The Leaden Heart

by Chris Nickson

  ‘That’s right, sir. He and his wife rent rooms on Raglan Road.’

  ‘Let’s dig up everything we can on her, too.’ If this man was the burglar, his wife had to be involved.

  ‘Very good, sir.’

  ‘What do you think of him?’ Harper asked after Sissons had gone and the door was closed.

  ‘A natural when it comes to finding information, sir,’ Ash told him. ‘Just point him in the right direction and let him go. Like one of those clockwork toys the children enjoy so much.’

  ‘That’s a start. How is he on the rest?’

  ‘He’s been on the beat for four years, remember, sir. If he can survive that, this should be simple.’

  ‘Let’s see how he does on the burglar.’

  Annabelle hurried out of the kitchen as soon as he walked into their rooms, a jubilant smile on her face. Mary stood behind her, strawberry jam smeared around her mouth.

  ‘That bobby of yours, Cartwright. He came through for me. Sent a message this morning.’

  ‘He found the Redshaw woman?’

  ‘Not even a mile from where it all happened.’ She turned and saw Mary. ‘Honestly. The state of you. Go and wash that off your face. We were making a cake,’ she explained. ‘Someone decided the filling would be just as good inside her.’

  ‘It’s excellent news about the woman.’ No surprise, though. Cartwright probably went through everyone he knew until he found her. Annabelle had that effect; her passion infected people so they were eager to help. ‘When are you seeing her?’

  ‘Already have.’ She folded her arms. ‘Juliana Cooper.’

  Juliana. A fancy name. But those cost nothing, about the only thing in this world that didn’t. A hope for fortune and grandeur. He knew how often that worked, though; he’d seen too many Augustinas, Marguerites and Florentines who didn’t have two brass farthings to rub together.

  ‘Did she give you her side of the story?’

  Annabelle’s mouth turned down, the triumph gone in a flash. ‘Poor woman looks like she’s been trying to drink herself to death since it happened. Mr Cartwright found her in a doss house. Penny a night and you can guess what that gets you.’

  He didn’t need to; he knew. As low as anyone could go, short of sleeping in a doorway.

  ‘In a bad way?’

  She nodded. ‘Did you know she left her husband and kiddies for Redshaw? After his wife died and he needed someone to look after his daughters. She gave up her own children for those girls.’ He could hear her disbelief. ‘She loved those lasses, Tom. Him, too, come to that, though God knows why. He wouldn’t stop boozing and gambling, even after they lost their room. She used to take in washing so she’d have money to feed Ada and Annie. Then she hurt her arms and couldn’t do it any more, and he still wouldn’t hand over his pay packet.’

  Another man who couldn’t see beyond himself. He’d arrested dozens of them when he was on the beat. Maybe two of them had eventually changed their ways.

  ‘She was at the end of her rope when she threw them out,’ Annabelle continued. ‘She had a ha’penny left and he was jingling the coins in his pocket.’ She stared at him. ‘Now she blames herself, of course. Always women who carry the guilt, isn’t it?’

  Redshaw would hang for what he’d done; Harper had no doubt about that. But this woman would have to live it all over and over, every single day. That was a worse sentence, with no reprieve.

  ‘What did you do?’

  ‘I listened, then I hugged her and gave her two shillings.’

  ‘She might just drink it away.’

  ‘That’s her choice, isn’t it?’

  Mary came out of the bathroom, her face clean and bright, and Annabelle put on a wide, brittle smile. ‘You look better,’ she said. ‘I suppose you’ll want some cake with your tea, too.’

  ‘We baked it,’ Mary reasoned. ‘That means I worked, so I’ve earned some. It’s like my wages.’

  God help them, Harper thought and looked at his wife again, seeing the grief just below the surface. God help them all.

  Monday morning and the seagulls were crying loudly; the fishermen must be home with their catch.

  ‘There’s a letter for you,’ Reed said as he picked up the post from the mat. ‘It looks like Annabelle’s writing.’ One for him, too, from Tom Harper.

  Elizabeth hurried through from the kitchen, pinning her hat in place on her hair, and slit open the envelope.

