The Iron Water

by Chris Nickson

  ‘What did you tell him?’ Harper asked.

  She grinned. ‘I asked if he’d have me as a delegate at the party conference. He hummed and hawed and then said it wouldn’t be possible. I told him if I’m not good enough for that he can stuff his books.’

  It was dusk when they stirred. Still too warm outside. It was going to be a poor night for sleeping, he thought.

  ‘It’s been a month, you know.’

  ‘Has it?’ he asked, although he knew to the day.

  ‘You remember what the doctor said.’ Every four weeks, pour warm olive oil in his bad ear and keep it in overnight. It might help, the physician said as he pocketed his money.

  It hadn’t. But nothing would. It was a waste of time. Yet Annabelle insisted, as if she believed some miracle might happen. And once a month he submitted. She was already bringing out the small bottle from the chemist and warming a few drops in a teaspoon over a candle.

  TWENTY-TWO

  ‘What do you want to do about Morley?’ Kendall asked.

  ‘Leave him in the cells for now,’ Harper decided. He stared out of the open window, down at the yard behind Millgarth, where a troop of new recruits was parading for a sergeant. During the night a breeze had risen, blowing the worst of the closeness away. The air felt clearer, a little crisper. That would change soon enough as the factory chimneys belched out more of their smoke. But even a small respite came like blessed relief. Friday, not even a handful of days before Robertson of the Yard arrived. Unless something happened.

  ‘We still don’t have any sign of Lamb,’ Kendall said.

  None of the constables had found the man. Between them they’d covered the hundreds of hotels and rooming houses around the city centre, from the grandest to the lowest lodgings in the courts.

  Harper pictured the map in his mind. ‘South of the river,’ he suggested. ‘There are places in Hunslet and Holbeck that are close enough.’

  ‘I’ll talk to the division over there. They’ll do it today.’ The superintendent’s voice was grim.

  ‘There’s something else we haven’t considered, sir,’ Ash said.

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘If Lamb’s behind all this—’

  ‘He has to be,’ Harper said.

  ‘Listen to him, Tom,’ Kendall said with interest. ‘Go on, Sergeant.’

  ‘If Lamb’s behind all this, what’s he going to do next?’

  The inspector felt their eyes on him and saw the reflections of their faces in the glass.

  ‘He’s probably wondering what the bloody hell happened. By now Archer and Gilmore should have been at each other’s throats and ready to be taken.’

  ‘Could he have left Leeds, sir?’

  ‘No. There’s a man at the railway station keeping watch,’ Harper said. ‘And the staff in the ticket office have been alerted.’

  ‘Time’s running out,’ the superintendent reminded him.

  He nodded. They all knew. He could almost hear the clock ticking in his head.

  New jobs. Back to the snitches and the informants. Even Kendall was out working with them. From the grandeur of the Griffin Hotel on Boar Lane to the sour ruin of the beershops at the bottom of Kirkgate.

  By now they all knew Lamb’s name and what he looked like. Word had spread like a wave among the criminals. Half of Leeds believed they’d seen him, but they were all wrong. Harper spent the morning following this tip or the next. Every one was wasting time.

  He didn’t stop for dinner. Back at Millgarth Sergeant Tollman handed him a fistful of messages. The inspector riffled through them. One caught his eye and he slid it into his jacket pocket.

  ‘Anything else?’ he asked.

  ‘The boxer, sir. What do you want to do about him?’

  ‘Nothing.’

  ‘Leave him down there?’

  ‘For the moment.’

  He cut through the streets, and crossed the river over the Victoria Bridge. Holbeck spread out ahead of him, tall chimneys meant to look like Italian church towers, but as dark and dirty as everything else here.

  The Cross Keys stood on Water Lane. Inside, there was a pleasant coolness to the air. The pub was quiet, too early for the shift men from the mills and factories to be in. Percy Gillthwaite tossed a damp towel down on the bar and gestured with a turn of his head. Out into the yard behind the building. Harper followed.

  ‘Your missus has been talking to people,’ Gillthwaite said. He was a man who’d never married, had no time for women.

  ‘I know,’ the inspector said.

  ‘I’d rather have a word with a man.’ He pushed his hands into his trouser pockets.

