Numbers, names, Harper thought as he looked down the list.
‘Is this it? Green Erin Limited?’
‘That’s the company Dempster formed to buy those houses. Thorpe lent them money. Not enough to pay in full for the houses, but still a decent amount. And it looks as if he wasn’t charging them interest. He was a moneylender, so that’s strange in itself, you have to admit.’ He turned to another marked page. ‘There.’
‘These show the repayments on the money Thorpe lent.’ A little mental arithmetic. ‘It’s still thirty pounds short, even without any interest.’
Sissons turned to the next page and pointed to a line.
Green Erin, debt cleared. In the next column, three cramped lines of figures.
‘Take a look at the date, sir.’
‘What about it?’
‘It’s five days after the pistols were stolen from the barracks.’
‘Interesting,’ he agreed. ‘But on its own, it still doesn’t prove anything. What do those numbers mean?’
Sissons grinned. He brought out another file, the report of the break-in at the barracks.
‘Here’s the beautiful part, sir. Those figures at the side that Thorpe wrote down are the serial numbers of three of the four pistols that were stolen.’
‘And we have them,’ Ash said. ‘The two Bert Jones and the Metropole shooter used, and that third one we found at Barney’s house.’
Harper went through it all once more. But it was all right there on the page.
‘I can’t believe he’d be stupid enough to write all that down.’
‘He probably never imagined anyone would follow the trail, sir,’ Sissons said. ‘And he was probably right. We’re lucky that Thorpe’s bookkeeping was quite exact.’
‘And just as well it was you going through everything. I don’t think anybody else would have spotted the similarity in those inks. That’s some excellent work, Sergeant.’
Sissons blushed. ‘Thank you, sir.’
‘It means the Boys of Erin probably still have one gun, sir,’ Ash said.
‘Unless they’ve already sold it to someone else,’ Harper said and raised a hand to stop the comment. ‘I know, I know, we can’t tell. That means we’re going to have to assume they still have it and pray we’re right.’
‘And they own four houses where they can keep it out of sight,’ Sissons said.
There was no choice. They had to go in and find it.
‘A raid on four places on the Bank,’ he said, and exhaled slowly. That was going to be bloody and brutal. As it was, the police were never welcome there.
Ash smiled under his moustache. ‘Perhaps we could call in the army, sir.’
He smiled back, but it wasn’t too far from the truth. There were still a few streets where the police only dared to patrol in pairs, not that the force would admit it. Going in mob-handed … they wouldn’t just be going up against the Boys of Erin, they’d be battling the whole neighbourhood.
‘I need to talk to the chief,’ he said. ‘This is going to take a little planning. Leave all those papers here, and I want the addresses of those houses they own. Are we sure that’s all they have?’
‘As much as I can be, sir,’ Sissons told him without hesitation. ‘I’ve gone over it every which way.’
‘How certain are you they still have that gun?’ Chief Constable Parker asked.
‘Four were stolen. We know they used three to help pay their debt to Barney Thorpe. We have all those. One’s still out there.’
‘You mean you’re guessing and hoping.’
‘An educated guess, sir,’ Harper answered.
Parker pinched the bridge of his nose. ‘Four houses? If we’re going to send enough policemen into the Bank to do this properly, we’re going to risk a riot. You realize that, don’t you?’
‘I do, sir. But it’s worthwhile. The Boys of Erin have been quietly building power and flexing their muscles. We didn’t know how much. This will slap them back down and let them know who runs Leeds. All of Leeds.’
Parker nodded, puffing on his cigar. ‘I’ll see you have all the men you need, Tom. Just make sure you find that pistol or the papers will be down on you like the wrath of God.’
‘We’ll do it Sunday, sir.’
‘Make sure you’re fully prepared.’
‘We will be.’
‘Clever thinking, sir,’ Ash said. ‘The Bank is still a very Catholic area. Always plenty of people on their way to church on a Sunday morning.’