  ‘Oh, that’s lovely,’ she said with a wide smile. ‘She says Catherine has excellent reports for conduct and classes.’ She folded the paper into her reticule and kissed him on the cheek. ‘I need to hurry and open up.’

  As the door closed behind her, he read the letter from Tom.

  Dear Billy,

  I wish I could say we were on the verge of arresting the Smiths. We don’t even know how to find them. I’m positive they’re guilty of another murder – Cameron the shopkeeper. We talked to him, I’m sure you remember.

  Everything has become more complicated as I look into who really owns all these properties. I don’t want to put anything on paper, but it will be tricky to prove anything against the people I suspect. They have a lot of influence.

  I shall let you know when we’re close to an arrest, if you want to be here. After all, without you, who knows when we’d have found out about any of this?

  Tom

  He definitely wanted to be there. The sergeant was back from holiday now. Surely the chief constable would grant him a couple of days’ leave for that. First, though, he needed to find his arsonist. No more fires, but always the worry of another that might do some serious damage.

  Five minutes alone with each of the brothers to see how tough they really were. He thought he’d left that part of himself behind, but … this was different. This was family.

  Monday morning and the streets were bustling. A soft, hot breeze from the south had sprung up overnight. It fluttered the papers on Harper’s desk. He glanced at the clock again. Just two minutes since the last time he’d checked. The day was crawling along.

  The photographs had arrived from Manchester. One of each brother, taken when they were charged twelve years before. He had them on his blotter, his eyes coming back to stare at them. Smooth, youthful faces, still too young to shave properly. But there was hatred and anger in their eyes, and behind that, the spark of intelligence. Dark hair, the light glinting off the pomade. A dangerous pair.

  Later today he’d have copies made and given to every copper on the beat.

  Harper was hungry, but not about to leave the office in case Walsh came back with the Smiths’ lad. Instead he tried to work, forcing himself to concentrate, head jerking up every time he heard a door close.

  But it was Ash who returned first, close to three o’clock, wiping the back of his neck with a handkerchief.

  ‘Still very close out there.’

  ‘I’ll be glad when this summer’s finally over,’ Harper said. ‘Happier still when we have a few people in the cells.’

  He was desperate for results. Something concrete. Putting men in the dock would keep the council wolves at bay. He was about to say more when the door crashed open and a young man wearing handcuffs stumbled in, Walsh right on his heels.

  ‘Brought you a present, sir. A pity he didn’t really like his invitation, though. Called me all manner of names on the way here.’ He pushed the lad on to a chair. ‘You bloody well stay there.’

  The boy stared at him, defiance bright in his eyes. He had a handsome, mobile face, spoiled by a flame of red spots across his cheeks. He took in the room, gaze resting for a moment when he saw the map and understood what it represented.

  ‘What’s your name?’ Harper asked.

  ‘In’t done nothing wrong, have I?’

  ‘I don’t know. Have you?’ He brought his face close enough to smell the sourness on the lad’s breath. ‘I asked your name.’

  ‘John Brown.’ He smirked.

  ‘Is that right? Let’s turn out your poc
kets and see if you can prove that.’

  He struggled, but with Ash gripping his shoulders, he never had a chance. A comb, some change, and an empty wallet.

  ‘Right, Master … Brown. It has to be master, you’re nowhere near twenty-one.’ He nodded at Walsh, who left the room. ‘Who do you work for?’

  ‘You already know, don’t ya?’

  ‘Tell me, anyway.’

  ‘The Harehills Development Company.’ He held his head straight. With his hair cropped close, the light glinted off his scalp.

  ‘What do you do there?’

  ‘This and that. Filing, collect the post.’

  ‘An office boy.’

  The boy tilted his chin. ‘I’m working my way up.’

  ‘Who are your bosses?’

  ‘Two of them. Brothers, in’t they?’

  ‘Name?’

  ‘Smith.’

  Harper sighed. He walked round behind the lad and took hold of the chair, swiftly jerking it back on two legs as Brown’s cuffed arms flailed helplessly. No pussyfooting. No wasting time. He wanted some answers. Further and further, until the boy was staring straight up at him and gulping.

