‘Can you take more?’
He shook his head. ‘My sergeant goes on holiday from Monday. He’s been looking forward to it all year.’
‘You can’t go upsetting sergeants. We’ll keep on with the investigation. That’s a promise, Billy.’
Reed stretched in the chair and yawned. ‘I’m going up to bed. It’s been a rough day.’
‘Poor Billy. He looked like he was carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders,’ Annabelle said as they lay in bed. The heat seemed to cling to their skin. Even a single thin sheet on top of them felt too heavy.
‘Hardly surprising, is it?’ He said nothing for a long time. ‘How about you? How do you feel with this Redshaw case?’
‘Hopeless,’ she answered. ‘I still want to find the woman Redshaw lived with and hear her side of things. But the workhouse master isn’t at fault.’
‘Then your job’s done, isn’t it?’
‘That part is.’
‘I was wondering … do you think they chose you for this to stop you harassing the board about cuts?’ The idea had been niggling him since she first mentioned the panel.
‘Distract the troublemaker, you mean?’ She snorted. ‘Probably. But they won’t be happy when I tell them that we all failed, Tom. We let those little girls down. We’re the ones who let them die.’
‘No,’ Harper told her. He couldn’t let her believe she bore any of the guilt. ‘That was their father. It’s not your fault.’
‘We need a better system. One that allows people to use their judgement. So no more end up dying like that.’
She began to cry, tiny sobs, and he held her close until it passed. It wasn’t just Billy Reed who was carrying his sorrow.
‘We might have something on our burglar, sir,’ Fowler said as he glanced at the letter on his desk.
‘A name?’ Harper asked hopefully.
‘We should be so lucky. I heard from Newcastle. They had one just like this. Plagued them for three months, two or three incidents a week.’ He lifted his head and pushed the spectacles up his nose. ‘Stopped a month ago.’
Not long before they began in Leeds.
‘Plenty of time for him to come here and start over,’ Ash said.
‘Did they manage to uncover anything at all?’ Harper asked.
‘No. They think he must have worked alone, never a word to anyone else.’
‘Same as our man, then,’ Harper said. ‘What about selling the loot?’
Fowler shook his head. ‘Nothing ever turned up, sir. They were glad to see the back of him.’
‘The fences and the pawnbrokers are still reporting nothing,’ Walsh said.
The superintendent rubbed his chin and counted the points off on his fingers.
‘One: we have a very daring burglar who may have arrived from Newcastle. Could be a Geordie. That’s the good news: if he is, someone’s bound to notice the accent. I want you to ask about that, about anyone who’s come here in the last few weeks. Two: he’s not doing this for the fun of it. He’s selling what he steals somewhere. If he didn’t get rid of his loot in Newcastle, then he probably has a buyer he trusts between here and there. A place he can reach easily.’
‘Sunderland?’ Ash suggested. ‘Durham? Middlesbrough? They’re all easy enough on the train.’
‘I’ll write to them,’ Walsh said.
‘Telegraph them,’ Harper told them. ‘It’s quicker.’ They had a sniff of the man now. Things were starting to move.
He was reading through reports and making notes in the margins when he became aware of someone in the office. He looked up with a start to see Chief Constable Crossley.
The man smiled. ‘I knocked, but you must have been engrossed.’
A polite way of ignoring his bad hearing.
‘I’m sorry, sir. Have a seat. Would you like some tea?’
He waved the offer away. ‘I was passing and thought I’d pop in for a chat.’
Millgarth wasn’t a place anyone simply passed. More of Crossley’s politeness. But he’d been expecting to hear from the chief since the first burglary at George Hope’s house. After another, it was inevitable.
‘I wanted to talk to you about South Africa.’
‘Sir?’ Harper said. The statement took him by surprise.
‘Come on, Tom, you must have seen the papers. There’s going to be war there very soon. They’re already beating the drums for England.’
He’d read the stories. Small pieces growing day by day into headlines. But he didn’t understand how it would affect them.