‘We’ll go in at six o’clock,’ Harper told him. ‘Before early Mass. Most of them won’t be up yet. That’s what I’m hoping, anyway. We’ll have one of your men running the raid at each house. I want you to oversee it all.’
‘Very good, sir. Four squads. How many constables in each?’
‘I think six should be enough, don’t you? That will allow for any barracking from the locals.’
‘It’s going to take time to search each house thoroughly, sir. People will have chance to gather outside.’
‘I know.’
‘And we’re betting everything that it’s in one of those places.’
‘Believe me, I’m very well aware of that. Word about what we’re doing stays strictly in this squad until Sunday morning. No mentioning it to anyone else. I don’t want to risk any leaks. Get Sergeant Mason to pick the uniforms. I want big, hard men. And don’t tell them what they’ll be doing.’
Ash grinned. ‘I’m sure he can manage that. sir.’
‘You’d better put them to work. We’re going to be thoroughly prepared for this.’
Annabelle was in the kitchen, scraping and scouring the pots.
‘Do you and Len have any plans this weekend?’ Harper asked Mary.
‘Nothing in particular,’ she told him. ‘Maybe a walk in East End Park tomorrow afternoon after work.’ She lowered her voice. ‘I’m not going out with the Clarions on Sunday, I’ll stay around here. Why?’
There was no reason. Just conversation, a way to lead into something else.
‘That fire at your office.’
Her gaze sharpened at the words. ‘What about it?’
‘You were never really the victim.’ He pursed his mouth. ‘It had nothing to do with you at all. You were just caught in the middle. Someone was trying to make us think Mullen had done it. He was innocent. Of most of the things we had him down for, really.’
‘Are you sure of that, Da?’
‘Positive.’
She didn’t say any more, but he sensed her relief. The worry had been there, niggling away at the back of her mind. At least he’d been able to get rid of that. In time it would be Len who’d ease her fears and listen to her worries. His little girl would have someone else to look after her.
Saturday morning. He stopped briefly at the town hall, checking his desk to make sure nothing urgent was waiting before the driver dropped him at Millgarth.
The detectives’ room was busy, all the men poring over papers. Galt and Sissons had brought plans of all the houses and streets from the city clerk’s office and now they were making notes of the details.
Ash had a map of the area pinned to the wall, with nothing marked on it for curious eyes to observe.
‘We’re going to have two wagons parked here, sir.’ His thick finger pointed at a spot on York Road. We can bring anyone we arrest there and guard them. A hop, skip and a jump back here and it’s out of the Bank. I’ll be there, handling things.’
‘How is everything else coming along?’
‘We’ll be ready. Mason will have the constables here at five tomorrow morning.’
‘When you have everything prepared, send the men home. I want them well rested.’
‘Yes, sir. They’re eager.’
He could feel it; the tension crackled in the room. In the end he stayed until noon. By then he knew the layout of each of the houses, the ways in and out, the places where there might be problems.
Harper came out to a dry, dusty afternoon. He c
aught the tram along North Street, alighting at the bottom of Roundhay Road.
Annabelle was sitting at the table, a glass of lemonade beside her as she read the new issue of Common Cause.
‘All about the Pilgrimage?’ he asked.
‘Yes.’ He could hear her regret, see it on her face. She wanted to be there. Part of her probably still wondered if she’d made the right decision.
‘Come on,’ he told her. ‘The day’s too lovely to waste around here. Why don’t we drive out somewhere?’
She stared at him. ‘Are you sure you trust me behind the wheel, Tom Harper?’
‘I’ve trusted you for the last twenty-three years,’ he said with a smile. ‘It’s a bit late to stop now. Come on, put a hat on and we’ll go.’
THIRTY
Tom Harper was up long before the first glimmer of light appeared on the horizon. He hadn’t slept much for the last hour, anyway; he might as well be doing something useful instead of lying in bed and brooding. He moved silently through the rooms. Too much practice, too many years of doing this without waking Annabelle or Mary.
