Modern Crimes

by Chris Nickson

  ‘At least you don’t look like a copper now, I’ll give you that,’ she hissed. ‘But I hope you’ve got a good reason for being here.’

  ‘I need to talk to Alice Sutherland.’

  ‘She went up to her room a little while ago. Alone,’ she added pointedly. ‘Slip on through. But when you leave, go the back way. I told you, I don’t want police in my bar.’

  ‘I know, Auntie. I’m sorry. It’s important.’

  The woman pursed her lips then gave a slow nod. ‘Just this once. Now go.’

  ‘Hello, Alice.’ Lottie smiled. ‘Do you remember me? WPC Armstrong.’ She’d opened her raincoat and put her hat back on.

  ‘Yes, of course.’ The woman gave a vague smile. ‘You’ve been here before.’

  It was strange to be up here, just the two of them in the building, every other room empty and neglected. Alice could have sold the place for a tidy sum, enough to afford a large house. But something about the Royal kept her here. The memories? The privacy? Who could tell?

  ‘Last week. We talked about Irene Walker.’

  ‘I remember.’ She cocked her head. ‘Would you like some tea?’

  ‘That would be lovely. Thank you.’ What she really wanted was to be on her way home, but tea was going to be the price for any information.

  Alice Sutherland didn’t have a kitchen, just a gas-fired hotplate by the window. She was quiet during the ritual of boiling water, filling the pot and letting it mash. Finally they were sitting across from each other. The woman looked sharper today, more alert.

  ‘Have you seen Irene since I was here last?’ Lottie asked. ‘It’s important.’

  Sutherland shook her head. ‘I wish I had.’ She gave a wan smile. ‘I liked her. But the people I like always go away, don’t they?’

  ‘Do they?’

  ‘Yes.’ There was a lifetime of sadness in her voice. And very likely a world of problems in her mind, Lottie thought. But she needed to stay on the subject.

  ‘Did Irene talk to you a lot?’

  ‘I don’t know. What’s a lot? We talked.’

  ‘She’s still missing, Alice.’ Should she mention Jane Walker’s suicide? Better not, she decided. Don’t complicate things. Keep her focused. ‘We’re growing desperate.’

  ‘That’s terrible.’

  ‘You know her well. Is there anywhere she might have gone? Somewhere she’d feel safe? Maybe she mentioned a place to you.’

  The clock on the mantel ticked away long seconds before she answered.

  ‘I don’t think so. No, I’m sure she never said anything.’

  It had never been more than a long shot. But if she’d never asked…

  ‘Thank you.’

  ‘I’d have looked after her, you know,’ Sutherland said. ‘If she’d asked me I’d have found her somewhere.’ She raised her head and looked at the ceiling. ‘There are dozens of rooms here. She could have stayed in one and nobody would have known.’

  That was true, Lottie thought; an empty hotel would be the perfect place to hide.

  ‘But she never asked you to help her?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘And she never said a word about where she might be going, the last time she visited?’

  ‘Just that she needed to run. I gave her some money, all I had here.’

  Lottie looked up sharply. The woman hadn’t mentioned that before. ‘How much?’

  ‘About fifteen pounds. I didn’t count it exactly.’

  A fortune to most people. It could have taken Irene Walker a long way from Leeds. It could almost have bought her a new life. This was important.

  ‘I see.’

  Alice Sutherland stared at her. ‘All I wanted to do was help her. She was scared that someone wanted to kill her, like they had with her brother. Wouldn’t you have done the same?’

  Lottie nodded. ‘If you hear from Irene, can you ask her to telephone and leave a message for me at Millgarth? I’ll come to her wherever she is.’

  ‘All right,’ Sutherland agreed after a moment.

  ‘I’d appreciate it.’ Lottie placed the cup and saucer back on the table. Expensive Derby china, delicate in her fingers. Things like that always made her uneasy, as if she was likely to break them. ‘I’d better be going.’

  ‘I’ll tell her if she contacts me,’ Alice said as Lottie walked towards the door. ‘I promise.’

  Mrs Maitland’s expression was even more sour than usual as they reported for their shift.

