He was so tired that he couldn’t think properly. But he needed to keep his mind clear. There was so much to do to catch the Leyland murderers and find whoever had attacked Billy Reed.
Alfred. He had to be the one who’d almost killed Billy Reed. But he had no idea who the man might be. The man had money, he was well-spoken and young, and he hated foreigners. It didn’t help much. Harper didn’t even have a place to start.
He was draining the dregs from the cup as Kendall arrived. The superintendent’s face was almost grey as he passed through, into his office. Harper followed. The man was slumped in his chair, still wearing his heavy overcoat, hat tossed carelessly aside.
‘Fourteen of them burnt, Tom.’ He barely seemed to have the strength to speak. ‘Eight dead so far and there’ll be more.’ Kendall shook his head. ‘I’ve seen a lot in my time, but nothing like this. They’re all so bloody young.’
‘I’m sorry.’
‘It was an accident, too. That’s all it was, nothing more. Just a single moment …’ His voice trailed off into emptiness. ‘I stopped in to see Reed before I left. No change yet. That girl of his was still with him.’
‘Elizabeth will stay there as long as they let her.’
‘What have you managed to find so far?’
‘Nothing yet, sir. I’m going to try all my snouts and see what they’ve heard. If they know who Alfred is.’
The superintendent sighed. ‘What about these murderers?’ He looked up. ‘Tell me something good, Tom. I need it.’
The inspector listed the orders he’d given and his search for Jack Anderson.
‘It’s all needles and haystacks,’ Kendall said in frustration when he’d finished. ‘Any other ideas?’
‘I wish I had,’ Harper said helplessly. ‘I’ve been racking my brains.’
‘Keep searching. But I want you to go back to the Leylands sometime today,’ Kendall ordered. ‘Let them see you, so they know we’re concerned. Tell them we know who did it and we’re hunting them down.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘With luck that’ll satisfy them for now.’
‘Sir?’ Harper said.
‘What?’
‘You don’t look too well. Maybe you should go home.’
Kendall snorted. ‘I wouldn’t dare. If I tried to sleep now I’d just keep seeing those kiddies. I’m better off awake. If there’s any change with Reed I’ll send someone to find you.’
Through the morning and for most of the afternoon he went to every place he could think of; public houses, cafés, the men grouped on street corners, huddled against the freezing weather. He asked his questions so often that he felt he’d still be asking them in his sleep. Had they heard anything about the attack on the sergeant? What did they know about a man called Alfred?
But no one had any answers for him. They were telling the truth, Harper was certain of that. Even with men on the fringes of the law, someone trying to kill a policeman would loosen their tongues. Yet there was nothing. The name Alfred brought nothing more than shakes of the head.
Not a bloody thing. He was no further on than he’d been that morning. Harper could feel the frustration and the anger growing. Billy was more than another copper, he’d become a friend, someone he trusted with his life. And he couldn’t even begin to find out who’d attacked him.
Finally, his voice hoarse and his feet sore from the miles he’d walked, he reached the Leylands in the late afternoon. There were people on the streets, running their final errands before the Sabbath began at dusk. Sewing machines still hummed in the sweatshops before going silent for a day. But the inspector could sense the mood: quiet and filled with sorrow. Men passing on the streets in dark suits, hats and beards glanced at him then away again. Women kept their eyes on the ground ahead. They knew full well who he was. No one would acknowledge him. No smile, no hello.
He found Constable Forsyth walking his beat on Templar Street. The man greeted him with a brisk salute.
‘Any news of Sergeant Reed, sir?’ he asked.
‘Nothing new,’ Harper answered. It seemed he’d said it a hundred times today.
‘Do you know who did it?’
‘Someone called Alfred. Young, well-to-do. Does it mean anything to you?’
The constable shook his head. ‘Sorry, sir. What about the ones who murdered Abraham and the rabbi? Have you found them?’
‘We’re still looking.’ He felt impotent, floundering and drowning.
‘Some of the locals were out patrolling last night,’ Forsyth said. ‘Bobby Maitland told me this morning.’
The inspector let out a low breath. It was what he’d feared, people starting to take the law into their own hands. He didn’t need this on top of everything else.
