The Leaden Heart

by Chris Nickson

  Sometimes he wondered if she cared too much. But she wasn’t about to stop now. Deep in the night, his mind drifted into the silence.

  FOUR

  Billy Reed glanced around the church. It was filled with Charlie’s neighbours and customers who’d come to pay their final respects. Women offered hurried words of condolence to Hester before taking their seats in the pews, faces set and grim.

  They’d held the inquest first thing that morning. A quick verdict of accidental death to give a gracious lie that spared everyone and allowed a proper burial. The service itself was short, a pair of hymns and a few prayers, then a eulogy from a vicar who sounded as if he’d never met Charlie in his life, before the hearse made its way to Beckett Street Cemetery. Familiar streets; Reed and Elizabeth had lived a stone’s throw away until they moved to Whitby. But it seemed as if a lifetime had passed since then.

  He’d received a letter from her that morning. Full of seaside gossip, but he could sense the exhaustion beneath her words. Business was good at the tea shop. She was making money, but working from first thing until long after dark, six days a week. Next summer she’d hire more staff.

  Elizabeth understood his need to stay, to know what had happened, why his brother had killed himself.

  Find out what you can. But don’t be too long, Billy. I miss you. Love you.

  He smiled for a brief moment, hearing her voice in his mind. The parson began the service at the graveside as the coffin was lowered into the ground. Beside him, Hester’s head was bowed, face hidden behind a black veil as her shoulders moved with silent tears.

  Reed waited his turn, then picked up a handful of dirt and sprinkled it into the grave. Another few minutes and they’d be filling in the hole. After that, the funeral tea and life would push on in its daily procession. All this would become a memory.

  The rooms above the shop seemed to burst with people. He stayed a few minutes, made his excuses and left. He didn’t know any of them, and there were things to do. A tram into the centre and meet Tom Harper at the Town Hall.

  The burglar had struck again during the night. Another big house, this one on Clarendon Road. The owners out for the evening, servants playing gin rummy for matchsticks in the kitchen. They hadn’t heard a thing.

  ‘We still don’t have a clue, sir,’ Ash said. He exhaled and ran a hand through his hair. ‘Not one.’

  ‘What did he get away with this time?’ Harper asked.

  ‘Some money, a few bits of jewellery the wife wasn’t wearing. Silver-plated hairbrushes. He was probably inside for five minutes at the most.’

  ‘Whose house is it?’

  ‘Mr and Mrs Collins. He’s the vice-chancellor at Yorkshire College.’

  Another important person. But with an expensive address like that, it was a given.

  ‘No word from the snouts? Nobody trying to sell the goods to the fences?’

  ‘Nothing yet,’ Fowler told him. ‘Barring a piece of luck, this one’s going to be a long slog.’

  He was right, Harper thought as he dismissed the detectives, a drawn-out case when they needed a quick arrest.

  ‘Ash, I need a word.’ The inspector settled back on his chair.

  ‘Of course, sir.’

  ‘You’ve probably heard that Mr Reed is in Leeds.’

  Ash’s mouth twitched under his heavy moustache. ‘One of the beat men saw him and told me. It’s very sad news about his brother.’

  ‘Mickey Davies is involved.’

  ‘Is that right?’ He raised his eyebrows. ‘Putting the squeeze on the brother, was he?’

  ‘Yes. Seems there were something else going on, too, but I don’t know if he’s involved in that.’ He hesitated. ‘Can Fowler and Walsh track down this burglar on their own?’

  ‘They’ll manage that, sir.’ Not a trace of doubt in his voice.

  ‘I want you to find out about our friend Mickey. Gather as much as you can.’

  Ash grinned. ‘Leave it with me, sir. I’ll be happy as Larry to bring a ton of bricks down on his head. I should still have a little time to work on the burglar. Did you say there was more?’

  ‘Mr Reed and I are going to handle that.’

  ‘Of course, sir. But if you need a hand …’

  ‘I’ll let you know.’ He glanced at the clock. Twenty minutes to one. Where did the time go? He needed to meet Billy at the Town Hall, then dash over to Hunslet.

  Reed was waiting, leaning against one of the stone lions on the steps. He looked uncomfortable in his black suit of thick, scratchy wool.