  ‘Taylor,’ she said, ‘I can tell you that Miss Manningham is going to be prosecuted for illegally performing abortions. The testimony Hannah Moorcroft gave you will be part of the trial, so you’ll be required to give evidence.’

  ‘Yes, ma’am.’

  ‘However, they’ve decided not to charge her with the assault on you last Friday.’

  ‘But—’ Cathy started.

  ‘I know.’ Mrs Maitland raised her head. ‘I’m not happy about it. If one of my officers is attacked, I expect the attacker to pay the price for it. I made that very clear. Unfortunately, I’ve been overruled. I’m sorry; I thought you ought to know.’

  Lottie watched as Cathy took a deep breath and let it out slowly.

  ‘Yes, ma’am. Thank you.’

  ‘I don’t need to tell you that the Feast is setting up at Woodhouse and you’ll be on duty there for a few days. You’ve both done it before. But I want to remind you that it attracts some very bad types.’ She looked at them, waiting for nods of acknowledgement. ‘Some of them will be in the city centre during the day, and many of them will be pickpockets. Keep your eyes open for these people.’

  ‘Yes, ma’am.’

  ‘Sarge.’ Lottie had dawdled in the station before they left on patrol, hoping to catch McMillan. Now, finally, he was there, dashing along the corridor for the stairs.

  ‘Is it important?’ He sounded annoyed. ‘I’m in a rush.’

  ‘Yes. It is.’ Quickly she told him about her visit to Alice Sutherland and the money the woman given Irene Walker.

  ‘We still have the coat we found down by the river,’ McMillan pointed out.

  ‘With that cash she could have replaced it and still be far away now.’

  ‘So none of it helps, does it?’

  ‘I just wanted you to know.’

  ‘You did well,’ he said. ‘Certainly better than the rest of us. We’re all chasing our tails.’

  And he was gone.

  Two quiet days. Cathy seethed, but it was hardly surprising. The bruises on her face were starting to fade, the beauty returning. But the sense that the beating meant nothing to the force, that pain wouldn’t go easily. And not with all her other worries.

  She didn’t say much, but her silence spoke loudly. Lottie let her be.

  Finally, as the strolled back to the station on Wednesday afternoon, Cathy said, ‘Are you doing much with your day off tomorrow?’

  ‘Not really. Cleaning, I suppose. The washing’s been piling up. What about you? How’s Jimmy?’

  ‘He thinks we should go somewhere. Just for the day, since he doesn’t have work yet.’ She paused. ‘Every day seems a little bit better. Sometimes it feels wonderful, sometimes we’ll have a few words.’

  ‘You’re getting used to each other. It takes time.’

  ‘I’m not sure he trusts me yet.’

  ‘It’ll happen,’ Lottie told her. ‘Give it a chance. Give him a chance. Are you thinking of going anywhere special?’

  ‘I fancied Scarborough but he said he’s seen enough of the sea. We’re just going to see what we feel like in the morning.’

  ‘The other thing, there’s nothing we can do about it.’

  ‘I know. It just makes me so angry. If Jimmy had a good job I’d have resigned.’

  Lottie gave a gentle smile. ‘Perhaps it’s for the best he doesn’t have one yet, then. I’m used to you, I don’t want to have to break in someone new.’

  They were close to the station when the door opened and McMillan came out, pushing hi
s trilby down on to his head.

  ‘Armstrong,’ he called as he saw Lottie.

  ‘Yes, Sarge?’

  ‘With me, please. It’s important.’

  Lottie looked at Cathy and shrugged. What could she do? He was a sergeant and it was an order.

  ‘What is it?’ she asked as he started the Peugeot.

  ‘Someone telephoned. One of Irene Walker’s friends. Claims she saw her this afternoon.’

  ‘What?’ She felt her pulse quicken. ‘Where?’

  ‘We’re going to find out all about it,’ he told her as he drove up the Headrow and turned on to New Briggate, stopping outside the Grand Theatre.

  ‘How long ago did she ring?’

  ‘Just before I saw you.’ McMillan was out of the car, pacing around, hands in the pockets of his overcoat. ‘She was on the top deck of the tram and saw Irene walk by here about half an hour ago.’

