The Tin God

by Chris Nickson

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘I’ll be honest. I’m wondering about bringing in someone from one of the other divisions to head up the investigation.’ He held up his hand to stop any interruption. ‘Not yet, no need to worry about that. And don’t imagine I’m saying you’ve done a bad job. Quite the opposite. You’ve achieved wonders so far. Just that a fresh set of eyes might help.’ He paused. ‘Someone who’s not quite so involved in things.’

  Harper swallowed hard. ‘Yes, sir.’

  Funny, he thought. Yesterday he’d suggested the same thing himself, offering to stand aside. Now, faced with that as a real possibility, it felt like a slap in the face.

  ‘I had a case taken from me once.’ Crossley’s mouth twisted into an awkward smile. ‘It still rankles a little, I’ll admit that. But looking back, it was the best thing to do. They solved it in three days. We can’t afford to have too much pride. We need to catch the criminals, you know that.’

  ‘Yes, sir. We do.’

  ‘That has to be my concern in this. I need you to understand, Tom. I just wanted to let you know in advance that I might want someone else to handle things. For now, though, you’re still in charge. You have a remarkable record.’

  And one that would look tarnished if this case was handed to someone else.

  ‘Thank you, sir.’

  ‘And if I do need to bring anyone in, that won’t change it in any way.’

  ‘Yes, sir,’ he replied, although he knew the words were a lie. It would stand there, a black mark in his career. A failure.

  ‘I know you’re doing everything you can. You’ve made some excellent progress. Finding that folk song connection was good. But what does it mean?’

  ‘I haven’t worked that out yet, sir. It seems to be his signature, or something.’

  ‘We can ask when we catch him.’ The chief picked up a pen and turned it end over end. ‘I have faith you can do that.’

  ‘Let’s hope you’re right, sir.’

  ‘We both know the clock’s ticking, Tom. But I can’t let it tick forever.’

  He was in no hurry to go back to Millgarth. He needed to think. He felt as if his skin was burning, that everyone would see the shame on his face. Bloody hell. His hands made fists in his overcoat pockets.

  The real problem was that the chief was right. They needed the killer, and Harper was so deep among the trees that he couldn’t make out the forest. Maybe it did need someone who could look at it all from the outside. But he wanted to arrest this man himself. He wanted to see his eyes as the cuffs went on, then have a few minutes alone with him in the cells. For Annabelle. And especially for Mary.

  At least he had a little time yet. Crossley had given him that. He needed to make sure they used it well.

  He found himself on Leeds Bridge, leaning on the iron parapet and staring over the water. Boats thronged the moorings by the warehouses, loading and unloading their cargos, three deep in places. The city was thriving. The pall of smoke from hundreds of chimneys was a testament to prosperity.

  He wanted that man. And he was damned well going to have him.

  The detectives’ room was empty. They were all out, watching meeting halls. Harper gathered up the file and took it into his office to go through the pages and try to absorb it all. Every little detail. By six o’clock he felt as if his head was bursting, and he was only halfway through. But Annabelle had a meeting tonight and he needed to be there.

  ‘What’s wrong?’ she asked as they turned from one street to the next, exchanging one long terrace of back-to-back houses for the next. ‘You were quiet all the way through supper and if your face was any longer you’d be tripping over it.’

  He told her about the meeting with Crossley. She cocked her head and glanced at him as they walked.

  ‘Would it be for the best?’ Annabelle asked. ‘If someone else took over.’

  ‘I really don’t know.’ He let out a frustrated sigh. ‘But I’m certain that I want to find this man more than I’ve ever wanted anything in the job.’

  ‘Maybe you care too much.’

  ‘That’s more or less what the chief said,’ Harper admitted. ‘But it’s important to me. Because of you and Mary.’

  ‘He hasn’t kicked you off it just yet, has he?’

  ‘No.’ He smiled wanly. ‘He’s giving me more time to finish it.’

  ‘Then don’t complain,’ she told him. ‘You still have your chance. You can do it, I know you can. Come on, there’s the soldier boy outside the hall.’

