Two Bronze Pennies

by Chris Nickson

  ‘I went all the way into Meanwood. No one else knew them.’

  ‘Right.’ He paced, urgency and excitement rushing through him. ‘Go on home. You’ve covered a few miles today, and you’ve done some outstanding work. We’ll start again in the morning.’

  ‘Yes, sir. The word is that Mr Reed’s getting married. Is that right?’

  The inspector stared at him. ‘How did you hear that?’

  ‘Just talk around the station.’

  He hadn’t told anyone. No one else had visited Billy. It was as if the gossip had blown in with the breeze.

  ‘It’s true, but don’t go spreading it yet.’

  ‘Don’t you worry, sir. I’ll keep it quiet,’ he said with a wink. ‘Goodnight.’

  TWENTY-FOUR

  The inspector was back in the office well before seven, early enough to pay the working man’s fare on the first tram. A few light snowflakes swirled as he walked through the market, arcs of light from the gas lamps piercing the early gloom. It was Monday and all the factories were back at work. He could already smell the smoke in the air and taste the soot as he breathed.

  He hadn’t slept much during the night, shifting here and there in the bed until Annabelle complained. He didn’t know how to find the killers. But they were still in Leeds; he’d bet his pay packet on that. And Alfred … The inspector took a drink from the cup of tea in front of him. He’d see the man in court. He’d make sure of it.

  Harper glanced through the reports. The Golem had been out again, but there’d been no trouble. He shook his head. They were fearful and they were bitter. It was only a matter of time before something terrible happened.

  Ash arrived right on the hour, looking rested and ready for anything. But there was nothing for him to do. Nowhere to look, no leads to follow. Before Harper could issue any orders, Superintendent Kendall came through in full dress uniform, shoes bulled to a perfect sheen. The first funerals from the Wortley fire; he’d be attending those today.

  ‘Alfred with the murderers?’ Kendall raised his eyebrows as he read the report Harper had prepared. ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘As much as I can be. Who else can it be, sir?’

  ‘Any idea who he is yet?’

  ‘No one’s heard of him.’

  ‘Someone must have. Any more leads on the killers?’

  ‘Not yet.’ It hurt him to admit it, to say he’d failed. ‘I’ve had sweeps going through town but they haven’t turned up anything.’

  ‘Put more men on it.’ He tapped his finger on the paper. ‘I want them all and I want them soon.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘I had to go to a dinner last night. Councillor May was a speaker. He thinks we could cut a hundred men from the force.’ Kendall shook his head in disgust.

  ‘We’d never be able to do our job,’ Harper said. ‘It’d be anarchy out there.’

  ‘Try telling him that. I wanted to stand up and shout it out.’ He sighed helplessly. ‘I’m told that patrol was back out in the Leylands last night. What do they call themselves?’

  ‘The Golem, sir.’

  The superintendent grimaced in distaste. ‘Stupid bloody name. We need this closed before anything else happens there, Tom.’

  ‘I know, sir. I just don’t have any idea where to look.’

  ‘Then start over,’ he ordered. ‘I stopped at the hospital. Reed’s improving.’

  ‘Yes, sir. I saw him yesterday. It’s still going to take a while, though.’

  ‘He’s on the mend, that’s what counts.’ Kendall’s eyes flickered over to the office. ‘What about Ash? Is he good?’

  ‘Very. He’s been wasted on the beat.’

  ‘Do you want him full-time?’

  ‘We need him, sir. We’ve been short for a while.’

  The superintendent nodded. ‘Leave it with me, I’ll see what I can do. I’ll be gone most of the day, so I’ll need you to keeping checking here in case there are any problems.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘Those poor families are going to suffer today.’ Kendall shook his head sadly. ‘Eleven dead in the end. You know the worst part, Tom? We’re going to need plenty of coppers there. Penny to a pound the crowd will be full of pickpockets.’

  Harper didn’t even bother to answer. All the crooks would be drawn to the funerals. They’d see opportunity, not mourning.

  Kendall picked up a pen, threw it back down, then stood. ‘Right. I’d better present myself at the Town Hall. We’re all going out together. Just look after the place today.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  The next hour flew by with this and that, all the business of running the station. It bought him time to think, but even when the rush had passed he didn’t know what to do. He sent Ash out for the morning to supervise the sweeps. Maybe luck would smile on them.