  ‘I’m here now, Percy. I got your note. What do you have to tell me?’

  ‘You didn’t hear it from me, right?’ That was his way, disavowing everything. But he’d passed on a few good tips in the past.

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘That man you’re all looking for. With the copper hair.’

  ‘Lamb.’

  Gillthwaite nodded. ‘That’s him. You know the bottom of Bath Street, down by the allotments behind Marshall’s Mill?’

  He tried to picture it. Nothing came to mind. ‘No.’

  ‘Well, he’s down there, staying at number seventeen.’

  For a second he didn’t dare believe it. ‘He’s there now? We’ve been checking all the rooming houses over here.’

  ‘It’s not a rooming house,’ he said patiently. ‘It’s Mrs Simpson. She’s a widow woman, sometimes lets a room when she needs a little extra money. Puts a card in the shop and Bob’s your uncle.’

  ‘Are you sure? Who told you?’

  ‘Bloke who lives next door to her drinks here.’

  ‘When did he move in?’

  ‘Day before yesterday.’ It fitted. Gillthwaite’s gaze moved restlessly. With his bushy, greying hair and long, thick sideboards, he looked like a man quickly going to seed.

  ‘He’s still there?’

  ‘Unless he left this morning.’ He shrugged.

  Harper brought out a florin and laid it on top of an empty barrel. ‘More if he’s there,’ he promised.

  He needed men with him. Ash would be ideal, or Kendall, but God only knew where they were. It would have to be someone from the Holbeck station house.

  The duty sergeant listened carefully. He could almost have been Tollman’s twin, large, round, but with a fierce intelligence behind his blue eyes.

  ‘I can let you have two lads, sir. Bruisers, the pair of them.’

  ‘I’ll take them.’

  ‘Bottom of Bath Street, you said? They’ll meet you at the top of the road and you can tell them what you need.’

  He waited until the constables arrived, anxious in case Lamb tried to leave. A pair of brothers named Bradshaw, every bit as large as promised.

  ‘I know Mrs Simpson,’ one of them said after he explained the plan. ‘She’d never take in anyone she knew was a criminal, sir. Christian woman, Temperance, lives by her bible, she does.’

  ‘Then we’ll won’t have any trouble, will we? Let’s go.’

  The man who knew the woman stayed with him, the other positioned himself outside the yard at the back. As basic as it came, but it would serve.

  Mrs Simpson’s grey hair was caught in a neat bun at the back of her head. She was small, barely five feet tall, and thin, with wattles of loose skin on her neck. But her gaze was clear and calm.

  ‘Hello, Davy,’ she said to the bobby, then nodded at the inspector. ‘What can I do for you gentlemen?’

  Harper’s nerves were screaming. He tried to breathe slowly. Be here, he thought. Just bloody be here. Let’s be done with this.

  ‘You have a lodger, Mr Lamb,’ he began, but she was shaking her head.

  ‘He left first thing. Went out to buy a newspaper, came back all agitated and began packing his bag. You’re welcome to take a look, but he’s gone.’

  He nodded to the constable and waited as the man went through the house.

  So close.
He’d come so bloody close. ‘Did he say where he was going?’

  ‘He told me something had come up urgently. He’d paid for the week, too. I tried to give him some of the money but he told me to keep it.’

  ‘Did he say anything else while he was here? Anything at all?’

  ‘He’d barely got his foot in the door. But he seemed pleasant enough. Polite.’

  Bradshaw reappeared, shaking his head.

  ‘How long ago did he leave?’ Harper asked.

  ‘Couldn’t have been more than two hours,’ the woman replied, eyeing him with curiosity. She cocked her head. ‘What’s he done?’

  ‘I believe he’s killed four men.’

  Her hand flew to her mouth. He could almost see her thoughts – a murderer in her house, and the chill of a close escape. She could have been a victim.

  ‘He wouldn’t have hurt you,’ Harper told her. ‘He had his targets. Criminals.’ She nodded but her face was still white with shock. ‘Take her in and make her a cup of tea,’ he said to Bradshaw. ‘Make sure she feels safe.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  Two hours. Two bloody hours. He wanted to smash his fist against the wall. Back on Bath Street he glanced around, as if Lamb might have left a trail. All he saw was a woman trudging along with her shopping bag.

