‘Revenge against one of my men? Who’s Alfred?’
Harper laid it all out once more, sure in his mind that Alfred had been behind the attack.
‘As soon as you have anything, put every available uniform on to it. What about these murders in the Leylands? Where are you on that?’
‘I’m starting a sweep for the killers in the morning, sir. Now we know who they are, we can track them down.’
‘Make it quick,’ the chief constable ordered. ‘We need them behind bars now. Do you understand?’
‘Perfectly, sir. Any more word on those children?’
‘Bloody awful accident, lad,’ Superintendent Cross said, with the weight of death in his voice. ‘The doctors say that more than half of those they brought in won’t live.’
There was nothing any of them could say. Just the horror of so many young lives lost.
‘Whatever you find, Tom, send word down here to me,’ Kendall told him.
‘Yes, sir.’
EIGHTEEN
He look the long way back to Millgarth, cutting through the courts and yards that ran between Lands Lane and Briggate. This had been his beat once. He’d been able to name the people in every house, known the men who ran each business. As he glanced down an alley he could pick out the silhouettes of a few figures crouched around a fire, passing a bottle. He breathed out, watching his breath cloud in the air. Good luck to them, he thought. If this cold weather continued, most of them would be dead before the end of the month.
There was little more he could do until dawn. He settled at his desk, taking a blank sheet of paper and dipping a nib in a bottle of ink. At least he could write to Capitaine Muyrère in care of his station in Dijon.
He sealed the envelope. How could he address it? Finally he decided on Capitaine B. Muyrère, Police, Dijon, France. It was the best he could do. He left it with the desk sergeant to post, and wandered by the market. Traders were already moving around the open square between the halls, setting up their stalls with fruit and vegetables, and carrying crates around as if they weighed nothing.
He dodged his way through them to the small café that opened every morning at four, its windows steamed over with condensation. The first rush had passed and he had a table to himself; he took his time over bacon and egg and two hot cups of tea. All for just a tanner. A breakfast for a working man.
As soon as the day shift reported for their beats he gave them their instructions. Who to look for, where to start. He picked up the photographs of Hill and Anderson, ready to let the men see.
Jack Anderson. He squinted at the picture. The man had the same heavy jaw and thin lips as the boy he remembered. So his character hadn’t changed either, it seemed. It was no great leap from beating up Jewish boys to killing them.
After the constables had left, he stared at the photograph again. Anderson’s father had been as bad as his son, he remembered, a man filled with poison. It could be worth finding out if his parents were still alive and where they lived.
Footsteps followed him into the office and as he sat, a constable stood to attention and saluted.
‘Constable Dicks, sir. The sergeant said you wanted to see me.’
He had the ruddy face of a drinker, a map of broken blood vessels across his cheeks. The man probably wasn’t even thirty yet, but he was already carrying weight around his belly, making the uniform too snug. But the blue jacket and trousers were clean and well-sponged, and he was clean-shaven and presentable.
‘You drink at the Anchor,’ Harper said.
‘Yes, sir. Been my local since I was old enough to have a pint.’ He stared straight ahead, not at the inspector.
‘You’ve heard we’re looking for four men who drink there.’
‘I have. They’ve been coming in there a while, sir. Thick as thieves, that lot, always off by themselves. They don’t mix, if you know what I mean.’
‘Have you seen anyone else with them? Someone young, well-off?’
The constable frowned. ‘Not as I know, sir. But I don’t pay them much mind. I’m usually with my mates, not paying attention. You know how it is, sir.’
He did. Little groups that kept to themselves. It was the same in every public house.
‘The Anchor has a reputation,’ the inspector continued. ‘It’s not a friendly place if you’re not English.’
‘That’s right enough, sir.’ Dicks kept his eyes square on the wall.
‘And you believe in that, do you?’
‘Happen I do, sir,’ the constable replied after a while. ‘But as long as it doesn’t affect my work, I think that’s my business.’