‘How many, did he say? Who are they?’
‘Not that many, sir. That’s something, I suppose.’ Forsyth frowned. ‘Six of them. You know Abraham Levy’s brother, young Samuel?’ Harper nodded. ‘He’s one of them.’ The man leaned close. ‘Truth is, they’re all scared, sir. I’ve been trying to tell them that we’ll look after them, but …’ He shrugged.
Fear and mistrust. It was a dangerous combination, he thought.
‘I’ll talk to Rabbi Feldman,’ the inspector said. ‘Maybe he can calm them.’
The doors to the synagogue still smelt of sap. Inside, a charcoal brazier was burning at the far end of the building, giving out a little heat in the frigid air.
Feldman stood, examining the scroll pulled wide in front of him, preparing for Shabat, the Sabbath. He was still wearing his overcoat and gloves, a yarmulke pinned to his thin hair. The rabbi pulled off his glasses and peered across the room.
‘Inspector,’ he said. ‘Have you found them?’
‘Not yet. But we know who they are now.’ He approached the table where the rabbi was working. ‘It’s just a matter of time until we catch them.’
‘Time.’ Feldman gave a weak smile. ‘That’s something none of us really has, isn’t it?’
‘We’ll find them soon enough. They’ll hang,’ Harper told him firmly.
‘I hope that’s true.’ He frowned. ‘What about your sergeant? I heard what happened.’
‘He’s strong. He’ll pull through.’ Harper clenched his fists as he spoke.
‘May God be listening to you, Inspector. Sometimes I wonder if he’s turned a deaf ear to the world.’ He moved a wooden pointer across the scroll, over symbols in a language Harper couldn’t read. ‘Tomorrow at shul I’ll tell them all to have faith. That they have to believe.’ Feldman glanced up, eyes questioning under thick brows. ‘But how can I do that when I’m not always sure myself?’
‘Have you heard about the patrols, sir?’
‘Of course. And before you ask, yes, I know my nephew’s involved. I begged him not to do it. I ordered him, but he’s not going to listen. None of the young ones will. They call themselves the Golem.’
‘The Golem? What’s that?’ He’d never heard the word before.
‘I’ll tell you, Inspector, but you’d better sit down.’ He waited while Harper perched on the seat, listening intently. ‘Long ago, in Prague, all the Jews believed they were all going to be killed or expelled from the city,’ Feldman began, the tone of his voice changing as he dredged the story from his memory. ‘But they were lucky; they had a very wise rabbi, a man named Judah Lowe ben Bezalel. He’d studied hard, he’d read all the old texts, and he had an idea. He went down to the river, dug out some clay and made the figure of a man. The rabbi knew the right words to say, all the rituals to make the clay come alive, and he knew the shem – the name of God – to place in his mouth. And the Golem came alive. There are some who say the Golem did what he was made to do, and protected the Jews of Prague from harm. But others claim the Golem fell in love with a girl who rejected him and he began killing people himself. Whatever really happened, the rabbi took the shem from the Golem’s mouth and it fell to pieces.’ He paused. ‘It’s a story with a lesson, Inspector. Creation is a thing for Go
d, not man. We don’t have the power or the wisdom for it.’
‘But they’ve taken the name.’
‘Oh yes,’ Feldman said wearily. ‘That’s the young, they only make out what’s directly before them. They see the surface, they don’t understand yet that there’s far more beneath. Do you want me to tell people that you know who the killers are and that you’re looking for them? If you want me to, I will. But it won’t make them feel any safer. Do you know what safety is, Inspector?’
‘It’s what we give them,’ he answered. ‘The police.’
‘No’ The rabbi shook his head. ‘If you’re Jewish, safety’s a bubble. Very fragile and easily shattered.’
Raised voices came from the back room of Cohen and Sons as he entered, the bell tinkling as he opened the door. The afternoon had grown so close to Friday evening that Harper was surprised the place was still open. The Yiddish words stopped abruptly and Cohen came through, his face red, trying to compose himself.
‘Tom.’ He took a deep breath.
‘Your son?’
Cohen nodded. ‘Israel. The boy’s meshugah. Have you heard about this patrol?’
‘The Golem.’
