The Iron Water
Page 22
The inspector wasn’t fifty yards down the road before Tollman was shouting his name loud enough to make him run back.
‘Have a listen to what the boy says, sir.’
It was the lad who’d swerved past him, breathless and red-faced. ‘Please sir, the lady at the bakery in Sheepscar said can you come now?’ He paused, closing his eyes and concentrating. ‘She says the man with red hair is there.’
A hackney was dropping a customer down the street. Harper sprinted for it, tossing the boy a coin as he went.
‘Sheepscar.’ He pulled out his warrant card. ‘Police. As fast as you can, please.’
The cabbie looked at him and nodded. ‘Yes, guv’nor.’
They made good time, and the horse was flecked in sweat when they arrived. He dashed towards the shop. The sign still read Harper’s Bakery, but it was Elizabeth he saw on the other side of the window.
‘How long?’ he asked.
‘No more than half an hour.’
Even closer now. But it might have been yesterday. In the streets around here it was easy to disappear.
She was pale, shaken. The two women behind the counter just stared. The inspector led her into the room at the back and sat her on a stool. The teapot on the table was still warm. He poured a cup for her, added milk and sugar and put it in her hand.
‘Tell me about it,’ he said gently.
‘As soon as he came in I saw his scar and I knew.’ Elizabeth looked up at him and sipped the tea. ‘Annabelle told me what he looked like. But he seemed so ordinary. All he wanted was two teacakes. Said please when he asked for them buttered.’
Mundane, he thought. But life often was.
‘What then?’ he asked her.
‘That was it.’ She shook her head. ‘He paid and left and I sent a boy to find you.’
‘Which way did Lamb go?’
‘Down to the end of the road, then he turned left. I didn’t see after that. I’m sorry.’
‘It’s fine,’ he assured her. He was picturing the streets in his mind. What was the man doing out here? It was nowhere near the city centre. A thought came to him. ‘How did he look?’
‘What do you mean?’ She didn’t understand.
‘Was he rested? Worn, what?’
‘Oh. There were smudges on his face and clothes. Just faint, but …’
‘Thank you.’ He smiled at her. ‘You were always safe. Really.’ He took out his notebook, scribbled on a page and folded it. ‘Can you find someone to take this to Millgarth?’
At the end of the street he turned left and stopped. Too many choices. In the distance he could see the chemical works on Meanwood Road. Where all this seemed to begin. Was Lamb going there? No. The place had nothing for him.
Where?
Any direction was going to be a gamble.
Lovell Road. Dooley’s Gym. It was still early, not yet eight. Men and women would be counting off the hours until Saturday dinner and the end of the working week. Then the engines would shut down, the smoke would cease. At least they’d have fair weather for their leisure. Still warm, but comfortable, not oppressive.
Inside, no sign of Morley. Just men moving, fighting, training. The rank smell of sweat. Back on the steps the sun made him blink. Had Lamb come up here? It was possible.
The inspector started back down the hill, gazing around carefully as he walked. Something down the ginnel next to the building caught his eye. He slipped through to look.
Harper pulled the police whistle from his waistcoat pocket and started to blow.
Now he knew where Lamb had gone.
‘Will he live?’ Kendall asked.
‘Maybe. That’s as far as the doctor would go,’ the inspector said.
‘So nobody really knows.’
Lamb had been battered. He looked as if every bone in his face had been broken. Blood spattered everywhere. A metal bar lay close by, but fists had done all the damage. It looked as if Eustace Morley had kept his promise.
‘He’s cuffed to the bed by his ankle and there’s a constable at his bedside. Just in case he should wake.’
‘If he ever does,’ the superintendent said. There was relief in his voice, but who could blame him?
‘I talked to one of the nurses, sir,’ Ash said. ‘She reckons he won’t last the day.’
Harper knew he should have felt a sense of triumph. But it didn’t seem like any kind of victory.
‘Doesn’t matter either way,’ Kendall told them. ‘The Yard’s off our back now. I’ve already sent the telegram.’
