Harper shook his head. The Irish battling against Archer was nothing new. But killing Tench and Bradley? How did that fit with anything? And what about Morley?
No answers. Just a hail of questions. The three of them sat, trying to make sense of it all.
‘Tom,’ the superintendent said, ‘did you believe Morley when he said they weren’t working for Archer?’
He was in no rush to answer, weighing everything. The man’s words, his expression, the way he held himself.
‘Yes,’ he replied eventually, ‘I did.’ The words had felt like the truth. ‘I’m positive.’
‘Then we’d better start untangling all this. And we’re still going to keep it quiet as long as we can, just in case.’ Kendall looked at them. ‘Only the three of us. Get to it in the morning.’
Back in the detectives’ office Wharton was waiting, pacing around the room with an eager look on his face.
‘You look like you’ve found something,’ Harper said with a smile.
‘Yes, sir.’ He stopped for a moment. ‘Well, the dredger did. It’s Miss Brooker.’
‘All of her?’ He hadn’t expected they’d ever recover the body.
‘Yes, sir. She’d drifted into that bit of the canal, after it splits from the river.’
‘Sounds like your suggestion was a good one.’ The young man blushed at the praise. ‘What have you done with her?’
‘The body’s gone to Dr King.’
‘Good.’ He nodded. ‘The parents?’
‘I told them as soon as she was found, sir,’ Wharton replied. ‘They should be over there now.’
At least they had the rest of their daughter, the inspector thought. They could bury her whole. Then he remembered:
‘Weren’t you going to talk to the mother again?’
‘Yes, sir. I went there first thing. She stood by everything she’d said before. Charlotte was happy enough, no melancholy, and she was certain she wasn’t stepping out with anyone. There was one odd thing, though.’
‘What’s that?’ Harper asked.
‘According to her, Charlotte and her sister didn’t get along. They hadn’t since they were young.’
‘So one of them could be lying.’
‘Or mistaken, sir.’
The inspector smiled. It was the polite reply, especially with a grieving family. He glanced at the clock on the wall. After six.
‘We’ll go over to Hunslet in the morning and see what the doctor has to say about the cause of death. You’re learning well.’
‘Thank you, sir.’ Wharton blushed again.
‘You look all in,’ Annabelle told him. She was sitting at the table, patiently feeding Mary with a spoon. As soon as the little girl saw her father she began to wave her hands, grinning and gurgling. And once again his heart melted. He kissed her forehead, trying to avoid the sticky fingers, then put his lips against his wife’s cheek, inhaling the scent of her.
‘I am. Any more tea in that pot?’
‘There should be.’
He took off his suit jacket and folded it over the back of a chair. ‘I stopped in with Ash at dinnertime.’
‘Ellen told me. Like feeding a pair of shire horses, she said. Come on, poppet, last mouthful. That’s good.’ She turned back to him and sighed. ‘If she keeps on eating this way she’s going to be as bad as you when she grows up. I swear she has hollow legs. That’s the second helping already.’
Mary laughed as if she understood every word.
‘Dan said you’d gone to Burmantofts.’
‘It was just a visit. Give them a chance to make a fuss over this one.’
‘Has Elizabeth made her decision yet?’
Annabelle shook her head. ‘Give the lass some time. She’s not going to rush it. I’d do exactly the same. If someone offered me a gift horse I’d want to count all its teeth, too.’ She wiped Mary’s face, examined her work, then carried on until she was satisfied. ‘That’s better, now you don’t look like half of it ended up all over your mouth.’
Finally she let the squirming girl down on to the floor, and they watched her walk directly to play with a pile of wooden blocks.
‘How long before she makes up her mind, do you think?’ he asked.
‘As long as it takes.’ She stroked the back of his hand. ‘It’s not like there’s a huge rush. A few weeks longer won’t make any difference. Whatever she wants to do, it’ll be easier than going through these bye-laws for the Labour Party.’ Annabelle shook her head and pointed at a small pile of books on top of the piano. ‘I’ve never seen hairs split so many ways.’ She raised her head. ‘Oh, I meant to tell you, I’ll be out Saturday evening. They’ve asked me to speak at a suffragist meeting. Will you be at home?’