  By five o’clock he felt frantic. There had been no more sightings of the man. Kendall returned to Millgarth looking defeated.

  ‘I’ll try again tonight,’ Ash offered. Even he looked weary, no more than a flash of hope in his eyes.

  ‘Two days,’ Kendall said. Harper didn’t need the reminder. Monday and he’d be meeting the London train. Maybe Wednesday – maybe – if the chief could negotiate it. ‘Go home,’ the super ordered. ‘Every man on the force is looking for him.’

  ‘But—’ Harper started.

  ‘Rest. We’ll all come at it fresh tomorrow. And we’ll catch him.’

  It was a good idea but he paced around the parlour, unable to settle. He played with Mary, helping her assemble blocks until she became bored and turned her attention to a doll propped against the toybox in the corner. Once she was asleep the evening seemed to chafe against him.

  ‘You’re making me dizzy,’ Annabelle told him. ‘Up and down like a jack-in-the-box.’

  ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘I know.’ She reached out and took his hand. ‘It’s not over yet. Just remember that.’

  ‘Yes.’ He kept trying to convince himself. But deep inside, all he could see was failure. What could he do tomorrow that he hadn’t done today?

  Sleep didn’t come easily; it was gone one by the time he finally dropped off. There was just enough of a breeze to make the night comfortable, but his thoughts wouldn’t give him any peace. It seemed as if he’d barely closed his eyes when something was shaking him.

  ‘Tom.’ Her voice hissed in his good ear. ‘Someone’s hammering on the door.’

  Almost half past four, according to the alarm clock, partly light outside. Bleary-eyed, he padded down the stairs and drew back the bolts on the front door.

  Constable Stone. The man who always seemed to be sent to wake him.

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘A fire, sir.’ He paused. ‘The Sword’s burning. The pub Charlie Gilmore uses.’

  ‘I’ll be there as soon as I can.’

  TWENTY-THREE

  By six the firemen were rolling up their hoses. All that remained of the building was charred beams and burned bricks, everything steaming in the morning sun. The crowd who’d gathered to see the blaze had gone, on their way to work or back to their beds.

  ‘What do you think?’

  ‘Arson,’ Reed said without hesitation. He’d appeared not long after Harper, still buttoning his tunic and watching the crew work on dousing the flames. ‘I could smell it right off. Paraffin, it’s always a giveaway.’

  ‘You’re the expert, Billy.’

  ‘That’s what they tell me.’ Reed smiled. He nodded at an approaching figure. ‘Your man’s back.’

  Charlie Gilmore, flanked by his men. He’d been here an hour before, watching helplessly as the Sword was consumed.

  ‘I’m burying Declan today and now this,’ he said. ‘Nowhere for the wake.’ He stared at Harper. ‘I’ll kill whoever did this.’

  ‘No, you won’t.’

  ‘Like hell I won’t.’ Gilmore was raising his fists. ‘I know who it was, too.’

  ‘Who?’ the inspector asked, praying he wouldn’t say George Archer. That was the last thing he needed.

  ‘Lamb.’ He curled his lip around the name. ‘The one you can’t seem to find.’

  ‘Seems like neither of us can.’

  ‘Then he’d better pray you or whatever weasel they send up from London catch up with him first.’ He spat on the pavement.

  ‘Go and mourn your brother, Charlie.’

  He watched them leave. Gilmore kicked at some embers, sending sparks flaring into the air.

  ‘Who’s Lamb?’ Reed asked.

  ‘I’ll buy you a cup of tea and tell you all about it, Billy.’

  The market traders came and went from the café. Harper talked, Reed listened. When the tale was finished, the fireman let out a low whistle.

  ‘You’ve got quite a job on your hands. But that arson at the pub was amateur work. Just luckier than the warehouse where that man was killed. The alcohol meant everything caught well.’

  ‘Bradley. That was the man in the warehouse.’ Him, Tench: their deaths seemed distant now.

  ‘That’s the one. My men could smell it wasn’t right as soon as they arrived at the Sword. It looks like everything started by a back wall near the kitchen. Sneak around in the dark and it’s child’s play.’

