‘There’s a gentleman outside.’ Her voice barely rose above a whisper and he had to strain to catch what she said. ‘He wants to talk to whoever’s in charge of the Fess case. The chief constable is out today, so he wants to speak to you.’ The smallest pause. ‘He’s American. Says he’s from their embassy in London.’ She placed a calling card on the desk. Charles Armstrong, third secretary, Embassy of the United States of America, 4 Grosvenor Gardens, London. It all sounded very impressive.
‘You’d better bring him in.’
Armstrong was younger than he’d expected, still in his early thirties, a brawny man wearing a well-cut lounge suit with four buttons and a soft collar on his shirt. A heavy moustache, small spectacles and hair cut short like the pictures Harper had seen of Teddy Roosevelt, the American president. The type of firm handshake intended to establish that he was in charge.
‘You must be here about Louis Fess,’ Harper said.
‘That’s right.’ The man took a handkerchief from his breast pocket and used it to polish his glasses. ‘Our ambassador asked me to come up and discover what you’re doing to find his murderer.’ The faintest hint of a smile. ‘After all, he’s one of our citizens.’
‘We’re doing everything we can. The same as we would for any killing.’
‘I’m sure you are, Deputy Chief Constable. But you have to understand, we look after our own.’
‘As you should,’ Harper agreed. ‘Tell me, though, what do you know about Mr Fess?’
‘More than you might expect,’ Armstrong replied. ‘I did a little checking before I caught the train.’ He stopped as Miss Sharp placed a tray on the table. ‘I’m well aware he was a criminal. That doesn’t mean he shouldn’t receive justice, no matter where he was killed.’
‘He brought a gun with him. It was in his luggage. We talked to him before his death and he lied to us. Said he’d come over to watch over another of your gangsters, a man called Davey Mullen.’
Armstrong frowned. ‘I remember reading stories about him. He was shot about a dozen times and survived. It was in all the papers.’
‘He grew up in Leeds and left for New York when he was ten. His father remained here. Mullen claims he’s visiting him. Fess was a member of the gang that shot him.’
‘You’ve had Mullen in for questioning?’
‘Of course.’ He wasn’t about to mention the arson or the man’s intimidation of Mary. ‘And we’ve found nothing to indicate he’s guilty. The men on the case are some of our very best. They used to be my squad.’
‘I’ll be honest with you, Mr Harper. Normally I wouldn’t be sent up here to ask questions about a case like this. We’d write a letter or make a telephone call.’
‘Why the difference this time?’
He looked embarrassed. ‘One of our elected representatives from Manhattan – that’s where Fess lived in New York – has been putting pressure on the State Department to investigate.’
Interesting, he thought. Wheels within wheels. ‘What does that mean, exactly?’
‘In blunt terms? I’ll tell you, but if you quote me, I’ll deny I ever said it. The representative is bought and paid for with criminal money. They financed his election and rigged votes to put him in office. Now they want their money’s worth, so they tell him to get us involved.’ He shrugged. ‘The State Department talks to the ambassador, and I end up sitting here.’
‘Politics,’ Harper said.
‘Politics,’ Armstrong agreed. ‘It makes the world go round.’
‘I’m afraid you’ve had a wasted journey. I meant what I said, though; there’s very little I can tell you.’
‘If it’s not this Mullen, is it someone local?’
‘Not that we know. My men have excellent sources and they’ve come up with nothing.’
There was hesitation on Armstrong’s face. He wanted to say something but wasn’t sure how. Unusual for a diplomat.
‘I have a request.’
‘Whatever I can do to help, of course.’
‘Might I see where it happened?’
Harper was taken by surprise. He hadn’t expected that. ‘If you like. I’ll warn you, though, there not much to see.’
‘I’ve always enjoyed sensationalist novels.’ Armstrong kept his voice low, as if he was confessing a sin. ‘This is the first chance I’ve had to see anything real, and I might never have another.’ His face flushed deep crimson.
‘Then we’ll go. And I’m sure the City of Leeds can treat you to luncheon afterwards.’
