Brass Lives

by Chris Nickson

  Harper was still daydreaming when the telephone bell sounded.

  ‘Detective Chief Constable Harper? It’s Inspector Richards in Harrogate. You rang earlier looking for information about Lilian Lenton.’

  ‘That’s right.’ He sat straight, the receiver pressed close against his good ear, a pencil in his hand.

  ‘I put my men on it. Turned out to be quite straightforward,’ Richards told him with a touch of pride. ‘The taxi driver thought there was something fishy about the two young men he brought here. He believed they were girls. But they paid the fare so he wasn’t too fussed.’

  ‘Where did he drop them?’

  ‘Right by Valley Gardens, sir. But there’s more. Another taxi driver received a request to take two young women to Scarborough.’

  ‘That’s quite a distance.’

  ‘Exactly, sir. Of course, he wasn’t going to turn it down; it’s a forty-mile trip, it’ll have made him some good money. We’re just trying to find him now.’

  ‘Excellent work, Inspector,’ Harper said. ‘Have one of your men take a statement from the driver and forward it to me, please.’

  ‘Of course, sir. We already have one from the man who brought her here.’

  Another call, waiting for the operator to connect him to the Scarborough police station. But there was only a sergeant on duty. It took fully two minutes to make him understand the importance of it all, and the fact that an escaped convict might be enjoying the sea air.

  One final conversation, this time with Inspector Cartwright of Special Branch, passing on what he’d learned.

  ‘That’s very quick. I appreciate it, sir. I’ll despatch some of my men to Scarborough immediately.’ He sounded properly grateful and humbled, Harper thought.

  ‘Good luck to you.’ He’d need it. The suffragettes obviously had a good network. Lilian had probably been bundled on to a boat days before. Now she was free on the Continent or on a train to some distant part of the United Kingdom. If the Branch ever found her, it would either be through betrayal or sheer good fortune.

  He spent a quiet evening with Annabelle. Mary had gone to the pictures with Len. Always out, but why not? They had the money and the energy. And all the stories on screen in the cinema offered a few hours’ escape.

  He was deep asleep when Annabelle nudged him hard. ‘Telephone,’ she said.

  By habit, he glanced at the clock. Five past three. The middle of the night. It had better be important or some constable was going to get a roasting in the morning.

  ‘It’s Ash, sir.’ He snapped awake. The man would never ring at this time unless it was an emergency.

  ‘What’s happened?’

  ‘A fire, sir. Albion Place. It’s the building where your daughter has her business. I thought you ought to know.’

  SEVEN

  Harper tried to organize his thoughts into some kind of sense. ‘Send a car for me.’

  ‘On its way, sir. And I’ve ordered them to bring Mullen in.’

  He had to shake Mary’s shoulder to make her stir. But as soon as he told her, she was out of bed and gathering her clothes. Two minutes and he was dressed, waiting in the parlour. He’d done this so many times in his life. But only another thirty seconds passed before she was dashing out of her room, clutching a coat and pulling a wool hat over her unbrushed hair.

  They didn’t speak on the journey into town; he could feel her tension and see the way she knotted her hands together. With no traffic on the road it only took them five minutes to reach Briggate. The car hadn’t even stopped before she was out and running across the street.

  One of the firemen put his arms around her to hold her back. But it looked as if the blaze was already done. All that remained were wisps of smoke rising up into the night sky.

  Ash was talking to the fire inspector, who saluted as Harper approached with Mary at his side.

  ‘It looks worse than it is, sir. We’ll make sure once it’s daylight, but I reckon we caught it early enough to avoid any damage. The copper on the beat spotted it and blew his whistle. We arrived before it had a chance to take hold.’

  ‘How did it start?’ Mary asked. ‘Do you know yet?’

  For a moment, all the man could do was stare at her in surprise. That wasn’t a woman’s question. But she was a copper’s daughter, she’d grown up with all of this. He glanced at Ash before answering. ‘The glass in the street door was smashed and someone poured petrol in. I smelled it straight off. It’s arson, no two ways about it. The first flight of stairs will need to be replaced, and new plaster on the walls. But everything above that looks fine. Probably not even much smoke damage.’

