The Tin God

by Chris Nickson

  Heavy, Harper thought as the constable handed it over. He tipped it, and a knife fell on to the desk with a clunk. Reaching into the box, he pulled out a sheet of paper. The familiar writing from the folk song fragments and the first two threatening letters.

  Kill yourself or I’ll kill you.

  And scribbled underneath it:

  For young Jimmy was a-fowling, was a-fowling alone,

  When he shot his own true-love in the guise of a swan.

  He breathed slowly, passing the note around the others. Without a word, Ash left the room. He understood: if she’d received this, the other women candidates had probably been sent exactly the same. Annabelle …

  ‘I know it’s terrible,’ he said. ‘He wants to scare you. He wants to make you withdraw from the election. But with Constable Blythe around, he can’t hurt you.’

  ‘That’s right, missus,’ Blythe agreed. ‘I’ll look after you. You know that.’

  She still didn’t say a word. Her jaw was set firm as she tried to keep all her feelings inside, not to let any weakness show. He nodded at Walsh. He was good with women, he had the manner to put her at ease, to make her believe they’d keep her safe.

  ‘He won’t hurt you,’ Harper promised, and hoped it was true.

  Out in the corridor, the door closed behind him, he gave Fowler his orders: ‘Find out where he bought that knife. Six of them, if he’s sent one to all the women. Look at the postmark on the box. Six like that, the clerk at the Post Office should remember that many.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘I need to go home for a few minutes.’

  Martinson was outside the Victoria. He saluted as the superintendent approached, keeping his position on the corner. A second constable was placed to watch the back yard. Harper took the steps two at a time.

  Annabelle was sitting at the table. She’d opened the box, the knife blade shining, the note pressed flat. He put his arms around her shoulders.

  ‘I’ve been staring at this since I opened it.’ Her voice was dull and hopeless. ‘He can get to me anywhere, can’t he? Even with that copper outside, he …’ Her voice trailed off, then she lifted her head. ‘Did the others get one, too?’

  ‘Mrs Morgan did. She brought it to the station. We’re checking on the rest.’

  He kneaded her skin softly, but she didn’t respond.

  ‘He can come in here, Tom. Right through that door. He can come where we live. And we can’t stop him.’

  ‘He’s trying to scare you with this.’

  Her eyes blazed. ‘Then he’s doing a good job of it. Mary, the bomb by the back door. Now this.’

  ‘You’re safe. I promise, you are. There’s Martinson with you every day and I’m here at night.’

  Annabelle held up a hand. He could see her trembling. ‘If I’m so safe, why am I like this?’

  Harper took the knife, with the box and the note. The man knew exactly what he was doing. He understood how to spread fear. Had he planned out his whole campaign in advance?

  It hurt him to see his wife like this. She was always so strong, so determined, but this had managed to undermine her defences. Annabelle wouldn’t give up, but each morning until election day was going to grow harder and harder for her, not knowing what might come, what was waiting out there for her.

  Dear Christ, they had to find him soon. And he hoped the knives and the post office offered them some clues.

  ‘Mrs Morgan said she’s decided to retire from the race,’ Walsh said. ‘She can’t take it any more.’

  Two down, five left, Harper thought. The man was chipping away at the candidates. They were sitting in the superintendent’s office, just the two of them, waiting for the others to return.

  ‘I don’t blame her. Anyone would crack under that sort of pressure.’

  ‘How’s your wife, sir?’

  ‘Shaken,’ he admitted. ‘Scared.’

  ‘Will she stay in it, do you think?’

  He nodded. However terrified Annabelle might be, she’d never give in to threats now.

  ‘This probably wasn’t what you expected when you joined us.’

  Walsh smiled and lit a cigarette.

  ‘No, but it’s different, sir. Might as well be thrown in at the deep end. And we’re going to catch him.’

  ‘We are.’ But could they do it in time? Forcing another out would only make him push harder on the remaining women.

  ‘My missus reckons he must be petrified of women if he’s willing to go to these lengths. Says it makes her wish there was a woman in our ward she could vote for.’

  ‘I think your wife is right.’ He was about to say more when Fowler entered, a grim expression on his face.

