‘That’s what I wanted to talk about. I had an idea …’ she began slowly, looking at him through fluttering eyelashes. ‘I thought maybe Elizabeth would be interested.’
Elizabeth Reed already managed all three of the shops. She knew how they worked, their strengths and weaknesses, what sold well where. She’d be a perfect choice. Except for one thing.
‘Where would she find the money?’ Even with Billy’s salary as an inspector on the fire brigade together with her earnings, they’d never afford it in a hundred years. ‘They’re not going to have much stuffed away in the flour bin.’
‘I’ve thought about that. She could give me a little week by week. Everything would stay in my name until she’d paid it all off, but she’d run it and take the profits. I’d keep the kitchen; she’d still buy her bread from me.’
It was a generous offer. Very generous. And keeping the kitchen was smart.
‘Have you discussed it with her?’
‘Not yet. I wanted your opinion first, Tom.’
He grinned. ‘I think the idea’s a bobby dazzler.’
Annabelle sighed with relief. ‘I was worried you’d think it was silly.’
‘No. It’s perfect. And you need to do what you feel is right.’
‘Do you mean that?’
‘Every word.’
‘I—’ she began, then cocked her head towards Mary, before continuing in a whisper. ‘She’s fallen asleep. I’ll put her to bed.’ In the doorway she paused. ‘It’s funny, isn’t it? The way life’s different now.’
Funny, he thought? It was bloody wonderful.
FOUR
‘We have a murdered man who was involved with George Archer,’ Superintendent Kendall said grimly. He puffed on his pipe. ‘What was the relationship between Tench and Archer?’
‘I don’t know yet,’ Harper admitted. The super had waved him into his office as soon as he arrived. Ash had joined them a few minutes later. Not Detective Constable Wharton; they’d left him working at his desk. ‘The only thing I have is Horseshoe Harry mentioning the pair of them together. That’s all.’
‘What about you, Sergeant?’ Kendall asked. ‘What have you discovered?’
‘Last night I talked to a few men that Len and me both used to know, sir, to see if they’d kept in touch.’ Ash sat erect, hands in his lap, his gaze serious. ‘One of them used to see him around in the public houses. He always had a little money to flash, evidently.’
‘I thought he lived in a lodging house in Sheepscar?’ the superintendent said.
‘He did,’ Harper answered. ‘Always prompt with his bills there.’
‘There is one thing.’ Ash spoke into the silence. ‘The wife reminded me last night. We grew up on the same street, I’ve told you that, and she did, too, down the other end. She said that Len had an older sister as well as a brother. I’d forgotten that. She’s going to ask around.’ He grinned. ‘One of the women will know where she is. Maybe she can tell us something.’
‘It’s a start,’ Kendall told them. ‘George Archer.’ He pulled his pipe from his mouth and eyed it thoughtfully. ‘It’ll be a big feather in our cap if we can collar him. He’s got away with too much.’ He looked pointedly at Harper. ‘I want to know the link between him and Tench. We’ve got the body, now let’s get the man.’
As they started to rise, the superintendent gestured for Harper to stay. ‘Close the door, Tom. I want to tell you something.’ The inspector waited as Kendall put a match to his pipe and puffed it into life again. ‘About ten years ago I was working on a murder. I was just a sergeant back then. We were certain Archer had done it but we never managed to prove a thing.’
‘I don’t understand, sir. What does this have to do with Tench’s murder? We don’t even know that Archer was involved with this.’
‘He has to be,’ Kendall said with certainty. ‘It took organization to get that body out there, and in a boat. Archer could arrange that.’ The superintendent paused. ‘Do you know where he lives?’
‘No.’
‘In one of those big houses that looks out over the lake at Roundhay Park. He could have watched it all from his window.’
That was interesting. But it certainly wasn’t proof. ‘I still don’t see how that connects to a murder ten years ago.’
Kendall pursed his lips. ‘Back then, he always seemed to know what I was going to do. Every single move. I was certain he must have someone on the force letting him know what was happening.’