  ‘Thank you.’ She smiled at him. ‘To you and your men.’

  ‘Mullen will be at Millgarth by now,’ Ash said. ‘Do you want to question him, sir?’

  Harper thought for a moment, then shook his head. It was safer to stay clear of it all. Things had become too personal; they’d been that way since Mullen turned up at the Victoria.

  ‘No. It’s your case.’ He started to turn away. ‘Make sure you ask whoever brought him in whether Mullen smelled of petrol at all. Check all the garages in the area; it was bought somewhere. And let’s not assume the motive was to destroy my daughter’s business. There are plenty of other companies in there.’

  Ash smiled. ‘They’ll be on it in the morning, sir.’ He raised his hat to Mary and began to stroll back to Millgarth.

  Harper gazed at the building, raising his eyes from the door to the second floor.

  ‘You won’t be doing any business tomorrow.’

  ‘I still have to be here when the girls arrive, Da. I need to talk to the landlord, too.’ She was already making a list in her mind as the driver took them back to Sheepscar.

  At home, Mary brought a notebook into the living room and began writing.

  Should he let Annabelle sleep? He stood by the bedroom door, weighing the thought. Better to wake her; she’d want to know. As soon as she was up, she began to bustle around, making tea and cooking breakfast for them all.

  ‘Do you think it was him?’ she asked as they ate.

  He wanted to say yes, but something stopped him. Mullen was a bully-boy. He was a killer. The history with his gang in New York showed that. He was ruthless, violent, and he didn’t have a conscience. But he wasn’t stupid. He must have known that he’d be the obvious suspect. Maybe it was his idea of revenge for the beating he’d been given. Perhaps he believed he could brazen it out.

  Either that or someone was doing a very good job of setting him up for a fall. This mysterious third American, perhaps. If he even existed.

  ‘I don’t know,’ he told her finally. ‘It’s Millgarth’s case.’

  Annabelle gave him a sharp, questioning look then turned back to her food.

  Finally, at twenty-five past seven, washed, shaved, and dressed in a light wool suit, he walked down the stairs and through the pub. Mary followed on his heels.

  ‘Ready?’ he asked.

  With a sigh, she nodded.

  He had the driver wait on Albion Place as he tried to assess the damage. A constable stood at the entrance to the building to keep people out, but he let them through into the vestibule.

  There wasn’t much to see. Blackened walls, the stairs turned to charcoal and crumbling. Nobody would be going up until they were replaced. He’d been to the aftermath of enough fires to know the damage was light. Lucky.

  Lucky this time, he corrected himself.

  Harper had settled with his morning cup of tea, put on his spectacles, and was reading through the first of the CID reports when Parker tapped on the door and strode in.

  ‘I heard about the arson.’

  That was inevitable. The fire brigade was part of the police force; its senior officers reported to the chief constable.

  ‘I was out there during the night, sir, and back again this morning. It’s not as bad as it first looked.’

  ‘Even so … your daughter’s office is in that building, isn�
��t it?’

  The chief knew the answer; he wouldn’t have bothered with the question – or any of this – otherwise.

  ‘Yes, sir. Ash has pulled in Mullen.’

  A nod. ‘Just make sure he doesn’t have any more accidents.’

  Then he was gone again. Harper sat back and thought. The visit had been to let him know that Parker was on top of things and that he was concerned. A way of offering some tacit support. And that was very welcome. With the hint of a warning in the tail.

  He ached to go down to Millgarth, but he forced himself to stay at the town hall. Ash would be in touch as soon as he had something to report. Harper had trusted him when they both worked out of the same station. The least he could do was bloody well let him do his job now.

  At noon he wished Miss Sharp a pleasant weekend and stepped out into the hazy sunlight. With all the smoke and the smuts from the factories, the air was never clear and clean around Leeds. It didn’t matter; the warmth still felt heartening.