  ‘Knives from the market, packages sent from the main post office,’ he said. ‘They remember him in both places. From the descriptions, it’s him. But that’s all. No names, nothing. He bought the knives two days ago, in the morning. Six of them. Sent them off yesterday afternoon. Sorry, sir.’

  ‘Don’t apologize,’ Harper told him. ‘We’re doing all we can. We’re just flailing around behind him, that’s all.’

  ‘What are they saying?’ he asked when Ash returned. ‘Mrs Morgan has decided to withdraw. Any others?’

  ‘One who might, sir.’ He rubbed his moustache. ‘I think she probably will, once she’s thought about it a little more. She could hardly speak when I saw her.’

  ‘What about the rest?’

  ‘They’ll stick.’ He grinned. ‘It’s made Mrs Pease more determined than ever. But he has them all scared of their own shadows right now.’ He hefted a parcel on to the desk. ‘I collected all the knives and the notes. Better if they’re gone from sight, and we’ll need them for evidence later.’

  ‘How do we catch him? We didn’t anticipate this. We don’t have a clue what he’s going to do next.’

  ‘I don’t know, sir, I really don’t.’ The inspector sighed and pursed his lips. ‘We can try putting more men on the remaining candidates. But he’s like a bloody eel, if you’ll pardon my French, sir.’

  ‘Do that. The chief will squawk about money, but we’re going to do all we can to keep them safe.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘We have two days before meetings start again. If we can get him by then …’

  ‘For all it only has two letters, if is a very big word, sir.’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘That sketch will be in the papers tomorrow, and the constables around Hyde Park are already showing it to people. Maybe we’ll be able to flush him out.’

  ‘Let’s hope to God it helps. We follow up on every tip that comes in. Doesn’t matter how ridiculous it sounds.’

  ‘Understood, sir.’

  Harper glanced at the clock. Almost five.

  ‘Go home,’ he said. ‘I think we’ve all had enough for today.’

  Harry Pepper smoked his pipe as they walked along the beach. The tide was out, the sand firm under their shoes.

  ‘No one’s likely to overhear us out here,’ he said. ‘Do you really think Millgate will buckle?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ Reed answered. ‘He’s definitely worried. I could see it on his face, especially when I mentioned Tom Barker. He thought that was an accident. It seemed to hit him.’

  ‘Then let’s hope it keeps pummelling at his brain.’

  ‘Do you know who’s behind it in the Bay?’

  ‘The Shaws,’ he answered immediately. ‘As sure as eggs is eggs. I’ve just never managed to get the evidence against them. I’d be a very happy man if I could see them convicted.’

  ‘What can you offer Terrier if he turns Queen’s evidence?’

  ‘No prison,’ Pepper replied after a moment. ‘But I want the whole network of them. The people inland as well as those on the coast. Everything he knows.’

  ‘That’s asking a great deal, Harry.’

  He shrugged. ‘That’s my offer. Take it or leave it, you can tell him.’

  ‘They’ll be watching. People will have see
n me talking to him in the tea room yesterday.’

  ‘For his sake, I hope he comes to you before the Shaws kill him, then.’ There was no pity in his voice. ‘It’s up to him. He has to make the next move. You said he has quite a past in Leeds.’

  ‘In and out of jail,’ Reed told him. ‘But nothing that could mean he’d die.’

  ‘He’s a criminal,’ Pepper said. ‘Nothing more or less. If he believed you about Barker, he knows what’s at stake. As it is, he must have some sort of protection if he’s been seen with you and he’s still alive.’ He turned and looked back towards Whitby, at the ruin of the abbey standing on top of the headland. ‘A lifetime here, and I’m still not weary of seeing that. When you’re out on the water, it means you’re almost home. I love it round here, Billy. I don’t like to see people ruin it.’

  ‘Is that what the Shaws are doing?’

  ‘Yes.’ There was anger in his voice. ‘They’re greedy. They want it all, and they’ll kill to keep it.’ He snorted. ‘I don’t mind a little bit of smuggling. It’s human nature. I used to do it myself when I was on the boats. The odd bottle here and there. They’ve made an industry of it and they’ll hurt anyone who tries to stop them. I want them gone.’