‘Yes. He wants to go out with them. Do you know what my father would have done if I’d said that?’
Harper remember old Mr Cohen as a stooped, timid man, the soul of kindness.
‘What?’
‘He’d have hit me so hard I’d still be feeling it next week.’ He pursed his lips and shook his head. ‘All Israel tells me is that he has to do it.’
‘Keep him away from them, Moses,’ the inspector warned.
‘Why? What do you know, Tom?’
‘Nothing,’ Harper answered. ‘Honestly. But stop him for his own good. If they’re out on the streets, sooner or later there’s going to be blood.’
Cohen took off his spectacles and rubbed his eyes. ‘I see.’
‘I meant it, Moishe.’ The inspector could hear the urgency in his own voice. ‘If they carry on, I can guarantee that something will happen. People could die. The Golem is just a tale. This is real.’
‘Of course.’ He nodded. ‘Thank you. I’ll talk to him again.’
‘Do. Please.’
Harper turned down North Street, heading home to the Victoria. With luck, Moses would stop his boy. Whether he did it by persuasion or force didn’t matter, as long as he kept the lad at home. Sooner or later the Golem would find someone. Fear always bred violence; he’d been a copper long enough to learn that lesson. And that would bring even more violence, with the police picking up the pieces and trying to restore order. He’d gone twenty yards when he turned and retraced his steps into town, trudging along the Headrow to the infirmary. He was certain Elizabeth would still be there. He’d take her home with him. She needed rest.
So did he. He hadn’t slept since the night before last. And in the morning he had his appointment with the doctor.
The cold drove through to his bones. Even marching, he couldn’t feel any warmth. The air was thick and sooty, bitter on his tongue. The hospital came as warm relief, lights glowing softly in the gloom.
Elizabeth was still on her chair by the bed, still holding Reed’s hand. She looked as if she hadn’t moved since the morning. Billy was still unconscious.
‘Come on,’ he said gently. ‘Let’s go home.’
She followed without question, like a woman in a trance. In the hackney, Elizabeth looked around without seeing.
‘I’m sure he knows you’re there,’ Harper told her.
‘I can’t feel him.’ Her voice seemed far adrift.
‘He’s there. And don’t you worry, we’ll have him back, large as life and twice as ugly.’ He tried to smile. He desperately wanted to believe his own words, to will it to happen. At the Victoria she climbed the stairs like someone ascending a mountain. He held the door and followed her through. Annabelle was waiting, rushing to embrace Elizabeth and raising her eyebrows at her husband with a question. He shook his head.
‘Come and sit down, love,’ Annabelle said. ‘There’s tea in the pot and something to eat in the oven. You must be hungry.’
‘I can’t eat,’ Elizabeth told her.
‘Yes, you can,’ Annabelle told her. ‘You’re not much use if you get poorly, too.’ She fussed and cajoled, putting a plate of oxtail and potatoes in front of the woman, then placing the knife and fork in her hand and standing over her like a mother with a child.
Harper ate hungrily, barely tasting the food but happy to have it fill him. The fire was warm and lulling in the grate. Slowly, he breathed out, letting the day leave.
‘How are things moving along with the shop?’ he asked.
‘The carpenter’s measured. Another week and he should have the shelves up and he’ll make a start on the counter,’ Annabelle said. ‘The sign painter’s coming on Tuesday.’
‘Shop?’ Elizabeth asked quietly. ‘I didn’t know you had a shop.’
Annabelle smiled. ‘A couple of bakeries. It’s nothing fancy.’
‘You’re opening another?’
‘Just over in Burmantofts. See if it can make a bob or two.’
He’d forgotten that Elizabeth worked in a shop. Soon the women were talking quietly, comparing ideas and experiences. At least it brought her out of herself and had her thinking about something besides Billy. Harper finished the cup of tea and rose.
‘I’m off to bed,’ he said. ‘It’s been a long day.’
The sheets were cold and his nightshirt felt awkward and uncomfortable against his skin. His mind wouldn’t slow down, spinning around everything he needed to do in the morning and delving back, wondering whether he’d missed anything during the day. He knew he should be out there, still searching, still trying to find Alfred. But he was dog-tired, so weary that his whole body ached. He had to rest, to come at it fresh tomorrow. And this time he’d bloody well get somewhere. At least Elizabeth hadn’t asked how the search was progressing. He couldn’t have lied to her.
