‘You’re working on it, Sissons. What else have you found?’
‘Just getting started, sir.’
‘Fess was killed for a reason. We know that. There was nothing random about that. It was a deliberate execution.’
‘Until we catch Bert Jones we’re not likely to know what that reason was, though,’ Rogers said. ‘I telephoned Bristol first thing this morning. They still don’t have a lead on him.’
‘Did Jones ever do any outside jobs when he worked for Thorpe?’ Harper asked.
‘None that I ever heard about.’ Ash shook his head.
‘So he was probably under Thorpe’s orders. Why would he go after Fess?’
‘The beating Davey Mullen gave Barney?’ Rogers suggested.
‘I don’t believe that,’ Harper said. It was the only reason they had, but it didn’t sit right. He couldn’t square it with his knowledge of Thorpe. ‘But that means Barney knew exactly who Fess was and who we’d look at for the killing. Think about that for a moment. Any way you look at it, Mullen was set up.’
‘Didn’t the killing happen the night Mullen turned up at the Victoria with a gun, sir?’ Walsh asked.
‘It did.’
‘Did we ever learn where he’d got it?’
‘He said he’d brought it from America.’
Sissons stirred on his chair, looking thoughtful. ‘Something I’d wondered was whether Thorpe might have been directly involved in the robbery at Harewood Barracks. The Metropole shooter’s gun came from there, and he bought it from Thorpe.’
‘Barney’s dead. Too late to ask him now,’ Harper said.
Ash had been silent the whole time. Now he looked up and said, ‘Unless I’ve missed an awful lot, I’ve never heard any mention of Barney Thorpe in the same breath as a break-in. Starting out with something like the barracks doesn’t sound right to me. It wasn’t him.’
No. Buying and selling, violence and intimidation were Thorpe’s tools. The robbery at the barracks would be far beyond Barney’s skills.
‘Who did it, then?’ Harper asked.
‘It leaves us right back where we began, sir. We never did get a whisper on it.’
‘I know Teddy Duncan was only Thorpe’s bodyguard for a very short time at the end, but bring him back and see what he says about all this. He told us a lot last time. He might know more.’
Ash nodded and Rogers left the room.
‘Keep your minds open. And I still want to know who was responsible for that arson. It fits in with all this somewhere.’
‘I still can’t picture Barney Thorpe as some sort of criminal mastermind,’ Ash said once the men had gone. He snorted his disbelief.
‘Maybe he fooled us all,’ Harper said. He pulled out his pocket watch. ‘I need to make sure the Pilgrimage leaves without a hitch.’
‘Is Mrs Harper going with them, sir?’
‘No. She’s decided to stay at home.’ No reason for anyone to know why.
Ash raised an eyebrow but said nothing. ‘I’ve read it’s going to be big. Nancy saw a piece in one of the magazines.’
‘That’s what the women hope, anyway. Thousands of them in London.’
They were assembled on Woodhouse Moor, quite a few more of them than had arrived the day before; sixty or seventy, from the look of it. The marchers at the front looked refreshed, carrying their banners high.
Annabelle was striding around, wishing people well. She was wearing a new hat, a straw boater decorated with the red, green and white suffrage rosette.
‘I’ll walk into town with them to see them off then come back here and drive home. And this afternoon …’
The specialist.
A band struck up and the marchers began to move off.
‘That’s my cue.’ A peck on the cheek and she hurried off as if nothing in the world was wrong.
Harper waited until the pilgrimage was out of sight, then told his driver, ‘Millgarth.’
‘Teddy Duncan is in the interview room, sir,’ Walsh said. ‘I thought you’d want to talk to him yourself.’
The man was hunched over, drawing deep on a cigarette cupped in his hand. He was dressed in his grubby prison uniform, and his face was haggard. His skin already had deep lines and a jail pallor.
‘Enjoying Armley?’ Harper asked as he sat on the other side of the table and glanced at the contents of the folder.
Duncan shrugged his reply.
‘On remand for the obstruction of justice and perverting the course of justice.’ He read out the charges. ‘Lying to the police is never a good idea, Teddy.’