  ‘None of us spotted anyone suspicious around the halls yesterday, sir,’ Ash said. ‘I think we’re wasting time we could use better than spending all day watching and hoping.’

  ‘What do you suggest?’ the superintendent asked.

  ‘Something that involves hunting, not waiting,’ Fowler said. ‘He’s out there. We’re hanging about for him to make the next move.’

  ‘Then how do we flush him out?’ He looked at their faces. They didn’t know the answer any more than he did. Harper was all too aware of the hours moving by. ‘How? Until he acts again, we’re helpless.’

  ‘We know what he looks like, sir,’ Walsh began. ‘We know he speaks well, and his interests—’

  ‘And that’s all we know,’ Harper said. ‘That description is very general, and he might have set up that interest in folk songs to send us off in the wrong direction. Did you ever think of that?’

  He’d only just considered it himself. But it was a possibility.

  ‘If that really is the case, he’s even more devious than we thought,’ Ash said.

  ‘Maybe he is.’ He’d confounded them so far. The man had planned his campaign carefully. He would already have his next moves worked out. ‘We need to disrupt what he wants to do.’

  ‘Don’t we need to know what he intends first?’ Fowler asked.

  ‘That’s simple. He wants the women to drop out of the election. Nothing less will be enough. Only one has so far, and polling day is drawing closer. He might be starting to feel a little anxious.’

  ‘He hasn’t show any sign of it yet,’ Ash said. ‘What did you have in mind, sir?’

  Harper shook his head. ‘I haven’t a clue. But let’s do something quickly, gentlemen. Very quickly.’

  The inspector lingered after the others had gone.

  ‘I heard you had a session with the chief yesterday.’

  He should have guessed that Ash would hear. It seemed no one on the force took a breath without him knowing about it.

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘I gather he’s keeping you in charge of this.’

  ‘For now. If we don’t make an arrest, then yes, then he might appoint someone else to run the case.’

  ‘The rumour is that it would be Superintendent Davidson. So we’d better see it doesn’t come to that, sir. I haven’t mentioned it to the others. They’d do their best, anyway. We all would.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  Ash straightened his jacket. It was tight on his big frame, the waistcoat stretched over his chest.

  ‘I just wanted to let you know, sir. That’s all. And I’ll see if I can work out how to put a spoke in our friend’s wheel.’

  ‘I appreciate it.’

  Loyalty, he thought as the door closed. Something that couldn’t be bought. And he was grateful for it.

  Exactly as predicted, the gale had blown itself out, leaving cloudy skies and temperatures that carried the first signs of winter. But everything was so still, Reed thought as he walked to the police station on Spring Hill.

  The last of the leaves had tumbled down, mounded in damp piles. A few branches lay in the gardens, torn off the trees. But all the violence of the storm had passed. He’d never realized nature could be so brutal in England.

  ‘Bit calmer today, isn’t it, sir?’ Sergeant Brown said cheerily as he entered. ‘The first blow of the season always cleans things out. And that was a fair wind.’

  ‘Does it get worse than that?’

  �
��Sometimes. That’s when you stay inside and make sure everything’s shut tight.’ He pushed a folded piece of paper across the desk. ‘This came for you first thing, sir. From Mr Pepper. He’d like you to call on him as soon as you can.’

  Reed pursed his lips. ‘Did he say why?’

  ‘No, sir, that’s all there is. Did you hear about the body washed up last night?’

  ‘Body? What happened?’

  ‘Old Ken Jones was walking his dog and spotted something just past the spa ladder out to the east pier. The Coast Guard pulled out the corpse.’

  ‘Who was it? Do they know?’

  ‘His face was battered, but they reckon it was Tom Barker.’

  ‘I don’t know him.’

  ‘You would if you’d ever met him. Loved to play dominoes, always said he could beat anybody.’ Brown sighed. ‘He’ll have his chance in heaven now, eh?’

  ‘I heard about Tom Barker.’

  ‘Yes,’ Pepper said. He smoked his cigar and stared out of the window at the harbour. ‘You worked out who he was, then?’

  ‘Yes.’ Reed lit a cigarette.

  ‘I went to see the body first thing. He had a fair few injuries.’