Harper nodded his acknowledgement. ‘We’re after these men for murder. If you know where they might be, or if you do anything to stop us finding them, or anything against anyone, I’ll have you drummed off the force and in jail. Do you understand me?’
Dicks shifted his gaze to look at the inspector. ‘With respect, sir, I don’t ask about your views on politics and the like, and I don’t believe they’d affect what you do on the job. I know my work and I do it.’ He stood straight, wounded pride on his face. ‘I don’t know anything about those men. If I hear anything I’ll tell you immediately.’
‘Good. You can go.’
God help him but he believed the man. His answers had the ring of truth. So much for that. He had to move on.
‘Sir?’ Ash’s voice took him away from his thoughts. The man looked refreshed, as if a few hours’ sleep had been more than enough. He had to admire the constable’s stamina. Outside there was the first hint of early light.
‘Let’s go out to Woodhouse Moor,’ Harper said.
A copper from the Woodhouse sub-station showed them the spot. The earth under their boots was like stone, the wind whipping in cold from the west.
‘It was right round here, sir,’ the bobby said.
There was nothing to see. The ground was too hard for footprints, no trees or branches close by. And it was far enough from any road to be completely black at night. No one around to see anything or spot any faces. Harper wasn’t going to learn anything here. He’d never expected that he would, but he still needed to see it, to fix it in his mind.
‘What do you think?’ he asked Ash. The man twitched his thick moustache and took his time before answering.
‘If you ask me, it must have been more than one man who attacked the sergeant, sir. Mr Reed was a soldier, he knows how to defend himself.’
The inspector nodded. Billy would have been able to fight off one. But not two, not in the darkness. Or there could have been three or four. Even five …
As they walked back to the station he gave Ash his orders. He wanted him in charge of the sweep, to keep the bobbies on track.
And what about Billy? How could he discover who Alfred was, and who he’d used for the beating? Christ, he felt absolutely useless. But he was going to find them. He’d make certain of that.
He forced himself to concentrate on the murders in the Leylands. Jack Anderson, he thought. How would he find where the family lived? Finally an idea came to him and he walked down to the Leylands, over to Noble Street. He passed the house where he’d grown up and knocked on the door of number twenty-seven.
The Burlands had lived here since before he was born. Only old Len was left now after his wife died two years ago. Harper heard the shuffle of feet, and then he was looking down at the man.
He remembered when Len Burland seemed like a towering man with thick muscles and a ready grin. Now he appeared to have shrunk into himself, not even coming up to the inspector’s shoulders, his body withered by age. An ancient, embroidered smoking cap warmed his scalp, wispy wild hair poking out underneath, and a shawl covered his shoulders.
‘You’re Tommy Harper, aren’t you?’ he said, peering up. His voice was smoky, hoarse. ‘Come in lad, come in.’
The kitchen was hot, a kettle sitting on the side of the range. Burland shuffled across the floor, and moved it on to the hob, standing over it as it began to st
eam.
‘You’ll stay for a cup of tea, won’t you?’
He needed to be on his way, but he knew that tea and a chat was the price for information. The old man probably saw very few people. Company was a prize to be relished. The street, the area, had changed completely in his lifetime. The familiar had become foreign.
The tea was strong, a dark, rich brown. He sipped and looked up to see Burland staring at him.
‘You’re a copper now, they say. Made your way up.’
‘That’s right, Mr Burland.’
‘I’d never have guessed you for a rozzer when tha’ were little. Always having to give you a clip to keep you in line.’
‘It must have worked.’ Harper gave him a smile.
‘Your mam and dad were that proud to see you in the uniform.’ He shook his head. ‘Aye, well. Memories are all well and good, but you’re not here for them. Your face is too set for that.’
‘No,’ Harper admitted. ‘I’m not. Tell me, do you remember the Andersons, Mr Burland?’
He was the last one left around here who would have known them. The inspector just had to hope that the man’s memory was sharp.