  ‘How was the funeral?’

  ‘Same way they always bloody are.’ He sounded bitter. ‘I’m sorry, it’s just … how can it ever be worthwhile when a man’s killed himself?’

  ‘I told you, we’ll take care of the people who drove him to it.’

  Reed took a final draw on his cigarette and ground it under his heel.

  ‘Too late for Charlie, though, isn’t it?’ He shook his head, as if he was trying to clear away the sorrow. ‘You know, I just saw the strangest thing while I’ve been standing here. One of those motor cars I’ve read about.’

  Harper laughed. ‘That’ll be Roland Winn. He sells them, has a garage on Woodhouse Lane. We had him up before the magistrate last year for driving twelve miles an hour. Progress, Billy. That’s what they call it. Telephones, electric light, moving pictures, motor cars. A new century in a few months.’

  ‘Just another year. It doesn’t mean anything. Sometimes I wonder if any of it’s worth a damn,’ Reed replied as they entered the building. Inside was marble and wide staircases, all the expense of civic grandeur. And at the rear of the second floor, the planning office, where a clerk with stooped shoulders and wild, grey hair seemed surprised that anyone would visit.

  But he was efficient, bringing out a large map to locate the shop, then ledgers to discover who owned it.

  ‘This is very unusual,’ he muttered slowly. ‘It was sold six months ago.’

  ‘What’s so strange about that?’ Harper asked. People bought and sold places all the time.

  ‘Two things, sir,’ the clerk answered. ‘First of all, it was bought by a company, not a person.’

  ‘What’s the name of the company?’

  ‘The Harehills Development Company.’ He read the words from the page.

  ‘Who owns that?’

  ‘It doesn’t say. I’m sorry, sir.’ The clerk bit his lip. ‘I’m not familiar with them at all.’

  ‘You said there were two unusual things.’ Reed’s voice cut over him.

  ‘Yes. According to this, the buyer paid the same for the property as the original owner.’

  ‘Maybe it hasn’t risen in value.’

  ‘No, sir.’ He shook his head, absolutely certain. ‘It should definitely have gone up. Definitely.’

  ‘Why?’

  The man was silent, staring down as he framed the words.

  ‘By the time it was sold, it was common knowledge round here that planning permission would be given for more houses in the area.’ He stared at them, making sure they understood. ‘Everyone in the trade would have been aware, too. Word travels quickly in this business. That meant any commercial property would have gone up in value. Even a small one like this.’

  ‘Where can we find out about this Harehills Development Company?’ Harper asked.

  ‘You can try the office three doors along,’ the clerk said doubtfully. ‘A lot depends on what type of company it is, and there’s nothing here to indicate that. I’m sorry, sir.’

  At the door, Harper turned. ‘Who’s building these houses?’

  ‘Mr Regis, sir.’

  Regis, Regis. He knew that name.

  ‘Isn’t he—’

  ‘Yes, sir.’ The clerk looked shamefaced. ‘Councillor Howe’s son-in-law.’

  Nothing like keeping it in the family.

  Out in the corridor, away from the musty smell of old paper, Harper pulled out his pocket watch. They’d spent an hour in there.
/>   ‘I’m sorry, Billy, I’m going to have to leave the rest to you. I have an appointment.’

  ‘Don’t worry. Thank you for the help. At least we’ve made a start.’

  We. He liked the sound of that. ‘I’ll see you later. You can tell me what you’ve found.’

  Harper hurried along the pavement to Hunslet Road police station. Annabelle was pacing as she waited. A rose-coloured dress with white lace on the collar today, standing out brightly against the drabness of the buildings.

  ‘I’m sorry I’m late.’

  She raised an eyebrow. ‘I’ll be getting myself a reputation if anyone spots me loitering outside a place like this.’

  ‘Not if you’re seen with a handsome detective.’

  Annabelle glanced around. ‘You’d better hurry up and find me one, then. All I can see is my husband.’

  He took her arm and they went in. A familiar smell, exactly the same as Millgarth, that mix of sweat, hopelessness, and fear.

  Superintendent Patterson was waiting; he showed them through to his office and sent a constable to bring tea.

