The Tin God

by Chris Nickson

  ‘Tom?’

  She stirred as he rose. Her voice was half-smothered by sleep.

  ‘It’s still early,’ he told her. ‘You can rest for a while yet.’

  ‘I can’t give up, can I?’

  ‘No,’ he assured her. ‘You can’t.’ But whatever her decision, he’d back her completely. And between them, they’d take care of Mary.

  ‘What have you found out about that handkerchief?’ Harper asked.

  ‘There are eight shops selling linen of that quality in Leeds, sir,’ Walsh answered. ‘Evidently it’s about as good as you can buy. Definitely not cheap.’

  ‘You know what to do this morning. Visit them all. I doubt if they can identify it, but try to get a list of all customers who’ve bought handkerchiefs like that in the last …’ He tried to think.

  ‘Let’s say a year, sir,’ Ash suggested.

  ‘A year,’ the superintendent agreed.

  ‘If they even keep records like that,’ Fowler said. ‘Bought by men, or anyone?’

  ‘A man.’ He didn’t hesitate in his reply. It seemed impossible to imagine their killer receiving gifts.

  ‘The Irish Linen shop on Commercial Street,’ Fowler said. It was late afternoon, still dry out no matter how the clouds seemed to threaten. The sergeant looked weary, but there was a smile on his face. ‘They’re certain it’s one of theirs, although I’ve no idea how they could tell.’

  ‘And do they know who bought handkerchiefs like that from them?’ Harper asked.

  Fowler shook his head and pushed the spectacles up his nose.

  ‘Eight people have bought them in the last year. They can tell me when, how many, even the time of day they were sold. But no names. They don’t write them down and the shop assistants don’t remember; I asked. I’m sorry, sir.’

  ‘Never mind. It was a good try. Well done.’ The sergeant left the office.

  What could they do, he wondered? What could they bloody do? He could feel each moment passing, like grains of sand in a timer. He wanted to be the copper to catch this man. He wanted to look into his eyes as he was arrested, to see the defeat and the hatred and the fear. Harper needed this victory.

  Sergeant Tollman rapped his knuckles on the door frame.

  ‘Sorry, sir, I meant to bring this through earlier.’ He placed a letter on the desk. ‘Another one from Whitby. Looks like you and Inspector Reed have a regular correspondence these days.’

  ‘Terrier John.’

  ‘Let’s hope Mr Reed finds something good on him. We never nailed him for much in the past.’

  He sliced open the envelope and read. The social things first, with the name and address of the hotel that Elizabeth approved. He’d drop them a line very soon, and have them reserve rooms over Christmas.

  Then to the heart of the matter, about the smugglers, the arrest, the questioning of Terrier John and the way he protested his innocence. Harper glanced up at the clock on the wall. The man would have been up before the beak by now. Decision already made. He wished Billy well in getting his man for something. But he had more urgent things on his mind.

  The parlour was full of women. He stood in the doorway, astonished at the sight. Young, old, in good gowns and cheap cotton dresses, they counted out piles of paper and tied them up with string, chattering merrily.

  Annabelle moved from one to another, giving instructions, smiling and looking happy. There was no sign of last night’s distress on her face.

  ‘More leaflets arrived from the printer this afternoon,’ she told him in the kitchen. ‘We need to get them out tomorrow. They all volunteered to help.’

  He searched her face, looking into her eyes.

  ‘I’m fine, Tom,’ she told him. ‘Honestly.’

  ‘And Mary?’

  ‘She woke up this morning as if nothing had happened. No problems at school; I asked her teacher when I picked her up. On the way home she was her usual self, talking about the lessons.’ Annabelle looked over his shoulder at the women moving around. ‘Why don’t you take her out for fish and chips? This lot will be here for a little while yet.’

  Mary held his hand as they walked up Roundhay Road, chattering away, pointing out this classroom and that as they passed her school. No sign that yesterday her tears wouldn’t stop falling. Had she purged it all from her system, he wondered? Could it really be that easy, that quick?

  No, of course not. It would all return. But he couldn’t do anything about the future. All he could take care of was the here and now.

