‘Once.’ She looked at Harper and blushed. ‘It was short, a couple of minutes after I woke up. Back in spring, the start of April. But it was over quickly and it was first thing in the morning, so I didn’t think much about it.’
She’d never told him. Even if she had, she’d have laughed it off and he’d have paid it no mind.
More questions, then listening to her heart and lungs with the stethoscope, putting on the cuff and checking her blood pressure. ‘Physically, you’re in excellent health,’ he told her.
‘But?’ she asked. ‘Don’t be delicate because I’m a woman. Am I going round the bend?’
Her question made him smile. ‘No, nothing like that, Mrs Harper. If you’d described one episode, I wouldn’t be concerned. But two within the space of three months gives me a very slight pause for thought. It’s possible that you experienced two very mild strokes.’
‘Strokes?’ Her face fell.
‘It’s possible,’ the doctor repeated, ‘but I’m not entirely convinced by that. Tell me, do you know what senility is?’
‘Of course,’ she answered. ‘I saw enough old people with it when I was a Poor Law Guardian.’ Annabelle stopped, horror spreading across her face. She gripped the arms of the chair. ‘Are you trying to tell me I’m going senile?’
His voice was full of reassurance. ‘No. I’m not saying anything of the kind, Mrs Harper. But I want you to be aware that it can happen to people before they’re old, too. Is there a history of it in your family at all?’
‘I don’t know. None of them lived long enough to find out.’
A dip of his head in uncomfortable acknowledgement. ‘My advice would be not to push yourself too hard. And if it happens again, come back and see me.’
‘If it should happen again, what can you do?’ Harper asked. ‘Is there any kind of treatment?’
‘There’s a German doctor, a chap named Alzheimer. He’s identified some things in the brain that are related to this. In older people it’s possible that strokes may be one of the causes.’ A small hesitation. ‘For younger people like your wife, we simply don’t know. Honestly, we’re still groping in the dark at the moment. And we don’t have any treatments.’
‘You mean there’s nothing you can do?’ Annabelle asked. Harper heard the sorrow in her voice.
‘No,’ the doctor replied. ‘I’m afraid not, certainly at present. But please, you need to be aware that two instances don’t mean you have this. Not by a long chalk.’
‘Two guineas to be told I’m losing my mind.’
‘He didn’t say that.’
‘Then you didn’t hear the same thing as me, Tom Harper.’ Her words snapped out, bitter, angry, filled with pain.
They were in the small, grassy park at the centre of the square. He pulled her close and held her tight. She cried, letting out the fear and the pain. He stroked her neck and tried to soothe her, not caring who saw them. Finally the tears passed and she wiped a hand across her eyes.
‘What are we going to do?’
At the cab rank near the bottom of Briggate, Harper helped her into a hackney.
‘Are you sure you’ll be all right?’
‘Of course I will.’ Bravado, and they both knew it. ‘I’m not an invalid.’
‘I’ll try not to be late home.’
He couldn’t think about it all; there was simply too much. It might be nothing at all. That was something to hang on to. Deep inside, though, he knew it was a vain hope. Two instances in a few months … It was an illness that would never show itself in any obvious physical way. There was no medicine to cure it. No plans they could make, because that would be an admission that it was real and would only grow worse.
Safer to push it to the back of his mind until it needed to come forward again.
TWENTY
Ash raised his eyebrows as Harper entered. He shook his head in reply.
Sissons was at his desk in the corner, hidden behind mounds of files.
‘How much of this relates to the barracks robbery?’ Harper asked him.
‘This pile here, sir.’ The smallest of the lot, only a foot high.
Harper scooped them up. ‘I’ll handle this from now on. I want you to concentrate on Thorpe.’
‘Yes, sir.’ He seemed relieved by the offer. ‘I’ve been putting together some of the connections he had. A web, really.’
‘Are they all crooks?’
‘A fair few of them, yes.’
‘Why don’t we have these men in and question them? They won’t be expecting it.’
