The Leaden Heart

by Chris Nickson

  ‘Constable,’ he said. ‘You probably heard. There was some other business.’

  ‘I did, sir.’

  ‘You could have written up a summary and left it on my desk.’

  The young man blushed. ‘I’m sorry, sir. I didn’t know.’

  He’d learn. Bit by bit, he’d learn.

  ‘What happened with the Dunns today?’

  ‘She went out for two hours this morning. At least,’ he added cautiously, ‘I think it was her, unless the landlady’s renting out more of the house. I came back here when Mr Dunn returned from work.’

  ‘I see.’ Harper sat. He was thinking how to organize his men tomorrow. The Hyde Park murder would need everyone he could spare. Burglary seemed nothing in comparison. No, he decided; let Sissons stay on Raglan Road. ‘What time did Mrs Dunn leave?’

  ‘Thirty-two minutes past ten, sir. She came back at twenty-seven minutes past twelve.’

  The lad was certainly precise.

  ‘Up there again in the morning. I’ll come by about half past ten. If she goes out again, we’ll have a word with the landlady and try to search their rooms.’

  ‘Yes, sir. I thought I’d stand watch for a couple of hours tonight, if you don’t mind, sir. I was reading the file. The burglaries seem to happen not too long after dark. I might be able to catch them on the way to something.’

  ‘Very enterprising,’ Harper agreed. Good to see him showing initiative so quickly. ‘Do that. If they go out, follow and observe, that’s all.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘If they stop and he begins to climb, find help. I don’t want you trying to handle it all yourself.’

  Sissons looked hurt. He wanted the collar. But this was going to be done properly, with no risk.

  ‘Yes, sir. Of course.’

  Hurriedly, Harper wrote up what they knew about the Hyde Park killing. Something to bring the chief up to date in the morning.

  Ash was in charge, and he had Fowler and Walsh with him. He didn’t expect any quick news. And if there was, he decided as he took his hat off the peg, they could telephone him at home.

  There was a tiny, welcome breeze on the open upper deck of the tram. Harper sat and watched the city go by. After he alighted in Sheepscar, he looked around. May would never make good on his threat, he told himself. He’d never dare. Still, he scurried across Roundhay Road, checking behind himself, then into the safety of the Victoria. He needed to get over this. It was no way to go on. Nobody was lying in wait to attack him.

  ‘You should see me Mam.’ Mary rushed up as soon as he was through the door, excitement glowing across her face.

  ‘Why?’ he asked as he picked up his daughter and rubbed noses with her. So big now, too heavy to keep doing this.

  ‘She means this,’ Annabelle said as she came through from the kitchen, wiping her hands on a towel. A perfect black eye, the bruise already livid.

  ‘What happened to you?’ He could feel the hackles rising. Someone had hurt her. May, he thought. He’d gone after her instead.

  She shook her head. ‘Don’t worry, it looks worse than it is.’

  ‘She’s been in the wars. Someone took a swing at her.’ Mary’s voice was bloodthirsty and eager.

  ‘Hush, you,’ Annabelle said softly. ‘Your da wants to know what happened. It was my own fault. I was showing the child care inspector around. He had a complaint on Rosebud Walk, so I went with him. Came round the corner and there were two women ready to go at it hammer and tongs. Already taking off their blouses so they wouldn’t get them mucky.’

  ‘What did you do?’

  ‘Muggins here thought I’d break it up.’ She shrugged. ‘One of them turned and took a crack at me. Soon as they realized, they were all apologies, of course. But I’ll need plenty of paint and powder for a few days.’

  ‘Does it hurt, Mam?’ Mary asked.

  ‘Tender,’ she admitted. ‘My pride came off worst.’

  ‘Do you want me to do anything about it?’ Harper asked. ‘Officially, I mean.’

  She shook her head. ‘I should know better at my age. Let them sort it out themselves. Anyway, least said, soonest mended.’

  He put his hand under her chin and tilted her face towards the light. She’d taken a good blow, but no real damage. Very gently, he kissed her eye.

