Gods of Gold

by Chris Nickson

  ‘Everything.’ She arched her brows and he began to understand. Very slowly she walked over to him, then gradually raised the hem of her skirt to display her stockings, higher and higher until he could see the garters above her knees. ‘Do you remember what I said when we first met? I told you they were blue.’

  TWENTY

  He felt her leave the bed. The darkness beyond the curtains was starting to fade. He knew he ought to rise too, dress and go down to the station. But he was warm and comfortable, not ready to move just yet.

  Annabelle had been passionate and willing, and he’d sloughed off his tiredness for a little while. When it was over, he’d rolled on to his back, her head on his chest, hair tickling him as their sweat began to cool. Before he’d fallen into a deep, dreamless sleep, in a very small voice she’d said, ‘Tom, I know your job takes a lot. But make sure you leave some time for us, please.’

  He eased his way out of bed, fumbling around in the blackness for his clothes. By the time Annabelle returned with a candle he’d found everything but his boots.

  ‘What time is it?’ he asked, groping for his watch.

  ‘Just gone four.’

  He pulled her close and kissed her. Her hair was down, uncombed and wiry against his hand. She pulled away and smiled.

  ‘There’ll be time enough for that tonight,’ she told him teasingly. ‘Cassie lit the fire earlier so the kettle’s on.’ She marched across the room, letting the nightgown fall behind her. He watched as she dressed, enjoying the view of her body as she put on bloomers, corset, skirt and blouse, finishing with the soft sensuality of rolling stockings up her legs. ‘Liked that, did you?’ she asked with a wink.

  ‘Very much,’ he replied, his voice husky.

  ‘Come back tonight. Play your cards right and there’ll be a repeat performance.’

  It was six by the time he reached Millgarth; the day men were starting their shift, a parade of constables leaving for their beats. He settled at his desk, checking through reports. There was nothing to interest him.

  Reed arrived a few minutes later, the bowler perched at a jaunty angle on his head and a smile on his face.

  ‘You look happy,’ Harper observed. ‘Better than yesterday, any road.’

  ‘I’m just in a good mood. Something’s going to happen today.’

  ‘Let’s hope. Made up your mind about tomorrow?’

  ‘Tomorrow?’ Reed asked, confused.

  ‘Middleton,’ the inspector reminded him. ‘To see that lass.’

  ‘See how I feel in the morning.’ It was a lie. He’d already decided to go. He’d agreed and she’d be waiting; he owed her an appearance and a few hours of his time. The chances were they’d never meet again after that. ‘I’m off to see the man at the Turkish bath again this morning. He knows something, he just won’t say.’

  ‘Do you want me there?’ It was more than an offer; it was a warning.

  ‘I’ll be fine.’ He was about to say more when Tollman, the desk sergeant, came through with an envelope.

  ‘For you, sir,’ he said to Harper. ‘A lad brought it.’

  The inspector raised his eyebrows and ripped it open, eyes skimming across the words. Then he stood, reaching for his hat and his stick, pushing the note into his jacket.

  ‘Come along, Billy,’ he said. ‘We have someone to see.’

  ‘Who?’ the sergeant asked as they made their way through the throng of early Saturday shoppers. Commercial Street was already busy, carts parked at the roadside as they delivered packages.

  They turned the corner to Lands Lane under the towering sign for the Salvation Army Temperance Society, then along Albion Place, passing the printer’s and finally stopping outside Moore’s Belfast Linen Warehouse on Albion Street. Harper inclined his head.

  ‘Up there,’ he said.

  The sign in the windows showed Radcliffe and Wills, Chartered Accountants on the second floor of the building.

  ‘Tosh Walker’s accountant?’ Reed guessed.

  ‘Robert Radcliffe.’ He produced the note he’d received and passed it over. ‘It’s from John Call, that fence down at Bridge End.’

  The writing was spidery, an awkward, uneducated scrawl across the paper.

  Look at the places Walker owns. His accountant knows. See Robert Radcliffe.

  ‘Do you think there’s anything in it?’

  ‘We won’t know until we ask.’ He pushed open a small door and climbed the stairs. There was just a small brass plaque on the wall to announce the business.