  ‘From the rocks, do you think?’

  Pepper shrugged. ‘Possibly. Or someone beat him to death then dropped him in the water.’

  Reed let out a low, slow breath. ‘How likely is that?’

  ‘He was informing on smugglers. If someone discovered that …’

  ‘We were very careful.’

  Pepper turned. ‘It doesn’t matter. This is a small town. A very small town. You’d be amazed how many people see things. And how whispers get around.’

  ‘What do we do now?’

  Something caught his attention. ‘We look. Come here. You might want that spyglass.’ Pepper pointed at the pier. ‘Tell me what you see.’

  Reed focused the lens, until he could pick out the scene clearly, everything so close that they might have been just a few yards away. Two men whose faces he didn’t know were preparing to push off in a boat. But he knew the third figure. Terrier John was talking to them urgently, waving his hands and giving orders.

  ‘Interesting. But what does it mean?’

  ‘I’ve heard a rumour that same boat went out yesterday straight after the storm had passed, too. Not for long. Funny, though, no one will confirm it,’ Pepper said. ‘Do you fancy a walk on the cliff tops, Inspector? Maybe we can keep an eye on where they go.’

  Reed smiled. ‘That sounds like a very good idea to me.’

  NINETEEN

  By four o’clock Harper could feel the frustration pounding in his head. He’d finished re-reading the file, and the killer remained as elusive as ever. Sometimes he imagined he had a glimpse of him, then it would fade to nothing like a will-o’-the-wisp, always just out of reach.

  He hadn’t managed to come up with a plan. How could you pursue someone who could switch from letters to bombs to threats to murder in the blink of an eye? How could you guess what he’d try next?

  There were two meetings tonight. Annabelle had the evening off; she was probably already soaking her feet in Epsom salts. But he wouldn’t have a chance to spend time with her. Not when he had the possibility of another copper taking the case hanging like an axe over his head.

  He jerked up at the tap on the door. Sergeant Tollman, holding a letter.

  ‘This came for you, sir, and that Mr Kidson and his niece would like a word.’

  ‘Thank you. Show them in, please.’

  The man was in his usual dark suit, his hair brushed and tamed today. Ethel Kidson was the one with poise, he decided. She had a look of anticipation on her face, a faint smile, while her uncle appeared as earnest as ever.

  ‘I think we might have found something for you, Superintendent,’ she said.

  ‘What is it?’

  Kidson took a folded sheet of paper from his jacket.

  ‘Some names. I’ve asked around everyone I know, trying to discover who’s been looking for songs in recent months. It turns out there have been three more of them. That’s all, I’m afraid.’ For a moment he looked abashed. ‘I told you it was a small field.’

  ‘Quite honestly, we were surprised to find that many,’ Miss Kidson added.

  Harper looked at the list. All men. All three in Leeds. Names and addresses. He realized he was gripping the paper tightly.

  ‘This is very, very helpful,’ he told them gratefully. ‘Do you know anything about these men?’

  ‘I met Mercer once,’ Kidson said.

  ‘What does he look like?’

  ‘He walks with a stoop,’ the man replied after a moment. ‘Has a beard. I’d say he’s about sixty.’

  ‘That’s fine, thank you, sir.’ No resemblance. One to cross off immediately. ‘And the other two?’

  ‘We don’t know them at all,’ Ethel Kidson said. She stood and smoothed down the front of her gown. ‘We won’t take up more of your time, Superintendent. I’m sure you have plenty to do. I hope this can help you.’ She took her uncle by the elbow and led him out of the office.

  ‘Ash, Fowler, Walsh,’ Harper called. ‘We have a couple of visits to make.’

  Two men to each address. It would save time. He felt the hope pushing as the cab moved out to Headingley.

  Across from him, Walsh was quiet, staring at nothing. Readying himself. It was the way Harper had been himself when he was younger and all this was still new. Back when there was the thrill of danger about everything in plain clothes. Now … there was still the joy of the hunt, but he’d learned not to grow too excited about every possibility. Too many of them turned out to be nothing.