  The fish shop was small and steamy, with the greasy, welcoming smell of hot dripping. Cod and chips twice, doused in salt and vinegar and wrapped in yesterday’s newspapers. He watched grease soak through on to another editorial about the election. At least someone had found a good use for it.

  There was no rush to go home; the hurly-burly would go on for a some time yet. Instead he strolled with Mary, talking idly as they ate. Sometimes it seemed miraculous to him that this small person with thoughts and opinions, a girl so quick and bright, could be his. She seemed to remember everything she learned. She considered it, and asked questions when it didn’t make sense. How long before she wanted to know things he hadn’t a hope of answering?

  Mary was precocious. Her teacher had told them so, looking dismayed while she said it, as if an intelligent girl might have some kind of curse on her.

  They were lucky. They had to money to help her. When all her classmates vanished into service or the mills and factories once they were nine years old, their daughter could be properly educated. She’d have a chance, as much as the world would allow.

  At the corner of Manor Street they leaned against the wall, watching all the carts and trams pass. Suddenly she looked up at him quizzically.

  ‘Da, what do you know about—’ she took a breath, concentrating to make sure she pronounced the word correctly ‘—rhinoceroses?’

  God help him, Harper thought as he burst out laughing. There were years of this ahead of him.

  ‘Sir,’ Walsh said, ‘I think we might have a sniff of him.’

  ‘What?’ Harper asked. ‘Go on. How?’

  ‘There was a man at the meeting last night who had a resemblance to the bomber. Well-dressed, greying hair. I know, there are plenty of those, but he seemed out of place there.’

  ‘Which meeting?’

  ‘Hunslet, sir. Mrs Morgan.’

  ‘Did you talk to him?’

  ‘He didn’t do anything wrong so I had no reason to stop him. Just listened quietly, then left once it was over. I thought I’d wander off behind him and see where he went.’

  ‘Spit it out,’ the superintendent told him. ‘You must have something.’

  ‘He walked back into Leeds then caught a tram. It was almost empty, so I had to go upstairs. I got off the stop after him and ran back, but he’d gone.’

  ‘Where was this?’

  ‘Hyde Park, sir. Just the far side of Woodhouse Moor. Victoria Road.’

  Miles away from Hunslet.

  ‘Good work,’ he told Walsh. ‘This morning I want you out, talking to the beat coppers who cover that area. See if they recognize him at all. If they’re any good at their job they should be able to narrow it down to a few men.’

  ‘Gladly, sir.’ He was grinning at the praise as he left.

  ‘I wish he’d brought him in for questioning,’ Ash said worriedly.

  ‘So do I,’ Harper agreed. ‘I’d have done it. You would, too. But he’s still new. He’s finding his feet here. Sticking to the letter of the law.’ He sighed. ‘Still, I suppose we can’t really go grabbing people off the street. Sometimes I wish we could. It would make our lives a damned sight easier. We’re getting closer, though.’ His mouth flicked into a grim smile. ‘I can feel it in my water.’

  TWENTY-ONE

  ‘What happened in court?’ Reed asked. He’d dashed over to Custom House from the railway station after seeing the chief constable on to the Scarborough train. Inspection morning, a chance for the top brass
to see how the new man was settling in.

  It had gone well, he thought. Sergeant Brown and his bobby had cleaned the police station on Spring Hill so well that it seemed to glisten. The smell of beeswax, all the files carefully arranged and aligned, not a single scrap of paper out of place.

  Reed was in his dress uniform, medal ribbons on his chest from his army service in Afghanistan, two more for bravery he’d earned when he was still walking the beat, the last pair for his work with Leeds City Fire Brigade. If nothing else, they added a splash of colour to the dark blue. And they impressed the chief, which mattered more.

  He could breathe easily, for another six months, at least. But he’d missed Terrier John’s court date. Now he hoped that Harry Pepper had some good news for him.

  ‘Three months each for the captain and his man,’ the Excise man replied. ‘With fishing season over, that’s not going to be a big hardship for them.’

  ‘How about Millgate?’

  ‘Not guilty, free to go.’ He shook his head. ‘Even the captain said your friend had nothing to do with it. He was probably paid to say that. I don’t believe a word of it, but the magistrate did. Man of unblemished character and all that waffle.’

