Modern Crimes

by Chris Nickson

  ‘So you got married,’ Andrea said, looking down at the ring.

  ‘Yes. Do you remember Geoff Armstrong? The procurement officer who liaised at the factory?’

  ‘I think so. Is he the one who was hurt at Gallipoli?’

  ‘That’s the one. He’s a lovely man. What about you? Never wed?’

  Andrea shook her head. ‘Came close once. I was keen.’ She gave a wry laugh. ‘Turned out he wasn’t.’ A long, wistful pause. ‘Do you remember Armistice Day?’

  ‘Not much of it,’ Lottie laughed. Groups of the Barnbow lasses had gone into town to celebrate the end of the war. Walking around and singing. Not having to pay for a drink anywhere. Late in the evening hundreds of them had gathered in City Square, belting out Goodbyee and Tipperary, kissing any serviceman they could find.

  Five minutes more of conversation and she left. The woman would telephone, Lottie was certain; she’d left with the promise of it.

  McMillan was waiting in the car, turning the pages of the Daily Express.

  ‘Any luck?’ he asked. From his face it was obvious that Donough have given him short shrift.

  ‘More than you’d imagine,’ Lottie told him.

  ‘How long do you think it’ll take her to find that name?’ he asked as he drove.

  ‘I’ve no idea.’ He was eager, of course. But there was nothing she could do to speed things along. ‘What happened with him?’

  ‘He saw me, listened to the first question and told me to get out.’

  ‘What about this garage he owns? The car could have come from there.’

  ‘I’ll check and send a pair of uniforms.’ They went by Woodhouse Moor, the trees beginning to lose their leaves. Another week and it would be Woodhouse Feast, fairground rides and gramophone music. She and Cathy would be on a later shift, patrolling the area and keeping their eyes open for the young girls who’d be prowling around. With the night, the noise, and all the people it wasn’t easy. But it was fun, too. Stallholders would slip them something to eat, people were friendly for the most part, eager to laugh and just have fun.

  ‘You’re smiling,’ McMillan said.

  ‘Just thinking.’

  ‘I hear you and your oppo have a case, too.’

  ‘Cathy’s probably wrapped it all up by now. I’ll see when we get back to the station.’

  She found Cathy in the toilet. It had once been for civilian staff; all they’d done was change the sign. She was leaning over a washbasin, hands on the rim, head down.

  ‘What is it?’ Lottie put her arms around the woman’s shoulders. ‘What’s happened?’

  Cathy drew in a breath. ‘He arrested her.’

  ‘Who?’

  Cathy turned her head. Her face was a mass of bruises, just beginning to flower. Her bottom lip had swollen, creased by a cut.

  ‘My God. What…?’

  ‘Mrs Manningham.’ The words sounded thick in her mouth. ‘I started to question her and she went for me. Someone saw it and ran off to find the copper on the beat. He pulled her off and put the handcuffs on her.’ She stared at Lottie. ‘Jimmy’s going to be home in a few hours. What am I going to do? First he thinks I’m going with other men and now this.’

  All the make-up in the world wouldn’t hide the injuries. She’d wanted to look good for her husband’s return and no wonder Cathy seemed so defeated. And after six months away…

  ‘First of all we’re going to get you cleaned up.’ Lottie turned on the water and pushed up her sleeves. ‘Then we’ll decide.’

  After a wash she looked a little better, but it was still bad. If she were to go home like that Geoff would go through the roof, and demand that she leave the force. What would Jimmy do? She couldn’t even guess.

  ‘You’re going to have to tell him what happened today.’

  ‘I know.’ Cathy rubbed her cheek. ‘God, I think the cow loosened a tooth.’ She grimaced. ‘You know the worst thing? That copper gets credit for the arrest and solving the Moorcroft case.’

  ‘The credit for the case, too?’ That was too much.

  ‘Yes. I was there when she was booked in.’

  ‘But you did all the work on that.’

  ‘You don’t have to tell me.’

  It wasn’t fair. Nothing was, though. They did the job, but there was always someone else ready to step in and grab the glory. All that, even a battering, to make half the money the men were paid. She could leave but what would she do? A housewife? She’d go mad at home all day. Work in a shop? A factory? Domestic service like Andrea? That was if she could even find a job. Millions were looking.