  The house lay in the streets behind St Michael’s Church. Solid places, not rich, not poor. When he found the one they wanted, Harper sent the constable around to the ginnel to cover the back door. The usual procedure. The curtains were closed, but a light showed in the front room.

  He took a breath, climbed the three steps to the front door, offered a quick prayer that this would be the man, and knocked.

  And if it was him, it might end up being a while before the superintendent let Walsh in. There was payment due for trying to snatch Mary, for threatening Annabelle, and he intended to exact every last ounce of it. Resisting arrest, he’d call it, and who would say it was a lie?

  He was smiling at the dream of it when the door opened to show a man of thirty, with dark hair and a thin moustache. He blinked quizzically.

  ‘Can I help you?’

  ‘Mr Reynolds?’

  ‘That’s right. Might I ask who you are?’

  ‘I’m Superintendent Harper with Leeds City Police, sir. Are you the John Reynolds who’s interested in folk songs?’

  ‘I am,’ he replied suspiciously. ‘Why? What’s this about?’

  ‘Then I’ll offer you my apologies, sir. I believe we have a case of mistaken identity.’ He raised his hat and left. Dammit. A whistle brought Walsh from his hiding place. Harper glanced up at the church clock. A little after seven and dark now.

  ‘Go on to Mrs Morgan’s meeting,’ he ordered. ‘I’ll be back at the office.’

  Perhaps Ash and Fowler had enjoyed better luck, he thought as they rode the tram back into town. If they had him … but deep inside he knew it would be another dead end. This man they were after was clever. Too clever. He covered his tracks, and laid plenty of false ones.

  Harper was right. A scrawled note on his desk simply read Not him. Gone to meeting. There was nothing else he could do here tonight. He might as well make his way home.

  Harper walked. He’d just missed a tram. By the time the next one arrived he could almost be home. North Street was quiet, many of the businesses closed for the night, only the Hope Inn, the White Stag, and the Eagle spilling noise and light out into the darkness.

  He stood on the other side of Sheepscar Street, looking at the Victoria with pride. Home. More comfortable and more welcoming than anywhere he’d ever lived. Home is where the heart is, that w
as what they said, and his was in those rooms above the bar, with Annabelle and Mary. Harper sighed with satisfaction. He was about to cross the road when he caught a movement at the corner of his eye and froze. Someone climbing over the wall, out of the yard behind the pub and into the ginnel.

  He began to run.

  There couldn’t be more than fifty yards between them. The man turned his head as he heard the sound of feet, then began to sprint.

  But Harper had a good start. He’d found his pace and he had a heart full of urgency and anger to spur him along. By the time they reached the end of the street he’d narrowed the gap to twenty yards. He was breathing hard, eyes ahead, ready to take this man.

  A missing cobble. A gap instead of stone. His foot landed in the space and he started to fall, desperately flailing at the air for balance. Harper landed on his shoulder and rolled. He started to rise, pushing himself up with his hands.

  By the time he was standing, the man had gone. Somewhere on the edge of his hearing he could make out someone running. Too far. Too late. He’d never catch him now.

  Then the thought hit him. The pub. Christ.

  He fumbled with his keys at the gate, darted through the back door, fingers awkward as he put a match to a lantern and the flame soared. Outside, in the yard, and there it was, right up against the building. A package. Exactly the same as the bombs the soldiers had defused

  ‘Dan.’ He took the barman aside, speaking quietly. ‘Get the customers out of here. All of them, as soon as you can.’

  ‘Why? What’s happened?’

  ‘Tell them there’s a gas leak, anything, but get them out.’

  ‘Tom …’

  ‘Now.’

  Harper dashed up the stairs. Annabelle turned as he entered the room, her face bright with expectation until she saw his expression.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Fetch Mary and Ellen and get out. There’s a bomb in the yard.’

  For a second she couldn’t speak. ‘But—’

  ‘Please, get out of here. Can you stay with Ettie Parsons?’

  ‘I suppose so—’

  ‘Go. As soon as you can.’ He kissed her and ran back down the stairs. He needed a telephone.

  ‘All taken care of, sir.’ Sergeant Buckley stood under the gas lamp and brushed some dirt from his uniform.