  ‘I’ve got two more days to find Lamb and unravel whatever’s going on.’

  Reed stared at him. The man’s face was filled with ghosts. The good friendship they’d once had was gone, but all he could feel was sympathy. ‘I wish I could help.’

  ‘You have enough on your plate. It’s not your problem. How’s Elizabeth getting along with the bakeries?’

  ‘Busier than ever now she’s taking care of everything.’ He gave a small chuckle. ‘I’ll tell you something: Tom, she loves it. I can see it in her eyes. She’s got her chance and she’s taking it.’

  ‘She’ll do well with them. You’ve got a good one there.’

  ‘You’re right,’ he said quietly. ‘How does Annabelle like her new job?’

  For a moment Harper didn’t answer. Then, ‘She’s setting the whole world in order. That’s right up her street.’

  Harper stayed in the café after Reed left to examine the ruin of the Sword again. He nursed another cup of tea, eating bread and dripping to fill his empty belly. Whatever happened, it was going to be a long Saturday. He needed something to sustain him. Something to help him think.

  ‘You look like a man who’s spent too long staring at the devil.’

  Maguire sat down opposite him.

  ‘The only devil I’m looking for has red hair.’

  ‘Not me, I hope.’ He gave a lopsided grin. His face was still gaunt, the skin pale, but there was a twinkle of life in his eyes. His hair was greasy and lank; he looked uncared-for. If he really had a summer cold it hadn’t all left yet.

  ‘You don’t have the proper scar,’ the inspector told him.

  ‘You’re looking for a man by the name of Lamb?’

  ‘What?’ Harper looked up. His heart was beating faster. If Maguire knew where he was …

  ‘I talked to your wife yesterday. She told me.’

  ‘Have you seen him?’

  ‘No. But anyone who wants to bring Charlie Gilmore down must have a little good in his soul.’

  ‘He’s killed four men here in Leeds. Maybe more.’

  ‘I know.’ His voice was serious as he drained the cup and stood. ‘I wish you luck.’

  The superintendent was already in his office. He waved Harper through, looking as if he’d been in the stati
on for hours and filling the air with the comfortable fug of his pipe.

  He pushed a piece of paper across the desk. ‘Came half an hour ago.’

  Not me. Archer.

  Short, to the point. But it said nothing he didn’t know. George Archer wanted peace now, not war.

  ‘We’re safe. Gilmore already knows Lamb set the fire. He’s burying Declan today, too.’

  ‘Busy day for him, then.’ There was no sympathy in his voice. ‘Lamb,’ he said, shaking his head. ‘Bloody Lamb.’

  ‘We were just hours behind him.’

  ‘Even minutes are too long right now.’

  ‘I know,’ Harper answered with a nod. ‘I know.’

  Ash arrived, looking as weary as Harper felt. ‘I thought I had a sniff of him last night,’ he said. ‘Someone told me about a red-haired man at the Albion Hotel.’ He gave a small, wan smile. ‘It wasn’t him.’

  ‘You heard about the fire?’

  ‘Yes, sir. Trying to up the ante, isn’t he?’

  ‘Trying. At least it’s not working.’

  ‘We’re talking when we should be searching,’ Kendall interrupted.

  ‘I’d like you and Ash out there, sir. All we can do is ask and listen. I’m going to kick the boxer out.’

  ‘Why?’ the superintendent asked.

  Harper looked at the pair of them. It was a sudden decision, but there was nothing more to be gained by keeping him in the cells.

  ‘When you’re out there, start saying that Morley’s told us everything. Just that.’

  ‘Use him as bait, you mean, sir?’ Ash asked.

  ‘Why not? We’ve tried everything else. Don’t forget, one way or another he was involved in the murder of his friends. Your friends.’ He kept an eye on the sergeant, seeing his face harden. ‘If Lamb hears, maybe it’ll bring him out of the woodwork.’

  ‘Fine,’ Kendall agreed, reaching for his top hat. ‘Back here at noon.’

  It took another ten minutes of glancing through reports for the tiniest hint of Lamb before Harper was ready to leave. He’d just walked out of the station when a boy dodged around him, pushed open the door of Millgarth station and ran inside.