Harper was silent. There were bent coppers, plenty of them, men who let little things go in exchange for a small payment or a good time with a willing girl. But in his years on the force he’d never come across someone willing to sell information to a criminal that way.
‘Do you know who it was?’
‘I had my suspicions. But never enough to be able to do anything about it.’
Harper heard the frustration in the man’s voice. ‘Who was it?’
‘Sergeant Deacon over at C Division. He’s based out in Headingley now. Like I say, I could never prove it. I’ve kept a weather eye on him since. He does all right for himself. Nothing too fancy, perhaps a bit more than a sergeant should have. Always claimed his wife was left some money. But I’m as sure as I can be he’s the man Archer has working on the force.’ He waited for a heartbeat. ‘One of them, anyway.’
‘One of them?’ The inspector raised an eyebrow.
‘Archer’s always been careful. He probably has someone in every division.’
Christ, Harper thought. He didn’t know what to make of that.
‘Anything that comes close to Archer, I want you to play your cards very near to your chest. Whatever information you find is shared between you, Ash, and myself. No one else.’
Harper nodded, too stunned to think clearly.
‘I want you to keep all your files, everything you have on this, locked up when you’re not in the office. Away from prying eyes.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Give me a verbal report every day.’
‘What about Wharton?’ Harper asked.
‘Keep him out of this for now,’ the superintendent ordered.
‘You don’t think—’
‘No,’ he answered. ‘But the fewer who know, the better.’
‘Yes, sir. Do you really believe Archer’s got his fingers that deep into us?’
‘I hope not. But I’m not going to take any chances.’ Kendall sighed. ‘Make sure the sergeant knows, too. But not a word to anyone about Deacon. That’s strictly between you and me.’
The file on Archer was almost six inches thick, years of papers piled one on top of the other. Reading everything could take a week. Harper skimmed through, drawing out a few letters and notes, then passing them to the sergeant.
The rumour was that he’d committed his first murder when he was just ten; a shopkeeper who clipped him round the ear when he came in and demanded money. No one had ever appeared in court for the death.
He’d been arrested and questioned more often than Harper had enjoyed hot dinners. But try as the police might, nothing had ever stuck and Archer always walked out with a smirk on his face.
Archer was clever, with the instincts to turn crime into real money. He kept two men close, lads he’d grown up with, both of them utterly loyal, ready to keep him safe whatever the cost. They did what he ordered, no questions asked. But if the gossip that floated around was true, he still liked doing his own dirty work, took pleasure in it.
He’d become a rich man, living in Lakeside, one of the big mansions built inside Roundhay Park. He had married a girl from Somerset Street; they had a boy and two girls, all of them raised to enjoy the good life, not to follow in their father’s footsteps.
The bodyguards lived in, always there, always ready.
George Archer was untouchable. Or so he believed.
‘Sir?’ Wharton asked as Harper closed the file.
‘What is it?’
‘I went and talked to the captain of that dredger first thing
this morning. I asked him if it was possible that all the movement could have caused the body to shift somewhere else. With the current, I mean. It would explain why we haven’t found the rest of her.’
His words came out tentatively, nervously. Inside, Harper smiled. He remembered being like that when he started in plain clothes. Full of ideas and eager to prove himself but scared of saying anything for fear of appearing stupid.
‘What did he say?’
‘He thought it could have happened like that. Probably not too far if she did, though. They have to go over the area under Leeds Bridge today, but tomorrow he’s going to try along the canal.’
‘It’s worth exploring.’ He saw Wharton beam and blush. ‘Are you going to see the sister today? What’s her name again?’
‘Cordelia. Yes, sir, I am.’
The lad had good experience on the beat. Working as a detective was entirely different, though. It took more imagination, more doggedness. If he had the instincts, he’d learn.
‘Talk to her without the mother around if you can. Don’t try and push her. Make her feel comfortable, she’ll say more that way.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘What do you think happened?’ the inspector asked.
‘I don’t believe we can say until we have a body, sir.’
