‘I’m sorry about your brother.’ It was all he could think to say.
She dipped her head slightly.
‘Mrs Thorp said that Henry was at her house for his tea last night,’ Ash continued.
‘He needed something hot in him,’ she explained. ‘He were skin and bone.’ There was a crow’s rasp to her voice.
‘How did he seem? Scared? Worried?’
‘Did you know him?’ she asked and he nodded. ‘Then you ought to know what our Henry were like. Always scared. Jump at his shadow, he would.’
‘And how was he last night?’
She shrugged. ‘He didn’t have much to say for himself. I’d popped in to look after this place while he was inside. Said he could come over for his meals with me and my Peter while he got back on his feet. Once he’d eaten, he left. Said he was coming back here and going to sleep.’
‘Anything else?’ the inspector asked.
Mrs Thorp pursed her lips. ‘He did say one thing that struck me. When I told him he’d need some brass he said, “It’ll be all right now, pet.” That was it.’ She turned to stare at Harper. ‘What does that mean? Who did it? Who killed him?’
‘The same people who made him carry that stolen silver,’ he replied, and he didn’t doubt it for a second. ‘He never told us their names.’ He returned her gaze. ‘Do you know who they are?’
She shook her head. ‘He never said. I knew better than to ask.’
No doubt she did. Her father had spent his life as a bookie’s runner, always dodging the police. The only good thing he’d done for his family was a win on the horses that let him buy the two houses he’d left to his children. But it was the only piece of luck old man White ever enjoyed. Henry hadn’t even had that much.
‘He didn’t give any indication?’
‘No.’ She was a hard woman, Harper thought. No softness in her heart. God help any children she’d birthed. She’d said her fill; they’d get nothing more.
‘Thank you for your time, Mrs Thorp. We’ll let you know when you can bury your brother.’
She stood. The woman was taller than he’d expected, her shoulders straight and proud. She pulled the shawl tighter.
‘What about the house? It’s mine, by rights.’
‘I’ll see if Henry left a will.’
He doubted that White would have thought of such a thing. But the idea would leave her hanging for a little while.
The front door closed behind her. Harper heard it clearly; this was one of the better days for his hearing.
‘Did you find much?’
‘Not really had a chance, sir,’ Ash said. ‘I’d barely finished going through the bedrooms when she came knocking.’
‘Did she see him?’
‘They’d taken the body by then. If you want my opinion, sir, this place isn’t going to tell us a blind thing.’
He agreed. White might not be too clever, but he wouldn’t leave anything incriminating.
‘I know,’ he said with a sigh. ‘It still has to be done. What about the uniforms?’
‘Not heard a squeak from them.’
‘Carry on, see what you can find. I’m going back to Millgarth to take a look at the notes I made when we arrested Henry. Maybe I missed something.’
He was clutching at straws and he knew it. If there’d been so much as a hint of a name he’d have pounced on it at the time. But for now it was all he had.
He didn’t get as far as the office. Sergeant Tollman was waiting behind the front desk as he walked into the station, belly straining against his uniform. The same position he’d occupied since Harper had started out as a recruit, seventeen years before.
‘You know how they say trouble comes in threes, sir?’ No greeting, no how-are-you.
‘Why?’ Harper heard the urgency in his voice. ‘What is it?’ Surely not something else.
‘That bakery Inspector Reed’s wife owns in Burmantofts.’
‘What’s happened?’ He felt a shiver of worry travel down his spine. Annabelle had sold the three bakeries she owned to Elizabeth Reed in 1893.
‘I don’t really know, sir.’ Tollman shrugged. ‘Just word of something bad.’
The maze of streets rising up from Mabgate were jumbled, higgledy-piggledy. Houses so dilapidated they looked ready to collapse. But sturdy enough for families trying to survive on wages that would hardly keep a single man alive. Elizabeth was standing outside the shop, talking to a constable who towered above her. There was fresh blue paint on the woodwork, a new sign on the window: Reed’s – Baker & Confectioner. It all looked prosperous.
Her face was bloodless. As Harper watched, she seemed to shake slightly. At least she seemed unharmed. And he could spot no damage outside the shop.