  Three clerks were hunched over their desks, going through figures in ledgers. One raised his head.

  ‘Can I help you, sir?’

  ‘Is Mr Radcliffe in?’

  The man bit his lip for a moment before replying. ‘No, sir.’

  ‘When do you expect him?’

  The other clerks had put up their pens. The first man glanced at them.

  ‘I’m not sure, sir.’

  ‘I’m Detective Inspector Harper, Leeds Police.’

  For a moment the man seemed to give a sigh of relief. ‘Mr Radcliffe received a note yesterday afternoon and left without a word. We haven’t seen him since, sir.’

  Harper could feel the hair rise on his arms. ‘Who brought it?’

  ‘A young man. I’d never seen him before.’

  ‘And Mr Wills? Is he here?’

  ‘Mr Wills been dead for five years, sir.’

  ‘Where does Mr Radcliffe live?’

  ‘Chapel Allerton, sir.’

  ‘Can you find me his address, please?’

  As the man turned away, Reed asked, ‘Is he married?’

  ‘No, sir. His wife died two years ago.’

  ‘You’re the accountants for Tosh Walker, I believe,’ Harper said.

  The man dipped his head in acknowledgement. ‘We are, sir.’

  ‘And Mr Radcliffe took care of that himself?’

  ‘Always, sir,’ the clerk answered carefully. ‘His personal business.’

  ‘Are all Mr Walker’s files still in the office?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’ He hesitated. ‘Mr Radcliffe took nothing with him.’

  ‘Show them to the sergeant, please.’ He turned to Reed. ‘You know what to look for, Billy: all the properties Walker owns. I’m going to search for Radcliffe.’

  The omnibuses to Chapel Allerton only ran every hour on a Saturday. He didn’t have that time to waste today. Instead he hailed a hackney, and the driver urged the horse on as he negotiated the traffic along North Street then the more open spaces of Harrogate Road. The case was costing him a fortune in fares.

  The accountant had done well for himself, he thought as he paid the cabman. A detached house of stone set back from the main road, close to the bowling green of the Mexborough Arms.

  He rang the bell, hearing it jingle, and waited. Finally the maid arrived, looking at him curiously.

  ‘Is Mr Radcliffe at home? I’m Detective Inspector Harper, Leeds Police.’

  ‘No, sir,’ she answered in surprise. ‘He hasn’t been here since yesterday morning.’

  ‘Were you expecting him last night?’

  The girl nodded and Harper thought quickly. ‘Does he sometimes go off without warning or not come back?’

  ‘Not since the missus died, sir. He might come back late from work or a night out but he always comes home.’

  ‘Does he have any family?’

  ‘Two sons and four daughters, sir. But they’re all grown and married, scattered across the county. He wouldn’t have gone off to see any of them just like that.’

  ‘When he returns, can you ask him to get in touch with me? I’m at Millgarth Station.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’ She hesitated. ‘Do you think anything’s happened to him?’

  ‘Probably not,’ he lied. If he was right, Radcliffe had run. Very far and very fast. A note and he’d been on his way. But leaving Tosh’s accounts was a big mistake.

  There were no hackneys in Chapel Allerton. Precious little of anything,
really, only a few shops along the main road and a couple of pubs. He waited impatiently for the omnibus to take him back to town. A few carriages passed, heading into Leeds. It was quiet out here; there was a gentle pace to life. He hated it. Give him people and noise any day of the week.

  It was more than an hour before he was back at the station, desperate to move on. Reed had two large ledgers open on his desk, each filled with beautiful copperplate writing.

  ‘Did you find him?’ the sergeant asked.

  ‘Never went home,’ Harper said. ‘He’s done a flit. I think we can guess who sent the letter.’

  ‘I’d like to know what was in it,’ Reed said. ‘I sent someone to check that Walker hasn’t vanished, too.’

  ‘Not Tosh,’ the inspector replied with certainty. ‘He won’t go anywhere.’

  ‘Why would he tell Radcliffe to run, then stay himself? That doesn’t make sense.’

  ‘Because he’s an arrogant bastard. He’s beaten us before and he thinks he can do it again. He’ll brazen it out. Tosh just wants to be sure there’s no one else around to tell on him, that’s all. What have you found?’