  Harper leaned against the wall, oblivious to everything else, staring at the corpse on the slab as if he could will identity into the body and make it one of the brothers. Lumb cleaned the corpse, working methodically, grumbling softly to himself. The old police photographs of the brothers lay on the desk. The doctor lifted a magnifying glass and studied them closely, not saying a word as he compared the images and what lay in front of him. The superintendent looked at Ash and raised an eyebrow.

  The belly had been split open along its length, from chest to pelvis. The ambulancemen must have stuffed the guts back inside. The doctor removed them again, examining them as he pulled them out, sometimes nodding to himself.

  Finally, Lumb turned.

  ‘Two things I can tell you,’ he began. ‘If you want a cause of death, he was beaten until his heart stopped.’ His gaze flickered to the policemen. ‘Even worse than that man from the quarry.’ He waved a hand at the evisceration. ‘The rest was done afterwards, thank God.’

  ‘Is he—’ Harper asked.

  ‘One of these brothers?’ The doctor pursed his lips. ‘It’s possible, that’s as far as I’ll go. These photographs are old and the face … you can see it for yourselves.’

  ‘Twelve years old,’ Ash told him. ‘The pictures are twelve years old.’

  Lumb nodded. ‘The basic features don’t change, but there are no identifying marks I can find. Whoever did this broke every bone in the face with a heavy piece of wood; there are splinters in the skin. It’s intended to look like rage, but my guess is that it was deliberate. A very effective way of concealing someone’s identity.’

  ‘So there’s no chance of discovering who he was?’

  ‘No,’ Lumb replied sadly. ‘I’m afraid not.’ He looked around them. ‘I’m sorry, gentlemen.’

  Harper nodded and walked out without a word. Dammit. The brothers were still one step ahead.

  ‘Sir.’ Ash caught up with him on Hunslet Road. ‘What do you think?’

  ‘You heard the doctor.’ He could hear the harshness in his own voice. ‘Impossible to know. That’s exactly what the Smiths want. My gut tells me they’re both still out there.’

  ‘I have to agree, sir.’

  The brothers had found someone who resembled them and battered him until he died. Destroyed his face until it wasn’t even human, then cut him open and spread his insides around the cellar. That went beyond brutal. It was evil.

  ‘They’re not men,’ Harper said. ‘No man could do that to someone else.’

  ‘We’ll find them, sir.’

  ‘We’d better. We can’t let those two run around any longer.’

  There’d been little at the house on Brudenell Mount. A few clothes in the wardrobes, some crockery and food left in the kitchen. Nothing to indicate where they might have gone. Fowler and Walsh had talked to the neighbours; the Smiths were quiet, keeping to themselves. No loud arguments, barely any noise. No one had noticed them leave. Everyone was stunned by the killing. If they ever learned the full truth of it, they’d be horrified.

  ‘What about our other business, sir?’ Ash asked.

  It was linked, he felt that, but … he shook his head.

  ‘We need these two first.’ He took out his pocket watch. Quarter to eleven already. ‘Whatever you feel you have to do, I’ll back you.’

  The hackney dropped him off by Woodhouse Moor. Sissons was waiting, staring intently at the house on Raglan Road.

  ‘Did they stir last night?’

  ‘Doused the lights and in bed just after ten, sir.’

  ‘Has she gone out this morning?’

  ‘Yes, sir. Same as yesterday, half past ten again on the dot. Shopping basket
over her arm.’

  A creature of habit. No better chance to take a look inside.

  The woman who answered the door had a severe face, grey hair pulled back into a tight bun, staring at them with disapproval.

  ‘We’d like to ask you a few questions about your tenant,’ Harper said, and produced his card. ‘Leeds City Police.’

  The woman sniffed. ‘Why? What’s he done?’

  ‘Nothing that we know,’ Harper told her with a smile. ‘We think he might be able to help with our enquiries, that’s all.’

  ‘I thought there was something about them.’ She gave a sour look.

  ‘How long have they lived here?’

  ‘Near enough two months.’ She spoke as if each word cost her threepence. ‘Been on time with the rent so far.’

  ‘Anything odd about them?’

  ‘He’s all right, I suppose,’ she said grudgingly. ‘She always has her nose in the air, as if she’s too good for everybody.’

  ‘I’d appreciate a quick look in their rooms.’

  She swooped on his request. ‘I thought you said they hadn’t done anything.’