Harper still hadn’t drifted off when Annabelle slid under the covers and pushed herself against him.
‘Thank God you’re warm,’ she said with a small shiver, putting an icy hand against his face. ‘What have they said about Billy at the hospital?’
‘There’s nothing they can do until he wakes up and they can see how bad it is. And they don’t know how long that’ll be.’
‘Poor lass,’ she said quietly. ‘I gave her something to help her sleep. She needs it. When we came in on the train from Middleton she was telling me how her first husband died down the pit. If she could make Billy better by herself, he’d be up and running now.’ She hesitated. ‘Do you think he’ll make it, Tom?’
‘I hope so.’ He stayed quiet for a while. ‘At least the talk about shops made her think about something else.’
‘I tell you what, she knows her stuff. If she lived in Leeds I’d hire her like a shot. Get a smile on her face and she’d be wonderful with customers.’
‘Let’s hope she has one soon.’
‘Do you know who did it?’
‘I think so,’ he replied. ‘But I don’t know how to find him. Not yet.’
‘You’ve not forgotten the appointment tomorrow, have you?’ Her voice was taking on a dreamy, sleepy quality. He stroked her hair.
‘No,’ he told her. ‘Don’t worry.’
TWENTY
‘Tilt your head to the side, Mr Harper,’ Dr Kent ordered. ‘A little further, please. Good.’
He felt awkward with his head resting against his shoulder. Exposed. His jacket was hanging on the back of the chair, and he could hear the doctor moving around behind him. Annabelle looked at him, bottom lip pinched between her teeth, reticule clutched on her lap, an inch of ankle and button boot showing under her gown.
The inspector had woken a little after four, groped for his clothes and left for Millgarth, the bitter air icy in his lungs. In the office he riffled quickly through the reports. Nothing new in the search for Fields and the ot
hers. He tossed them aside in frustration. The word was out on Alfred, rewards offered for any information on the attack on Reed. All the grasses had been told, but there hadn’t been a peep yet. And no more word from the hospital. He had Tollman telephone the infirmary for a report. Everything was still the same; Billy hadn’t woken.
By eight he’d toured the early cafés, talking to a succession of snouts, offering money for any leads. But it was as if Alfred didn’t exist. No one had heard of him. He was sick of seeing people shake their heads.
At quarter to nine he walked across the hard ground of Park Square and into the doctor’s office for his appointment. Annabelle was already there, thumbing through a periodical; she smiled as she saw him. She’d dressed in silk, a fashionable bustled gown of purples and lilacs that showed off her shape, corset laced tight, her hair wound up under a black velvet hat.
‘We took a hackney and I left Elizabeth at the hospital,’ she said.
‘Anything more?’
She shook her head. ‘I looked in. He’s still the same. At least she slept last night.’
‘You should take her over to the new shop with you,’ he suggested.
‘That’s not a bad idea,’ she agreed thoughtfully. ‘I know she wants to be with him, but it would be good to drag her away for a little while. Maybe I’ll do that.’
The elegant young clerk came to escort them to the consulting room. Harper’s mouth felt dry. He was scared, afraid of what he might hear. As they rose, Annabelle gave his hand a small squeeze.
Kent listened carefully as the inspector recounted the problems with his ear, making notes on a page. He asked questions about the recent hearing losses, his experiences with other doctors, then had him sit on the chair that caught the light through the window.
‘I’m going to examine your ear now, Mr Harper,’ he explained, easing in the cold metal of an instrument and peering through a lens. ‘There’s plenty of wax there,’ he said after a while. ‘I can remove that and it will help, but it’s not the cause.’ And he asked Harper to tilt his head.
‘This will feel warm,’ the doctor said. ‘It won’t hurt. I’ll put a little cotton wool in after. Keep it there for an hour.’ It was an odd sensation, curiously pleasant. It relaxed him, and then he felt the cotton and his hearing vanished in the ear. ‘You can raise your head now, and sit by your wife.’
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