‘Yes, sir.’ A pause. ‘I wouldn’t expect too much from it. There’s no evidence of anything at all.’
Harper smiled. ‘It doesn’t matter. Let’s shake things up and see what happens.’
He read through everything on the barracks theft, scribbling a few notes, then sat back and thought for a while before going to talk to Sergeant Mason at the front desk.
‘Do you have any cadets here at the moment?’
‘Two, sir. Learning on the job.’
‘I have something for them. Search out the records of anyone convicted of gun crime in the last twenty years, pull their files and make sure they’re on my desk first thing in the morning.’
After supper, the pots washed and put away, they sat down with Mary and told her about the appointment. He let Annabelle do all the talking. But for once words didn’t come easily to her, and really, there was so little to tell. Nothing definite. No answers, just more questions. Possibilities. Guesses and hopes.
In bed he held his wife close. She wasn’t sleeping; her body stayed tense and tight against him.
‘We’ll be all right, won’t we, Tom?’
‘We will,’ he said. ‘I promise.’
He was waiting for his driver when Mary slipped out of the Victoria, locking the door behind her. ‘Can you give me a lift into town, Da?’
‘I imagine I can. Busy morning? You’re bright and early.’
‘I have to talk to some possible new clients.’
But she could take the tram for that. She wanted to talk about her mother.
‘What can we do?’
‘Keep our eyes open,’ he told her. ‘Help her when she needs it. There isn’t anything more than that. And it might be nothing at all; the doctor said that.’
‘Da, I’ll ask you the same question I asked yesterday: do you believe it?’
‘No,’ he answered quietly. ‘I want to, but I don’t.’
The car stopped on Albion Place. She looked back at him from the pavement. For once he didn’t see the bright, capable young businesswoman. In her place was a bewildered little girl.
Harper had brought home the file on Francis Mullen’s killing, to see if there was anything they’d missed. They’d used the new advances, taking fingerprints all through his house. In the end, they’d managed to eliminate the dead man and his son, along with the police who’d searched the place. Two more names had popped up from records, old men who’d visited the week before the killing. But neither had been there on the day. At least a dozen more remained unidentified, and no guarantee that any of them had wielded the knife. Sometimes all these grand ideas were more hindrance than help. And no substitute for questions, a brain and wearing out a lot of shoe leather.
He’d spotted one small thing, enough to give him a sliver of hope. When the constables had questioned the neighbours on Somerset Street, one had mentioned seeing a man. It was just in passing, but they mentioned a small limp. It didn’t look as if they’d ever properly followed up on it. He looked around the room. Rogers, he decided. The man had an uncanny way of tracing people.
‘How do you fancy a breath of fresh air?’
The man grinned, full of the joys of being in plain clothes. ‘Sounds perfect, sir. What did you have in mind?’
‘We’re taking a little wander. Just follow me and listen.’
Even in the gentle morning light, Somerset Street looked weary, on its uppers. The best thing would be to tear it d
own, Harper thought as he knocked on the door. He put the thoughts away as the handle turned.
The woman was probably in her seventies, with grey hair hidden under a thin cotton shawl. But she was sharp. She remembered exactly what she’d seen, and came out with something a little more exact than she’d originally given to the constable.
‘You’re certain the limp was in his right leg?’ Harper asked.
‘I just told you, didn’t I?’
‘You seem to be the only one on the street who noticed him, Mrs Foster.’
She gave him a withering glance. ‘I can’t help it if they’re blind, can I, luv?’
‘Go round and ask them all again,’ he told Rogers. ‘I don’t expect much, but it’s all we’ve got.’
‘Do you have any idea who it might be, sir?’
‘No,’ Harper replied. ‘I can think of three or four with limps, but none of them are killers. You’ve walked a beat recently – anyone spring to mind?’
‘Like you, sir, one or two. I hadn’t seen them as violent, but …’ Rogers shrugged.
‘Let’s try and find him.’ Maybe it was something, maybe it was nothing. But they’d missed it before. And it was all they had.