The streets were quiet. A knocker-up went from house to house with his pole, tapping on the upstairs windows to wake people who had Sunday shifts. A cart trundled towards the Leylands, the slow clop of hooves sounding a tired rhythm over the cobbles.
Harper had the cosh in his jacket pocket, and his truncheon dangled from a leather loop around his wrist. It had been presented to him the day he became a police constable, all those years ago. The heavy wood banged against his leg as he strode down the road.
He exhaled. They’d find the gun, finish all this, and break the Boys of Erin completely. He was ready.
Ash was already at Millgarth, going over the final details. Walsh, Galt, Sissons and Rogers were there, too, checking house plans once more, making sure everything was clear and fixed in their minds.
They worked quietly, barely a word spoken. Harper stood and watched. Everyone knew what to do. He watched their faces, the intensity behind their eyes. Preparing for battle.
Out in the yard behind the building, constables were beginning to clamber into the two wagons. It would be a tight squeeze for a few minutes as they travelled up to York Road, but it kept them out of sight.
As the vehicles creaked out of the yard, he looked at the clock. Half past five. He turned to his squad. ‘Gentlemen?’
They passed Somerset Street, and Harper glanced down the road. But no one was about, no lights shining in any of the windows. The house where Francis Mullen had lived looked deserted. A moment and he let it slip away from his mind.
The early hour meant they’d have surprise on their side, a chance to start searching. The gun was in one of those houses. It had to be. As they climbed the hill in the pale light, he hoped to God he was right.
He brought out his watch. Still ten minutes before the hour. Harper gathered his men out of sight.
‘Walsh, you’re going in to Dempster’s house. I’ll be with you.’ It seemed the most likely place to find the weapon. Surely he’d want to keep it close. For control and for safety.
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Go and gather the uniforms. They haven’t been told what we’re doing, so they couldn’t gossip, but they’ll have worked it out by now. Brief them and get them in place. As soon as the church bell rings, break down the doors.’ He stared at their faces. ‘Understood?’
The first peal of the bell.
‘Now,’ Walsh yelled, and stood aside as a burly copper threw himself at the door. Once, twice, then it began to give.
‘Again,’ Harper shouted, and it flew open. Two uniforms standing guard outside, two at the back, the remaining two in the house. Harper ran up the stairs and threw open the bedroom door. Dempster was sitting up in bed, scrambling for a cudgel from the floor.
‘Leave it. Where’s the pistol?’
He blinked, barely awake. ‘What pistol? What are you on about?’ But the words were too glib, too quick. He had the gun somewhere.
‘My men are searching. You’re going to stay here. Sit on the chair by the wall and don’t move. You might as well enjoy what you can of the day.’
It wasn’t in any of the drawers. No hard lumps in the mattress. Harper made his way around the room, pulling at the floorboards to see if any were loose, checking the skirting boards.
Dempster chuckled. ‘I don’t know what you’re doing. I don’t have a gun. Never had one.’
‘The Boys of Erin sold three to Barney Thorpe. It cleared the debt you owed him.’
‘What? Prove it.’
‘Barney put the serial numbers in his ledger.’
Dempster glared. The fury and the hatred shone in his eyes. ‘You won’t find any gun here. There isn’t one.’
‘That’s fine by me,’ Harper told him, relishing the astonishment on his face. ‘We’re looking at those three other houses Green Erin Limited owns.’
The man did his best to hide it, but panic flickered for a moment in his eyes. Got him.
Walsh was tearing the living room apart.
‘Send a man upstairs to escort Dempster to the wagon and gather up every scrap of paper; we’ll go through it later. I don’t think the gun’s here. It’s in one of the other places.’
‘Very good, sir.’
The streets were still quiet. He took out his watch. Quarter past six. Fifteen minutes had flown by. Soon enough men would come tumbling out of their houses, ready for a Sunday morning scrap. There wasn’t a cat in hell’s chance of escaping from here without a fight, but if they were quick, it might not be too bad.
The house where Dempster’s cousin lived. A constable was guarding Catherine Taylor. She was dressed, a sullen, angry expression on her face.
