Brass Lives

by Chris Nickson

  ‘Let me know how he does. He seems like a bright spark. What are we going to do about Mullen? He came up with something interesting – maybe someone else is following our copper who’s trailing after him.’

  ‘I don’t see it, sir,’ Ash said as he shook his head. But his eyes were full of questions.

  It was close to five when the telephone rang. He pushed the receiver against his ear.

  ‘Deputy Chief Constable Harper.’

  ‘This is Inspector Warren in Scarborough, sir.’ Even on a poor line, he could hear how apologetic the man sounded. ‘You talked to my sergeant about a woman named Lilian Lenton. The suffragette who escaped.’

  ‘I remember.’

  ‘I thought you’d like to know that we haven’t found any trace of her and neither have the men from Special Branch. There’s a rumour she was smuggled on to a yacht going to the Continent, but it’s nothing more than talk. I haven’t found anyone to confirm it, let alone anyone who’ll admit to having her on board.’

  ‘Is the Branch still stymied?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’ He paused. ‘I want to apologize for not being here when you rang. My daughter was ill in hospital.’

  ‘Improving now, I hope.’

  ‘On the mend, thank you. Forgive me for asking, sir, but weren’t you a friend of Inspector Reed in Whitby?’

  ‘I was, yes.’ The images flashed through his mind. Poor Billy, dead for five years after keeling over with a heart attack. ‘That’s a while ago now. Did you know him?’

  ‘Only briefly, sir. I was a sergeant here when he was around. He seemed like a nice chap.’

  ‘He was.’ The memories were flickering in his head like an evening at the cinema. Time to pack them away again; they never did any good. ‘Thank you for letting me know, Inspector. Keep me informed if you learn more.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  A bittersweet way to end the day, he thought. Tossed back through the years. He and Reed had worked together twenty years before. They’d been good friends for a while. Annabelle still kept in touch with his widow, Elizabeth; just cards at Christmas and birthdays these days. They’d grown apart over time. Life and distance.

  He was waiting for his driver outside the town hall when a clerk came rushing out of the building.

  ‘Sir,’ he called. ‘Sir.’

  Harper turned. The man was running towards him. All the colour had vanished from his face.

  ‘Are you looking for me?’

  The man gave a frightened nod. ‘They want you down by the Metropole Hotel, sir. Someone was firing a gun.’

  A gun? It was the middle of the afternoon. What in God’s name was going on?

  ‘Do you know who—’ he began, but the man was already shaking his head.

  ‘As soon as my car arrives, send the driver over.’ With all the carts and trams on the road, he’d be quicker on foot.

  Harper dashed down towards King Street, dodging and swerving between the afternoon crowds on the pavements, pushing people aside. His chest was tight. No one dead, please. Not that.

  The Metropole. Mullen was staying there. This wasn’t a coincidence. Had he been shot? Or had he been shooting? Harper moved faster, skidding around the corner.

  Policemen directed the traffic away, leaving the road empty in front of the hotel. He saw Rogers and Galt poking through the gutter with sticks. An ambulance was pulling away from the kerb. Ash stood on the steps. As soon as he saw Harper, he broke away from a man in a frock coat who’d been talking to him.

  ‘Someone took a shot at Walsh, sir.’ His face was grave.

  Harper felt the panic rising in his chest. ‘Is he—’

  ‘Missed him, sir. Not even close. He’s inside, shaken.’

  ‘Who was hurt?’ Harper asked. ‘I saw the ambulance.’

  ‘They wounded one of my guests,’ the man next to Ash said. The hotel manager, Harper guessed.

  ‘Who?’ His pulse was racing and his throat was dry. ‘How bad?’

  ‘A woman out with her husband, walking a dog, sir.’ Ash’s voice was calm and steady. ‘There were three shots. Looks as if one blew off a fragment of brick and it hit her in the leg. Doesn’t seem like more than a cut, but I had the ambulance take her to the hospital, just in case.’

  Good. Ash was in control. But for Christ’s sake, things like this didn’t happen in the afternoon in Leeds.

  ‘What was Walsh doing here?’

  A small hesitation before he replied. ‘Mullen had slipped away from the constable again. Walsh had come looking for him.’