  ‘Walker’s been a busy lad. He owns small factories, shops, you name it.’

  ‘Houses?’

  ‘I’ve counted two so far. I’m still looking.’ He was halfway through the second book.

  ‘Do you have the dates he acquired them?’

  ‘I’m making notes. I’ll be finished in an hour or so.’

  ‘I’ll come back and we can look.’

  The market was busy. Sellers yelled their goods to the crowds, everything from plates and cups to vegetables and meat. Old women dressed in constant mourning haggled over the price of a potato; every farthing saved was precious in their purses. He picked his way through the people, sliding by a girl hawking bunches of fragrant lavender. There was an air of happiness. The strike was over. The stokers had reported back to work the night before and by Sunday evening the gas should be flowing again.

  The workers had won, and that would bring a smile to everyone with an employer. It gave hope to them all. He made his way through to Kirkgate by Old Crown Yard, the smell from the tripe shop next door almost overpowering, and across the street to the union office. There were few enough men around this morning, and the ones remaining looked bleary-eyed but triumphant, unshaved and battered by a long night.

  Maguire was holding court on the front step, a bottle of whisky in one hand, the other leaning lazily against the door jamb. His loud check suit was wrinkled, the worse for wear, and his expression was wild and gleeful, a man enjoying his victory.

  ‘Mr Harper!’ he cried, speech slurred. ‘Come to help us celebrate?’ He raised the bottle in a toast.

  The inspector smiled. ‘It looks as if you’ve managed very well without me.’

  ‘Lads, lads.’ Maguire addressed those around him, wavering as he stood. ‘Inspector Harper here isn’t just a policeman, he’s a grand fellow, too.’ They looked at him sceptically. ‘He believes. He’s a friend.’ They still looked uncertain, but parted to let him among them.

  ‘I need a word with you,’ he whispered in Maguire’s ear and the man nodded.

  ‘Go home now, lads,’ he said. ‘Go and sleep the sleep of the just and the brave.’

  The office was stuffy, the shutters still closed, clouds of dust motes floating in the air. Maguire slumped into his chair and leaned back, yawning. He loosened the collar of his shirt, revealing his neck lined with grime.

  ‘What can I do for you, Mr Harper?’ He took another swig, washing it around his mouth before he swallowed it. ‘You want some?’ The inspector shook his head and Maguire roared with laughter. ‘It’s only ginger beer in a whisky bottle. I’d never have lasted if I’d been drinking spirits. But people expect me to be a certain way and I can’t let them down.’ He cocked an eyebrow. ‘So?’

  ‘You heard what happened to Councillor Cromwell.’

  ‘I did.’ He shook his head. ‘I loathed the man but I’d never have wished that on him. Was it shame, do you think?’

  ‘I think it had more to do with Tosh Walker.’

  Maguire nodded slowly. ‘Ah, a very bad man, from all I hear.’

  ‘Do you know him?’

  ‘I’ve managed to avoid the pleasure.’

  ‘Does anyone in the union know him?’

  Maguire shrugged. ‘Maybe. Why do you want to know?’

  ‘Police business.’

  ‘That old chestnut.’ He smiled.

  ‘But true,’ Harper said. ‘Can you ask and see if anyone knows anything?’

  ‘I will. It might take a few days.’ He gestured at the empty room. ‘They’re all sleeping it off, at least the ones who aren’t already back at work.’

  ‘You know where to find me.’

  ‘I’ll send word,’ Maguire said and winked. He’d never willingly set foot in a police station, Harper knew.

  Before he returned to Millgarth he stopped at the café by the market. He’d left the Victoria before breakfast, with just a cup of tea to fill him. He could feel his belly beginning to rumble.

  Reed was finishing up the second ledger. His suit jacket was over the back of the chair, his sleeves rolled up.

  ‘Almost done,’ he said. ‘It’s quite a list.’

  A few minutes later it was complete.

  ‘What are we looking for?’ he asked.

  ‘A house, not a factory or a business.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘We want somewhere he might take girls, somewhere no one will see or hear things.’