  ‘Is she certain?’

  ‘She’s positive. She’s known Irene since they were five.’

  So the girl was still alive, still in Leeds. More than that, she was free. But in a half hour she could have walked a fair distance.

  ‘I’m going to have a couple of men go door-to-door.’ He nodded at the dirty front door of the Central Hotel across the road. ‘There’s that place, for a start. The Wrens, over on the corner. Probably quite a few empty offices and rooms around.’

  ‘My shift is over, Sarge. I’m not doing door-to-door now.’

  He smiled. ‘I wouldn’t ask you to. I’d like you with me when I talk to the girl who saw her, that’s all. Give me your opinion.’

  ‘About what?’ Lottie asked in surprise.

  ‘If she’s telling the truth.’

  She was. At least, Gillian Bedrow was convinced that the person she’d glimpsed from upstairs on the tram was Irene.

  ‘I’d know her anywhere,’ she said. ‘We’ve been friends for years. I can’t believe everything that’s happened.’ She knotted a delicate handkerchief tight in one small first.

  ‘How much of a glimpse did you have?’ Lottie asked.

  ‘It was just a moment while the bus passed, but I’m sure. I’d been fussing with the parcels I was carrying and looked out of the window. I couldn’t believe it at first.’

  She was small, barely scraping five feet tall in her stockinged feet. A capable manner and a direct stare. Fashionably dressed in a silk blouse and an expensive skirt of fine wool, the shopping bags from today’s trip standing in the corner. She was sitting in the front parlour of her parents’ house in Chapel Allerton, three tall storeys just off the Harrogate Road, separated from the traffic by a high wall.

  ‘Does Irene know anyone near there? An actor at the Grand, maybe?’

  ‘I don’t know. I haven’t seen much of her for months.’ She lifted her left hand to show off an engagement ring. ‘I’ve been busy.’

  The girl wouldn’t know about Jane Walker’s suicide. No one did. The police had released information that Irene was missing. That had been on the wireless, her photograph in all the newspapers. But they’d deliberately kept the news of her suicide very quiet, and Lottie wasn’t about to reveal it now.

  ‘What was she wearing?’ she asked the girl.

  Gillian Bedrow squinted, as if she was trying to pick out the image in her mind.

  ‘A coat. It looked like wool. Blue-grey. The same colour as those air force uniforms.’ She looked up hopefully; Lottie nodded her encouragement. ‘And her hat. Irene has a favourite hat. It’s a cloche with a pattern of blue sequins where it turns up at the front. That’s how I knew it was her, I recognised the hat.’

  ‘Is there anything else?’

  ‘That’s it. Like I said, it was just seconds, then the bus was gone. But it was her,’ she said in earnest. ‘I know it was. I rang as soon as I got home.’

  Lottie believed her. Bedrow knew Irene and she was certain. Even if it meant she was still alive, it raised more questions than it answered.

  ‘What do you think?’ she asked McMillan as he manoeuvred the car around.

  ‘She saw Irene.’ He seemed to have no doubts at all. ‘It’s the first good thing that’s happened on this. We know she’s alive and no one’s got her. I’ll take that and be very glad of it. A weight off my mind. You got everything she knew.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  ‘I owe your husband an apology, keeping you out so often.’

  ‘He won’t mind. He’s probably tinkering with his new motorbike. What about your wife? You work long hours.’

  He shrugged. ‘She’s used to it by now. And she knows it comes with the job. Her dad was on the force, she grew up with it.’

  ‘What now?’ Lottie asked.

  ‘We ask around on New Briggate and hope her name or her face rings a bell. But at least we have something now. I feel like we’ve taken one step forward.’

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  BOILING the clothes, soap, dolly blue, rinsing, mangle. It was a morning of work, much harder than being out on patrol. By the time Lottie had everything pegged out on the lines that crossed the back garden she was sweating, ready for a cup of tea.

  In the afternoon she took care of the shopping, walking away from the Co-op with one heavy bag. By the time she’d visited the greengrocer, the butcher, and the fishmonger, she had another to weigh her down.

  A day off from the job but no time to herself. It always seemed to be that way. Part of her envied all the housewives who had all day, every day to do the things she had to cram into a few hours. The rest of her knew she’d loathe it.