  ‘Mullen’s out running free and someone takes a shot at one of our men?’ He turned away and took a few paces, trying to steady his fury.

  ‘I have everyone hunting him, sir. The whole division.’

  He nodded. ‘And you’re positive Walsh is fine?’

  ‘He was already inside when it happened. But go and talk to him yourself.’

  He could feel the beating of his pulse. ‘Tell me exactly what happened.’

  ‘Walsh had just entered the hotel, sir. According to witnesses, one of the shots broke the glass’ – he gestured at the shattered window at the front of the hotel – ‘and a second caused that injury to the woman. The third must have gone wide.’

  ‘Look, I—’ the manager began, but Harper cut him off with a hand on his arm.

  ‘I understand your concern, sir. For your guests and your hotel. But I need to talk to the superintendent here and get the investigation moving. I’m sure you can appreciate that.’

  ‘Yes, I … yes,’ he replied, clamping his mouth shut.

  ‘One of my men will be in to take your statement soon. Please assure your guests that they’re absolutely safe. We’ll keep a constable outside the hotel.’

  After a moment, the manager nodded and disappeared through the door. As soon as he’d gone, Harper said: ‘Mullen.’

  ‘We’ll find him, sir.’ There was venom under his words. ‘And he’ll wish we hadn’t.’

  ‘When did he evade his tail?’

  ‘About two hours ago, sir. Went in the Pygmalion to shop, ducked through the people and nipped out through another door.’

  An old, old trick at a department store, and the copper with him had fallen for it.

  ‘How long ago did the shooting happen?’

  Ash pulled the watch from his waistcoat. ‘We received the call twenty-five minutes ago.’

  By then, Mullen had enjoyed an hour and a half of freedom. This was a complete bloody mess.

  ‘Where was the gunman?’

  ‘Over there.’ The superintendent gestured towards a ginnel between two buildings on the other side of the street. Most of the area was in deep shadow. The perfect place to hide, Harper thought. ‘No cartridges, so it looks as if he was using a pistol.’

  Just as well it was only a handgun. At that distance a rifle would have been deadly.

  ‘How many witnesses do you have?’

  ‘Three. One of them was delivering across the street.’ He sighed. ‘Not that they saw anything, sir. By the time anyone plucked up the courage to go and look, he was long gone.’ Ash peered into the distance and lowered his voice; Harper could barely make out the words. ‘The chief’s here, sir.’

  A shooting was bound to draw Chief Constable Parker. With innocent people around and a policeman as the target, he had to be seen to be taking charge. Harper turned and saw him, a couple of reporters dogging his footsteps and making notes as they walked.

  ‘Tom. Superintendent.’ He glanced around, taking in the scene. ‘Shots from over there?’

  ‘Yes, sir,’ Ash replied, and Harper let him give the summary.

  ‘Walsh is unhurt? Not a scratch?’

  ‘Right as rain,’ Ash told him. ‘I made sure of that, sir.’

  ‘I’ll go inside and see him, then down to the infirmary to visit the lady,’ Parker said. ‘Tom, I want you to supervise this. No offence, Superintendent, I know you’re very good, but it’s going to be all over the papers. We have to deal wit
h it at the highest level. The mayor will be asking questions. We’ve had one man shot dead; now this, and in the middle of the day. Are they connected?’

  ‘Impossible to say yet,’ Harper answered.

  ‘Then find out.’ His voice brooked no excuses. ‘I’m not having this in Leeds. I want a result soon.’ No need to say more than that. They both understood what he meant.

  ‘Mullen,’ Harper said. ‘You know what to do.’

  TEN

  Walsh sat in a corner of the bar, out of sight of any window. Five cigarette ends lay in the ashtray, but the drink on the table looked almost untouched.

  ‘Did the chief have much to say?’ Harper asked.

  ‘Wanted to make sure I was fine.’ A grin. ‘I told him I’d never felt better.’

  ‘You were lucky.’

  ‘I know.’ He reached for another cigarette and lit it. At least his hands were steady. ‘It’s funny, I don’t normally smoke, but …’

  ‘Calms the nerves.’

  ‘I’ve never been shot at before,’ Walsh said thoughtfully. ‘All kinds of things, but not that.’