  ‘I appreciate you taking the time for this, Brian,’ Harper said. ‘Especially as it’s a bit non-regulation.’

  ‘I’m happy to help any way I can. I don’t think there was a man here who wasn’t shocked when we pulled those two lasses from the canal.’ He was a big, bluff man who’d started out plodding a beat in Wortley. ‘Most of us have kiddies of our own.’

  ‘My wife’s a Poor Law Guardian. She’s been asked to look into it, to make sure everything possible was done.’

  Patterson dipped his head. ‘Whatever you want to know, Mrs Harper.’

  She was about to speak when a bobby entered, carefully balancing three full mugs.

  ‘I’m afraid we don’t run to the bone china here,’ Patterson said.

  ‘It wouldn’t last a minute in our house, either.’ Annabelle gave a fleeting grin, then her expression turned serious. ‘The first the police knew about this business was when someone reported Ada and Annie in the canal. Is that right?’

  ‘Yes.’ Patterson turned the cup in his hands, staring into the liquid. ‘The constable who pulled them out tried to revive them, but it was too late. It didn’t take long to discover their names. From there, my men did their job. Asking questions, looking for the father. We found him the next morning. Have you seen the reports?’

  ‘I have,’ Annabelle told him. ‘I can’t say they’re pleasant reading.’

  ‘What I wondered,’ Harper began, ‘is whether there’s anything that wasn’t put on paper. You know, the little bits that don’t fit and don’t help the case. Not to blame anyone, nothing like that’ – he glanced at his wife for confirmation, waiting until she nodded in agreement – ‘but just to find out everything we can.’

  ‘I talked to the constables involved this morning after you telephoned me. They all remember it clear as day. I doubt they’ll ever forget. Everything is in the reports. Only—’ A high, metallic screech rose over his voice.

  ‘What on earth was that?’ Annabelle asked, eyes wide, hands over her ears. ‘It sounds like something’s tearing itself apart.’

  Patterson laughed. ‘Just the engine works testing the brakes on a new locomotive. Spend any time down here and you get used to it. No, the only thing not in the report is that when Redshaw was arrested, he didn’t mention the girls at all.’

  ‘Not a word?’ Annabelle asked in disbelief.

  ‘No. He seemed dazed, that’s what the constable told me. Like he’d just woken up and didn’t remember a thing.’

  ‘What do you mean? Lost his mind?’

  ‘For a little while, perhaps,’ Patterson replied cautiously and leaned forward. ‘Are you sure this is just between us?’

  ‘Absolutely confidential,’ she promised.

  ‘Right then. Everyone here wants this to be a murder case. Everyone. Those daughters of his never had a chance. We want him to hang and we’re not about to give a lawyer any ammunition that could bring a different verdict.’

  ‘The outcome isn’t my concern,’ Annabelle told him. ‘I need to make sure the workhouse acted properly. That’s all.’ A small hesitation. ‘And I don’t want anything like this to happen again.’

  ‘Mrs Harper …’

  ‘You’d best call me Annabelle,’ she said. ‘If you’re on Christian name terms with my husband, you should be with me, too.’

  ‘Annabelle it is, then. As far as I can discover, the workhouse master did everything he was supposed to do,’ Patterson said.

  ‘That’s how I’m beginning to feel.’ She sighed. ‘The question is always going to be how we ended up with two dead girls, isn’t it?’ She sighed and stood, extending her hand. ‘Thank you for your time. And your honesty.’

  ‘I can’t say I gave you much. But if there’s anything else, just ask.’

  ‘Was it worth the visit?’ Harper asked as they stood on the pavement.

  ‘I think so,’ she answered hesitantly. ‘Everything I can learn helps.’

  ‘They’ve sent for a hackney; it should be here soon. I need to go back to Millgarth.’

  ‘I’ll see you at home.’ She ducked forward and kissed him. ‘Thank you for arranging this.’

  ‘I told you I’d give you a hand.’

  ‘You did. That’s one thing about you, Tom Harper, you always do what you promise. With most men, it’s just talk.’

  ‘Right,’ he said. ‘The burglar. Have you turned up anything at all?’

  Late afternoon, the sun hazy and hot above the thick layer of smoke that covered the city.