‘Report, please, Constable.’ He reached into his memory for the man’s name and couldn’t find it.
‘Wilson, sir.’ He gave a small cough and stood to attention, as if he was in court. ‘I was on Beckett Street, sir, by the cemetery, about an hour and a half ago, sir.’ Get on with it, Harper thought. ‘A lad came running up and said there’d been an attack here. When I arrived a boy was lying on the floor. It appeared that someone had come in and thrown acid on him. Some of it caught the girl behind the counter.’
Christ, he thought as he glanced at Elizabeth. Her eyes were closed, lips pushed tightly together.
‘Where are they now?’
‘At the infirmary, sir. I pulled over a hackney and had him take them.’
‘Good thinking.’ At least the man had some initiative. ‘How bad are they?’
The constable took a deep breath before answering. ‘The lad got the worst of it, sir. All over his face and chest and his right hand. The girl took some on her face.’
‘Who’s the boy?’ Harper asked. ‘What’s his name? How old is he?’
‘Arthur Crabtree.’ It was Elizabeth who answered. Her voice sounded ancient, weighed down with pain. ‘He’s on the furnace at the brickworks. Comes in every day for bread and dripping so he can talk to Annie; he’s sweet on her.’
‘She’s the girl?’
‘Yes.’ A small, loaded word. She looked bewildered. ‘Annie Johnson. I was down at the Meanwood shop. I came as soon as I heard.’
‘Do you have any idea—’ Harper began, then a figure came out of the shop, limping as he leaned on a walking stick. There was fury on his face. Billy Reed. He was an inspector with the fire brigade now, their arson investigator, but once he’d been Harper’s sergeant. A trusted friend back then, too. Bad blood had parted them; time had healed some of that, but the scar still ran deep.
‘Tom.’ He nodded and reached for his wife’s hand, squeezing it lightly.
‘Billy.’ He hadn’t heard that Reed had been injured. ‘What …?’ He glanced at the cane.
‘A beam fell on my leg while I was on the job. It’s mending.’ He dismissed it. ‘I’ve taken a look inside. The best I can tell, whoever did it pushed the door open and tossed the acid. Probably ran straight off.’
Harper turned to the constable. ‘Any idea who’d want to hurt the boy?’
‘No, sir.’ He frowned. ‘I know Arthur. He’s only thirteen. Never a moment’s trouble.’
‘Ask around. I want everything you can find – and sharpish.’
‘The same age as Annie,’ Elizabeth said dully. She raised her head and looked at the men. ‘Just children, aren’t they?’ She stared at her husband. ‘I’m going to the hospital to see her.’
With Reed beside him, the inspector examined the shop. Where it hit, the acid had eaten at the fixtures and floor. Billy was right; this had been rushed. In and out. But deliberate. For God’s sake, who’d want to throw acid at a boy?
‘Do we have any witnesses?’
‘I asked after I arrived. Two men who saw someone running down the street,’ Reed said. ‘Just his back. Not much use. I’ve got their names.’
‘I’ll need them. How bad’s the leg?’
‘Improving,’ he answered. ‘At least no
thing’s broken.’ He grimaced. ‘I’m off for another week, until I’m firm on my pins again. I’ll give you a hand with this if you like.’ His eyes flashed. ‘After all, I have an interest.’
Harper considered the offer. Billy had been a good detective, one of the best; he knew what to do, the ways to find answers. And with the White murder, the inspector and Ash had ample on their plates.
‘It’s yours,’ Harper said, holding out his hand. Reed shook it. ‘If you need something, anything, just ask.’
‘Don’t you worry about that.’ He grinned. ‘It’ll be better than sitting at home all day.’
He spent another half-hour at the scene, going over everything, visiting the two witnesses Reed had found. The running man had been tall. He’d been short. Stout. Thin. Wearing a cap. Bare-headed. The pair couldn’t agree on a single thing. Typical. Useless.
‘Have there been problems at any of the shops?’ he asked Reed. ‘Tangles with customers?’