  There were papers to read and sign, rosters to check and change. By the time he’d completed all the paperwork it was past eleven and his belly was rumbling. The inspector glanced out of the window. Snow was falling hard again. A bad day for a funeral.

  Wrapped in his coat, he made his way through the market. There were few sellers outside today, just the hopeful, eyes searching passers-by for custom. Even Pie Jack hadn’t bothered and Pea Ned’s booth was empty. If they were gone then business was bad.

  The café was quiet, the windows running with condensation, the air heavy with steam. Harper ordered soup and tea. Enough to warm him and keep his belly full during the afternoon. He ate, but the food sat heavily. Too much frustration in his stomach, he thought. There’d be indigestion later.

  ‘Penny for them, Inspector?’ Tom Maguire sat across from him and a waitress appeared with his sandwich and cup of tea. ‘You don’t look like a happy man.’

  ‘Work.’ He wiped a slice of bread around the bowl to mop up the last of the soup.

  ‘I heard you found one of the killers.’

  ‘We did. And he was already dead. Not the rest. Not yet.’

  ‘I was going to send you a note this afternoon.’ Maguire had shaved his beard, leaving a moustache waxed to points at the ends. It suited him.

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘There are some men in a rooming house up on Arundel Street. Three of them. That’s what one of my members told me. Very suspicious, he thought. It might be worth a look. Of course, you didn’t hear that from me.’ He winked.

  ‘Of course.’ Harper smiled eagerly. ‘I don’t suppose he told you what number?’

  ‘Twenty-six,’ he said. ‘He dislikes killers more than he dislikes coppers.’

  Harper nodded. ‘And you?’

  ‘Me?’ Maguire gave him an innocent stare. ‘I haven’t said a word, Inspector.’ He took a last, large bite of the sandwich and washed it down with tea before standing. ‘I’ll bid you good day.’

  He’d hoped for luck and it had finally come. He was going to bloody well have them.

  Harper hurried back through the snow to Millgarth, and called Sergeant Tollman into the office.

  ‘I need six constables. Big ones.’

  The sergeant ran a tongue over his teeth. ‘It’ll take me about an hour, sir.’

  ‘As soon as you can.’ Ash should be back by them. He thought quickly. With this weather, the men probably wouldn’t have left their lodgings; it was no day to be walking the streets without purpose. He could feel the excitement rising inside. He was going to arrest them. And he’d make them give up Alfred.

  Time passed slowly. He kept checking his pocket watch; barely a minute had passed each time. Ash returned, shaking his head, then brightening once the inspector told him the plan.

  ‘About bloody time, if you ask me, sir.’ He smiled. ‘I’ve been looking forward to getting my hands on them.’

  ‘So have I,’ Harper said slowly. ‘So have I.’

  Tollman gave him the nod.

  ‘The beat officer will meet you at the corner of Roseville Road,’ he said.

  The jail cart was in the yard, a horse in the traces, men in unifo
rm waiting. The snow was still coming down, muffling every sound. Harper shuffled through it. It was up to the top of his boots now, a good two inches more than earlier, and no sign of slowing.

  They made a grim procession, but there were few out and about to notice. Most people were at work, or hidden away in their houses. At least they’d be dry, the inspector thought. A few might even be warm.

  He tried to picture Arundel Street in his mind. Back-to-back houses, he recalled that. And beyond, plenty of open ground that led to the back of the brick works and the workhouse. He’d need men there to cut off any escape.

  They passed the Victoria and made their way up Roundhay Road. He could have sat with the cart driver, but it was quicker and warmer to walk.

  The constable was exactly where Tollman had promised, walking in small circles as he waited, saluting the inspector.

  ‘PC Crisp, sir.’ He was in his forties, a lean man with some grey in his hair and a serious face.

  ‘What can you tell me?’

  ‘As far as I know, they’re still in there, sir. Twenty-six is a lodging house, all right, just the far side of the privies. Run by Mr Grimes. He’s a widower, lets out the bedrooms upstairs. Never been too fussed who he takes in.’