  ‘You were already in the hotel when he fired?’

  A nod. ‘I’d just come through the doors. Then there were three shots, one right after the other, pop pop pop. I can still hear them.’ He pursed his lips and cocked his head. ‘It must have been Mullen, mustn’t it?’

  ‘We’ll know more when we find him. I want you to take the rest of the day off—’

  ‘Sir?’

  ‘Call it medical leave. Report back first thing tomorrow, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed. That’s an order.’

  ‘Very good, sir.’

  ‘We’ll have Mullen in custody by then.’

  He just hoped he could keep that promise.

  Ash was waiting outside on King Street, pacing around on the pavement. There was relief in his eyes, a grin plastered on his face.

  ‘We’ve got him, sir.’

  ‘Where?’

  ‘Round the corner. He was walking along, on his way back here, happy as you please.’

  ‘Where is he now?’

  ‘They’re putting him in a wagon to take to Millgarth.’

  Harper thought for a second. ‘No. Bring him here. Up in his room. I’ll talk to him.’

  ‘Are you sure, sir?’

  ‘Positive.’

  There was something about all this that just didn’t feel right. Mullen had a history of using guns, and he was a killer. No doubt about that. He knew full well how to handle a weapon. If he’d wanted to hit Walsh, he’d have pulled the trigger before the inspector was through the door. Scare tactics? That was possible. But what would be the point? He simply didn’t buy it.

  This reminded him of the arson at Mary’s office. Something intended to make Mullen look guilty. In his mind, Harper ran through the possibilities.

  The man could be responsible and trying to brazen it out. He certainly wouldn’t put it past him. And yet … Mullen had come to find him by the Victoria, purely to insist he wasn’t guilty. That had felt as if it came from the heart.

  He sighed. ‘Keep a man on the door outside his room. Just in case.’

  ‘Very good, sir.’

  Mullen looked shocked. He sat on the bed, drawing on a cigarette and taking nips from a small silver flask. He’d been searched. He hadn’t been carrying a gun, he didn’t smell of cordite. There was nothing incriminating in his room. But that didn’t prove a thing.

  ‘I didn’t do it,’ he said. His face was pale and drawn. It heightened the colours of his bruises.

  ‘You say that every time we meet,’ Harper told him. ‘I could fill a book with all the things you haven’t done.’

  ‘I mean it. For Christ’s sake.’ He raked a hand through his hair. ‘Why would I do something like that? I might as well just point a finger at myself.’

  ‘I’ve been a copper long enough to know that criminals do plenty of stupid things.’

  ‘Not me.’ He took another sip.

  ‘Handy that it happened when you’d got rid of the man following you. Or is that a coincidence?’

  ‘I don’t know.’ He looked up. ‘I mean it, I don’t.’

  ‘Where did you go?’

  ‘I …’

  ‘If you want me to believe you had nothing to do with the shooting, you’re going to have to tell me. And you’d better have witnesses. Reliable, honest ones.’

  Mullen was quiet, smoking and studying the cigarette between his fingers. His legs were moving, feet tapping out different rhythms on the carpet. He didn’t seem to notice.

  ‘Well? I’m waiting for an answer.’

  ‘A woman.’

  ‘Who?’ Harper asked.

  ‘She’s married.’

  ‘Who is she?’ He wasn’t going to stop pressing until he had an answer.

  It took time and patience, but finally he had the name.

  ‘Wait here.’

  Ash and Galt were at the front desk.

  ‘Anything from Mullen, sir?’ the superintendent asked eagerly.

  ‘A woman named Anthea Morton.’

  ‘Jigger Morton’s wife?’ Galt asked and began to grin.

  ‘That’s her,’ Harper said. ‘Mullen says he slipped off to see her. Didn’t want anyone to know.’

  ‘Especially her husband, I bet. Jigger has a right temper.’

  ‘Go and talk to her. And make sure she tells you the truth.’ He glanced around. ‘Did Walsh leave?’

  ‘Gone home, sir. He still looked peaky, mind,’ Galt said.

  ‘Can’t blame him, can you? Let’s find some answers on this.’

  Back upstairs, the hotel room felt warm. Oppressive and close.