‘Not that Elizabeth’s told me. They’re all doing well. She’s started selling confectionery and the wives all seem to go for that.’ Harper noticed Billy was wearing a new suit. It was good tailoring, not from Barran’s, and more than he’d be able to afford on his money from the fire brigade. ‘They weren’t going after the shop, that’s obvious.’
Reed watched as the inspector walked away, hands in the patch pockets of his coat, his soft felt hat pulled down over his forehead. It was hard to believe they’d once been close friends. But that was before Annabelle, before Elizabeth. When things had been so different. His own life had been a tangle then. Drinking every night, temper always on edge.
Those days had gone. Both of them had changed. He’d met Elizabeth, a coal miner’s widow with four children to support. He’d never expected affection, never looked for it. But it had happened. He was a family man now, he’d finally found contentment.
And he was damned if he was going to let anything ruin that. Elizabeth had worked herself to the bone since she’d bought the bakeries. She’d built them up; each one took in more than when Annabelle Harper owned them. Between the profit and his wages they didn’t have to count pennies any longer.
Yet reputations were precarious things; he knew that. So hard to earn and so easy to lose. He needed to find out who’d thrown that acid and why, before folk began thinking something was wrong at Reed’s Bakery. Justice for the boy and the girl. But he was really doing it for Elizabeth.
The lad’s parents would be at the hospital now. He’d go and see them tonight. They only lived a few streets away. He’d talk to Annie’s mam, too, although he doubted the girl was involved at all. She was simply in the wrong place at the wrong time.
He could begin to clean up the shop. Mop the floor and arrange for tradesmen to come and fix the damage. The sooner they were open again, no sign of what had happened, the quicker gossip would die down.
TWO
Mary was quiet as she ate. It worried him. Normally she was so full of life and eager to recount everything that Harper kept looking across the table at her. His daughter kept her head lowered, moving the food around before spearing it on her fork and raising it to her mouth.
She must have sensed the mood, he decided, the way the room felt so subdued. But at three years old, how much could she understand? The world was still a huge, strange place to her.
Annabelle had barely said ten words since he came home. Lost in her thoughts and sorrows. He’d tried to play with Mary, to follow some complicated game she’d invented, but the little girl had run off to the table as soon as the meal was served.
‘Mam?’ she asked. Her voice seemed unnaturally loud in the silence. Three, and with a head full of questions.
‘What is it?’
Mary cocked her head. ‘Has Mr Mageer gone to heaven?’
How did you answer a question like that, Harper wondered?
Annabelle was smiling at her. ‘Yes, love, he has.’
‘But isn’t that a good thing? Isn’t heaven beautiful? He won’t need to be sad any more.’
‘No,’ she agreed. ‘He won’t. But people miss their friends when they’re gone. Even if it’s to heaven.’
Half past seven. He tucked Mary into bed. A story from The Blue Fairy Book, watching her face as she fought sleep. He stroked the hair away from her face. Simply being with her lifted his worries and made him forget the job for a short while.
Annabelle was sitting by the fire, a heavy woollen shawl over her shoulders, as if she was still cold. A book lay unopened on her lap. He rested a hand on her shoulder and she moved hers to cover it.
‘Heaven,’ she said quietly. ‘I don’t know where she hears it.’
‘Let’s hope she’s right.’
‘Yes.’ Annabelle was silent for a long time. ‘I went down to Maguire’s room in the end. I had to. I didn’t take Mary,’ she added before he could speak. ‘She stayed here with Ellen.’ She paused, staring into the flames. ‘How could he live like that, Tom? There was nothing.’
‘I know.’
‘If he’d said something … he knew I’d have helped him.’
Perhaps Maguire had been too proud, Harper thought. Or perhaps he simply hadn’t cared any more. If politics didn’t want him, what was left? No wife, no woman in his life apart from his mother living up on the Bank.
‘What are you reading?’ he asked after a while. There were books all over the room. Politics, law, philosophy; she always had one or two on the go.
Annabelle held it up so he could see the spine. Machine Rooms Chants, Tom Maguire.
‘His poems.’ It was enough of an explanation. He’d been publishing his verses in magazines for a few years. ‘He sent me a copy a fortnight ago.’ She looked up and tried to smile. ‘Tell me something. Please. Take my mind off all this.’
