he looked younger. Already a man in Jewish terms, but just emerging into real adulthood. It was easy to image him as the runt, bullied at school.
‘What time did it end, Mr Orbaum?’
‘After midnight. We wished each other happy New Year when the clock struck.’
The lad was clear and precise, better than most witnesses. From the corner of his eye, Harper saw Maitland give an approving nod.
‘How much longer did it last?’
‘Maybe ten minutes,’ Orbaum answered. ‘It might have been a quarter of an hour.’
So Padewski was still alive at quarter past midnight.
‘When did the rabbi leave?’ Harper asked.
‘When all the others did. I stayed and helped put the chairs away with my cousin. We were gone before half past. The caretaker locked up when we left.’
‘How many people had been at the meeting?’
‘Twelve of us.’
The inspector tried to fix the times in his mind. They’d found the body a little after one. Say forty-five minutes to kill the rabbi and move him. That was ample time, but it couldn’t have happened far away.
‘Where do you live, Mr Orbaum?’
‘St Thomas Row. By the steelworks.’
He knew it, a street filled with the constant clang of hammers and the heat of the furnace. ‘Did you see or hear anything on your way home?’
‘I heard noises on Copenhagen Street.’
Harper was suddenly alert. Copenhagen Street was where Levy had been murdered.
‘What kind of noises?’
‘It sounded like a fight. I thought someone had been celebrating the New Year and had an argument.’
‘You didn’t go and look?’
Orbaum shook his head. Harper understood; staying clear was safer.
‘When did you hear about the rabbi?’
The inspector thought rapidly. ‘Tell me, when you were on Copenhagen Street, did you recognize any voices?’
‘No. Nothing. I’m sorry.’
‘Thank you.’
Orbaum nodded, then shambled away, the overcoat trailing around his ankles.
‘What do you need me to do, sir?’ Maitland asked.
‘Talk to the others who were at that meeting. They might have seen something. Knock them out of their beds if you have to.’ He gazed at the houses. Half of them still had lights burning. There’d be little sleep for many in the Leylands tonight.
‘What about Copenhagen Street, sir? That was where—’
Harper cut him off. ‘I know. We’ll search there as soon as it’s light.’ To see if it had been the killing ground once again. ‘I’ll need people canvassing the houses. Find out if anyone saw or heard anything. It’s going to be a long shift for you.’
‘Doesn’t matter, sir.’ Maitland gave a grim smile. ‘I liked the rabbi. Always had time for a chat. It’s the same people who did for young Abraham, isn’t it?’
‘It looks that way.’
‘Anything I can do to catch them, just tell me, sir.’
He understood the man’s determination. This was his area, they were his people. He knew them, he had a bond with them. He’d felt exactly the same when he had his beat in the courts and lanes in the city centre.
‘Don’t worry, I will.’
On the way to the police station he walked along Noble Street, glancing at the house where he’d grown up. Curtains were drawn in the windows. Shards of his history lay all across the Leylands: childhood, school, his first job. He’d never manage to escape them all.
Reed was waiting in the office. He’d made tea; a cup was stewing on Harper’s desk.
‘They said there’d been another murder.’
‘Laid out just the same as the Levy boy.’ The inspector took a drink of the tepid liquid and pushed a poker into the fire to stir the flames. ‘Happy 1891, Billy. Aren’t you glad it’s New Year?’
‘Exactly the same?’
‘Crucifixion pose, stabbed. Pennies on the eyes. But this time they murdered a rabbi.’
‘What?’ Reed stopped with cup midway to his mouth. ‘They killed Feldman?’
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