‘I’ll try. The way this new case is growing I can’t promise.’
‘I can always ask Ellen to look after Mary.’
He was proud of all his wife had become. Speaking for the suffragists, the new secretary of the Society, working with the young political party that would stand for the workers … it was such a big leap. One he couldn’t have predicted when they met. But life changed; it took some odd turns.
‘Why’s your case growing, anyway?’ she asked. Suddenly Annabelle raised her hand to her mouth and her eyes widened. ‘Oh God, there hasn’t been someone else killed, has there?’
‘No,’ he told her, ‘and I’m hoping it stays that way. But now it’s starting to look like Charlie Gilmore might be involved somehow.’
Annabelle’s expression turned to a sneer. ‘He was always evil. I remember him when he was young.’ She’d grown up on the Bank, where the Boys of Erin held sway. ‘I’ll tell you who once knew his little brother well.’
‘Declan?’ His reputation was even more violent than Charlie’s. ‘Who?’
‘Tom Maguire.’
‘Really?’ He found that hard to credit. The union man was fiery, but not with his fists.
‘Oh aye, thick as thieves for a while. That was a long time ago, though. Back when they were just nippers.’
But it might be a way in, Harper thought. In the morning he’d go over to the union office and have a word with the man.
‘Did you have a think about it last night?’ he asked Ash.
The sergeant nodded glumly. ‘If Gilmore’s and Archer’s gangs are going up against each other it’s going to be bloody, sir.’
‘I know.’ He’d had exactly the same thought. The last thing any of them wanted was a gang war in Leeds. ‘I still don’t see how Tench and his friends fit into the puzzle.’
‘Maybe they’ve done something to upset Gilmore, not Archer,’ Ash suggested.
Harper shook his head. ‘It’s not Charlie’s style. He’d want to send a message, not try to hide the bodies.’
They sat quietly until the sergeant asked, ‘What are we going to do about Morley, sir?’
‘He’s not going to give us the chance to help him. He seems to think he can handle anything.’
‘We’re going to end up looking for his murderer too, aren’t we?’
‘Very likely,’ Harper answered with a sigh. ‘I think today we’d better go and beard the lions.’
‘Sir?’
He stood and clapped the sergeant on the shoulder. ‘We’re going to talk to Archer and Gilmore.’
‘Does the super know, sir?’
Harper grinned. ‘I thought I’d better tell him, in case we don’t come back.’
First things first, though. Harper trod the familiar path over to Hunslet Lane, Wharton keeping pace beside him, full of questions about the job. His eagerness was refreshing. But tiring, too. No sooner had he given one answer than there was more the lad wanted to know.
He was relieved when they went down the stairs at the station and through the door into King’s Kingdom.
‘It’s not quite Cinderella and the shoe,’ the doctor told them, smiling at his own humour, ‘but the leg fits the rest of the body. Same stockings, same boots. In case there was any doubt,’ he added with a
twist of his mouth.
‘How did she die?’ Harper asked.
‘She drowned,’ King said. ‘That much is certain. Tell me, do you know if she could swim?’
The inspector looked at Wharton.
‘The mother said she couldn’t,’ he stammered.
‘I see.’ The doctor reached into his waistcoat pocket, drew out a cigar and enjoyed the ritual of lighting it. ‘For whatever it’s worth, in my experience, people who can’t swim rarely choose to die by water. Don’t ask me why, I’ve no idea. There are cuts on her hands and face as if she’d been scrambling and trying to get out. If you want my opinion, she simply fell in by accident and couldn’t get out again. Slipped, perhaps. There are injuries from the dredger, but those all happened after she was dead.’
‘Anything to indicate she’d been hit?’ the inspector asked. ‘Killed that way?’
‘No,’ King replied. ‘Not that I’ve found. But it’s always possible someone could have pushed her in. Someone who knew she couldn’t swim.’ He shrugged. ‘Sorting out the truth of it is your job.’ He smiled. ‘The chances are it was nothing more than a terrible circumstance, poor girl.’