  ‘No one brought up his record in Leeds?’ Reed asked in disbelief.

  ‘They didn’t even come near it.’ He reached into his pocket and pulled out his watch. ‘It’s dinnertime, near as dammit. Let’s go and get something to eat. It might take this taste out of my mouth.’

  ‘What do you think is going on?’ Reed asked as they left the pie shop. One thing he’d noticed about Whitby; they didn’t stint on the portions. Meat and potato pie with plenty of mashed potatoes and a hefty pile of carrots.

  Pepper paused long enough to get his pipe going, and stared down Flowergate towards the harbour.

  ‘I’m not sure. We took a small haul and put two men away. That makes us look efficient. They chanced their arm, going in the middle of the day like that. Maybe they thought we wouldn’t notice. It’s strange, though; normally they’d wait until dark to do their business. It makes me think they have something bigger going on. I’m starting to suspect your Terrier John has some power. He looked to be the one sending them out yesterday.’

  ‘Add Tom Barker’s death to that.’

  ‘I know,’ Pepper said with a nod. ‘It could be an accident. But with the timing I don’t believe it.’

  Reed smoked his cigarette as they cut through the ghaut, the little cut that led down to Pier Road.

  ‘You know this area. What do you think they’re going to do? And where?’

  Pepper snorted. ‘If I had the answers to those, I’d already have the culprits in custody. But I’m convinced Millgate’s involved. He was lucky, that’s all. I’ll be keeping a close watch on him now.’

  ‘If there’s anything I can do …’ Reed offered, and the Excise man smiled.

  ‘I’m sure we’ll find a few things. For a start, you can pick up the bill next time.’

  ‘The bobbies have come up with ten possibilities,’ Walsh said. It was late in the afternoon, already feeling like night. Rain was falling, and the pavements shone as if they’d been polished, reflecting the lights from the gas lamps.

  ‘How many have you spoken to?’ Harper asked.

  ‘Five so far. I never knew how much of a warren it was back there. Miles of streets. But none of them is our man. I’m going back out there later to try and catch the rest.’

  ‘He could be someone the uniforms didn’t think about,’ Fowler said. The others glared, and he set his jaw. ‘Well, it’s true. I don’t care how good they are, they can’t remember everyone. We’ve already said this man’s big asset is his invisibility.’

  He was right, the superintendent thought; this whole time had been like chasing a ghost. But this was the best lead they’d had.

  ‘Let’s hope he’s one of those on your list,’ Harper said wearily. ‘There probably won’t be much of a turnout tonight in this weather.’

  The piles of wood that children were accumulating on waste ground for their bonfires would be sodden. Dismal, he thought as he waited for the tram. But there were months of this ahead, an entire winter. Worse, probably, if snow arrived in January.

  First, though, they had to find their killer. He wanted it to be one of the men Walsh was going to see. But somehow he couldn’t summon up the faith to believe it. It all felt as if it was slipping away from him.

  Harper stood at the back of the hall. The air was heavy with the smell of wet wool, the mood one of duty, not excitement. Even Annabelle had little inspiration as she spoke. She was going through the motions, not able to find the spark in herself.

  The door opened with a loud squeak and Harper turned. A copper, still in his helmet, gazing around.

  ‘What is it?’ he hissed.

  ‘Sorry, sir. Inspector Ash wants you at Millgarth.’

  For a second he could hope they’d found the killer, then the uniform said: ‘He asked me to tell you that they haven’t caught him, but no one’s hurt, either. His exact words, sir.’

  Very enigmatic, Harper thought. It meant something had happened, but no damage done. He glanced over his shoulder at the stage.

  ‘You stay here, then escort my wife home.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘Now we know how he got Harry Cain, anyway,’ Ash said. He sat at his desk with a half-drunk mug of tea in front of him, the surface of the liquid turned a thick, scummy brown. He ran a finger on each side of his moustache.

  ‘Go on,’ Harper said.

  ‘You’re aware that Mrs Lockwood is one of the Poor Law Guardian candidates, of course, sir.’

  Harper nodded. He knew the names of all seven women so well he could have recited them in his sleep.