  ‘Let’s get this straight. I’ve brought you in here to give me some answers. And you’re going to be happy to cooperate. Yes, sir, no sir, three bags full, sir. Do you understand?’ Harper let the chair fall another inch, staring at the young man, keeping his voice steady. ‘Do you?’

  The boy nodded quickly, face on the edge of panic.

  ‘What’s your name?’

  ‘Mark Walker,’ he replied after a moment.

  ‘Very good, Mark. If you work, there’s an office. Where is it?’

  ‘It’s not—’

  ‘Where?’ A sudden jerk, the chair was upright, then back again. ‘I thought we agreed you were going to cooperate.’

  ‘Barrack Road. Across from the barracks.’ He swallowed hard, looking as if every word hurt him.

  ‘Were they there when you left?’ No answer. He let the chair tip a little more. ‘Were they?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And what do you know about them?’

  ‘Nowt.’ He shouted the word. ‘I just take care of the office, like.’

  ‘Has he mentioned his previous yet, sir?’

  Harper turned his head. He hadn’t heard Tollman enter. The old sergeant filled the doorway.

  ‘No. He must have forgotten that.’

  ‘Mark Walker. Three months for stealing a woman’s bag. We know his uncle, sir. He’s related to Tosh.’

  ‘Is that right?’ The second time Tosh’s name had come up. Once with Nicholson and now with the Smiths. ‘The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, does it?’

  ‘Me laddo here absconded before he’d finished his sentence,’ Tollman said. ‘Very lucky you found him.’

  ‘Mark, Mark …’ Harper shook his head. ‘And here you are, back to enjoy Her Majesty’s pleasure again. I’m sure they’ll want to keep you a while longer this time, until you really feel at home.’ He rocked the chair back and forth, letting it teeter on two legs before steadying it again. ‘Now, do you want to tell us about the Smiths?’

  It was property. That was all Walker knew. The brothers were hard cases. He liked that, they didn’t take any guff. But he didn’t understand about the business, the ins and outs of it, and they didn’t even try to explain.

  ‘Who put up the money for everything?’ Harper asked. He tried to make the question sound casual.

  ‘Don’t know, do I?’ Walker answered, and it sounded like the truth. The cockiness had vanished from his voice. He was scared now, hunting around for a way out. Anything at all.

  ‘Whose names have they mentioned?’

  ‘No one’s. Not when I’m around. I just do the little jobs for them.’

  ‘Where do they live, Mark?’

  He shook his head. With each minute, he seemed more and more like a child.

  ‘Dunno. They never told me.’

  ‘Take him down to the cells. We’ll hand him over later.’

  The lad opened his mouth to speak, then closed it again. Not an ounce of fight left as Walsh led him away.

  The others were waiting in the office.

  ‘Barrack Road,’ Harper said with a smile. ‘Gentlemen, shall we?’

  Three of them, armed with truncheons, squeezed into the small police wagon alongside two hulking bobbies.

  ‘Park down on Roundhay Road,’ Harper ordered the driver. ‘I don’t want them to see us coming.’

  At the barracks, a platoon of soldiers was marching up and down on the square as a sergeant roared out his orders. On the other side of the street, buildings had gone up higgledy-piggledy. Small shops and anonymous fronts.

  The one they wanted stood on its own, small, squat and worn, the blind lowered in the front window. The superintendent gave his instructions, waiting for everyone to get in place, front and back doors covered.

  Harper could feel his heart beating too fast, thumping loudly in his chest. So close. Put the Smiths behind bars and everything would crumble. He knew they wouldn’t go without a fight; he’d seen the damage they’d done to Jeb Pearce and Douglas Cameron. Go in swift and hard. That was what he’d told his men. Don’t give them a chance.

  ‘Should all be ready now, sir,’ the uniform said.

  Harper nodded, brought the whistle to his lips and blew. Shoulders battered against the doors, a crack as the wood gave, then flew wide open.

  He rushed in, truncheon raised and ready. Just a single room with three desks. Empty. No staircase, nowhere to hide. And no bloody Smiths.

  His knuckles were white. He panted, disappointment flooding through his body. Harper walked around, touching the walls, the chairs, the papers. Close enough to taste them. To smell them. But they weren’t here. They weren’t bloody here.