‘I told you the truth as soon as Barney was dead.’
‘I know you did, Teddy, and that’s the problem. You have to tell us when we ask, not when it’s convenient for you. You’ll be spending quite a bit more time inside after your day in court.’
‘I’ve been in prison before.’
‘It gets harder as you grow older, though, doesn’t it?’ He watched the man’s face. A few days without freedom and he looked trapped and wary. ‘Wouldn’t it be something if one of those charges was reduced or vanished altogether?’
Duncan’s head snapped up. ‘What do you mean?’
‘Some co-operation. Plenty of honesty. I’m not going to lie and say you’ll walk out of here a free man, but you help me and I’ll put in a good word for you.’
Duncan’s eyes narrowed. ‘Give me a reason to trust you.’
‘It’s up to you.’ Harper sat back. ‘I’m going to ask my questions, anyway. You know I have the power to help you. It’s as simple as that.’
He dangled it like bait. Harper had read the report from Armley on Teddy Duncan. He wasn’t the type of old lag who fitted easily into the prison system. He’d survive, but that was all. The type who might clutch at a lifebelt. Maybe a little prodding to start him on his way.
‘Go on, then. Ask. Maybe I’ll answer.’
‘How long did you work for Barney Thorpe?’
‘Not even a week. You know that. He took me on after he got rid of Bert Jones.’
Not long enough to scratch the surface of Thorpe’s businesses and contacts.
‘Who else did Barney work with?’
‘What do you mean?’ Duncan frowned. ‘He had the business and the moneylending. Everyone knows that.’
‘He couldn’t do it all himself. He must have had meetings with other groups, other people.’
‘I don’t know.’ Duncan frowned again. ‘He had dinner with a couple of businessmen while I was with him. That was it.’
‘Nothing on the Bank?’
‘The Bank?’ He blinked in disbelief. ‘What are you talking about? There’s no money up there. I wasn’t with Barney long, but I know he liked his brass.’ Duncan shook his head. ‘Anyway, there’s that gang on the Bank.’
‘The Erin Boys.’
Duncan nodded. ‘Yes. Them.’
‘They work with other people sometimes.’
‘Not with Barney. Not while I was with him, any road. I don’t see why they would. He didn’t have a scrap of Irish blood in him.’
‘He never mentioned them?’
‘Not to me.’ He swallowed. ‘If we’re going to keep talking, can I have a cup of tea? My throat’s as rough as a cinder path.’
Harper nodded at the constable. As soon as the door closed, Duncan leaned forward.
‘Are you being straight with all this? If I tell you some stuff, you’ll help me?’
‘That’s what I said. I wasn’t lying. Why?’
‘There’s something, but it’s just between you and me. I don’t want people to know I heard it.’ He laid a finger along the side of his nose. ‘Understand?’
‘Why? Is it so dangerous?’
‘Guns.’
A single word, more than enough to claim Harper’s attention. He tried to keep his voice even and indifferent. His mouth was dry and he scarcely dared to breathe. ‘Go on.’
‘A man came, the day before he died. I didn’t know him, and Barney told m
e to stand outside, make sure no one disturbed them. But the door didn’t close properly, so I could hear them.’
‘Was this the office or his house?’
‘Office.’
‘What did they say?’ Harper asked. This was what he’d been hoping for; he could feel it. But he couldn’t let Duncan realize that. He couldn’t give him any lever, any advantage.
‘This other bloke wanted to buy a gun. A pistol. The way he talked, he knew Barney sold them, like it was a quarter of tea from the shop or something.’
‘Had you seen him before?’
Duncan shook his head. ‘He wasn’t from round here. Sounded Geordie, that accent they have.’
He sat back quickly as the door opened and the constable returned with a mug of tea.
‘Thank you,’ Harper told the bobby. ‘Can you leave us for a few minutes, please?’
‘Sir? Regulations—’
‘I know.’ He smiled. ‘Just wait outside the door until I shout.’
‘Very good, sir,’ he agreed cautiously. A final, worried look and he left.