People, he thought as he watched Armstrong climb into his railway carriage. You never knew what to make of them. He hadn’t looked like a man with a taste for the gruesome, but he’d wanted to know all the gory details.
None of it had spoiled his appetite. He’d cleared everything on his plate and a pudding before collecting his case from the Queen’s Hotel.
A whistle screeched loudly. The locomotive for the London train gathered steam; another minute and it would leave the platform.
‘I’ll be in touch as soon as we make an arrest,’ Harper promised.
‘Thank you.’ Armstrong smiled. ‘And I appreciate you indulging me. I know it must have seemed odd, but I appreciate it.’
As he strode up Park Row, he shook his head again. People.
Half past four and the afternoon felt as if it would never end. A fly droned around his office, landing in front of him and buzzing away before he could swat it.
Harper tried to concentrate. There was a pile of papers on the desk that needed his attention, but his heart wasn’t in the work. It was one of those days when he ached to be out there, asking questions and trying to discover who’d killed Fess and set the fire.
Finally he picked up his hat and left. No need for a driver, it would do him good to walk home. Traffic was backed up on the Headrow. A carthorse had collapsed in its traces. Men tried to pull the huge animal away while the trams and motor lorries waited. The old world holding up the new. A constable, a fresh recruit from his nervous look, was trying to bring some order.
Millgarth was strangely quiet. He exchanged a few words with Sergeant Mason, then strode through to the detectives’ room. Empty. Ash was in his office.
‘All of them out slaving away?’
‘Thank your friend Mr Mullen for that, sir.’
‘Why?’ he asked sharply. ‘What’s he done now?’
‘Went back to his hotel after dinner. Our man spotted him creeping out and rang it in. Sissons and Galt are following him. I sent Walsh to take another poke around in his room.’
‘If he goes anywhere near Mary …’ Harper said, but Ash was already shaking his head.
‘He won’t have chance, sir. I can promise you that. I have someone watching her office.’
‘Very good. Anything new on the arson?’
‘I talked to the investigator. All he could confirm is what we already knew on Friday night. Someone broke the glass on the door, tossed in some petrol and set light to it. There’s nothing to give any indication who’s responsible. We haven’t turned up anything to tie Mullen to the blaze. We’re still searching for someone who might have bought fuel in a small container, but we’re probably on a hiding to nothing with that.’
‘What about Fess’s murder? I had a visitor from the American Embassy today.’
Ash sighed and ran a hand through his hair. ‘Still nowhere on that, too. I know Mullen is the obvious suspect, but we haven’t found any witnesses or evidence. None of our narks have come up with a name.’
‘This third American?’
He shook his head. ‘No. I’m as certain as I can be that he’s a figment of someone’s imagination.’
‘So we’ve got damn all?’
‘I’m sorry, sir.’
‘Never mind. It’s happened before. You’ll get there in the end. What was the problem with the Erin Boys?’
‘Something and nothing. A fight over territory. I had the constables crack a few heads; that should take care of things.’ The
smallest of hesitations. ‘What do you want us to do about Mullen?’
Harper thought for a few seconds. ‘Nothing, unless he looks like causing a problem. He’s probably testing us, to see what we let him do. When the time’s right, we’ll slap him down again.’
‘Very good, sir,’ Ash agreed. His face stayed impassive but his eyes showed his real feelings. He wasn’t a happy man.
A good walk to Sheepscar. A chance to idle along, to see things up close rather than hidden away in a motor car where he passed so quickly. All the smells and sounds that made up Leeds. Kosher food cooking in the Leylands, sauerkraut and chicken and the constant hum of sewing machines in the sweatshops. The malt from Brunswick brewery. The hot stink of iron rising from the foundries and the sewage stink of chemical works and tanneries up Meanwood Road. Little of it was lovely. But all of it was his. It was home.
Harper was crossing Manor Street, no more than a hundred feet from the Victoria, when he caught sight of the figure coming out of the shadows. For a second he hesitated, waiting until the man showed himself in the light.