‘Some of our men are bound to enlist,’ Crossley said. ‘Might be quite a few. We need to be prepared, ready to plug the gaps. We’re going to need trained men.’
‘Special constables?’
The chief nodded. ‘That’s what I’ve been thinking. I’m planning a recruitment drive. I wanted to let you know.’
‘Thank you, sir.’ But it wasn’t the reason for his visit; he could have put that in a note.
‘While I’m here, what’s going on with these burglaries?’
Here was the meat of the matter. Harper had a little progress to offer. Crossley listened and nodded, jotting a few lines in a small notebook.
‘It sounds as if you’re doing all the right things.’ He coughed. ‘I’ve had some grumblings from the council. The usual thing, influential people having a word with their friends. No need to worry. Not yet, anyway. I just wanted you to be aware.’
‘Thank you, sir.’ Not yet. Get the job done and someone behind bars, that was the message. What did the councillors think? That the police wouldn’t investigate?
‘I’d love to know where this chap is selling what he takes, though,’ Crossley said.
‘Makes two of us, sir. There’s something else we’re working on, too. It involves Inspector Reed. You might remember him.’
He’d barely had a chance to start when the man appeared, as if the words had conjured him from the air.
‘Inspector.’ The chief rose. ‘I heard about your brother. I’m sorry for your loss.’
‘Thank you, sir.’
Crossley slipped his notebook into his jacket. ‘I should go, Tom. More meetings waiting. Keep me informed about the burglar.’
‘What was that about?’ Billy asked once they were alone.
‘His gentle way of giving me a warning. Two important men have their houses broken into. You can guess who’s been having a word in his ear. Are you ready to go?’
Leeds was sticky. As they marched along Commercial Street, Harper felt the shirt clinging to his back. Frazzled faces everywhere. This heatwave had lasted too long. The joy of it had become an annoyance, with short tempers and the stink of sweating people.
The houses in Park Square were all immaculately kept. Trees and carefully clipped grass lay behind a fence in the centre, a few people sitting on shaded benches, reading the newspapers. Harper led the way to a door painted in brilliant black gloss. A brass plaque read C. Dryden in curling script. Nothing more needed. Anyone coming here knew exactly what the man did.
A plush waiting room, with heavy leather armchairs and a secretary whose fingers moved swiftly over the keys of one of the new typewriting machines. Finally, on some hidden signal, they were ushered into the office.
Dryden was a sleek man, wearing a lounge suit that cost as much as most working men made in a month. Thick legal texts lined the shelves. He settled behind a partner’s desk under the window.
‘Superintendent,’ he acknowledged with a short nod. ‘And …’
‘Inspector Reed. Whitby Police.’
‘Whitby?’ Dryden’s face clouded for a moment. ‘Forgive me. I don’t have any business there.’
‘This is about business here,’ Harper told him. ‘One business in particular. The North Leeds Company.’
‘I see.’ If the lawyer was surprised, he hid it well. ‘Why do you want to know about it?’
‘Some enquiries, sir.’ Harper smiled. ‘I’m sure we can count on your coope
ration. We’d like to know who owns the company.’
Dryden pursed his lips. ‘I’ll ask again, Superintendent: why?’
‘Various dealings with properties, sir. At this stage I’m not free to go into details of the investigation.’
The lawyer shook his head. ‘Do you know why my name is listed for the company?’
‘You take care of things for them,’ Reed said.
‘I do,’ he acknowledged, ‘but it’s more than that. The owners don’t wish to be known. In English law, that is their right. That’s why they nominated me to handle everything, and it’s why you found my name.’
‘So you won’t tell us who owns the North Leeds Company?’ Harper’s voice was harsher now.
‘No, Superintendent, I won’t. If you check, you’ll find that’s completely legal.’
‘We’re the police. This relates to a crime.’
Dryden stood, bunching his knuckles and pressing them down on the desk.
‘I’ll put it in words even you can understand, Superintendent. I don’t care if you’re God Almighty. That information is protected by the law of this land, and I do not have to divulge it.’
