She spoke the words in such a matter-of-fact way that it took a moment before he understood the ocean of pain behind them. She’d carry it all inside for the rest of her life, locked away, unable to grieve for him.
‘I’m trying to find out who killed him,’ Harper told her and she nodded. ‘Do you know who he’d been involved with?’
‘Did I know he was bad? Is that what you mean?’ She hissed the words. ‘Of course I did. It didn’t matter. But he protected me from all that side of his life. He told me it was safer.’ A wistful, sad smile crossed her face. ‘But there’s no safety, is there?’
‘Did Henry ever tell you any names?’
‘No.’
‘Did he tell you why he was carrying that stolen silver?’
She shook her head. ‘I didn’t even know what happened to it until I read that he’d been arrested.’ Her shoulders slumped. ‘We’d seen each other once a month for the last five years. Kept it all quiet as mice. I knew he was getting out last Friday. I was desperate to see him again. And then I read about the killing on Saturday. I’ve not been able to sleep properly since.’
‘Mrs Parkin—’ he said, but she carried straight on.
‘I loved him the way I didn’t think anyone could love. I don’t expect you to believe that, but it’s true. I’m not going to see him again this side of heaven. If I knew who’d done it, I’d kill them myself.’
She pushed the chair back, took a deep breath, and marched out of the café. No one paid any attention.
‘No luck, sir?’ Ash asked as they waited at the tram stop.
‘Grief,’ Harper said, then corrected himself. ‘Nothing but grief.’
SIX
‘What now, sir?’ Ash said.
‘We need to find this man who was seen with Henry on Friday morning. He’s the best lead we’ve got so far.’
‘I can’t believe he left a will. He always seemed too feckless.’
‘The solicitor insists there’s nothing of interest for us in it. But he won’t let me see it.’
‘If you ask me, that’s suspicious,’ Ash said.
‘Don’t you worry.’ Harper winked. ‘The day I take a lawyer’s word is the day they pension me off.’
They parted at Vicar Lane; Ash back to Millgarth, the inspector walking along the Headrow towards the Town Hall. He dodged between carts, pulling back as a hackney galloped along. The loud clang of a bell warned him as an electric tram approached.
Past the square outside the art gallery and the library, across the street, then up the wide stone steps and between the lions outside the Town Hall. The building was big, on a massive scale, but badly weathered; the stonework was black, coloured by years of smoke and soot. Inside, though, the grandeur was on full display. Marble floors and columns, flights of stairs that rose up and up, rooms with high, ornate ceilings.
He knew the office he wanted. At the back of the second floor, hidden away down a dusty corridor. Two clerks in a room with a view over Great George Street. The same men had been here for years, as if they existed in this separate little world.
One of them glanced up as he entered, his serious face breaking into a wide smile.
‘Mr Harper. Haven’t seen you in a long time.’
‘How are you, Geoffrey? You too, Stephen.’
Geoffrey Gordon never seemed to age. He’d been bald as long as Harper had known him, just a monk’s fringe of hair around the sides of his head that blossomed into broad, bushy sideboards. Portly, he moved in a waddle but always seemed happy with his lot. The other man, Stephen Kesey, was quiet, with a long, permanently disappointed face.
‘Fair to middling, same as ever,’ Geoffrey said, wafting away all the cares of the world. ‘Something must be important to bring you all the way up here.’
‘I’m looking for a will. Entered probate in the last day or so.’
Geoffrey adjusted a pair of spectacles. ‘We always have plenty of those, Mr Harper. People dying like flies.’ He grinned at his own wit. ‘What’s the name?’
‘Henry White.’
‘Henry White,’ Geoffrey repeated. ‘Do you hear that, Mr Kesey? Can you be a good fellow and look for a copy?’
The other man shuffled off into a back room. For a few minutes the inspector talked to Geoffrey. He was a grandfather again, and full of the joys of it; his daughter had given birth for a fourth time the month before.
Five minutes passed until Kesey silently returned with the papers. The will was dated 1893, two years earlier. No amendments or codicils. All the usual phrases – of sound mind and body – but he passed them by. He wanted the meat of it: what had been left to whom.