  ‘She had a meeting tonight,’ the inspector continued. ‘Her husband, his name’s Charlie, he’s not been well for a while, so he stayed at home. About half an hour after she left there was a knock on the door. When he answered it, a chap was standing on the step. Said he was one of her volunteers. She’d left some notes she needed, and could he come in and pick them up.’

  ‘A fairly plausible story.’

  ‘Possibly, if Charlie Lockwood had ever seen him before. With everything that’s happened, he was on his guard. He said no, then this man tried to barge his way in. Didn’t manage it, because Charlie’s a big lad, then he gave up and went tearing off down the street.’

  ‘That’s some good news, at any rate.’

  Ash began to smile. ‘It gets a little better, sir. Turns out Mr Lockwood is a dab hand at drawing with a pencil.’

  ‘We have a sketch?’

  With a flourish, the inspector opened his desk drawer and pulled out a sheet of paper, like a magician performing his best trick.

  ‘It was too dark to see the man’s face properly, and he had his hat pulled down, but … yes, sir, we do.’

  Harper picked it up by the edges, handling it as if it was a rare work of art.

  Ash was right; Lockwood was a natural artist. There was a sense of the man in the drawing, as if he could almost step off the paper and into the room. He was alive and moving. But there was little detail in the face. The suggestion of shape in the nose and the cheekbones, enough to give a feel – and the rest hidden in shadow.

  ‘It’s very good …’ Harper began.

  ‘I know, sir. It’s not going to help us catch him.’ He paused and squinted at the page. ‘You feel he’s right there, though, don’t you?’

  ‘If only he were.’ The superintendent handed the sketch back. ‘One thing – he’s failed again.’

  ‘Agreed, sir. Funny, though, even his failures are successes in a way. They all spread that seed of fear and doubt. I don’t want to imagine what Mrs Lockwood is feeling right now.’

  ‘I can guess,’ Harper told him. ‘All too well.’ He sighed. ‘Have you had the uniforms on a house-to-house?’

  ‘They haven’t turned anything up yet. But we’re getting closer, sir. Each time
we have a little bit more.’ He put a heavy finger on the drawing. ‘This. The handkerchief. The man Walsh followed on the tram.’

  ‘Who wouldn’t have been home tonight because he was out trying to kill Mr Lockwood …’ Harper picked up the thought.

  ‘That could narrow it down.’

  Could, might, should, ought to. Words he’d heard too often. He felt a wave of exhaustion rise in him, all the anticipation and excitement flooding away.

  ‘Let’s see what we have in the morning.’ At the door, he turned back. ‘It’s good work. And you’re right. We’re closer. That hand’s coming down on his collar very soon.’

  But would it be soon enough?

  Annabelle was standing in the doorway of Mary’s room, staring at their daughter. He felt a moment’s panic when he saw her, thinking that something had happened. But the ghost of a smile crossed her face as she moved towards him.

  ‘Just checking,’ she said quietly. ‘Sleeping like a lamb. And she was her old self tonight, Ellen said. Questions coming out of her ears. Maybe it was just a blip.’

  ‘Maybe,’ he agreed, although they both knew that nothing was ever resolved so easily. Or so quickly.

  ‘And your trouble can’t have been much if you’re back so soon,’ he told her as they undressed and washed. Lying in bed, his arm around Annabelle’s shoulders, her head lying on his chest, he could feel her voice as much as hear it.

  ‘Nobody hurt. That’s something.’

  ‘I’ll take any good news at all,’ he said. ‘I just want to be there when we catch him.’

  ‘So do I. I have a bone to pick with him.’

  ‘The meeting seemed quiet tonight.’

  ‘Yes,’ she agreed. ‘I couldn’t find any oomph.’ She snuggled closer. ‘It’ll come back.’

  ‘How many of those men do you have left to see in Hyde Park?’ Harper asked.

  ‘Three, sir,’ Walsh answered.

  ‘You know what happened last night. You’ve seen the drawing.’

  It was pinned to the wall, staring down at them like an accusation.

  ‘He’s still laughing at us,’ the superintendent continued. ‘And he’s got the luck of the bloody devil. Let’s see if we can wipe the smile off his face today.’ He turned to Fowler. ‘Go back to that Irish linen shop. See if anyone’s memory has been jogged.’