‘Nothing here, sir,’ Sissons told him.
‘Checked everywhere?’
‘Every nook and cranny.’
‘Then take your men and guard the other places. Take Miss Taylor to Millgarth.’
‘Yes, sir.’
Two down, two still to go. The pistol was in one of them; Dempster had made him absolutely certain of that. But time was running out.
Harper peered outside the door. Nobody in sight. He started to run down the street, on to the next house on their list. A stone hit the wall near his head, then bounced off down the cobbles. He crouched a little. A smaller target, harder to hit.
Something struck his shoulder, a sharp, fleeting pain.
It was beginning.
Two men were watching the house. He crashed between them, knocking them to the ground, and the constable stood aside to let him in.
Galt was in the kitchen, a triumphant grin on his face. ‘Look what I discovered, sir.’
He held up a Webley revolver by the tip of its barrel. God, Harper thought, it was an ugly, ungainly thing. Yet the sight made him smile with pleasure. Exactly what they’d come up here to find.
‘Loaded?’
‘No, sir. I checked the serial number. It’s from the barracks. We’ve got them all now.’
The man seated at the table tried to rise. A large bobby placed a hand on his shoulder and pushed him back down.
‘Where was it?’
‘Behind a cupboard sir.’
‘I didn’t know it was here,’ the man said. ‘I swear to God. Someone must have left it.’
‘What’s your name?’ Harper asked.
‘Charlie. Charlie Doyle.’ Dempster’s brother-in-law. A sheen of sweat covered his face and the stink of fear rolled off his body.
‘You’re going to prison, Charlie. Possession of a stolen weapon. I daresay you’re a member of the Boys of Erin. They stole the guns, didn’t they, so we can get you for that, too. What do you think, Mr Galt?’
‘Very likely, sir. I imagine we’ll find his fingerprints on the gun.’
‘Take him to the wagon. You’d better watch out – we’re going to have a few problems.’
The constable grinned. ‘Never you worry, sir. I’ve had tougher than this lot for breakfast
before now. Come on, you.’ He took Doyle by his collar and dragged him to his feet.
‘Wait a minute.’ The man’s voice had the furious edge of desperation. He was looking around wildly.
‘What?’ Harper asked.
‘I can give you some information.’
‘What is it?’
‘What’s it worth?’
He stared at Doyle in exasperation. ‘You’re not in a position to try and make deals.’
‘That gangster. The American.’ He was scrambling for the words.
‘What about him?’ Harper didn’t want to sound too eager. But find out who’d given him that beating … everything wrapped up in one fell swoop. Now that would be something.
‘I know who hurt him.’ He was cunning, no doubt about that.
‘Who?’
Doyle shook his head. ‘You’ve got to make it worth my while.’
‘I can make you wish you’d never been born if you don’t tell me.’
‘I want the possession of the gun charge dropped.’
He considered the bargain. Finally, he nodded. ‘Only if the information brings a conviction. Otherwise, no.’
‘It’s the gospel truth.’
‘If I had a shilling for every time a criminal said that, I’d be a millionaire by now. But if it really is true, you’ll be fine, won’t you? It’s your choice.’
Harper could feel his heart thudding in his chest. The moment seemed to stretch out towards eternity.
‘All right,’ Doyle agreed. ‘It was Ciaran Fox and Pat Andrews. Johnny was with them.’
‘How do you know?’
Doyle swallowed. ‘I drove the motor car.’
Harper wanted to ask questions. Why had they given Davey Mullen a beating? Why did they dump him in Roundhay Park? But those could wait until they were safely back at Millgarth.
‘Take him to the wagon. Handcuffs and a close guard. And keep that pistol safe.’
‘Fox and Andrews are living in one of the other houses, sir,’ Galt said.
‘That’s handy.’ He smiled. ‘I’m on my way there now.’
More men were out on the street. He kept a tight hold on the truncheon as he came out of the house, and held the cosh in his left hand. They followed at a distance, a constant threat. But they didn’t attack. Not yet.
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