At Millgarth, he listened to the progress his men had made the day before. Inch by inch, a name here and there. People to track down and question. They seemed to have a sense of purpose. Of eagerness. It was enough to make him believe that the answers were only a matter of time.
Half past nine and he slipped away with Ash for the weekly meeting between the heads of each division and the chief constable.
‘The men appreciate you taking over the barracks robbery angle, sir.’
‘It’s only fair. They’re stretched tight as it is.’
‘They are,’ Ash agreed. ‘But they’d do anything to try and please you.’
‘I need to do my share, too.’
‘That’s what’s given them the gee up, sir. You’re mucking in and helping. You’re one of us.’
He was tempted to go to the infirmary, to try and edge past the nurses to visit Davey Mullen. Safer not, he decided as he walked up the drive to the hospital. Someone would see him and he’d end up completely banned. Mullen couldn’t talk, and from yesterday’s defiant stare, he wasn’t about to give up any names.
Instead, he turned around and strode back to Millgarth, ready to lose himself in the files the cadets had left for him. It occupied him all morning, whittling down the candidates until only three names remained.
But however much he willed or hoped it, none of them was a good fit. The closest was Henry Eason. He’d had a brief history with guns and burglary when he was young. But for the last ten years he’d run a business importing goods from the Empire to sell in shops. He was successful, solid, well-to-do these days, married with a growing family. Would he risk all that to take four pistols from a barracks?
In the end, he tossed the folder aside in frustration. It had been a good idea, but it hadn’t worked.
‘Any luck, sir?’ Sissons called from across the room.
‘I—’
Harper stopped as the door flew open and Ash entered, beaming as if he’d won the sweepstakes.
‘Bristol police just telephoned,’ he announced to the room. ‘They’ve arrested Bert Jones, with the gun. Walsh, Galt, go home and pack a bag. I want you on the train to Bristol to bring him back.’ He rubbed his hands together with pleasure. ‘Things are moving now.’
TWENTY-ONE
‘Some good news,’ Harper said. ‘Finally.’
The relief softened Ash’s features, and the old joy was back in his eyes. ‘It makes me feel better, that’s a fact, sir. I was beginning to think we’d be going round in circles forever.’
The superintendent paced around the room, on edge now and unable to settle in his chair.
‘We should be able to drag some information out of him tomorrow.’ Harper paused. ‘I don’t suppose Bristol police gave you the number of that pistol?’
‘No, sir.’
‘Never mind. We’ll find out once he’s here.’
He stopped at Sissons’s desk. The man was writing on a sheet of paper. ‘You’ve been delving deep into Thorpe. Have you come across the name Henry Eason at all?’
‘No, sir. It hasn’t come up.’
Time to let go of that idea. They had Jones, possibly something on Francis Mullen’s murder. The tide was beginning to turn in their favour. He could feel it. They had hope once again.
Harper was still working his way through the files for any other possibilities when a messenger from the chief constable arrived. He tore open the envelope and glanced at the paper.
‘How would you like to go and look at papers somewhere else, Sergeant?’ he asked Sissons. ‘Barney Thorpe’s office.’
The man’s eyes glowed with pleasure. ‘Yes, sir.’
‘Take a pair of constables. If anything’s even vaguely interesting, bring it back here. Unfortunately, it’s only the office, not his house. Tear the place apart. If that gun’s there, I want it.’
Parker had tried to persuade the judge to let them go everywhere, but the man had been adamant. A house was sacrosanct. A man’s castle, that was the principle in law, the judge insisted; no matter that it was far from true. But never mind. They’d work around that if they had to; Harper had managed it before. He knew just how far the rules would bend before they snapped completely.
He smiled to himself. Yes, things were moving. About bloody time, too.
As he turned the corner on to Manor Street, Harper saw that Annabelle’s car was gone. For a moment, he felt a sense of panic.
Upstairs, a note on the table: You’ll have to fend for yourselves tonight. Miss Ford asked me to cover a meeting in Bramley. Kate Whistler’s with me, no need to worry.