  For a second he considered telling the driver to go to Albion Place. But Mary could handle that herself. She was capable. He didn’t want her to think he was fussing. How did you strike a balance between caring and interference?

  ‘The Victoria,’ he said.

  Dinner was a slice of ham, some lettuce and tomato with a couple of slices of buttered bread. But no questions about the fire. Curious, he thought.

  Once they were done Annabelle put on a pale blue broad-brimmed hat and tied it under her chin. She was dressed for a day out, in a white blouse with a bow at the neck and an indigo skirt that stopped above her ankles to show off a polished pair of button boots.

  ‘Skipton?’ she suggested. ‘Somewhere we don’t have to think about …’

  He grinned. ‘You must have been reading my mind.’

  ‘That’s hardly difficult, Tom.’ She shook her head pityingly. ‘After all, you’re a man.’

  So much countryside. Living in the city, it always took him by surprise when the buildings disappeared and there was nothing but fields and farmhouses. They passed through Ilkley, with the crags towering high above the town, and up into the Dales.

  Annabelle was a confident driver, overtaking all the slow, creaking farm wagons and carts on the roads. Twice they saw other motor cars, but otherwise it was easy to imagine they’d been thrown back a century or more. Men were working in the fields. A small herd of cattle gathered under the shade of a tree. The miles dropped away behind them until she found a place to park close to Skipton Castle.

  They’d visited a few times over the years, but the place never palled. So much history, all there in front of him. The huge, thick walls of the gatehouse offered a hint of the power that must have dwelt here once, and the yew tree in the courtyard still stood after all these centuries.

  Even more, though, he loved the market along the main street. The stalls offered things so different from Leeds. Fresh cheeses, butter straight from the churn, ice cream manufactured in a local shop.

  Annabelle took his arm as they strolled and brought her head close to his. ‘Now, what’s going on with this fire? Did he do it or not?’

  ‘I don’t know. I told you, Millgarth is taking care of it.’

  ‘That’s not an answer, Tom. Come on, it’s your own daughter.’

  ‘And that’s precisely why I’m keeping my distance.’

  For a moment she was silent, pursing her lips and frowning. Then her expression cleared as she understood.

  ‘Still going on the pilgrimage?’ Harper asked.

  ‘I was. With all this going on, I’m not so sure now.’ She stopped to examine the decoration on a shawl, bargaining with the woman selling it until they found a price that left them both smiling.

  ‘Go,’ he told her as they moved slowly along. ‘You might as well. There’s nothing you can do to affect things.’

  ‘I know, but …’ She stopped and stared at him. He could see the uncertainty in her eyes.

  ‘If anything happens, I can send a telegram and the coppers can find you. You could be home in a few hours.’

  ‘Yes,’ she agreed. ‘Daft, isn’t it? I wouldn’t think twice if it was anyone but Mary.’

  He squeezed her hand. ‘I know. Believe me, I know.’

  Sunday morning. All around Leeds, the church bells were ringing. But each year the congregations dwindled. When men and women all worked so many hours, who could be surprised? They needed time to rest, time to see to all the jobs at home, time to themselves before the new week came around all too soon.

  Harper was in his top hat and formal suit at St Peter’s in Kirkgate for the monthly church parade by the police cadets. Outside, with the hymns still ringing in his ears, he dismissed the driver. Perfect weather for a walk back to the Victoria. With a couple of stops along the way.

  Workmen bustled in the building on Albion Place. He watched them for a minute. The new stairs were already in place, completed the evening before. This crew was re-plastering the walls. Tomorrow or Tuesday, everything would be open for business again. Never a delay when there was profit to be made.

  Millgarth was quiet, the parade ground hot and summer dusty. Sergeant Mason saluted as Harper strode through to the detectives’ room. No sign of Walsh or Galt, only Sissons in his shirt sleeves, writing up a report.

  ‘Did you squeeze anything from Mullen about the arson?’

  He shook his head. ‘Not a thing, sir. It wasn’t for want of trying. Our man in the hotel hadn’t seen him leave. No stink of petrol on him or his clothes.’

  ‘How long did you keep him?’