  ‘We’ll leave the wagon on Bayswater Road. How easy is it to get through to the waste ground at the end?’

  ‘Just over the wall, people do it all the time.’

  ‘How well do you know Grimes?’

  ‘As well as most of them, sir. Enough to pass the time of day.’ He gave a quick smile. ‘He’s not what you’d call friendly. Not with coppers, any road.’

  ‘Right.’ He motioned for the others to join him and sent two off to the waste land. Another pair to cover the top end of the street. That left two to go into the house with him and Ash. It should be enough. ‘Crisp, when we’re ready, I want you to knock on the door. Grimes will open up for you. When he does, I’ll come through with the others. If Mr Grimes starts to object, keep him out of the way.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  Finally, they were ready. Harper glanced at the men in front of him. One looked nervous; it was his first time doing anything like this. Another had his teeth clenched and his truncheon drawn. Ash’s face was impassive, giving nothing away. The inspector nodded and they marched down the street, boots silent on the snow.

  Crisp knocked and took a pace away from the door. Harper and the others stood on the far side, out of view of anyone peeking through the window. He heard the handle turn and tensed.

  ‘Hello, Mr Grimes, I’m sorry to bother you—’ Crisp began, then the inspector was moving, brushing the man aside and pounding up the stairs, the others behind him. Two closed doors. He pushed one open. An empty room. He tried the other.

  Two figures sat on the bed, playing cards. They started to rise as he entered, then the inspector moved aside to let Ash and the constables enter. He recognized Briggs from his photograph. The other had sallow skin, lank hair and a face like a rat; that had to be Hill. But there was no Anderson.

  ‘We’ve been looking for you gentlemen,’ he said, satisfaction in his voice. ‘I want to talk to you about a few murders. Where’s Jack Anderson?’

  ‘He went out to buy baccy,’ Hill replied, still astonished.

  ‘Take them away,’ the inspector ordered, and ran down the stairs. Crisp was standing in the street, arguing with Grimes.

  ‘Where’s the closest shop?’ Harper asked.

  ‘Up on Gledhow Road,’ the constable told him. ‘Why?’

  ‘Come with me.’ He began to sprint through the snow, the hobnails on his soles gripping the ground. Crisp struggled to keep pace.

  He saw it on the corner, the glow of light through large windows, and he moved faster, tearing open the door. But the only person inside was a small woman behind the counter.

  ‘Has someone been in here to buy tobacco?’

  She looked at him with terrified eyes, dumbstruck until Crisp entered.

  ‘Was there someone here buying tobacco?’ the inspector repeated.

  ‘Not five minutes since,’ she answered warily.

  ‘Big, fair hair?’

  She nodded.

  ‘Thank you.’

  Outside, he looked around. But with the snow coming down he couldn’t see more than twenty yards. Anderson must have spotted them and taken off. He slammed a palm against the brick wall and swore.

  ‘What is it, sir?’ Crisp asked.

  ‘We missed one of them.’

  ‘But you still found two,’ the constable said. ‘That’s not bad, is it?’

  ‘No,’ Harper agreed wearily. ‘A decent day’s work.’

  They’d dragged Briggs and Hill away without boots or coats, bundling them into the jail cart to go to Millgarth. Now they were in the unheated cells, wet, cold and shivering.

  ‘You take Hill,’ the inspector told Ash. ‘He looks like he’ll cave with a little intimidation.’

  ‘Right you are, sir.’

  ‘And don’t be afraid to push him hard.’

  The constable smiled. ‘I saw what they did to Sergeant Reed. I’ll not be holding back.’

  Harper was waiting in the interview room when they brought Briggs in, still wearing handcuffs. He was in his thirties, a man with bony arms and a pigeon chest. His cheeks were sunk where he’d lost most of his teeth, and the hair was receding away from his forehead. Old before his time, just like so many. He looked as if he’d barely had a decent meal in his life, and all the food in the world wouldn’t be enough for him.

  ‘Sit down.’ The man shuffled and settled on the chair. He was shivering. Harper picked up the cup of tea, steam still rising from its surface, and took a slow drink. ‘You know why you’re here.’

  ‘No,’ the man replied, but there was no defiance or force in the word. Good, it shouldn’t take long to break him down.