‘This man,’ Harper said to Duncan.
‘Barney told him he only had one gun left.’
‘One? You’re absolutely certain of that?’ he pressed.
‘Cross my heart and hope to die. They went back and forth, but they couldn’t settle on a price. The man didn’t want to shell out what Barney was asking.’
‘Did he say what type of gun?’ Harper’s mind was racing.
‘A Webley. That’s all I know. Couldn’t tell one from another myself and I wouldn’t go near them.’
‘Did they reach an agreement in the end?’
‘No.’ He gulped at the tea. ‘He left with nothing. Barney never mentioned it. And next day he was … well, you know.’
‘How did Thorpe come to know the man who did the Metropole shooting?’
‘No idea. He already knew him. I’ve told you all this before.’
Another five minutes brought a reasonable description of the Geordie, but Duncan had given him everything important.
The warder from Armley waited by the door. ‘Will you really put in a word?’ Duncan asked as he stood.
‘I will.’
A nod. ‘Right.’ Then he was gone.
The squad gathered at twelve.
‘Things have changed,’ Harper told them. ‘Every bloody thing has changed. That speculation about Barney Thorpe and guns was correct. According to Teddy Duncan, he was selling Webleys. He told his mysterious buyer he had one left.’ He counted the stolen weapons off on his fingers. ‘There’s one waiting to be sold. The Metropole shooter had one. Bert Jones is running around with a pistol, and I’ll bet a pound to a penny that’s the third.’ He looked from face to face. ‘Four were taken.’
‘He could have already sold one,’ Rogers said.
‘I know. But we’d better hope not, because it means someone out there has it.’ He gave time for that to sink in. ‘Anyone have any ideas on a Geordie who’d want a gun?’
They shook their heads.
‘I’ll punt that up to Newcastle,’ Harper said. ‘They might know him.’
The telephone rang in Ash’s office and he hurried off to answer it. He returned and stood with his thumbs in his waistcoat pocket, waiting until all the others were staring at him.
‘That was the infirmary. Davey Mullen has regained consciousness.’
‘I’ll go down there,’ Harper said. ‘The rest of you try to work your way through this labyrinth.’
‘Maybe I was wrong about Thorpe,’ Ash said. ‘He might have had more brains than I thought.’
‘Possibly. I wish to God I knew.’
NINETEEN
With a broken jaw, Mullen couldn’t talk. His hands were in plaster; he couldn’t hold a pen. But there might be some way to communicate, a method for him to give answers to the questions roaring around Harper’s skull: too bloody many of them, that was the problem. First, he needed to hammer them into some kind of order.
The Headrow was clogged with people and vehicles. It seemed to grow worse each month. Fumes from car exhausts competed with smoke from the factories. He coughed. Somewhere above it all was the sun.
Mullen tried to smile. In the end, he winced. Wires wrapped his jaw and plaster covered his arms all the way to the elbow. His flesh was bruised and battered, turning a brilliant rainbow of colours where it wasn’t cut and scraped a raw, bloody red.
Yet the eyes were very much alive, flickering between fierceness and amusement.
‘I’m glad to see you’re still with us,’ Harper said. He had too many reasons to dislike the man, but he was impressed with his determination in clinging to life.
A blink and the briefest of nods in reply.
‘I know you’re not able to speak, but do you know who did this to you?’
Another slight nod.
‘Did they have anything to do with Barney Thorpe? I’m sure you remember him.’
No movement at all. Mullen gazed at the ceiling.
‘I don’t know if you heard: he died not long after you slipped away from the coppers following you. I don’t suppose you’d know anything about what happened to him?’
He might as well have been talking to the wall.
The ward sister bustled in, the matron hard on her heels.
‘Mr Mullen needs rest, deputy chief constable.’ It wasn’t a comment, it was an order, and in a hospital the matron’s word was law. No point in arguing or resisting. At the door he looked back. For just a second he believed that Mullen had winked.
‘I don’t care if you want to talk to him,’ the doctor said. ‘My concern is the patient. His jaw will have to be wired shut for six weeks so it can heal.’