  ‘Eight hours. We took it in turns to question him.’ He shrugged. ‘After that we didn’t have any grounds to hold him longer.’

  ‘Very well,’ Harper said, but the words were pure reflex. If Mullen wasn’t behind the fire, then who’d done it? Why? ‘Is the superintendent in?’

  ‘Sorry, sir, Mr Ash is up on the Bank. The Erin Boys had a scrap with another gang.’ A wan smile and a forlorn look at the weather beyond the window. ‘I’m the one holding the fort.’

  ‘Do you have any clues at all about the fire?’

  ‘We’ve taken some fingerprints but I’ve no idea if they’ll help. There are plenty of offices up there, sir, and people in and out all the time.’ He shrugged. ‘Nothing to indicate they’re from the arsonist at all.’

  ‘What about the Fess murder?’

  ‘Same, sir.’ He shook his head. ‘We’ve had a few whispers, but they all turn out to be smoke. No idea where Fess was staying or who he was seeing. He vanished. We’re beginning to feel like we’re banging our heads against a brick wall. And before you ask, sir, not even a hint of this third American.’

  ‘Of course not.’ Every possible frustration. He’d experienced it himself often enough in the past. ‘Keep at it.’

  There was no need to say it; he knew they’d keep burrowing away to find answers. Using their informants, following up on everything. They had a reputation and the pride to keep it intact.

  One final visit before the walk to Sheepscar. Somerset Street, a couple of minutes away from the police station. A place where people lived who’d been broken by the years. Rotted window frames, gutters that sagged and drooped. Glass missing from half the windows. Neglected and desperate. The type of street the illustrated papers showed when they wanted to describe poverty. But this wasn’t an illustration. It was all too real for the people who lived here. He’d known streets like this his entire life. They’d still exist long after he was dead. The old order would persist.

  Walking home didn’t bring any fresh ideas; it offered nothing more than a sheen of sweat on his skin. Mary was out. Even a fire wouldn’t keep her from cycling with the Clarion Club. Just a short outing today, though. She was back in time for tea, crumpets and jam, followed by a slice of sponge cake. Afterwards she washed the pots, and Harper stood in the kitchen and told her what he’d seen on Albion Place.

  ‘The landlord promised me it would be ready tomorrow,’ she said as if
it was what she’d expected to hear. ‘I warned him if it took any longer I’d start withholding rent. There are too many empty places in Leeds right now and I’ve been a good tenant.’

  ‘They haven’t managed to pin it on Mullen.’

  For a moment she was like a statue, not moving at all. Then she put down the last clean plate and wiped her hands on her apron.

  ‘He won’t bother you again,’ Harper said.

  She turned and looked at him. ‘Are you sure, Da? You promised that last time, before the fire.’

  ‘I know,’ he admitted. ‘He’s been warned off. If he tries to come anywhere near you, the constable following him will make sure nothing happens.’

  Her mouth tightened. He could read the expression in her eyes. Then she smiled.

  ‘I need to go over some things for tomorrow. We’re going to have to catch up on all that work and make sure nothing’s damaged.’

  Dismissed, he thought as she closed the door to her room. Well, maybe he deserved it. But who was ever truly safe in this world?

  EIGHT

  Monday. A busy week ahead. Seven more days and the women on the pilgrimage would arrive in Leeds; he needed to go over the fine details with the appropriate divisions. Follow up with Special Branch and Scarborough police to see how they were progressing in their search for Miss Lenton.

  And there was Louis Fess.

  That one was the puzzle. The rest was information and order. Murder sold newspapers, and the killing remained on the front page; lower, now, below the fold. But as soon as there was any new information, it would be the headline once more.

  Nothing fresh in Ash’s report from Millgarth. He knew exactly what that meant. The men were working and coming up empty. But he also understood what he had to do. No choice but to put them under the cosh to come up with a result. It wasn’t a pleasure, but it came with his job.

  He was considering how to word his note when Miss Sharp tapped on the door and closed it behind her as she entered. Strange, he thought; she wasn’t usually so secretive.