  ‘They’ve got the luck of the Devil, sir,’ Ash said.

  ‘Looks like they have.’ The constables were standing by the door, waiting for orders. Walsh was leafing through documents.

  ‘We have their whole business here, sir. Looks like everything.’

  ‘Pack it up and take it all back to Millgarth,’ Harper told him. ‘Let’s ruin their week. If they want to complain, they can come down and see us.’

  Outside, he leaned against the wall to catch his breath. He could leave the others to do the donkey work. At least they could shut down this office; that was something. A start. But not enough.

  The soldiers on guard duty at the barracks were staring, caught by the whole scene. Harper marched across the street and showed his identification.

  ‘Did you see two men leaving before we arrived?’

  ‘About a quarter of an hour ago, sir.’ The private stood at attention, eyes sharp, voice clear and deep. ‘Locked up and strolled off that way.’ He pointed towards Chapeltown Road. ‘Have they done something?’

  ‘Suspicion of murder.’ He waited a moment, letting the words sink in as the soldiers stared at each other. ‘I need to see your commanding officer.’

  Everything was quickly arranged. Two bobbies would keep watch on the office from the gatehouse, ready to run out soon as the Smiths returned. If they needed help, the soldiers would wade in. There’d be no escaping from that.

  Back out on the road, Harper began to walk, Ash at his side. He needed to think, to work off his frustration. He’d come so close to having them. But not close enough. Not yet. Down on Roundhay Road he was tempted to go home to the Victoria. Instead, he turned in the other direction.

  It was as if nothing bad had ever happened at the quarry, no body ever found on all the chips and fragments of rock. The shank of a warm afternoon and workers were hammering and chiselling at stone, walking casually over the ground where Jeb Pearce had lain dead a few days before. Harper stood at the gate, taking in the scene.

  A pair of men came out of the hut. Waters, the foreman, with a sheaf of papers in his hand. Next to him, someone prosperous, who listened and then pointed towards the cliff.
Nicholson, it had to be. Back from holiday and checking on his business. Waters spotted the policemen and leaned towards the other man, speaking softly. A nod, then the fellow came forward.

  ‘I’m Nicholson.’ A quick handshake and introduction. He was wearing a well-cut tweed jacket and plus fours, socks and stout boots. Hardly fashionable, but practical for a place like this.

  ‘I know Inspector Reed talked to you in Staithes, sir, but we’d like to ask a few more questions,’ Harper said.

  ‘Of course.’ His face was serious, full of concern. ‘As I said to him, it’s a terrible business.’ He led them towards the far corner of the quarry, away from the rock face, into a small clearing hidden by the shade of some trees. Away from the sun, the air felt cooler and fresher. A hint of breeze made the leaves shudder.

  ‘The men come down here to eat their dinner,’ Nicholson said. ‘We won’t be disturbed.’ He took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. ‘How can I help you? I told the inspector everything I know last week. But I’m happy to do whatever I can.’

  Nicholson looked as if he hadn’t slept well for the last few nights. Rumpled, strain showing on his face, dark circles under his eyes.

  ‘We’re looking for information on the Smiths, sir. You’ve dealt with them.’

  ‘I have. I told Inspector—’

  ‘Reed, yes.’ Harper produced the photographs of the Smiths. ‘Is this a good likeness?’

  ‘Close,’ he said after he inspected it. ‘They’re older now, but yes, it is.’

  ‘How were your dealings with them?’

  ‘They were business-like, seemed to know what they were about,’ Nicholson said after a little thought. ‘They came out and inspected the quarry. I told Inspector Reed, though, it all came to nothing. They wanted too great a return on their money.’

  ‘Did the negotiations advance enough for you to learn where they bank, by any chance?’

  ‘Yes.’ Nicholson looked surprised by the question. ‘Beckett’s, the same as me. Why?’

  ‘Just more information, that’s all. And the address you have for them is the grocer on Roundhay Road?’

  ‘That’s right. The inspector seemed to know all about it.’

  ‘We all do, sir,’ Ash told him. ‘The grocer was called Cameron.’