  ‘I don’t know that they have,’ Harper told her. ‘This will let us find out.’

  A moment’s hesitation, then she turned and led them up the stairs.

  ‘Off every Sunday with all that stuff,’ she complained. ‘Climbing. What sort of a thing is that? And for a woman, too.’ At the door, she produced a set of keys. ‘I heard her leave a few minutes ago.’

  A sitting room, bedroom, tiny kitchen.

  ‘Be quick,’ he warned Sissons. ‘Make sure you leave everything exactly as you found it. Look in the bedroom. See if you can find any pawn tickets.’

  He had to trust the lad to perform a fast, thorough search.

  Ten minutes. Time enough to sift through all the obvious hiding places and a few unusual ones. Nothing at the bottom of a jar of sugar or in the packets of this and that. Nothing attached to the bottom of drawers in the bureau. Harper stood back, making sure it seemed undisturbed. Sissons appeared, shaking his head.

  ‘Their climbing gear is there, but everything else seems normal, sir. No stolen jewellery, I didn’t find any money or anything else.’

  Maybe it wasn’t the Dunns behind the burglaries, Harper thought. No, it had to be, the fit was too perfect.

  The landlady was waiting on the landing. She turned the key in the lock.

  ‘I’ll give them their notice as soon as she comes back. I’m not standing for this in my house. Having the police in, it’s bringing shame on the place.’

  She was a small woman. Harper towered over her. He stared down into her face until her expression turned fearful.

  ‘Don’t,’ he said quietly. ‘Not a word. We were never here. Everything is fine and normal. Can you manage that?’

  A last, tiny flicker of defiance, then she nodded.

  ‘Thank you,’ Harper told her.

  ‘You handled her very well, sir.’ They were sitting in a cafe at Hyde Park corner.

  Had he? The landlady’s indignation was all a front, anyway. He’d spotted the threadbare runner on the stairs, the air of neglect around the house. She needed the money lodgers brought in, and the Dunns offered steady rent. It had all registered in his mind without a conscious thought.

  ‘Experience, Mr Sissons. You’ll learn. As soon as you’ve eaten, I want you at Brudenell Mount. Sergeant Fowler will tell you what to do. This murder is the biggest thing on our plate right now.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’ He took out a packet of cigarettes, then thought better of it in front of the superintendent.

  ‘But tonight you’re back watching the Dunns.’

  Harper felt weary as he walked back into town. This summer felt as if it might go on forever. Somewhere up there the sun was shining, but all they felt was the heat.

  The Smiths were both alive, hiding, waiting out there with nothing to lose. More men would die if he didn’t find them first.

  Killers, burglars; he had to catch them all. It was his job, his responsibility. Even the punch Annabelle had taken. He’d taken Tollman aside as he walked into Millgarth that morning.

  ‘There was an incident on Rosebud Walk yesterday.’

  ‘Was there, sir?’ The sergeant looked at him questioningly. ‘I didn’t hear anything.’

  ‘Take my word for it. That’s Conlon’s beat. I want him to have a talk with the two women involved. Tell them he’s keeping his eye on them.’

  ‘Of course, sir.’

  That should be enough.

  At his desk, Harper picked up his pen and began to write. Maybe putting it all on paper would help him find a way through.

  Dear Billy …

  TWENTY-TWO

  Reed crumpled the letter and tossed it across his desk. It sounded as if the whole thing had become a pig’s ear.

  Tom’s problem. He had enough of his own in Whitby. The arsonist had tried to strike again. Another amateur job. No damage done beyond a little scorching on the back wall of a business on Church Street, quickly spotted and doused. No clues beyond a pair of spent matches. But he was still here. He’d try again, and again. And soon enough he’d do some real damage.

  Sissons looked exhausted, Harper thought as the young man entered the detectives’ room. It was always the same. The longer hours, the standing around. Even after years on a beat, it came as a shock. Never mind; soon enough it would be completely normal to him.

  ‘Did the Dunns go out last night?’

  ‘For a stroll, sir. Half an hour, that’s it.’

  ‘Whereabouts?’