  ‘It would be a big feather in your cap.’

  Pepper grinned. ‘Goes without saying. I won’t deny it. But I’m more concerned with getting rid of the Shaws.’

  ‘We’ll see what happens with Terrier. If he’s going to come across, it’ll be in the next day or so.’

  ‘Either that or we’ll be pulling him out of the water.’ He looked at his pocket watch. ‘We’d better start back. I have to meet someone in half an hour. How are you settling in Whitby, anyway? This is probably more excitement than you wanted.’

  ‘We like it,’ Reed replied. He searched for the words. ‘It feels right for us.’

  ‘Your wife’s planning on opening a tea shop, I hear.’

  ‘She used to own a few bakeries.’

  ‘Did she now?’ He sounded surprised. ‘Quite the businesswoman.’

  ‘She’s developed a taste for it.’

  ‘I trust that Her Majesty’s servants will receive a discount.’

  ‘I’ll suggest it to her,’ he said with a grin.

  ‘It might increase her regular custom.’

  Reed laughed. ‘Is that what life is here? A series of bargains?’

  ‘Isn’t it everywhere?’ Pepper put the pipe away. ‘If you’ve ever had to make your living by selling the fish you’ve caught on the dock, you know you always try to get the most you can for them. It’s in your blood.’

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  ‘The other candidate who was wavering has pulled out, sir,’ Ash said. ‘Just four of them left now.’

  Harper nodded. A shame, but understandable. The candidates wanted to win an election, not fight for their lives. Still, one less woman made it easier to guard the rest. Sending knives and that note … Annabelle was right: he could get through the door and into the home.

  ‘Have a word with the Engineers. Make sure they’re more thorough than ever.’

  ‘Do you think he’ll start using bombs again, sir?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ the superintendent said. ‘He went back to using the post and that’s been very effective. I couldn’t even guess what he’d try next.’

  ‘We’ve had the first tips in from running that drawing in the paper,’ Fowler said.

  ‘How many so far?’

  ‘Just three, but it’s not nine o’clock yet.’

  ‘You know what to do.’ He turned to Walsh. ‘Any luck with the bobbies in Hyde Park? How have people responded to seeing that sketch?’

  ‘A pair of possibilities, but that’s all so far, sir.’

  ‘Compare every name that comes in to that list we have of people who were at the Leeds Club earlier this spring. If any match, focus on those first.’ He paused. ‘No, pass them to me. I’ll go and see them myself.’ He looked into their faces. ‘We’re going to catch him, gentlemen. I can feel it in my water.’

  ‘From your lips to God’s ears, sir,’ Walsh said with a grin.

  ‘Look into every one of those tips from the sketch yourselves. No relying on the bobbies for this.’

  He examined the knives that Ash had collected from the candidates. They were cheap things, poorly put together, the rivets already loose in the wooden handles. Second-quality, the rejects. But the blades were still made from good Sheffield steel, ground sharp as a razor. Damn the man. Damn the bastard to hell.

  ‘I’m sorry to intrude, Miss Kidson,’ Harper said, ‘but I have another query for you and your uncle.’

  ‘Is this connected to the drawing in the newspaper, Superintendent? I saw it this morning.’

  ‘It is, Miss. Sad to say, but it is.’

  Frank Kidson looked at the note, then blew his nose, making a show of returning the handkerchief to his pocket.

  ‘This cold,’ he explained. ‘It’s lingering. This is a famous song. Polly Vaughn. Sometimes it’s Molly Brawn.’ He turned to Ethel. ‘About a man shooting a girl because he mistakes her for a swan.’

  He picked up the book by his side and leafed through the contents until he found the page. ‘This is it.’

  ‘Have you written about it in your column for the Mercury, sir?’

  Kidson pursed his lips and stared at his niece. ‘Have I? Do you remember?’

  ‘At the start of last year, Uncle,’ she replied. ‘You talked about the connection to some old legends.’

  His eyes widened as he recalled. ‘Of course. That piece about the way songs can travel. Does that help, Superintendent?’

  ‘It does, sir. It confirms something, at least. I hope your cold passes quickly.’