  ‘You go,’ Lottie said. ‘I’ll tell Mrs Maitland you’re not feeling well.’ It was close enough to the truth.

  ‘Jimmy.’ She sounded hopeless.

  Lottie hugged her close. ‘He’ll see you like this and he’ll just be happy to see you again. Trust me.’

  ‘I wanted this to be special.’

  ‘It will be.’ She felt close to tears. Why today, of all days? ‘Now go on. Get yourself ready for him.’

  Mrs Maitland didn’t press the point; she accepted everything with a simple curt nod.

  ‘At least Sergeant McMillan seems willing to give credit where it’s due,’ she said as Lottie stood with her hand on the doorknob.

  ‘That’s very kind of him, ma’am.’

  ‘No, Armstrong. That’s simply how it ought to be.’ She sighed. ‘Still, it’s better than it was during the war. That’s something.’

  ‘Ma’am?’

  ‘The women were all volunteers then. Doing our bit.’

  ‘You were one?’

  Mrs Maitland nodded. ‘Signed up in December ’14 and stayed for the duration. We had to see to the moral welfare of girls. The authorities even ranked the special constables above us.’ She exhaled. ‘So there’s been some improvement. Dismissed.’

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  WHERE do you fancy going?’ Geoff asked.

  Where? Lottie had been thinking about it since she climbed out of bed and put the kettle on the gas. What would make for a memorable first trip on the motorcycle?

  She gathered up the plates. The teapot sat under its cosy, another cup left if he wanted one.

  ‘Skipton.’ It was pure impulse. She’d never been there, didn’t even know much about it. A castle, she remembered that much from school.

  ‘All right,’ he agreed with a smile. ‘Get your skates on and we’ll go.’

  Cheek, she thought. He didn’t have to do the washing up or clear the table. By the time she was ready, wrapped in a heavy coat, a headscarf tied firmly under her chin, he was sitting on the motorbike, turning the throttle gently. A long duster coat over a sports jacket and flannels, a wide grin on his face.

  It was a thrilling ride, there and back. She was grateful for the goggles, and a few times her heart was in her mouth on the corners. But Geoff had been right. It was worth every penny.

  Skipton itself was a disappointment. Pretty in parts, the castle hidden away at the top of the town, staring at the main street and the Saturday market. But the town felt smug, self-satisfied, as if it already had everything it wanted and looked down on the rest. She was glad when Geoff finally suggested they leave.

  At home she suggested fish and chips to round off the day. For a few hours she had been able to escape her thoughts, to outrace them. Now, though, as they walked arm-in-arm down the street, life came rushing back. Jocelyn, probably back in Cross Green. Jane Walker, with her soul hopefully at peace somewhere. And Irene Walker, alive or dead.

  She could smell the frying fish as they crossed Chapeltown Road at the parade.

  ‘Can you get them?’ Lottie asked. ‘I just want to use the telephone box. Don’t forget the scraps and lots of vinegar.’

  She closed the door of the kiosk, feeling the small space around her. She knew the number by heart, dialling it and waiting with the penny in her hand, ready to push it in the box when someone answered.

  ‘Sergeant,’ she said, ‘it’s WPC Arm
strong. Has anyone left a message for me?’

  ‘How would I know?’ The voice was gruff, weary. ‘Let me have a look.’ The man muttered, then he was back. ‘Yes, there’s something from an Andrea Baldwin. Is that what you want? There’s just a man’s name on it. Dennis Wilson.’

  ‘That’s the one. Has DS McMillan seen it?’

  ‘Ee, I don’t know. I only came on shift an hour ago. Your message came in this morning.’

  ‘Could you make sure he sees a copy of it, please?’

  ‘I’ll put it out for him. That’s all I can do.’

  ‘Thanks.’

  She replaced the receiver and pushed the door open. Geoff was waiting, the food wrapped in newspaper in his hand.

  ‘Let’s get home while it’s still warm.’

  ‘Yes,’ she agreed. But she was distracted.