‘And the plaster casts?’ Harper asked.
‘About the same length of time.’ The man ran a hand through his hair. He was young, stoop-shouldered and weary, a stethoscope hanging round his neck, his tweed jacket flecked with dark stains. ‘He might be able to talk a little, a very little, before then. But I’m going to insist that you have matron’s permission for any police visit. Is that understood?’
‘Yes,’ Harper agreed reluctantly. How the hell was he supposed to discover who’d given Mullen his beating when he couldn’t even talk to the man? He needed names, he needed evidence, and the doctor had cut off his best chance of finding them.
On the way back to Millgarth, he stopped at the town hall to brief the chief constable and visit his own office. Just a few days since he’d been working here and already there was a growing layer of dust on all the surfaces.
Miss Sharp brought him a thin stack of papers that needed attention.
‘Is that it?’ Harper asked in astonishment. ‘The pile is usually much bigger than that.’
‘I dealt with the rest,’ she told him. ‘I put your initials on them and sent them on to the next person. There was nothing important, anyway.’
Of course. Just more paperwork to fill his days.
He finished reading, made the last signature with a flourish and slipped his fountain pen back into his pocket.
‘How’s your investigation, sir?’ she asked.
‘Slow,’ he answered. ‘Very slow.’
‘Did Mrs Harper leave on the pilgrimage?’
‘No,’ he replied.
Miss Sharp looked surprised.
‘She decided to stay in Leeds.’
He’d just finished his work, put the cap on his fountain pen and blotted the last sheet, when he heard a loud tap on the door. Mary, looking fresh and young.
‘You’d better come in,’ Harper said.
‘I rang Millgarth and they thought you might be here. I thought I’d take you for your dinner,’ Mary told him.
Once they were outside, she asked, ‘Are you sure I wasn’t interrupting, Da?’
Harper patted one of the stone lions at the side of the steps as he passed. For luck – a habit he’d begun when he was a child.
‘No, I don’t think so. You want t
o talk about your mam, don’t you?’
She gave a rueful smile. ‘I suppose it’s obvious.’
‘She might be right, you know. It could be nothing, just tiredness or excitement.’
‘Do you really believe that?’
‘No.’ He sighed. ‘I wish it could be … but no. But we’ll know more later.’
‘Will you tell me?’
He looked at her in astonishment. ‘What? Of course we will. Why wouldn’t we?’
‘I know how you two can be sometimes. I’m not a little girl, Da.’
‘I know that.’ He took her left hand and held it up so the sunlight caught her engagement ring. ‘Believe me, I know that. We’ll tell you, but for now let’s keep it to the three of us.’
Mary pursed her lips, then nodded.
Park Square seemed elegant in the sunshine. He imagined the way it must have looked when it was first built, the best address in town. Now every building seemed to house a doctor or a lawyer, people with enough money to make sure the buildings were well-kept. The woodwork was painted, windows clean and sparkling in the sun.
Annabelle was in the waiting room, perched on the edge of a heavily padded chair. She was wearing the same jacket and skirt as that morning, the hem still four inches off the ground, high enough to show off the tops of her button boots and a hint of stocking as she sat. A smile flickered across her face, but it couldn’t hide the tension and worry.
Exactly on the dot of three, the doctor invited them through. He had plenty of questions. Harper sat and listened. He had nothing to say; he hadn’t been there when Annabelle had her episode, he hadn’t seen anything similar in her before. She talked about the fog in her memory.
‘Yet you knew where you were?’ the doctor asked.
‘Yes. I didn’t even have to think about that. I could move from the kitchen to the living room. The problem was everything else. I didn’t even know my own daughter.’
‘Did it clear suddenly or was it gradual?’
For a second the question seemed to stump her. ‘I suppose … gradual at first, then sudden. Like the way fog goes.’
The doctor stared down at his blotter. ‘Have you had any incidents at all like this before? I don’t mean just forgetting something when you go shopping or where you left your keys.’
Brass Lives Page 16