  ‘Along Blackman Lane near All Souls’ Church, sir, then back around Blenheim Square and the streets by there. I couldn’t really follow, there weren’t enough people for me to stay out of sight. But Mr Dunn was walking with a bit of a limp, as if he’d twisted his ankle.’

  Well, well, well. Two of the burglaries had taken place there. Were they scouting their next victim? But he wouldn’t be able to climb like that, would he?

  ‘I want you there again tonight,’ he ordered. ‘If his ankle’s bad, I don’t expect much, but you never know. If they go out with a bag, keep as close a watch as you can.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  Fowler and Ash were talking, Walsh completing a report.

  ‘Do we have any idea at all where the Smiths have gone?’

  ‘None, sir,’ Fowler told him. He hesitated. ‘Are we positive that body isn’t one of them?’

  ‘No, we’re not. But someone took a lot of trouble to make sure we couldn’t find out from the face. What does that tell you?’

  ‘Something to hide,’ Fowler replied. ‘Or disguise.’

  ‘Exactly. So we’re going to assume they’re both alive. Walsh,’ he said, ‘did you ever establish any link between Jeb Pearce and the Smiths?’

  ‘No, sir. Then other things came up.’

  ‘Go back over that. We know there is one. Maybe it can tell us something.’ He spoke quickly. ‘Fowler, you and Sissons are going out to beat the bushes today. They’re on the run. That’s hard to do without anyone knowing.’

  The sergeant grinned and pushed the glasses up his nose. ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘If you get a sniff of them, I want to know. Don’t go in. We’ve seen what they can do.’

  ‘What about me, sir?’ Ash asked after the others had gone.

  ‘We need to review everything.’

  He raised an eyebrow. ‘Everything, sir?’

  Harper walked across to the map of Harehills and stared at the pins and lines. ‘What have we missed? There has to be something.’

  ‘It was all going smoothly for them until Mr Reed’s brother committed suicide. We hadn’t heard a word about what the Smiths were doing before that. As far as we know, they hadn’t killed or hurt anyone.’

  ‘As far as we know,’ Harper repeated.

  ‘If we hadn’t come on the scene, they’d likely have forced Mrs Reed out and we’d have stayed none the wiser. Things started to fall
apart after we appeared. That’s when the murders began.’

  ‘To make sure there’d be no one to testify.’

  ‘Precisely, sir. They’ve been on the run since the beginning.’

  They were still running now. And still killing. He glanced at the map again. Where are you, you bastards?

  ‘I want the men on the beat showing those photographs to everyone. Somebody must have seen them.’

  ‘Very good, sir.’

  There wasn’t much more he could do for now. Not about that, at least.

  ‘I thought you’d like to know, sir,’ Ash continued. ‘My friends at the Town Hall have given me some papers. Records of some very dubious payments made to Councillors May and Howe about a few building contracts and requests for planning permission.’

  ‘Put them in the file.’

  A grin. ‘Already done, sir.’ A small hesitation. ‘How’s Mrs Harper’s black eye?’

  Harper chuckled. ‘You heard about that?’

  ‘Conlon told me. The woman who did it is mortified. She’s going to apologize, once she plucks up her courage.’

  ‘The bruises are already starting to fade. Annabelle reckons it’s her own fault for getting in the middle of things.’

  ‘Funny, really. We keep an eye on the men, but it’s the women who can do the damage, isn’t it, sir?’

  Harper walked up George Street, glad to be outside. Across Vicar Lane, the elaborate entrance to the new County Arcade was taking shape. A few months and it would be open for business. Ready for the new century. More shopping, more of the old courts gone; so few of them remained now. His own past was vanishing right before his eyes, all the streets where he’d walked a beat as a constable. Poor places, cramped, dirty, infested with cockroaches and rats. But they’d been cheap, and home to plenty of families. Where had they all gone?

  ‘I’m glad you’re back, sir,’ Tollman said before Harper had taken two steps through the door. ‘We’ve been looking everywhere for you.’

  ‘Why?’ He started to feel a tightness in his chest. ‘What’s happened?’

  ‘The chief constable’s here, sir.’

  ‘How long?’

  ‘About a quarter of an hour. I showed him through to your office. Took him a cup of tea,’ the sergeant smiled. ‘And a slab of that fruit loaf PC Hogg’s mother makes.’