  ‘Let’s just suppose for a minute that you’re telling me the truth—’

  ‘I am,’ Mullen told him.

  ‘Maybe you are,’ Harper said. ‘That leaves a big question: who in Leeds would want you dead?’

  ‘Nobody.’

  ‘Someone does,’ Harper said. ‘I think you’d better come up with a few names.’

  The man stared into the distance. ‘Maybe there’s one,’ he answered after a while. ‘There was a fellow who was giving my old man problems over some money he owed. I told him to back off.’

  ‘Told him how?’ Harper asked.

  ‘I was polite at first.’ Mullen shrugged and gave a fleeting smile. ‘But he didn’t want to listen, so I had to be more forceful.’

  ‘You have money. Why didn’t you pay the debt?’

  ‘Because my da said he didn’t owe it.’ He could hear the pride and anger in the man’s voice.

  ‘What did you do?’

  ‘I hit him. Only a few punches. Nothing too bad, broke his nose, probably a couple of ribs when I kicked him. Enough to make sure he knew, that’s all. So he’d keep his distance from my father.’

  ‘What was his name?’

  ‘Some guy called Barney Thorpe. He’s given my old man a rough time.’

  Harper rubbed his chin, feeling the rough stubble against his hand. Thorpe was a man who made the honest part of his living buying and selling things. But most of his income came from lending money at high interest. Intimidation and violence were second nature to him. He was a man who’d relish his revenge.

  ‘When did all this happen?’

  ‘A couple of days after I arrived. My da told me about it. He had a couple of bruises and I asked him what had happened …’ Mullen left it at that.

  ‘Was this before Fess died?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘You should have told us back then. It might have saved all this.’

  Mullen shrugged once. Harper stood.

  ‘How did you manage to get close to Thorpe? He usually has a bodyguard.’

  ‘It was in a pub. I waited until he went to the toilet. That’s usually a good place to catch someone.’

  Ash stood outside on the steps, still surveying the scene. ‘Galt’s gone to talk to Mrs Morton.’

  ‘We’ll see what she says. In th
e meantime, here’s another name for you: Barney Thorpe.’

  He raised an eyebrow. ‘How did you come up with him?’

  Harper explained, seeing the superintendent frown as he listened.

  ‘I never heard a word about Thorpe taking a beating.’

  ‘I daresay he decided to keep it quiet. Something like that would make him look weak.’ He paused. ‘Who’s his protection these days?’

  ‘The last I heard, it was Bert Jones. You know, used to box middleweight.’

  ‘Bring him in; he might be easier to crack than Thorpe.’

  ‘Very good, sir.’ He pushed his lips together. ‘A thought came to me.’

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘None of those shots hit anybody. What happened with the woman was a pure accident.’

  ‘Agreed.’ Harper nodded.

  ‘I paced off the distance to the head of the ginnel. It’s thirty-three feet.’

  Harper stared across King Street. ‘What about it?’

  ‘Let’s just suppose it wasn’t Mullen with the gun, and those shots were intended to scare and not to hit anyone, sir. It would explain why he waited until Walsh was inside, to make it look as if he was after him. That’s careful shooting with a handgun at that range. We both know it’s hard to be accurate if you’re more than ten feet away.’

  It made as much sense as anything else in all this. ‘I’d been wondering about that myself. It has to be someone who knows what he’s doing.’

  ‘A target shooter, or someone with army training, perhaps.’

  ‘Don’t the army use rifles?’ Harper asked. He’d seen troops marching with the weapons on their shoulders.

  ‘Not the officers, sir.’

  An officer working for Thorpe? Maybe anything was possible. A man who owed money and needed to work off his debt, perhaps. Or maybe the idea was barmy.

  ‘I don’t know. You’ll have to go a long way to convince me. Ask around. See what your informers have to say.’

  ‘Thinking about guns led me on to something else.’ Ash interrupted his thoughts. ‘Do you remember early last year someone broke into Harewood Barracks, where they train the Territorials?’

  They’d never caught the robber. He’d stolen Webley revolvers and a box of bullets. Nothing else. The police had scrambled around for weeks, holding their breath in case the weapons were used. But there’d been nothing at all. No hint of who was responsible, and the guns had never surfaced.