  ‘Nothing, sir,’ Fowler said. He took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes, voice weary. ‘It’s not for want of trying. The snouts don’t have a scent. I’ve written to other forces to see if they’ve had anything similar.’

  ‘Good idea,’ Harper said. ‘Whoever he is, it looks like he’s just started here. Maybe things became too hot for him somewhere else.’

  ‘Well, he’s definitely not trying to move anything through the local pawn shops or the fences,’ Walsh added. ‘I tried them all again today.’

  ‘Keep worrying at it. Something’s going to give sooner or later.’

  He just hoped it was sooner. The men left, but Ash didn’t move from his seat.

  ‘You wanted to know all about Mickey Davies, sir,’ he said.

  FIVE

  Reed sat back with his tea and cigarette, listening as Mary sang the song she’d learned that afternoon at school. Begone Dull Care, wavering around the notes in a high, piping tone. Two verses, every word correct. Like her parents, he applauded as she finished and curtseyed, before dashing off to her bedroom to play.

  ‘Her voice might never be her fortune,’ Annabelle said, ‘but at least she’s got plenty of front. You could never pay me to sing for anyone.’ She gathered the last of the plates. ‘You two look like you need to talk. I’ll leave you to it.’

  ‘What did the companies’ office have to say?’ Harper asked as he poured another cup of tea from the pot.

  ‘Not enough,’ Reed replied. ‘Nowhere near enough.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ He stared. ‘Who owns this Harehills Development Company?’

  ‘Another company.’ He could hear the tight frustration in his voice. ‘And the office doesn’t know who owns that. The only contact named is a lawyer.’

  ‘A lawyer?’ Harper asked. He didn’t understand.

  Reed sighed. ‘The clerk said he’s come across this before. According to him, it’s a way to hide the real owners.’

  ‘This Harehills Development Company bought the property where your brother had his shop, but it doesn’t really own it?’

  ‘That’s right. The real owners are this other company, the North Leeds Company,’ Reed said.

  ‘North Leeds?’ Harper raised an eyebrow. ‘Not short of ambition, are they?’ He rubbed his chin with the back of his hand. ‘And the only name we have there is the lawyer. Who is he?’

  ‘Dryden, i
n Park Square. Do you know him?’

  ‘Oh yes. Very well.’ Charles Dryden, retained by the rich crooks who could afford his services, and worth every penny. He was sly, cunning, a man who knew all the twists in the law. What was he doing in something like this, though? He dealt with criminals, not companies. Something was starting to smell rotten. ‘It’s not good news.’

  ‘Why?’ Reed asked.

  ‘Charlie Dryden knows the law inside and out, and he gives up information like it’s money from his own pocket. It’s going to be a battle.’

  ‘We need to know, Tom.’ He could hear the metal in Billy’s voice, the need.

  ‘In the morning,’ he said. ‘We’ll go down together.’

  Reed nodded. That was enough. He sat back on the chair. ‘I looked in on Elizabeth’s oldest two this afternoon.’

  ‘I’d forgotten they’d stayed here.’

  He shrugged. ‘All grown up now. In lodgings, caught up in their own lives and their sweethearts.’

  ‘You blink and they’ve grown up.’ Harper shook his head. ‘Every time I look at Mary I wonder where the last seven years went.’ A small cough. ‘We’re moving along with Mickey Davies. How often is his name in your brother’s account books?’

  ‘Every week,’ Reed told him. ‘I can bring them downstairs, if you like.’

  Harper shook his head. ‘No need. As long as it’s there when I need it. Do you think your sister-in-law would testify?’

  ‘I can ask her.’

  ‘Ash is looking into it. The problem is, we’ve never had much real evidence against him, and no one’s been willing to stand up in court and speak. And there have always been more important things,’ he admitted.

  ‘What now?’ Reed asked.

  ‘Ash has found a couple of people willing to give evidence. Once we have enough, we’ll drag Mickey down to the station.’

  ‘Ever had dealings with him before?’

  ‘Once,’ Harper said. ‘Years ago now. You know the type – reckons he can get away with anything he wants.’

  ‘I only have the rest of this week,’ Reed said hesitantly. He wanted to go home with something. Some small sense of justice. ‘My leave’s up after that.’