  ‘If we take out the back-to-backs, we’re left with five. I don’t know what they’re like but they’re all out in the suburbs.’ He took his pen and underlined the addresses.

  ‘That one’s where Walker lives,’ the inspector told him. ‘Forget that.’

  ‘Four, then. Which ones do you want?’

  ‘I’ll go east, you go west.’

  ‘Meet back here?’ Reed asked as he put the bowler hat on his head.

  ‘Yes.’

  Harper was about to leave when Tollman, the desk sergeant, called his name.

  ‘There’s a telephone call for you, sir.’

  The inspector had been here when the instrument was installed. Like everyone else he’d looked at it in a mix of wonder and fear. But he’d never used it, never needed to. He eyed the machine warily.

  ‘It’s the governor at Armley jail,’ Tollman continued.

  Harper picked up the receiver, not sure which end was which until the sergeant nodded at him. He held it against his good ear and said, ‘Hello?’

  At first the sound in his ear crackled and sputtered. He knew it was science, that being able to talk to someone sitting miles away was progress, the future. But it seemed strangely like magic. There were so few telephones around that hardly anyone at the station had ever used one. The voice cleared and he could finally hear the governor.

  ‘… we’ve had to put her into Menston.’

  ‘Who?’ he asked. ‘I couldn’t make out what you said.’

  ‘Betty Parkinson.’ The man sounded exasperated. ‘She’s become more and more hysterical since you told her about her husband and daughter. The doctor saw her again today and committed her to Menston. I wanted you to know.’

  ‘Thank you,’ he said and added, ‘Goodbye’ before returning the handset to the cradle, very gently in case it broke.

  ‘Bad news, sir?’ Tollman asked.

  ‘Yes,’ he answered slowly, ‘it was.’

  Menston, he thought. That was what everyone called the place. It had only opened a couple of years before, the West Riding Pauper Lunatic Asylum as it was properly known. He’d never been there, but he knew enough about it to understand that Betty would probably be a patient for a long time.

  Behind the market, he found a hackney at the stand and gave the cab driver an address in Oakwood. As they went up Roundhay Road he began to feel he’d been this way too often lately. And he wondered if it would have helped
Betty if he’d gone back during the week to see her. But what could he have said? Even now they weren’t any nearer to finding Martha, alive or dead.

  The cab passed Cromwell’s house. The curtains were drawn and the place seemed empty. No more than three minutes later, the cab turned into a street of solid, respectable houses, each set well apart from the other. Number five was new enough for the stone to retain its pale golden colour. It seemed substantial, planted in the ground. Harper walked along the path and knocked at the door.

  The maid eyed him warily, even when he gave his rank.

  ‘Who lives here?’ he asked.

  She looked at him as if he was stupid. ‘Dr Binns and his family,’ she said witheringly. ‘Don’t you know who you’ve come to see?’

  ‘Thank you,’ he told her, tipping his hat and walking back to the cab.

  The second address was on Street Lane, the other side of Roundhay Park. Another large house, the front lawn elaborate and neat. As soon as the maid opened the door he could hear the sounds of a family inside, made his excuses and left.

  All the way back to Millgarth he hoped Reed had found something, anything. He’d bet so much on this. He’d been so certain that he was right, that Walker was behind it all. If they came up with nothing they’d have to look at the other properties. And if nothing came up from that search, what then?

  ‘Well?’ he asked as the sergeant entered the office.

  ‘Both rented to families. You?’

  ‘The same with mine.’ Harper had been looking at the list, putting marks next to several more addresses. ‘I’ll have the constables check these. We should know by the end of the day. Go through those ledgers again and see if you missed anything. Are you sure that’s everything of Walker’s?’

  ‘It’s everything the clerk gave me.’

  Harper could feel the tension throughout his body. Every fibre seemed to prickle inside his skin. He was right, he knew he was right. He had to be right. It was Tosh Walker, he was certain of it.

  But right now he could almost hear the man laughing at them.

  TWENTY-ONE

  ‘Nothing,’ Reed said in exasperation, throwing the pen across the desk.

  ‘You’re sure?’

  ‘I’m bloody positive.’ His voice rose. ‘For God’s sake, I’ve been through it all four times. There’s nothing else in Walker’s name.’