The young man hadn’t even hesitated before answering. Good, Harper decided. That meant he’d been thinking about it and looking at the possibilities. The way a detective should.
‘You’re right.’ He put the Archer file into one of his desk drawers and locked it. ‘Let me know what Cordelia says.’
‘Do you think your missus will have any luck?’
‘Like as not. The way they all gossip, she probably has chapter and verse by now.’
They were sitting in the café at the market. He could hear the traders calling their wares outside as they sat with their cups of tea – ‘Come on, luv, twelve for a tanner, and you’ll not find better than that.’ ‘Last of this year’s rhubarb, lovely and sweet, cheap to you and you know you want a bargain, luv.’ It was a good place to talk, away from the station, a change from the four grubby walls of the office.
‘Let’s start by talking to her, then.’
It could be a way in. No one who worked for Archer was going to say much; they’d be too scared. He was about to rise when a hand clapped him on the shoulder.
‘Inspector Harper and Sergeant Ash.’
A familiar voice. Tom Maguire, the union organizer and one of the men behind the new Independent Labour Party.
‘Mr Maguire,’ he acknowledged with a nod. Maybe it was all the work, but the man didn’t look well. His face was paler than usual and he’d grown thinner, almost gaunt, his red hair starting to recede. ‘How are you?’
‘Fair to middling.’ He smiled, showing stained teeth. ‘I just wanted to say I think the Society made the right choice with Annabelle.’ He’d grown up just a street away from her on the Bank.
‘She’s looking forward to it.’
‘I just wish the party involved women more, but …’ He looked pained.
‘But that’s how it is?’ Harper said.
‘For now,’ Maguire agreed sadly, then brightened. ‘That will change. You must be busy. A body in a lake? That’s something.’
‘It is.’ A sudden thought struck him. ‘Do you know anyone who works for George Archer?’
‘I do not,’ Maguire insisted, ‘and I’d rather keep it that way. Is he involved?’
‘You know I can’t say.’ He stared at the man. ‘And neither can you.’
‘Point taken, Inspector.’ He began to cough, bringing out a handkerchief and spitting into it. ‘I’ll leave you gentlemen to work. Give Annabelle my best, please.’
‘Does your wife have a new venture, sir?’ Ash asked as they walked past the Town Hall and out towards Burley Road. Shanks’s pony was quicker than waiting for an omnibus.
‘They’ve asked her to be the secretary to the Suffrage Society.’
The sergeant raised his eyebrows. ‘Isn’t that a lot to take on, what with your little one?’
‘She’ll manage. You’ve met her.’
Ash chuckled. ‘Indeed she will, sir. She’s a force of nature, if you don’t mind me saying so.’
He didn’t mind at all; it was perfectly true.
‘There’s something I’d better tell you, about this Leonard Tench case …’
‘What about Wharton, sir?’ Ash asked when he’d finished his explanation. ‘Do we trust him?’
They were approaching the house, one of a row of through terraces on a street rising up the hill. The front step gleamed, neatly donkeystoned, and the windows shone; as they passed he could still smell the vinegar used to clean them.
‘No,’ Harper answered. ‘The super’s orders.’
‘Fair enough.’ The sergeant nodded. ‘Here we are, sir. This one.’
Inside they went straight through to the kitchen at the back. He could hear footsteps moving around upstairs.
‘She’ll be down in a moment. Cup of tea, sir?’
How many tables just like this had he sat around since he became a copper? How many sculleries had he seen? The familiar blacklead of the Yorkshire range, tin bath hanging on the wall, the flagstone yard outside the window.
A shelf with photographs. A wedding photograph, bride and groom looking awkward, another of a girl.
‘Is that Martha?’ Harper asked. Ash and his wife had adopted her three years before. How old would she be now? Eleven?
‘It is.’ He beamed with pride. ‘She’s in service, out in Horsforth. Comes home to see us every other Sunday when she’s off. It was that or the mills, really.’
He knew. It was the fate of most girls. No chance and little future. All the things Annabelle was trying to change.