Davey Mullen. He stood with his arms spread. ‘Mr Harper,’ he called. ‘Can I talk to you?’
‘What do you want?’
‘All the things that have been going on. I’m not behind any of them.’
He had bruises on his face from his beating, the colours turning to greens and purples, and he moved with cautious stiffness. Harper saw Sissons and Galt running down the road. Impressive; Mullen was slowed by his aches and pains, not on his home turf and he’d still managed to give them the slip. Harper lifted a hand for them to keep their distance.
‘All right,’ he agreed. ‘Where?’
‘Your pub’s over there.’ He pointed over his shoulder.
He shook his head. ‘My wife’s pub. And you’re barred.’
Lizzie’s café was still open. The woman was cleaning up at the end of the day; grudgingly, she agreed to serve them.
‘Twenty minutes, Mr Harper, then I’m turfing you out. And I’ll warn you, a cuppa and a teacake is your lot.’
‘Thank you, Lizzie, that’ll be plenty of time.’ He turned to Mullen. ‘You heard her; you’d better say your piece.’
The man stared down at the table for a second, then raised his eyes. He was wearing a clean shirt and a red and black striped tie with a four-in-hand knot. A steel-grey suit with a collar on the waistcoat.
‘When I told you I didn’t know Louis Fess, I was lying,’ he began. ‘I knew exactly who he was. But I had no idea he was in Leeds. I swear to that. I couldn’t believe it when you told me.’
‘And he was shot in the head just a few hours after that,’ Harper said. ‘I’d already taken a pistol off you that you just happened to be carrying when you came into the pub. No, you need to do better to convince me. And don’t tell me you didn’t know the law about guns.’
‘I knew,’ Mullen agreed with a nod.
‘Why? Where did you get the weapon?’
‘I was checking, seeing how sharp you were, what you were like. I brought the gun with me from the States. In case I needed protection.’ He paused. ‘Someone set me up for that killing.’
Harper leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. Lizzie brought two hefty mugs of tea. ‘Let’s say they did. Who was it? Why would anyone do that?’
‘You want to know what I think?’
‘Isn’t that why we’re here, Mr Mullen?’
‘The Hudson Dusters couldn’t finish me off with bullets back in New York, so they’re trying something different over here. If you convict me for murder, I hang, right?’
‘Yes. But Fess was one of the Dusters. We know that. Why would they let one of their own be killed?’
Mullen shrugged. ‘He’d proved himself, but he was a nobody. They sacrificed him.’
‘Fine.’ It was ideas, all in the air. And unlikely. ‘If that’s the case, who pulled the trigger?’
The man looked him in the eye. ‘I don’t know. Maybe they hired someone over here. Or maybe there was another one of them that Fess didn’t know about.’
A third American …
‘If anybody local was involved, I’m sure the police would have heard,’ Harper said. ‘No, it’s not going to wash. And what about you intimidating my daughter and the arson at her office? Maybe those are nothing to do with you, either?’
‘OK, I stopped in to talk to her. I’ve never denied it. Why not? She’s pretty, she’s got something about her. But she gave me the bum’s rush. Fair enough. And your guys made me pay for it.’ His voice took on a harsh edge. Anger? Desperation? ‘I had nothing to do with that fire, Mr Harper. You’ve seen my record. Think about it for a minute. I don’t destroy property; something like that just isn’t my style.’
‘Then who did it?’
‘You’ve had your cops watching me every day. Two of your plain clothes men are standing outside right now. You ever thought there might be someone else watching me, too?’
An interesting thought. ‘I’ll ask you again, Mr Mullen: who?’
‘Someone from the Dusters, maybe, or somebody they’ve hired. It has to be. It’s the only explanation.’ He brought his palm down on the table and the slap reverberated around the café.
Harper leaned back in his chair. ‘Or all this could be a very clever trick of yours to divert suspicion from yourself.’
‘It’s not.’ He shouted the words, then pulled himself up. ‘It’s not,’ he repeated quietly, ‘I’m telling you the truth.’
‘We’ll see, Mr Mullen. We ought to go, Lizzie’s waiting to lock up.’