‘The North Leeds Company owns the Harehills Development Company, is that correct?’ Billy Reed’s question filled the dangerous silence.
Dryden turned his head. ‘It is.’
‘And who runs that?’
‘It’s a matter of public record.’ Dryden smiled as he opened a ledger. ‘I’m surprised you don’t know. John and Jack Smith. Perhaps you’d care for the address, too? I’ll write it down for you.’
Harper blazed up the street, his face set. ‘I don’t like being treated like I’m a bloody fool. Not by someone who defends the worst criminals in town.’
‘Where are we going?’ Reed asked as they crossed the Headrow towards the Town Hall.
‘The police lawyer. We’ll find out how we really stand on this. John and Jack Smith. Dryden loved it. He must think we’re simple.’
The lawyer was out on business. But his senior clerk was there, a wizened man who probably knew the statutes better than his employer.
‘I’m sorry to say it, sir, but for once Mr Dryden is telling the truth.’ His voice wheezed and creaked after a lifetime surrounded by books and dusty papers. ‘It’s a basic legal principle in this country, a matter of privilege between a lawyer and his client. We can’t compel him to name the owners of the company, even in court. It’s a trick that slum landlords use quite often. Even the church does it, believe it or not.’
‘How can we find out, then?’ Harper asked.
‘If one of the properties is condemned and they want to claim the compensation, the real owner has to come forward. That’s the only way I know, sir. I wish I had better news.’
The tram stopped by the long parade of shops in Harehills. Barely two years old and the brickwork was already turning black from the soot. Not like Whitby, Reed thought. The sea air kept everything clean and fresh there.
Tom seemed a little calmer now, just sitting and staring out of the window. Still seething, but he was quiet, more in control of himself. A little more, anyway.
‘I tell you what,’ he said as they walked along, checking the numbers on the buildings. ‘The way I feel, I’m likely to drag the information out of these Smith brothers with my bare hands.’
‘Let’s see what we find,’ Reed told him.
‘This can’t be right,’ Harper said as they stopped in front of a grocer’s shop. Cameron, Grocer to the Trade and the Home. Large, open sacks of dried beans, yellow, green, red, stood on the pavement. Reed took out the note. ‘This is what the lawyer gave us.’
‘If he was telling the truth.’
The air inside was thick with spices, an overwhelming, heady mix of scents. Pepper, cinnamon, so many more he couldn’t identify. They had to step around boxes to reach a polished wooden counter where a man in a brown canvas coat waited, a smile on his face.
‘Can I help you, gentlemen?’ He was no more than thirty, with a thick, unfashionable beard that hid a weak chin, and curious, beady eyes. ‘I’m Douglas Cameron.’
‘We’re looking for the Harehills Development Company,’ Reed said. ‘I have this as their address.’
‘It’s their postal address,’ the man corrected him with a smile. ‘Everything is delivered here, then someone comes to collect it. We have several customers who use the service. The busy ones who are out and about a great deal find it very useful.’
‘Where would I find the business? Their office.’
Cameron rubbed his hands together. Long, white fingers, carefully trimmed nails. A man who was vain about his appearance, Reed decided.
‘I’m afraid I couldn’t tell you.’
‘We’re police officers, sir. I’m Inspector Reed and this is Detective Superintendent Harper. We’d value your help.’ He shaded the words into a threat, but the man didn’t seem worried; the bland look remained fixed on his face.
‘What I mean is, I don’t know where to find them. They pay to use this as their address, and that’s as far as it goes. I have no way of contacting them at all.’
‘What happens if they don’t pay or don’t come for their letters?’
‘After two months everything goes in the bin,’ Cameron said.
‘Who collects it?’ Reed asked.
‘They have a lad who comes. I’ve always assumed he’s the office boy. He’s sixteen or seventeen, I suppose. Keeps his hair cropped very short. Always wears an old suit and scuffed boots.’
‘What’s his name?’