  ‘You can’t do anything about it,’ Geoff told her when she explained. ‘Do you even know how to get hold of this detective?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Then it’s out of your hands.’ He smiled kindly. ‘You’ve done your bit. He knows you were expecting the message, he can look for it.’

  ‘Yes,’ she said again, but she wasn’t convinced.

  The doubts remained all night. Lottie woke every few minutes, heart racing, anxious, lying there as Geoff slept calmly. She heard the dawn chorus, a symphony of birds, and finally slid quietly out of bed, unable to take it any longer.

  The early morning felt chilly as she walked down the street, coat wrapped tight around her, not in uniform today, handbag swinging from her shoulder. All around the curtains were still closed, people enjoying their only full day of rest.

  No trams or buses this early on a Sunday; if she wanted to get to Millgarth, Shank’s Mare was her only option. Down Chapeltown Road and through the slums of Sheepscar and Regent Street. Some of the worst houses had been demolished, leaving small, empty streets of rubble, but far more remained.

  All the walking she did on patrol served her well; by the time she reached the station she felt as if she’d taken nothing more than a stroll. The day was starting to brighten. Geoff would probably want to work in the garden later to finish all the tidying and harvest the last of the potatoes. And he’d mentioned something about adjusting the choke on the motorcycle. No doubt parts of it would be in pieces on the table when she arrived home. If not the wireless, then the bike…

  She wondered about Cathy. With luck she’d have convinced Jimmy there was nothing to the rumours and they’d be back on the road to happiness. Her face would still be a mess, but surely he’d look past that.

  Standing at the desk, she waited for someone to appear. It took the best part of three minutes before the desk sergeant ambled through, a mug of tea in one hand.

  ‘Can I help you, luv?’ he asked.

  ‘I’m WPC Armstrong,’ Lottie told him. ‘You have a message for me.’

  The man’s face hardened. ‘You’re the one who got Tommy Berwick in trouble.’

  All she’d wanted was to forget the matter.

  ‘I think he managed that on his own when he decided to lie.’

  ‘Bloody policewomen. You’re neither use nor ornament.’ He tossed the piece of paper down on the counter and strode away.

  ‘You’re good at making enemies.’

  Lottie turned quickly, ready with a sharp remark. McMillan was leaning against the door, grinning.

  ‘You’re the reason I’m down here on a Sunday morning.’ She held out the note.

  ‘I’m flattered but I saw it yesterday. Spent the rest of the day looking for Dennis Wilson. He appears to have vanished. Did a flit from his lodgings the night after Ronnie Walker was killed.’ He raised an eyebrow. ‘No one in Leeds seems to have seen him since. His best mate skipped at the same time.’

  ‘So you know the names of the killers.’

  ‘For all the good it does us. We’ve put out a bulletin to all the forces around the country. And it doesn’t help us find Irene Walker, either.’ Before she could say anything, he added, ‘Don’t you worry, I hadn’t forgotten about her.’

  ‘How are Wilson and his friend connected to Donough?’

  ‘Nothing directly. They don’t work for any of his businesses. Thugs for hire, mostly. They’ll turn up and we’ll have them. Is that really why you came in, to see I got the information?’

  ‘Why else?’

  ‘I just wondered.’ He jangled the key to the motor car in his fingers. ‘I’ll give you a lift home.’

  ‘Are you any closer to finding Irene?’ she asked as he accelerated away.

  ‘I wish we were.’ His voice was empty. ‘Everywhere we turn is a dead end. If it was up to me we’d have been putting the screws on Walker long ago. But he’s too well-connected.’

  ‘It’s his family, for God’s sake.’

  ‘You don’t need to tell me. We keep going over the same ground with him but it’s like talking to a wall.’

  ‘Can’t you drag Donough in and get something from him?’

  ‘On what grounds? That remark your Jocelyn Hill thinks she heard is the only thing connecting him to Walker. It’s so thin that any lawyer would make us a laughing stock. He’d have his brief down here and be walking out in a quarter of an hour.’

  ‘And in the meantime there are two people dead and a girl missing.’

  ‘I know,’ McMillan said through gritted teeth. ‘Why do you think I’m putting in fifteen-hour days?’ He sighed. ‘If I had anything concrete on Donough I’d have forced a confession out of him. As it is, I’m hunting around for anything at all that links him to Walker. That’s what I’m doing with my weekend.’

  ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘Don’t be.’ He parked by the parade. ‘I wouldn’t have got as far as I have without your help. This is your stop, isn’t it?’

  ‘I keep thinking about Irene Walker. Where she is, how terrified she must be.’ If she was even still alive. But she was going to keep that pushed firmly to the back of her mind.

  ‘I just hope she’s still breathing,’ he said.

  The street was almost empty. A couple of families walking along to the Sunday morning service at St Martin’s. A car passing. She left it all and walked home.

  ‘Well?’ Lottie asked.

  They’d left Millgarth to patrol around the market and Commercial Street. Cathy had arrived just in time for morning report. The bruises had flowered, her face was still swollen, and worry clouded her eyes.

  ‘Step by step.’ She gave a sigh. ‘He didn’t want to believe me at first but I think I’ve convinced him.

  ‘What did he say about your face?’

  ‘Asked what had happened and that was it. But we talked a lot.’

  ‘All weekend?’

  ‘One or two other things.’ A blush rose up her face. ‘I just hope… I’m going to be the best wife he could imagine.’

  ‘It’ll be fine. Give it a little time. You still have to get used to each other.’

  ‘He’s going out job hunting today. Jimmy’s got good qualifications, he should find something quickly.’

  ‘I’m sure he will.’ Lottie didn’t say more. There were too many men looking for jobs that didn’t exist. Men willing to work hard, men who were overqualified for positions but willing to take whatever they could find.

  They cut through by the market clock and down past the fish stalls. Fresh from Grimsby, fresh from Whitby the signs said, even if some of the stock didn’t smell that way. She held her breath until they’d gone by.

  ‘Does Jimmy know people in Leeds?’ It was often easier to find work if there was someone to put in a word for you. But he’d been off in the merchant marine for years.

  ‘His dad and his brother. He popped over to see them yesterday. They’re seeing what they can do. And he has plenty of money from being paid off. We won’t starve.’

  She needed someone to love, someone who was there, not away on an ocean. If they could give it a little time…

  ‘Someone said they saw y
ou in mufti in the station yesterday.’

  ‘I popped in,’ Lottie said. ‘There was a message.’

  ‘No CID work?’

  She laughed. ‘Hardly.’

  ‘Look at us,’ Cathy said. ‘We each had a case and now we’re back out here. It’s not right.’

  ‘It’s the way of the world, isn’t it?’

  Albert’s on Boar Lane for dinner, then more circuits. No complaints of any traders giving short weight. Not even a shoplifter at the market. As forgettable a day as any she’d had. But Lottie had only one thought as she paced around: where was Irene Walker?

  ‘You’re miles away,’ Cathy told her. ‘Off on that motorbike?’

  ‘Chance would be a fine thing.’ She snorted. ‘I got home yesterday and Geoff had newspaper spread across the table and was taking the carburettor apart. When I asked where we were supposed to eat our Sunday dinner he just looked at me.’

  ‘I warned you,’ Cathy said. Her smile vanished. ‘It’s going to be all right, isn’t it? Tell me it will.’

  ‘You’ll be fine. Just love him. You know you love him.’

  ‘I won’t tell you some of the ways…’

  They giggled. Talk passed the time, especially on the slow days. But when their shift ended, Lottie felt as if the day had lasted forever. Two more days, then Thursday off before straight evenings all weekend during Woodhouse Feast.

  Cathy dashed off as soon as Mrs Maitland dismissed them. Lottie took her time. No news on Irene Walker. Sergeant McMillan was out somewhere, and she wasn’t about to disturb Inspector Carter.

  In the toilet she buttoned up her mackintosh to hide the uniform collar, crushed her hat into her handbag, leaned close to the mirror and applied lipstick. Maybe there was something she could do to help.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  THE Royal was much busier than she’d expected, many of the tables filled with people in earnest conversation. Women with women; the men had their own room on the other side. A few faces looked at her as she passed, but it was curiosity and hope, not mistrust. Auntie Betty stood behind the bar in her suit and tie, hair parted in the middle and brilliantined flat. She had her arms crossed and one eyebrow raised.