The case was over. No London detective would arrive to show them how it should be done. That was some small consolation, some satisfaction. But they hadn’t been the ones to find Lamb. Someone else had done the job for them. They’d failed.
‘It’s not finished yet,’ Harper said quietly. ‘We already know he wasn’t doing all this on his own. There’s still someone else out there.’
‘No, Tom.’ The superintendent’s hand clapped him on the shoulder. ‘That’s it. Everything bar the shouting. Even if Lamb pulls through we’ll have him in court for murder. If he up and dies, it saves us the money and the trouble. Whatever anyone else planned is over now. They needed Lamb to make it work. Without him it all falls apart. The only thing left is to find Morley. And that’s a job we can handle ourselves. Unless something else happens, we’ll leave the rest of it be. It’s done.’
‘I checked Morley’s lodging, sir,’ Ash said. ‘He hasn’t been there. And Dooley said he hadn’t been in the gym this morning. He swears none of the boxers there were involved. I’m inclined to believe him. If someone had given out a beating like that his knuckles would be swollen. Couldn’t hide it.’
‘Tell Tollman I want every copper looking for Morley,’ Kendall ordered, ‘but warn them he’s dangerous.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘We’re going to leave it at that and be grateful. With Lamb out of the picture we won’t have any more trouble. Once we catch Morley it’s all mopped up. It’s done, Tom.’
‘Is it?’ Something wasn’t right. He couldn’t put words to it, just the feeling in his gut.
Kendall pulled out his pocket watch and glanced at the time. ‘Right now they’re putting Declan Gilmore in the ground. He’s gone, and there’s nothing left of the Sword except a few charred pieces of wood. It’s going to take Charlie a long time to recover from all that, if he ever does. And Archer—’ the superintendent almost spat the name ‘—is intent on making himself whiter than white. It’s done.’ He gave a small chuckle. ‘In the end Lamb got what he wanted anyway. The power’s all gone.’
‘If it was him.’
‘It’s over,’ the superintendent insisted. He clicked his watch shut and replaced it. ‘We’ll find Morley. Go home. We won.’
‘Barely.’
‘It doesn’t matter, Tom. We still won. You did a good job.’
‘That’s the thing. I don’t believe it’s really over yet.’
He could have taken the tram, but he needed to walk and think. By the time he reached the Victoria he’d been moving for an hour. Here. There. Everywhere. He didn’t even notice. Trying to make sense of the picture they had. Whichever way he looked at it, the thing was still full of holes.
They’d kept the Yard at bay. That was success. Gilmore and Archer would never be powers in the city again. But someone would replace them. It was human nature. Then they’d start all over again.
But someone was behind all this. Someone they hadn’t found yet. Harper was certain the person was closer than they knew. Lamb couldn’t have had the local knowledge to bring down two gangs. He’d been involved, yes. He’d been important. But someone else was pulling the strings.
Things would only be finished when they were behind bars. But for the life of him he couldn’t see who was doing it.
He opened the door to the parlour in the Victoria, hearing the low buzz of women’s voices. Annabelle and Miss Quinn, heads close together as they studied a page in a ledger.
‘All of it?’ he asked. Suddenly he felt exhausted.
‘The fire at the Sword. Lamb. It’s all over, isn’t it?’
‘Most of it.’ He gazed around the room. ‘Where’s Mary?’
‘Sleeping.’ She rolled her eyes. ‘A good job, too, she was fractious all morning. And we still have something to sort out here.’
Harper sat in the bedroom, the door closed, a mild breeze through the open window. His daughter was on her back in the cot, eyes closed, her breathing soft and even, arms splayed on either side of her head.
So perfect, so innocent.
He lay back, trying to ease all the thoughts from his head, to empty his mind. Maybe Kendall was right; Lamb was as good as dead; he should accept it was done. But he knew he couldn’t. He wasn’t made that way.
Someone was shaking him gently. He blinked his eyes open.
‘You were snoring,’ Annabelle said.
‘Mary …?’ He began to sit up.
‘Still fast asleep.’