He’d just finished reading it when he heard Mary’s tread on the steps.
‘Fish and chips,’ he said.
‘Tell me something, Da.’ The grease had soaked through the newspaper. It glistened on her fingers and her mouth as she ate another chip. ‘Do you really believe in women having the vote?’
Where had she come up with that? ‘Of course I do. I always have. Why?’
‘I hear plenty of businessmen your age and they all seem opposed to it. They seem to think women can’t understand politics.’
‘I’ve lived with your mother and politics for years. I’ve heard all the votes for women arguments, and I’ve always supported them.’ He stopped. ‘Anyway, what do you mean about my age? Are you saying I’m old?’
She didn’t reply immediately, but carefully weighed her words as she popped the last of the scraps between her lips and wadded up the paper.
‘It seems to be mostly young men who support suffrage, that’s all. I just wondered. And you have to admit, you’re not young.’
Harper smiled to himself. No, he certainly wasn’t young any more.
He’d just finished shaving, staring in the mirror as he buttoned the front collar stud of his shirt and straightened his tie. The telephone started to ring and he dashed through to the living room.
‘It’s Sergeant Mason at Millgarth, sir.’
‘I hope you have some good news to start the morning.’
‘Superintendent Ash says to tell you that we have a man with a limp in for questioning. He says you’d know what it meant.’
‘I do. Thank you.’
How the devil had Rogers managed that?
As soon as he walked into Millgarth, people were smiling. He just hoped it wouldn’t all end in disappointment again.
‘Who did Rogers bring in?’
‘Someone called Soapy Turnbull,’ Ash said. ‘He knew him from his time on the beat. He’s questioning him now.’
Turnbull … he didn’t recognize the name. But the time had long since passed when he knew every criminal on his patch. He was responsible for too large an area these days.
‘Does he have a record?’
‘Assault, grievous bodily harm, wou
nding …’ Ash began. ‘He’s a good candidate.’
‘Let me know what happens.’ At the door he turned back. ‘Why do people call him Soapy?’
‘If you had to be anywhere near him, you’d understand, sir. I reckon Rogers deserves danger money.’
‘What about Sissons? What did he find at Barney Thorpe’s office?’
The corners of Ash’s mouth turned down. ‘He’s brought back sacks full of papers. But no gun. If Thorpe had it, it’s somewhere else.’
Of course. Lady Luck couldn’t smile at them for long. That was too much to hope.
‘When’s the train due from Bristol?’ Harper asked.
‘Sixteen minutes past three,’ Ash replied.
He glanced at the clock. The hands were crawling towards noon. All the answers Jones had to give them were hours away yet.
‘Is Rogers still in with Turnbull?’
‘Yes, sir. But the way the man stinks, I don’t know how he can stand it.’
‘I’m going over to the town hall.’
‘That’s excellent news on Jones,’ Parker agreed. ‘It’ll look good in the papers. What about this other man you’ve brought in for questioning?’
‘Turnbull? I don’t know anything about that yet, sir.’ And he wasn’t about to guess; he’d only be tempting fate.
While he was there, he slipped downstairs to his own office. Miss Sharp was on the telephone. She held up her hand and passed him the telephone receiver.
‘It’s for you.’
‘Ash, sir,’ He sounded … Harper didn’t know. Astonished? Dumbfounded? ‘You’re not going to believe this.’
‘I certainly won’t if you don’t tell me. What’s happened?’
‘It’s Turnbull, sir. He’s admitted he murdered Francis Mullen.’
‘He did what?’ Now he understood the man’s reaction. ‘Why? Who ordered it?’
‘Nobody, sir. It must be about the only thing so far where Barney Thorpe hasn’t had a hand. The thing’s about as mundane as you can imagine.’ He heard Ash take a breath and pictured him shaking his head in disbelief. ‘Mullen owed him money and Turnbull went to collect. When Mullen wouldn’t pay, Turnbull pulled a knife. More to scare him than anything. Mullen dared him to use it and he did.’
Brass Lives Page 17