Rose Thorp would receive the house on Copper Street, exactly as she’d said. She’d receive most of the contents, too, for whatever little they were worth. A pottery figurine to Mrs Parkin as a token of their friendship. That was one way of phrasing it, but he wondered what the woman’s husband would think. Tiny bequests to relatives. No money, but Henry had never had two brass farthings to rub together. And finally, words that jumped out at him.
To William Calder, a good and true friend across the years, I leave my keys, except for that which opens my house. One is important. He will understand.
William Calder. Willie. The name he’d heard in Whitelock’s. He wasn’t one to believe in coincidences. And keys. He’d never given them any thought. He pictured the house, slipping through it room by room in his mind. No boxes with locks.
William Calder. He tried to place the name, but all that came into his head was John Calder, a detective sergeant in B Division. Still, someone would know the man. He made a few notes, jotting down the exact wording from the document, and pushed it back to Geoffrey.
‘Worth your time, Mr Harper?’ He beamed.
‘Yes,’ he answered with pleasure, ‘I do believe it was. Good day, gentlemen.’
As he came out into the cold air, the inspector looked at his pocket watch. Above him, the Town Hall clock boomed half past eleven. Plenty of time to get back to Millgarth.
He chose the long way, down East Parade, past the grand offices of the banks and insurance companies, all the way to the Post Office at City Square. The grit and smudges floating from the railway stations landed on clothes and flesh, and darkened the stones on the buildings. Back along Boar Lane, with its headlong rush of traffic, then across Briggate, darting and diving and taking his life in his hands. By the Corn Exchange and finally through the open market. It was a circuit that reminded him of what Leeds had become. Rich and poor, cheek by jowl, and each month the divide between the two seemed greater.
Kendall was sitting at his desk, talking to someone with shining silver hair. Harper could make out the man’s back. Square shoulders, a pale neck, a stiff celluloid collar on his shirt. The superintendent waved him in, and he found himself facing Chief Constable Webb. Without even thinking, he stood to attention.
‘At ease, Inspector.’ He gestured to the empty chair in the corner. ‘Sit down.’
Back straight, pulse racing, he perched on the edge of the seat. The chief must have come to give the news to Kendall, he thought. He’d arrived too early.
‘Tom,’ the superintendent said with a smile, ‘you look as if you’re scared the ceiling’s going to fall on you.’
‘Sorry, sir.’
‘You might as well stop with the sir nonsense,’ Kendall told him. ‘Not that you remember it most of the time, anyway.’
Webb was staring at him, eyes showing nothing.
‘Tell me something, Inspector,’ he said after a moment. ‘Do you think you can run this station?’
‘Yes, sir,’ he replied. ‘I believe I can.’
The man’s mouth curled into a slow smile.
‘I’m very glad you said that. Because after Friday you’ll have your chance.’ He extended a hand. ‘Welcome, Superintendent Harper.’
For a moment he sat, dumbfounded, convinced his hearing had failed him again. Yes, they’d talked about it. He’d been put forward for t
he job. But …
He took a deep breath. ‘Thank you, sir.’
Webb stood. ‘I’ll leave you two to work out the details.’ His hard features softened. ‘I told the watch committee this morning that they’d made the correct decision. I’m sure you’ll be an excellent commander here, even if you have big shoes to fill.’
‘Congratulations, Tom,’ Kendall said once they were alone. ‘Not that I ever doubted it. They’ve picked the right man.’
Harper still couldn’t believe it. He’d convinced himself that they’d turn him down, that his name had only been on the list to make up the numbers. Now all of this would be his, taking care of every man, of every detail.
‘There’s plenty to learn,’ the superintendent continued. ‘You’ll be doing most of it on the job.’ He brought a sheaf of papers from his desk, neatly bound with a black ribbon. ‘Notes about the place from everyone who’s been in charge here since it opened. Mine are on the bottom. When you have the chance, read them.’
‘I will.’ He felt dazed. Overwhelmed. ‘I still have cases, though.’
‘I know. You already have the general idea of how everything’s run here. You’ve done it before.’