Outside, Mullen stared at him then turned to make his way back towards town. Galt shadowed him. Harper waved Sissons over.
‘Where did he lose you?’
‘Near Somerset Street, sir, by his father’s place.’
That made sense. It was where he’d grown up; the area was imprinted on his mind.
‘I want you to send a telegram to the New York police. Ask if Mullen’s ever been a suspect in an arson.’
‘Yes, sir. Do you want me to follow him first?’
‘No need. Galt can handle it. I think he came out to talk to me. I don’t imagine he’ll give you any more problems today.’
He’d made Mullen think that he didn’t believe a word. But the man had given him plenty to consider. It was all possible, that was the damnable thing. Mullen could be innocent of murder and setting a fire. But he could just as easily be guilty as sin.
NINE
He sat, swirling the tea in the cup and thinking.
‘That must be stone cold by now,’ Annabelle said.
‘It doesn’t matter.’
‘What’s bothering you tonight?’
‘Work.’ He didn’t want to be more specific, to bring up Mullen’s name and see her anger flare. ‘It’ll pass.’
‘I went to the Mansion at Roundhay Park today,’ she said, and he was grateful for the change of topic. ‘To arrange tea for the marchers when they arrive. We’ll have the meeting afterwards.’
‘No problems?’
‘We’re not expecting too many to make it here. A couple of dozen at most.’
The mention jogged his memory. ‘They started out today, didn’t they?’
‘Yes. I had a message earlier.’
‘And are you still planning on joining them?’
She smiled. ‘I am.’
He grinned. ‘My men will be ready when the women are here. We’ll make sure there’s no trouble.’
‘We’re the suffragists, not the suffragettes,’ she reminded him. ‘We don’t cause trouble.’
‘I was thinking about men, not you.’
‘We can look after ourselves.’
‘The police will take care of things in Leeds.’ He stared at her.
‘Yes,’ she agreed. ‘Of course.’
‘Galt gave me his report,’ Ash said. Harper sat in the visitor’s chair in the office at Millgarth. He’d been back here often enough since his promotion, but it
was always a strange, disorientating experience. He was so used to being on the other side of that desk. ‘Seems Mullen led them quite a dance.’
‘He knew where he was going. He wanted to see me. He claims he’s being set up for Fess’s murder and the arson at Mary’s office.’
‘Do you believe him, sir?’
He sighed. ‘That’s the thing. I don’t know. Everything he said was plausible enough …’
‘But you’d trust him as far as you could throw him?’
‘More or less.’
‘Sissons sent that telegram to New York. We received a reply. Mullen has no history of arson at all. They’ve never even suspected him of it. He might be telling the truth about that.’
‘It still leaves a killing, and Fess’s was definitely his style,’ Harper said. He held up his hands. ‘I know, we don’t have a scrap of proof.’
‘I was going to ring you about that this morning, sir. We’ve managed to find out a little more about Fess. That constable, Rogers, the one who spotted him in the first place. He was covering a beat over by the river last night and asked questions in a few rooming houses. Fess had stayed in one of them.’
‘I thought the constables had gone around them all and asked questions as soon as he vanished.’
‘They were supposed to,’ Ash replied, and darkness rippled through his voice.
‘What did Rogers discover?’
‘Fess must have scarpered off there as soon as we let him go. The landlady doesn’t read the newspapers, she didn’t hear about the killing. When he didn’t come back, she took his things to sell and let the room again.’
‘He can’t have had much.’
‘Just a change of clothes, by the sound of it. She’ll have gone through the pockets and kept any change she found. He’d already left everything else when he ran, and he didn’t dare return to left luggage for his trunk. We have that down in the evidence room.’
‘We need to know who he saw, who he talked to.’
‘I’ve put Rogers on it, sir. He seems to have the knack of picking up on things.’
‘Have you put him in plain clothes yet?’
‘Started this morning. We could use some fresh blood in CID.’
That was true. Every one of Ash’s squad had plenty of experience, but the job needed new men, younger, eager.
Brass Lives Page 7