‘What now, sir?’ Wharton asked as they marched back to Millgarth.
‘You work out what the truth is,’ Harper told him. ‘That’s what the job is all about.’
He needed to see the kidnap victims, to see what they could give him. If any of them could find the courage to speak, anyway. But first he needed to visit Horseshoe Harry again, he decided. It was time to find out more about this link between Tench and Archer, and it had better not have come out of his imagination. He marched up George Street, cutting through the small, sunless courts that led to Briggate, then along behind the music hall and into the Swan. No sign of the man.
Down the Headrow to Rockley Hall Yard where Harry had his business. But the gate to the forge was locked, a small sign scrawled on cardboard and nailed to the wood: Closed due to bereavement.
Dead? Harry had inherited the farrier’s from his father and now he ran it with his two sons. Harper began to feel the sickness at the pit of his stomach.
There was one other business in the yard, the office and storage for Townend and Sons, painters and decorators. He banged on the door, and was taken by surprise when it was pulled back swiftly by a woman.
‘What?’ Her eyes were blazing. ‘You’re hammering the place down.’
‘I’m looking for Harry,’ the inspector told her.
Her expression changed, softening a little. ‘Then you’ll be looking a long time, luv. He died yesterday, God rest him.’ For a moment she looked down at the ground.
‘What happened?’ He needed to know, but at the same time, part of him didn’t want to hear the answer.
‘He was in the Swan last night having a drink, and he keeled over. That’s what one of his lads told me this morning when he came to put up the sign.’ She glanced over at the gate. ‘I’ll miss the old bugger. We had a few laughs together when things were slow.’
‘I’m sorry to hear the news,’ was all he could say.
‘Did you know him?’ the woman asked. She was curious now, assessing him with her eyes. She looked to be in her late forties, dark hair caught back in a tight bun.
‘A little. I’m Detective Inspector Harper.’
‘I’m Alice Townend.’ She pointed at the sign above her head. ‘I run this, since my husband passed on, anyway. Needs must.’ The woman sighed. ‘What did you want with Harry, anyway? You don’t look like you need a horse shoed.’
‘I hadn’t seen him in a while, that’s all.’ It was better to be vague.
‘I daresay you’ll have a chance at his funeral.’ She took a handkerchief from her sleeve and dabbed at her eyes. ‘Look at me, eh, getting all upset.’ Mrs Townend gave a wan little smile. ‘I’m sorry I can’t help you.’
It could be a coincidence, he thought as he walked back along the Headrow. And this time perhaps it was. The death sounded innocent enough.
At the Swan no one seemed to know much. The place had been full the night before. The first anyone knew was when Harry toppled over on to the floor. By then it was too late. Nobody recalled seeing anyone with him, but they’d all been run off their feet …
He was never going to know what happened. He might have his suspicions but they wouldn’t help now. The only person who’d connected Leonard Tench and George Archer had gone. Another dead end.
What he needed was some inspiration. Or a stroke of luck. And he knew the chances of that happening.
Oxford Place ran next to the Town Hall, a short street of pleasant, unassuming houses almost hidden by the big building: solicitors, and businesses that wanted to cater to the better sort of client.
There was only one draper’s shop, the sign as modest as the place itself, just A. Peters over the door. There was a selection of cloth and patterned scarves in the window. He entered, hearing the bell tinkle lightly.
It was an airless place, too warm. Inside, items were neatly displayed, most of the stock out of view. A dapper man hurried from the back room.
‘Yes, sir,’ he said with a nervous smile. ‘How can I help you?’
‘I’d like to see that scarf in the window. The pale yellow one.’
‘Of course, sir.’
The man eyed him doubtfully for a moment, then eased it out of the display, draping it tenderly over both hands.
‘It’s silk,’ he said in a clipped, prissy voice. ‘From China. Beautifully made. The fringes make a wonderful contrast.’
They did, Harper thought. Deeper, the colour of buttercups. He ran his fingertips over the material, feeling the smoothness. It would be perfect for Annabelle.
‘I’ll take it.’