He had, when the superintendent was ill or busy elsewhere. But only for short periods. ‘I’ll learn,’ he said with a startled smile and stood. ‘I’d better get back to work while I still can.’
‘Annabelle will be pleased,’ Kendall said.
‘Over the moon.’
‘Should I salute you, sir?’ Ash asked with a grin.
‘Give over.’ He settled on his chair. ‘I suppose everyone knows.’
‘It’s all through the station. No secrets here.’
When had it ever been any different? But there was more urgent business.
‘Tell me, what do you know about a man called William Calder?’
Ash pursed his lips. ‘Not a thing, sir. Have you tried Sergeant Tollman?’
‘On the way in. He only knew that sergeant from B Division.’
‘That’s a different Christian name. Why do we want to know about him?’
Harper explained about the will and the key.
‘Key to what, though?’ Ash asked.
‘We’ll have to ask Mr Calder when we find him. You see what you can discover. I’ll go and get that key from Mrs Thorp.’
‘It worries me that we’re not familiar with an associate of Henry’s, sir.’
‘Maybe he knew a few honest people. He’s full of surprises – there’s Mrs Parkin, after all.’
Ash laughed. ‘True enough. Who’d have thought of Henry White as a Romeo? I’ll see what I can dig up, sir. And everyone at the station is glad you’ll be in charge here.’
‘Thank you.’ It was a vote of support he’d value, and it would make the new job easier.
She had the keys, a ring of them. Seven, shiny and dangling.
‘Which one is for the house?’ Harper asked and she pointed at the biggest key.
‘That.’
He removed it and placed it on the table. ‘I need to take the rest of them, Mrs Thorp.’
She eyed him with suspicion, as if he was trying to rob her of something. ‘Why?’
‘I’m trying to solve your brother’s murder,’ he reminded her.
‘Go on, then,’ she said reluctantly. ‘But I want them back when you’re done.’
She hadn’t bothered to ask about the investigation. She wasn’t dressed in mourning. No grief on her face. At the door he turned back to face her.
‘Did your brother ever mention someone called Willie Calder?’
Rose Thorp frowned. ‘No,’ she replied. But it was obvious that she was lying. Later, he thought; he’d find out the truth later.
On Leather Street he tapped lightly on a front door. A wreath of black leaves hung on a nail. A man let him in, a face he’d seen around the union office, dressed in a suit and tie, so closely shaved that his cheeks seemed to shine.
No words; none needed. Right in front of him, in the centre of the parlour, the coffin lay on a table, the lid propped in a corner. Maguire, hands crossed over his breast. Wearing his good suit, red hair combed, moustache waxed. The undertaker had done a careful job. The man looked better than he had in his bed at Quarry Hill. No longer so gaunt or hopeless. If anything, he seemed to be at peace, and Harper hoped that death had at least brought him that.
There was no one else in the room. For a moment he was tempted to tell Maguire about his promotion and imagined the man chuckling.
‘I’ll have friends in high places now, Superintendent. That might prove useful if I ever need a character reference.’
But there was no voice, only the echo through his imagination. He stood for a few minutes then went through to the scullery. The man sat at the table, reading a newspaper. Next to him was an old woman, tiny, hunched over. She had the faintest traces of red among the thin grey hair. Her hands were gnarled, moving slowly and painfully as she knitted.
‘I’m sorry for your loss,’ Harper said. ‘I admired your son.’
She raised her head, looked at him and nodded. ‘Thank you.’
Just two words but he could hear the brogue.
Outside, the wind began to swirl. He buttoned up his coat and walked back to Millgarth.
‘We’re off out,’ Annabelle told him. ‘We’re celebrating. You’ve got ten minutes to wash and change. I have a hackney booked for six.’
‘You’ve heard, then?’
Annabelle rolled her eyes. ‘Of course I’ve heard, you daft thing. Everyone in Leeds has probably heard by now.’ She looked at him and smiled proudly. ‘Superintendent Harper, eh?’