  Tomorrow she’d start late, but no chance to sleep in. Up at the usual time to cook Geoff’s breakfast and see him off to work. Then more tasks until it was time for her shift.

  No rest for the wicked. Or even those who stop people being wicked, she thought wryly.

  ‘You both know the drill,’ Mrs Maitland told them. ‘You worked the Feast in April.’

  ‘Yes, ma’am,’ Lottie said.

  ‘Make sure people know you’re there, and keep your eyes on the girls. No drinking, no licentious behaviour, and no loitering to talk to men. There will be a pair of male officers circulating, too. I don’t expect there will be much the two of you can’t handle—’ she gave them a pointed, knowing look ‘—but if there is, blow your whistles and they’ll help.’

  ‘Help or take over?’ Cathy asked, a bitter edge in her tone.

  ‘Help, Taylor, at least if I have anything to do with it. If any girl gives you a problem, escort her over to the Woodhouse station. It’s close enough. Dismissed.’

  ‘Did you go anywhere yesterday?’ Lottie asked as they settled on the bus out to Hyde Park.

  ‘In the end we popped over to Harrogate.’ Cathy made a face. ‘One of Jimmy’s shipmates is from there and he’d promised to deliver a parcel to his parents.’

  ‘You didn’t like it?’

  ‘Too snooty. We took a walk on the Stray and looked around the shops. The best part was going to a tea room. Betty’s. Gorgeous cakes. But that was it. Still, it was a day out and we got along well.’

  ‘More fun than my domestic drudgery.’

  ‘I was hard at that this morning. It’s going to be a long evening, isn’t it?’

  ‘I know.’ She’d be exhausted by the time she reached home. But there was something exhilarating in all the music and the lights and the people. One or two bad lads and girls, but most of them were there to enjoy themselves, to let off steam. Both those who were working and the ones without a job; simply being at the fair, not spending a farthing, was entertainment.

  ‘I’ll bet you anything my stockings don’t last, either,’ Cathy said. ‘I went through two pairs last time. This duty costs me a fortune.’ She reached down, smoothing the black wool over her calf. ‘Still, at least it’s not raining.’

  There was hardly anyone around yet. Most people were still at work, only a few schoolboys wandering from ride to attraction, egging each other to spend a halfpenny to see the three-headed man.
<
br />   The cinders on the ground crunched under their shoes as they walked. Most of the rides hadn’t even started operating yet; they’d wait until more people appeared. Once tea was done, the moor would be packed.

  A pair of food vendors were already beginning to cook, preparing for those who were willing to spend a little. The smell of cooking meat filled the air.

  ‘God,’ Cathy said, ‘I’m starving. I could eat a horse.’

  ‘You probably will be if you buy anything here,’ Lottie warned her. ‘Take a look at those men. Would you trust any of them?’

  ‘Not as far as I could throw them. But we have to eat sometime.’

  Lottie patted the pocket of her uniform. ‘I brought sandwiches. Meat paste. You can have one later, if you like.’

  By eight they were tired. Their feet ached from treading over the rough ground and they felt bruised from pushing their way through the crowds. Music came from the gramophones on the rides, steam engines spluttered and whirred. The barkers competed to draw people to their tents, yelling through megaphones.

  ‘My ears ache,’ Lottie said. ‘Too much noise.’

  ‘We have tomorrow night, too.’

  ‘Don’t remind me. Still two more hours this evening, as well.’

  By ten they’d taken two girls over to Woodhouse station. One couldn’t have been older than thirteen, wearing a dress that was no more than rags and a pair of large, unlaced boots. She’d been propositioning men. Have her for tuppence.

  It had taken the pair of them to drag her away. At least the noise of the Feast had hidden her screams. She’d tried to bite. Only a hard slap from Cathy had calmed her.

  ‘Better check your uniform for lice in the morning,’ she said as they walked back towards the lights and sound. ‘She was filthy.’

  The other girl had been drunk, passed out in the shadows. A dead weight as they dragged her away. At least she’d be safe in a cell, even if it meant being up before the magistrate tomorrow.