‘Yes, sir.’ There was pleasure in the man’s smile as he moved behind the counter. Deftly he wrapped the scarf in brown paper, tying it with string.
‘You’re Mr Peters?’ the inspector asked as he paid.
‘I am.’
‘I’m Detective Inspector Harper from Leeds City Police. I’d like to talk to you.’
Peters seemed to stop for just a second, his fingers still and his head down, then started again.
‘What about, sir?’ As he raised his gaze his eyes were filled with fear and pleading.
‘You know exactly what, Mr Peters.’
‘I’m sorry, sir, but I don’t have any idea what you’re talking about. Is something wrong?’
‘Two of the men who kidnapped your daughter are dead,’ Harper said. ‘It was the third who told me about it. Don’t worry, you’re safe. All of you.’
‘I honestly don’t understand, sir.’ Peters looked at him, trying to keep his expression empty. But the tremor in his voice gave him away. ‘Kidnapping?’
He wanted to shake the man. Yet part of him, the father, understood. If someone took Mary …
‘Yes, Mr Peters. I know they told you never to say a word to the police, but they can’t hurt you again.’
Then the man muttered something too low for his hearing to catch.
‘Pardon?’
‘I said I’m sorry, sir. You must have the wrong person.’
‘Perhaps I do,’ Harper said tightly. He picked up the package with a nod and slid it into his jacket pocket. ‘Good day, Mr Peters. If you should remember something, please get in touch.’
Fear, he thought. The most powerful enemy of all.
In the sunshine he sighed with frustration. He doubted if Peters would ever say a word. He’d always be too frightened to talk. He couldn’t blame the man. At least it hadn’t been a complete waste; he’d come away with a gift for Annabelle.
Harper took his watch from his pocket. The other victims would need to wait. He had appointments to keep.
EIGHT
Everyone knew where Gilmore held court: the Sword, just on the far side of Marsh Lane. It was right on the boundary of his territory, next to Quarry Hill, where Archer had made his start, and facing out towards Leeds with a challenge. It
was the only pub in Leeds with a Fenian Brotherhood flag hanging behind the bar, right next to a picture of William Gladstone, the man who supported home rule for Ireland.
From the outside it looked shabby, as rickety and empty of hope as the rest of the Bank. A big man leaned against the door jamb, picking at his teeth with a sliver of wood.
‘Ready?’ Harper asked.
‘As I’ll ever be, sir,’ Ash answered. ‘I made out my will a few months ago.’
They’d made one more stop on the way, at the union office on Kirkgate. Tom Maguire was working, writing furiously, scratching out words almost as soon as they came, then carrying on. He glanced up at the footsteps.
‘Make yourselves comfortable,’ he told them. ‘I need to get this thought down before I lose it forever.’
He looked no better than he had a few days before, the inspector thought. His pale skin was almost translucent, and every few seconds he gave a small cough.
Finally he finished, blotted the sheet, and sat back.
‘How’s the little one, Mr Harper? Still blooming with health?
‘Of course.’
‘Good, good.’ He nodded. ‘Well, I know I’ve done nothing, so the pair of you must be here for information.’
‘It’s just something Annabelle mentioned last night. She told me you used to be close to Declan Gilmore.’
‘I did,’ he admitted, his face serious. ‘But that was another world and time, back when there was some innocence in his soul. Before he decided he wanted to follow in Charlie’s footsteps. Poor man’s turned out as bad as his brother.’ He coughed again and covered his mouth.
‘But you knew the family.’
‘I knew Declan and I knew his parents,’ Maguire answered cautiously. ‘Not his brother. Charlie was always the wild one, a law unto himself.’ He might have grown up in Leeds, yet there was still the faintest hint of an Irish accent that touched his words. ‘Why do you want to know?’
‘Because I’m off to see Charlie in a minute.’
‘Then may God go with you, Mr Harper. Part of the way, at least. I hear He refuses to pass through the man’s door.’
‘What can you tell me about him?’ He’d read everything in the thick police file about the Boys of Erin. So far they’d kept their activities to the Bank and Cross Green, preying on the poor and the weak. But maybe Gilmore had greater ambitions and he’d simply been biding his time.
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