She was wearing a new gown, as pale as a summer sunrise, with leg-of-mutton sleeves, a wrapover skirt and a deep waistband, along with the yellow shawl he’d bought her a year or two before. Her hair was up in some elaborate coiffure and he could smell her scent as she held him close.
‘Mary wanted to know if all the policemen have to live here now you’re in charge.’
He laughed. ‘You should have told her yes.’
‘I was tempted. She’s up with Ellen. Get a move on and you can tell her goodnight before we go.’
Powolny’s. She definitely wanted to make it an occasion, Harper thought as he escorted her up the wide, carpeted stairs to the restaurant. A table for two, attentive service, good food. Things he never found elsewhere. This was how the other half lived.
‘It doesn’t feel real, you know,’ he told her as he pushed the empty plate away. ‘None of it.’
‘I hope that changes soon,’ Annabelle said with a smile. ‘Since you’re going to be doing the job before you know it.’
‘It scares me,’ he admitted after a minute.
‘It should do,’ she said. ‘You’d hardly be human if it didn’t. At least you’ve done it before.’
‘Only for a day or two while Kendall was away.’
‘Doesn’t matter,’ she said. ‘You’ve done it. It won’t be any different.’
But it would. Everything would rest on his shoulders, and he wasn’t certain they were broad enough. Still, he’d imagined that before, first when he made detective sergeant, then after the promotion to inspector. And he’d managed. He knew that he’d fill this role in time. She was right, though; it was good to be nervous. It kept him alert.
He was going to need a new inspector to handle investigations.
‘Tom.’ Her voice brought him back.
‘Sorry.’
‘Let’s keep it just us tonight,’ Annabelle said softly. ‘Leave work behind, eh?’ She reached across the table, over the crisp white cloth, and took his hand. ‘I really am proud of you.’
‘I’m glad.’
‘You know, when I was little I’d never have imagined marrying a copper, let alone one on his way to being chief constable.’
He laughed. The idea was so ridiculous, so impossible. And he’d never want that job.
‘Look at the pair of us.’
‘Why
?’ she asked, confused. ‘What’s so funny?’
‘You grew up on the Bank. Now you go out and give speeches, you hobnob with councillors, people do you favours, you have money.’
‘That’s just luck,’ she told him.
‘No, it’s not. Not all of it,’ he pointed out. ‘And me. Born on Noble Street and now I’m going to be running Millgarth. That’s why it doesn’t seem real. From there to here.’
She nodded. ‘It’s true enough, I suppose. All of it. Funny thing is, I doubt we’ve come two miles between the pair of us from where we both started out to the Victoria.’
He chuckled. ‘We sound ancient.’
‘You speak for yourself.’ Her eyes flashed. ‘There’s plenty of life in me yet. You too, I hope. I have plans for you once we’re home.’ He stared, seeing the sly smirk on her face. ‘You didn’t think you were going to get away with just a meal for a celebration, did you?’
For once he didn’t want to stir with the morning. Annabelle’s arm lay over his chest. Her hair was wild over the pillow, tickling his face. He was warm, cosy. Happy. He surfaced very slowly, shaking off dreams and sleep before easing himself out from the blankets and into the cold room.
If early birds got the worm he’d go hungry today. The tram was filled with men in suits and ties, on their way to work in the offices. The factory hands were already at their jobs, chimneys spewing smoke into the air.
Ash was busy when he arrived, leafing through a small pile of folders.
‘Getting ready for bankers’ hours, sir?’ he asked with a grin.
‘That and the long luncheon,’ he answered. ‘What’s that?’
‘Couldn’t find any William Calder in the records, sir, so I pulled everyone called Calder that we’ve arrested in the last twenty years.’ He put a large hand on the files.
‘Any luck?’
‘Just got started. No one with the middle name or nickname of William so far.’
Harper hung up his coat. A thought came to him.
‘Detective Sergeant Calder in B Division – isn’t he from a large family?’ He had a faint recollection of the man laughing about it over a drink once.
‘I’ve no idea, sir. I’ve never really talked to him.’ He looked sharply at the inspector. ‘You don’t suspect him, do you?’
On Copper Street Page 7