  At the front door, Miss Kidson asked: ‘Does this and what’s in the paper relate to one of the women quitting the election?’

  ‘Two now. And I’m afraid it does, Miss.’

  ‘I’m sorry. That’s a terrible thing.’ A fit of sneezing came from the parlour. ‘I’m sorry. I’d better go. I hope you catch him very soon. For everyone’s sake.’

  ‘Thank you for your help.’

  An odd relationship between Ethel and her uncle, he thought again as he walked to the tram stop. Maybe Kidson was simply one of those men who needed a woman to look after him.

  ‘How many tips have come in?’ he asked Sergeant Tollman as he walked into Millgarth.

  ‘Twelve so far, sir. Your men are out following up on them.’

  In his office, Harper tried to concentrate on all the papers needing his attention, but it was wasted time. His mind kept straying, wondering how Ash and the others were progressing. He should be out there with them … but someone had to run this police station. That was his job now. To go over the budgets and the rotas sitting on the desk. To supervise the men.

  It would never sit quite comfortably on his shoulders. He was made for being out there, wearing the soles of his shoes thin and solving cases. But this was his lot. He’d accepted the post. He needed to try harder to make it fit. Maybe he’d lost the knack of being a detective in the last two years. He certainly hadn’t managed to crack this case yet. Would the old Tom Harper have had a man under arrest by now? That was a question he couldn’t even begin to answer. He wasn’t sure he wanted to know. Ash, Fowler, Walsh, they were as good as he’d ever been; maybe better. They worked themselves to the bone, they were clever. The problem lay in him. He needed to trust them completely.

  But how could he do that when it all came home, with someone threatening to kill Annabelle and trying to snatch Mary?

  One by one, the men returned to the station at the end of the day. They looked weary, footsore, each of them shaking his head.

  ‘I had one who seemed like a good fit,’ Fowler said. ‘Turns out he just returned from London two days ago. He showed me the railway ticket.’

  ‘You came closer than I did,’ Walsh complained. ‘How anyone can think a bald, seventy-year-old man resembles someone in his for
ties with greying hair is beyond me.’

  ‘Nothing from the bobbies in Hyde Park, either, sir,’ Ash reported. He held up slips of paper. ‘We do have more to look at, though.’

  ‘Have something to eat first,’ Harper told them. He needed them alert.

  Reed had seen the jet workshops dotted around Whitby, but he’d never been in one. The place was empty now, the workers all gone for their dinner. It was a cramped room, far smaller than he’d expected, with barely enough space for men to stand shoulder to shoulder as they carried out their tasks, all the grinding, cutting and shaping of the stones. Dust hung in the air and caught in his throat. Almost as bad as being in the mines, he thought.

  The jewellery had been popular since the Queen first wore it when she was in mourning for Prince Albert. Black and sombre, it did possess a deathly beauty. But in this tiny factory there seemed to be little sense of art.

  Terrier John stood in the far corner, by a stove that was warming a pan of foul-smelling glue. The inspector hardly had room to edge close to him.

  Millgate opened a wooden door, inclined his head, and led the way down a passage. The stone walls were close on either side, and the only light came from the room behind them. Another door, off to the right, took them into a storeroom with a small, high window.

  ‘This is a funny place for a meeting, Terrier,’ Reed said. ‘You must have something important to say.’

  He’d received the note that morning, pushed through the letterbox of his house on Silver Street. No signature, written in a shaky, uneducated hand. Simply an address and a time. And now he was in a small building on Church Lane, upstream from the bridge, near the place they called Abraham’s Bosom.

  ‘I know the man who runs this place. He’s a friend.’

  ‘Trust him, do you?’

  ‘Yes.’ The Terrier paced around, although there wasn’t much room. Shelves lined the walls, some holding finished pieces of jet, ready to go on sale in the shops around Whitby, others with stone waiting to be worked.

  ‘Looks like something has you worried.’

  Even with no name, he knew who’d sent the note. The man had to be frightened. Just two days since he’d been so desperate to leave their little talk at the Inglenook and he was back. The fish had bitten quickly. Time to reel him in. Reed leaned against the door jamb and lit a cigarette.