But what did he have to offer? Murder and acid attacks? He tried to think.
‘I saw Bill Waters when I was coming through the pub.’ He was a councillor for Chapeltown, as conservative as they came. ‘He was gabbing to Jeb Smith.’ Smith was a union man, too far to the left even for the Labour Party. Odd companions. But even a nugget that juicy didn’t spark a response. Annabelle sat, preoccupied.
The bar was busy, men with their wages ready for their pleasure, the end of the working week just a day away. Others, wearing better suits, watching, listening. He poured a glass of gin and took it back upstairs.
‘Drink that,’ he told her.
It helped a little. She cried, clinging on to him, letting the tears come. For Maguire, for her own helplessness, for the past. Harper held her until it all subsided. And when she was drained, he kept his arm around her as they went into the bedroom.
She was still sleeping when he left in the morning. A quick peek to see Mary, only her hair visible above the covers, burrowing away from the cold.
Saturday morning. The air in the café by the market was thick, steamy. He sat with a cup of tea. How often had he and Maguire talked in here over the years, crime and politics, this and that? He could still hear the gentle humour of the man’s voice as he spoke and see the twitch of his moustache when he laughed. Once they finished, they’d go their separate ways: the inspector to Millgarth, Maguire back to the union on Kirkgate.
Time to leave, he thought, and raised the cup in a short, silent toast. He’d miss the man.
Ash was already in the office, going through Henry White’s file. Harper had pored over it yesterday, noting names, places, anything at all. Somewhere to start. To try to dig out a killer.
‘Any luck at the house?’ he asked.
The sergeant sniffed. ‘Not so you’d notice, sir. Doesn’t look as if Henry was much for possessions.’
‘Nothing hidden away?’
A quick, sharp smile. ‘I was very thorough, sir.’
Harper passed across the first page of the list he’d made. ‘Get started on those. Henry knew them all. Someone made him carry those goods.’ A constable had stopped him at the railway station, looking suspicious and
worried as he waited for the train, a ticket to London in his pocket. As soon as the suitcase was opened, he was under arrest.
‘Yes, sir.’ He glanced at the writing. ‘One or two familiar names on here. I’d trust them as far as I could throw them.’
‘Push them all hard.’ He chose his words carefully. ‘That murder was in cold blood. I want the man who did it.’
‘We’ll find him, sir.’
He hoped so.
Reed knocked on the door. He’d made sure it wasn’t too early, although they wouldn’t have slept a wink. He didn’t bring his fist down too hard; no need to scare the people inside. A back-to-back house, like everywhere around here. Smoke rising from the chimney, neatly kept, the front step proudly scoured.
No answer. There’d been none when he called last night, either. But someone was definitely at home. Then the click of a key in the lock, a squeak of hinges and a man was staring at him.
‘Mr Crabtree? I’m Inspector Reed, sir. I’m so sorry about your son. Do you mind if I come in?’
He’d been waiting when Elizabeth returned the evening before. Sat her down, made her a cup of tea with three sugars, saying nothing until she’d finished it and the colour returned to her cheeks. Then, ‘How’s Annie?’
‘Poor love.’ Just the two words and a long pause. ‘She’s going to have the scars as long as she lives.’ Elizabeth stroked across her cheek and up into the hairline. ‘Right there. About the only blessing is it missed her eyes.’
‘I told Tom I’d look into it. I have the time.’
She nodded, frowning. He wasn’t even certain she’d heard him.
‘Why, Billy? That’s what I kept asking myself on the tram. Why would anyone do that?’
‘I don’t know.’ He was damned if he could see a reason.
‘I told Annie and her mother that she’d always have a job with me. Doesn’t have to be behind the counter if she doesn’t want.’
‘That’s something.’
‘I went to visit Arthur afterwards. It caught him full in the face. He’s never going to see again.’ Reed couldn’t help himself; he shuddered. ‘His parents were there.’ Her face crumpled. Sobs punctuated her words. ‘All I could do was tell them I’m sorry. Why, Billy? Why would anyone …’
On Copper Street Page 2