The door opened and Mrs Ash entered. She was a tiny woman, a good twelve inches shorter than her husband, shapely as an hourglass. Her hair was caught up in a bun, her face startlingly, surprisingly beautiful.
‘What are you doing having company in here?’ she chided, but there was warmth in her voice. ‘I just cleaned the parlour.’ She shooed them through. ‘I’m sorry, Inspector. Half the time he doesn’t know what he’s doing. I’m Nancy. I don’t suppose he’s ever told you that.’
Eventually she had them settled, tea in the good china, a buttered scone apiece, still warm from the oven.
‘Have you managed to find anything about Tench’s sister, Nancy?’ Harper asked.
‘That I have.’ She looked down at the floor. ‘Her name’s Christina. Turns out she’s in the workhouse now. Her children, too, poor loves. Well, them as is young enough.’
‘What happened?’ Ash wondered. ‘I thought she was married.’
‘Oh, she was,’ Nancy Ash told him. ‘But he died and then they had no money coming in.’
It was the old story. Times so hard and desperate that there was nowhere else to turn except the workhouse. The last resort.
‘She was older than Len,’ Nancy Ash continued. ‘Must have been what – seven years?’ She looked at her husband.
‘Thereabouts,’ he agreed.
‘So we never had much to do with her when we were growing up. There was Christina, another brother who’s dead now, then Len and the parents, that was it. Old Mr and Mrs Tench passed on years back from all I’ve heard.’
‘Who did she marry?’
‘Someone called Palmer.’ She shrugged. ‘No idea who he was. She moved away, that’s all I know, and they had five children. He died four years ago. Just fell down in the street and that was that.’
‘I don’t suppose you managed to find out what contact she and Len had?’ Harper asked. It was a long shot, but there was no telling what a group of women could discover.
She gave him a look that seemed to question his intelligence. ‘Well, it can’t have been much, can it, or he’d have had her out of there. She was family.’ Suddenly she blushed. ‘I’m sorry.’
He smiled. ‘I
t doesn’t matter, honestly.’
‘It’s your wife who does the work for the suffragists, isn’t it?’
‘That’s right,’ he answered.
‘Fred’s spoken about it. If you ask me, we need more like her.’
‘I’ll tell her you said so.’ From the corner of his eye he looked at Ash. He could never see the man as a Fred.
There was small talk while they finished eating and drinking. Quickly, she gathered up the crockery and saw them out of the door with a swift glance up and down the street.
‘Now, don’t you be a stranger here, Inspector. I’ve told Fred before that you’d always be welcome.’
‘Thank you.’
From the outside the workhouse looked intimidating. But that was the intention. It was a few yards up Beckett Street from the Industrial Training School – the orphanage in everything but name. The corporation cemetery stood across the road. The little corner of the city where they dumped the unwanted.
Billy Reed and his wife lived just a few streets away. They’d passed not far from Annabelle’s Burmantofts bakery on the way out here. Everywhere he went in Leeds, some strand of his life was there, Harper thought.
The matron had a cold, imperious manner, wearing her uniform like armour.
‘Christina Palmer is here,’ she admitted reluctantly.
‘I’d like to talk to her alone if I might. It’s police business.’ The woman didn’t need to know any more than that. The poor might not have much, but he could leave her a little privacy and decency.
‘I’ll have her brought here for you.’ She sniffed and pursed her lips. ‘Please don’t take too long.’
‘Not a pleasant woman, eh, sir?’ Ash said into the silence when they were alone.
Christina Palmer looked sixty but couldn’t have been anywhere near that old. She wore a plain workhouse dress and apron, a threadbare shawl around her shoulders, strands of lank grey hair escaping from a stained white cap. Her face seemed ground down, all the hope vanished from her eyes. She walked with a stoop, eyes looking meekly down at the ground.
‘Please sit down, Mrs Palmer.’ It cost nothing to offer a little kindness. God knew he had nothing else to give her. He pulled a chair over, on his left side so she’d be speaking into his good ear.
The Iron Water Page 4