It was the shank of the afternoon. He could feel the heat of the day all gathered around. God only knew how he’d slept, but now he was awake his thoughts were already churning.
‘Did you sort everything out?’ he asked.
‘Not really.’ Her gown rustled as she perched on the bed.
‘What’s wrong?’ He propped himself on one elbow.
‘The sums don’t add up. I’ve gone over them, Bertha’s gone over them, then we went through them together.’ She sighed. ‘We’re off by the best part of twenty guineas.’
His eyes widened. That was a hefty sum.
‘What? Was it stolen?’
‘No. I think it was Miss Frobisher. She’s old. She must have made some mistakes. We found a few, but …’ Annabelle rubbed her eyes. ‘It doesn’t matter, we’ll sort it out next week. Come on, I want to hear it all.’
By the time he finished, Mary was awake, sitting on the rug and playing a game that seemed to involve two of the blocks and the doll. He watched her for a while, but couldn’t make it out.
‘Why did you say it’s not over?’ Annabelle asked. ‘It sounds final to me.’
‘Because it doesn’t make sense this way. Not to me.’
‘Then you’d better do what you know is right.’ She reached out and squeezed his hand.
Reed had barely given the Sword another thought after his crew left the ruin of the building. Definitely arson, but Tom Harper seemed to know who’d done it; he could look after that. Now he listened intently as Elizabeth told him about Lamb coming into the shop.
‘I was that scared I must have been shaking. I could hardly say a word.’ She pushed her palms against the table top.
‘But he’s in hospital now?’
‘That’s what everyone’s saying.’
‘It’s all done, then.’ He smiled at her. ‘Put it behind you, eh?’
‘I …’ She shook her head. ‘I know. You’re right, Billy. It’s happened, it’s history.’ At the stove she placed the kettle on the hob to boil. ‘I’ve done the figures.’ She turned, her smile proud. ‘After everything’s paid, I made almost five pounds this week.’
‘Five!’ He could hardly believe it.
‘That’s after another five for Annabelle to start paying everything off, and the wages and supplies.’ She was grinning, wide-eyed with joy. ‘Can you believe it, Billy love? Five pounds.’
TWENTY-FOUR
Sunday and he was awake early. Annabelle gave a small grunt and shifted in the bed as he rose. Mary slept on, heedless.
There was a half-light through the curtains. In the bathroom he washed, shaved in cold water, and dressed. There was nowhere he had to be. He was off duty until Monday. But he’d go in anyway. The pub was silent. Somewhere he sensed the creak of a pipe, but no voices, no words to disturb him.
He felt as if he’d hardly rested. All the things troubling him bubbled just under the surface.
The streets were empty. The skies had cleared, the smoke of the working week drifting away to show patches of blue. A gentle warmth dusted his face. The sound of his boots echoed off the buildings. All the grand offices were empty today. A single copper stood guard outside the Town Hall, barely glancing up as he passed.
The central court at the Infirmary was empty. Beyond the doors the hospital would be busy, patients awake, nurses moving around with their pills and ointments.
He remembered the room. They’d put Billy Reed in here after a beating that left him close to dead. A year and a half ago? Could it have been that long?
Harper pushed open the door. The bed was empty. Pillow plumped and waiting. Sheets a pure, clean white, the blanket drawn up. No policeman standing guard. In the corridor, he checked to be sure he had the correct room.
‘The man who was in here …’ he asked a nurse as she bustled past.
‘Talk to Sister.’ She pointed towards the ward as she dashed away.
Sister Smith was a woman with a plump face and a ready smile.
‘Where’s the man who was on his own in the room? The prisoner.’
At his question she frowned. ‘Who are you?’
‘Detective Inspector Harper, Leeds City Police.’
‘He died a little after midnight.’
‘I see. Thank you.’ He started to wander away.
‘Inspector?’ She held up a parcel wrapped in brown paper and tied with string. ‘His effects. They forgot to take them with his body.’