‘I’ve no idea. He just collects the letters and leaves.’ His expression soured for a moment. ‘Never even buys anything.’
‘What happened when they signed up for your service?’ Harper asked. ‘You must have insisted on some details then.’
‘It was the same boy. About a year ago. He paid the money and gave me the name of the business. That’s all it takes, Superintendent. The simpler the better, that’s what I’ve found.’
‘Do they receive much post?’ Reed asked.
‘There was very little at first,’ Cameron pursed his thin lips, remembering. ‘Then it became one or two a day. For the last few months it’s been five or six letters every morning.’
‘How often does the lad come to collect them?’
‘Twice a week.’ He paused. ‘More often, recently, now I think about it.’
‘Any set times? Days?’
The shopkeeper shook his head. ‘It varies. I’m open from seven in the morning until ten at night.’
Outside, Reed lit a cigarette and started to walk, leading the way through the back streets.
‘There’s something wrong about this,’ he said. ‘Every proper business has an office.’
‘An accommodation address is legal,’ Harper answered slowly. ‘Just like hiding the owners’ names. But you’re right. This feels bad.’
‘The Smiths,’ Reed began.
‘I’ve never come across them before. But I want a long talk with them now.’
This was Tom’s patch, Billy thought. He was supposed to know what was going on. That was his job.
‘Let’s talk to Hester,’ he said. ‘She might be able to tell us something.’
But the blind was down on the shop door. No notice to announce a closing. Reed peered through the window and drew in his breath.
‘What is it?’
‘The place is a mess. Things strewn all over the floor. I’ll go in the back way,’ Reed said.
Through the ginnel and into the yard. He tapped on the door. No answer, but the knob turned in his hand.
‘Hester?’ he said quietly. She wasn’t in the office; he climbed the stairs. The door to the flat was open. No one in the living room or kitchen. He heard a quiet cry and stiffened, waiting until it came again. The bedroom.
The curtains were closed, the room stifling in the heat. He could make out her shape, lying on the bed.
‘Hester, it’s Billy. What’s happened?�
�
She turned her head. There was just enough light to make out the bruises on her face.
‘What’s been going on?’ he asked, but she looked at him with empty eyes.
Downstairs, he unlocked the front door.
‘You’d better come in, Tom. This has just become real police business.’
SIX
It took two cups of tea to draw out the story. Harper listened, letting Billy ask the questions. He was the brother-in-law. Even if Hester barely knew him, they were related.
‘Two men came in,’ she said. Her voice was shaky and frightened. ‘It was just after half past nine, I remember the church bell ringing. One of them pulled down the blind on the door and locked it.’
‘What did you do?’ Reed asked quietly. He sat on the other side of the table, holding her hands.
‘I asked what they thought they were up to. They said they owned the place and wanted me out by Saturday. One of them started kicking things over. When I told him to stop, the other one hit me.’ She lifted her fingers to her face.
‘What else did they say?’
‘If anything of mine was still here on Saturday night, they’d put it out on the pavement.’ She lifted her head, looking from one of them to the other. ‘And if I tried to stop them, it would be worse for me. Then he hit me again and again, and they left. I …’ The words faded and she sobbed again. ‘I came up here. I didn’t want anyone to see. Not like this, right after the funeral.’
‘I’ll make sure the beat constable keeps a close eye on the shop,’ Harper promised. ‘What did the men look like?’
‘Big, the pair of them. They could have been brothers. They both had dark hair, parted in the middle.’ She closed her eyes. ‘I won’t ever be able to forget them.’
Could have been brothers. Billy looked at Harper. A small nod.
‘How old do you think they were?’ Reed tried to coax out the information gently.
‘I don’t know. Not very.’ Her voice wavered as she pictured them. ‘Thirty? Somewhere round there. The one who hit me was smiling when he did it.’
She looked drained. Her husband’s death had left her with no reserves. Now this. The men had picked their time well. Threats and a beating when she was at her lowest.
The Leaden Heart Page 4