‘I do,’ the old man replied with feeling. ‘Nasty buggers they were, the pair of them.’
‘They did a flit, didn’t they?’
‘Aye, long time back. You’d still be a nipper, then.’
‘What happened, do you know? Where did they go?’
Burland scratched the white stubble on his chin. ‘You’re taking me right back now, lad. Behind with their rent, I suppose. That was the usual reason.’ He shrugged. ‘I don’t even remember, it were that many years ago.’
‘Did you ever hear where they went?’ He knew it was a long shot, but it was the best that he had, the only direct link.
‘Like as I recall, they went over round Mabgate somewhere. I seem to recall he had a brother over there or summat. Why the interest now, lad?’
‘They had a son named Jack.’
Burland shook his head. ‘If you say so. He doesn’t ring a bell with me.’
Harper finished the drink and pushed the saucer away. ‘I need to find Jack.’
‘Good luck to you, then. It were what, twenty year ago?’
‘More or less.’
‘They could have moved on dozens of times since then. They were allus feckless.’
‘It’s a place to start.’ He stood. ‘Thank you for the tea. And the information.’
‘It’s nowt. I heard you got yourself wed.’
‘Last year. She owns the Victoria in Sheepscar.’
Burland grinned, showing a single front tooth. ‘You’ve got your head screwed on, lad. Can’t go wrong if you marry a woman wi’ a pub.’
Mabgate. It wasn’t that far away, less than half a mile. The Anchor public house was in Mabgate. Clem Fields had a room there. The road called Mabgate was long and straight, going through the heart of the area, with the huge Hope Street foundry filling both sides, full of fire and thunder. A little further along, the Mabgate woollen mill pushed its face to the world. Carts moved along, pulled by horses, pushed by hand. An omnibus trundled away in the distance.
Harper walked through to the streets that lay behind the bustle. This was a place where people would know their neighbours. They’d remember names. He needed to speak to the older women; they were the ones who saw and remembered everything.
But before he had the chance to knock on any door, a boy dashed out of a ginnel, straight towards him, stopping just two feet away.
‘Can you help me, mister?’ he asked breathlessly. His shoes were too big for his feet, flapping as he ran. With thin knickerbockers, no stockings, nothing more than a shirt and a jacket, he wasn’t dressed for the bitter weather. Hair clung to his skull and his skin was almost blue with cold.
‘What is it?’ the inspector asked.
‘Can you give us a farthing? I’ve not et since last night.’
‘Why?’ the inspector asked. ‘Why haven’t you eaten?’
The boy looked to be seven or eight, with clear blue eyes and sores around his mouth, the thinness of starvation in his bones.
‘Me da and ma din’t come home.’
He’d heard the story far too often. Back when he walked a beat there’d been so many children like this one. He’d go and find the parents and make them come home. But this wasn’t his patch. He didn’t know anyone here.
‘Where do you live?’
‘Just round the corner,’ the lad answered warily. ‘Why?’
‘I tell you what I’ll do,’ Harper offered. ‘You help me and I’ll give you tuppence.’
The boy’s eyes widened at the promise. A fortune. ‘What do you want, mister?’
‘I’m looking for a family called Anderson who might live somewhere round here. You ask and find out where they are and the money’s yours.’
The boy smirked. ‘That’s easy. Go to Strode Street, back past Globe Works. Everyone knows ’em. Old fella and his missus. Third door along.’
Harper looked at him. ‘You show me. If you’re right, I’ll give you sixpence.’
‘A tanner!’ The lad’s eyes widened. ‘I’m not lying, mister.’
‘Then show me.’ He took off his scarf and handed it to the lad. ‘You look like you can use that.’
The boy looked at him, then took it and wrapped it around his neck. ‘Come on,’ he said.
The boy stood off to the side while the inspector knocked on the door. A thickset man answered, wiry grey hair standing up on his head.
‘What do you want?’ The words were a challenge. The man folded his arms, blocking the way into the house.