  ‘I’ll tell you, then. One, the murder of Abraham Levy on Christmas Eve. Two, trying to set fire to the synagogue on Belgrave Street. Three, the killing of Rabbi Padewski on New Year’s Eve. Four, assault with intent to murder on Sergeant Reed. And finally, strangling Clem Fields.’ He raised his eyebrows. ‘Is that enough for you? Every one of them will get you the gallows.’

  ‘I never,’ he objected, but his heart wasn’t in the words.

  ‘You went drinking with Fields, Hill and Anderson at the Anchor most nights?’

  Briggs nodded.

  ‘Thursdays you’d go the George the Fourth on Meanwood Road.’

  Panic crossed the man’s face. His mouth twitched.

  ‘You met someone out there every week,’ Harper continued.

  The man raised his head and jutted out his chin. ‘No. We just liked somewhere different.’

  Harper threw the cup across the room. It shattered against the wall, liquid dripping down on to the floor. ‘Don’t bloody lie to me.’

  Briggs gulped. ‘We didn’t meet no one.’

  It would wait; he’d come back to that later.

  ‘We found Fields’s knife where the rabbi was murdered and fish scales at the scene. We know he didn’t do it alone. Someone saw four men.’ Briggs wouldn’t know it was a lie. ‘The description of one of them fits you.’

  ‘Prove it.’

  ‘Where were you New Year’s Eve?’

  The man looked away. ‘Don’t remember.’

  ‘You want me to tell you?’ He leaned across the table, grabbing the man’s shirt and pulling him close enough to see the terror in his eyes. ‘You were in the Leylands, killing Rabbi Padewski. And two days later you killed Clem Fields. What did you think, we wouldn’t come looking once we had him?’

  He waited for Briggs but the man didn’t answer, just tried to avert his gaze. The man was shaking with cold, little spasms passing through his body. The inspector let him go, then turned and left the room, nodding for a constable to stand inside the door and watch Briggs.

  The office was warm and for a few minutes he kept himself busy, sorting through papers. He stood
by the window, staring out. The snow had left a covering that blurred edges and hid shapes. The day had ended, a night fog clamping down to hold Leeds close.

  The inspector waited half an hour before going back to the interview room. Briggs looked colder, his body hunched in on itself as he tried to keep warm.

  ‘You know you’re going to hang,’ Harper began. ‘Your friend’s singing so loud he should be a choir.’

  ‘He wouldn’t.’

  ‘No?’ The inspector smiled. ‘When someone tries to kill one of ours, we get very nasty. And Constable Ash worked with Sergeant Reed. He took it all personally.’ He let the words hang. ‘Now, what do you want to tell me?’

  ‘I don’t have anything to tell!’ Briggs shouted.

  ‘Oh, you do.’ Harper smiled and sat. ‘And I have all night to listen. There’s you, with a wife and children, and we find you in a rooming house. Bit rum, isn’t it? Why don’t we start there?’

  TWENTY-FIVE

  Elizabeth had arrived with the end of the afternoon. He’d spent the day shifting between dozing and listening to all the sounds of the hospital – the squeaky wheels of carts, footsteps slow and fast, voices, the clatter of pans – until he wasn’t sure what was sleep and what was waking. But none of the old nightmares had visited him since he’d been here.

  Time and again he tried to recall the attack. He could see himself on the omnibus, feel the frustration as it sat there, nowhere to go with traffic all around. He could remember climbing off the platform, the hard road under his soles.

  And that was all. After that there was still only emptiness. No faces, no voices, no blows.

  Reed opened his eyes, throat dry, and started to reach out for the water glass. His shoulder ached as he moved; he still felt weak.

  ‘I’ll get that, love,’ Elizabeth said. He looked at her, his vision sharp enough now to pick out every feature on her face. Her eyes were wide and she was smiling.

  ‘How long have you been here?’ he asked as she held his head and he drank.

  ‘Not too long. You were resting, I didn’t want to disturb you.’

  ‘I’m fine. Did you go to Burmantofts?’

  She nodded. ‘It’s a grand little shop, Billy, it’ll do well. And we looked at a few houses. Mrs Harper has a friend who owns some property there. He took us to a right nice place. Lovely through terrace. Two bedrooms.’