With the package under his arm he walked through the streets to Millgarth. Somewhere a faint peal of church bells began, then another started, like an echo. In the distance others joined in. How many people would answer the call, he wondered. His parents had only gone to weddings and funerals. He’d only been in a church a handful of times in his life. Sunday was a day for home, for family. Going out if the weather was good, filling the parlour in winter. His parents had never made any mention of God. He didn’t even know if they’d believed.
At his desk he took a penknife, cut the string and unfolded the paper. Boots, scuffed, soles worn, a white shirt with a ring of grime at the neck. A suit of good wool, nicely cut, thick and heavy, the type made to last, perfect for a working man.
An old wallet, the shine gone from most of the leather, holding a train ticket from Manchester to Leeds for May the fourteenth. A little over two months before. That fitted with all he’d learned.
No paper money, but a little over two pounds in coins, enough to weigh down the man’s pocket. A handkerchief, a cheap watch and chain. And a letter, folded away in an envelope, addressed to Mr K. Lamb at an address in Manchester.
Dear Ken, I sed things wood be in place for us. Close now you shud come to Leeds. Well meet and make our plans, all of us. Dirty wurk but the best reward at the end! Let me know when your arriving. Bob
Bob. It had to be Bob Hill. Dead in an empty house on Somerset Street. Murdered by his new partner. He read the letter again. The words were half-formed. Not an educated hand. But Hill had never been a clever man. Not the person to devise a plan to bring down the two big gangs in Leeds.
All of us. Who else, he wondered? How many? All. That meant at least one other person. Someone from Gilmore’s gang? Declan? Had he wanted to depose his brother, to become the leader of the Boys of Erin? He’d always been ambitious as well as violent. Now he was dead, too. If they’d been scheming together he’d have let Lamb come close, lowered his guard. The perfect chance to kill.
Had Lamb sensed the opportunity to have it all for himself? Could Kendall be right?
‘Good morning, sir.’
Ash hung up his battered bowler hat and glanced down at the items on the desk. ‘Lamb’s stuff?’
‘Yes. You heard he’s dead?’
‘As soon as I walked through the door. Finishes that off neatly, doesn’t it, sir?’
&nb
sp; ‘What do you make of this?’ He passed over the letter.
‘Bob Hill, do you think?’ he asked when he’d finished.
‘It has to be.’ Harper explained his idea about Declan Gilmore.
‘That’s possible,’ the sergeant agreed with a nod. ‘Looks like Lamb got greedy.’
‘Maybe he did.’ He pushed a pen around the blotter on his desk.
‘But if it wasn’t Declan there’s another man out there.’
‘Yes.’ He exhaled slowly. During the night he’d come up with names. Possibilities. And in the end he’d dismissed every one of them. ‘Any more word on Morley?’
‘Not yet, sir. He can’t stay hidden for long. People round here know who he is and what he looks like. Everyone has their eyes peeled.’
True enough. Men already had their bets down on his upcoming fight. Seats had been sold for the bout. But there’d be none of that ahead. Just a cell and the noose waiting behind the walls of Armley jail.
‘I still wonder why Morley wasn’t killed before.’
‘Because it would be noticed, sir,’ Ash said. ‘No one cared about Len and Ted. But folk would miss Morley.’ He paused and beamed under the thick moustache. ‘It would be right if we were the ones to bring him in. Fitting, you might say.’
‘You have a tip?’ He must have; there was a gleam in the man’s eye.
‘Not as such, sir. More a possibility.’
‘Then why are we waiting?’
Ash reached into a drawer in his desk and took out a polished, heavy truncheon.
‘Call it an insurance policy, sir.’
Through the Dark Arches and over the river. Less than two years earlier all this had been rubble and dust after the fire that devastated the railway station above. It was impossible to believe now. Everything was as it had once been, like an underground cathedral with a business tucked away behind the wooden frontage and doors of every arch. Harper read the first few names then stopped trying to keep count.
They emerged into the daylight of the wharf, the stillness of the canal close by. He raised an eyebrow. ‘Where?’
The sergeant pointed along the towpath out towards Armley. They’d been walking for five minutes when he asked, ‘How did you know about Wharton, sir?’