‘You’re Mr Anderson?’
‘What if I am?’ he asked.
‘I’m Detective Inspector Harper from Leeds Police. Are you related to Jack Anderson?’
‘Maybe. Why?’ The man kept his hard stare.
‘I’m looking for him.’ The inspector looked back. ‘Do you know him?’
‘Jack? He’s my brother’s lad,’ Anderson allowed. ‘What do you want with him?’
‘Where does your brother live?’
The man’s face softened into sadness. ‘He’s passed away, both him and his missus. Five year ago. Why?’
‘When did you last see Jack, Mr Anderson?’
‘It was right before New Year. He’s married, got nippers. Why, what’s he done?’ The man’s fire and confidence had gone, replaced by worry.
‘How long before New Year?’
‘The evening before.’ The night Rabbi Padewski was murdered, Harper thought.
‘What time was he here?’ the inspector asked cautiously.
The man scratched his head, thinking. ‘Early. Come over to wish us the best before he went out with some lads he knows.’
And his family, wife and children, stuck at home. So many men were the same.
‘Did you see him at Christmas?’ he asked.
‘Aye, he were here all day with his lass and the kiddies. Left about six, after their supper. We’re all the kin he has.’
So he could have been out the night before, murdering Abraham Levy.
‘Do you know his friends at all?’
Anderson shook his head. ‘He has a life of his own, Jack does. Why would he tell us? Allus busy with this and that. I doubt that wife of his sees him much.’
That was what Jack Anderson’s wife had told Ash when he questioned her. At home when he had to be, and not a second longer. It was what she knew, what she accepted with her husband.
‘What’s he done?’ Anderson asked again
‘I think he’s been involved in two murders.’ The inspector stared at the man, seeing the colour drain from his face.
‘Our Jack? You’re wrong there.’
‘That’s how it looks, sir,’ he said. ‘That’s why I need to know where he might be.’
‘Jack? He might have a set-to but he’d never kill anyone,’ Anderson protested.
‘Then I’d better talk to him and fin
d out the truth,’ Harper told him.
‘He’s not at home?’
‘No. His wife says he hasn’t been back since New Year’s Eve. His friends have gone, too.’ He paused to give weight to the question. ‘Sir, do you know where I can find him?’
Anderson raised his head. He looked ten years older now. ‘I don’t, and that’s the God’s honest truth. But our Jack, he wouldn’t do that.’
Harper thought of the boy who bullied the Jewish children at school and his father full of hate.
‘Do you have any guesses as to where he might go, sir?’
‘No, son, I don’t.’
The boy was waiting at the corner. ‘You really a copper, mister?’
‘I am,’ he said with a smile.
‘You catch a lot of crooks?’ He hurried to keep pace, shuffling in the large shoes.
‘A few.’
The lad’s eyes grew wide again. Harper felt in his trouser pocket for a sixpence and brought out a shilling instead. He tossed it up in the air. The boy caught it and looked at the coin disbelievingly.
‘Get yourself something hot.’
‘Are you sure, mister?’
‘Positive.’ He couldn’t save all the waifs and strays on the street, but he could help one or two.
‘What about your scarf?’
‘Keep it,’ he said.
NINETEEN
As soon as Harper entered the station people wanted to talk to him. Before he could even remove his hat and coat they were there: two constables with questions and Tollman hanging back, waiting. He dealt with the men and turned to the sergeant.
‘Well?’
‘Ash said to tell you there’s nothing from the sweep yet, sir.’
The inspector nodded. ‘Has the super been in?’
‘Not yet. I heard he’s gone over to Wortley. Terrible what happened there, isn’t it, sir?’
‘It is.’ He thought about the night before and the faces of the parents he’d seen at the infirmary.
Sitting at the desk, he rubbed his face with his palms. Flames jumped in the fire but he didn’t feel any warmer. Tollman reappeared and put a cup of tea in front of him.
‘You look like you can use that, sir.’
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