‘No! I just heard she was dead and I had this girl …’
‘That’s right. You had a girl. You don’t any more.’
‘Wait—’ The man’s eyes were wide.
‘There’s nothing to wait for. I’m offering you a choice. Either you leave Leeds immediately, on your own, or I arrest you for pandering.’
Kidd stared for a moment, then nodded in defeat.
‘What about the girl?’ he asked.
‘She’s old enough to make her own choices. You don’t speak to her before you go, and if you hurt her, believe me I’ll make sure you pay.’ His voice was steady and controlled. He knew the irony: three pimps vanished and now he was sending another one packing. But he’d get rid of every last one of them if he could.
‘Where do I go?’ Kidd asked helplessly.
‘That’s up to you. But don’t come back here.’
It didn’t feel like a victory; it didn’t feel like anything. Nottingham knew it didn’t help solve Jane’s murder. There was still a killer and a pair of cutpurses out there. But perhaps he’d improved the town a little.
NINE
‘I’ve been thinking,’ Rob began. He sat by the fire, gazing into the flames. In the kitchen, Lucy was washing the pots from supper. Emily had a meeting with the Williamsons about money for the school: they wanted to hold a dance at the Cloth Hall to raise more funds.
‘What about?’ Nottingham asked. He was in the other chair, holding a mug of ale and savouring the warmth of the blaze. It had been another day filled with frustration. Kidd had been the only success, but he wasn’t going to talk about his reasons; he wasn’t even sure they’d make sense to anyone.
‘This idea of yours about someone moving in to control things. Getting rid of the pimps and killing the moneylenders.’
The constable turned his head to look at the younger man.
‘Are you starting to believe it?’
Rob rubbed a hand across his lips and shook his head.
‘I really can’t see it. Tell me, Amos Worthy ran most things here when he was alive, didn’t he?’
‘For quite a few years,’ Nottingham agreed.
‘That’s how Leeds was back then. But things have changed. It’s …’ he searched for the right words. ‘Imagine a glass that’s shattered. Everything in small pieces now.’
‘Someone with a small piece can become greedy for more,’ Nottingham said.
‘Then they fight it out among themselves.’ Lister shrugged. ‘It makes our lives easier. Nobody grows too powerful.’
‘You don’t believe it can happen, do you?’
‘Honestly, no, I don’t,’ Rob admitted with a sigh. He knew what he wanted to say but somehow he couldn’t make the words come out as he wished. ‘What I’m trying to tell you is that things have altered since you left.’
‘Then how do you explain Stanbridge and Smith being murdered?’
Rob leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees.
‘I’m willing to believe that someone wants to take over the moneylending business. I can understand that. But it’s harder to picture someone killing to take charge of most of the crime here. Leeds is just too big.’ His voice was earnest. ‘You know Kirkstall did nothing, don’t you?’ He waited until Nottingham nodded his agreement. ‘I was the one who handled everything. Don’t you think I’d be aware if something like that was going on?’
‘We all see the things we want to see,’ Nottingham answered quietly. ‘I’m guilty of it; I’ve been blind often enough. I’m not doubting you. You’re good at your job. Very good,’ he added with a quick smile. ‘You know Leeds. If you want the truth, I can’t be certain that anything’s connected. I’m aware there’s no evidence. But it’s a possibility, and we have to consider it.’
Lister nodded. It was fine as one small thing to keep at the back of his mind. Someone had planted this seed in the boss’s mind and it had sprouted. The real fact was that most criminals were too stupid to plan an hour ahead, let alone conjure up a scheme as grand as this. The man had been away too long. Rob understood what things were like in Leeds now. The past was dead and buried with Worthy in the churchyard.
Nottingham hadn’t slept well. A bad dream woke him, creeping back into his head again and again until he gave up on rest. He was dancing with his dead wife. As they moved around with the music, the flesh slid off her bones until he was left holding her skeleton.
Now, well before first light, he stopped at Timble Bridge, gratefully listening to the soft burble of water for a minute to calm his mind.
The Parish Church was no more than a smudged outline against the night as he made his way up Kirkgate. The houses were silent. Somewhere in the distance he heard footsteps, the echoes falling away slowly.
Rob was probably right. Perhaps he was looking at Leeds through the prism of the past, trying to see things that weren’t there. On the surface the town seemed familiar enough, but once you dug down …
At the jail he sifted through the reports. Four drunks sleeping in the cells; even with the door closed he could smell their stink. No word on any woman named Charlotte but he never expected to be so lucky.
Some scribblings on a note made him stop and frown, then he set it aside for Lister. The rest was the wasted time that came with the job. He pushed a poker into the fire, then fed most of the paper into the flames. Might as well gain a moment’s heat from them.
By the time Rob arrived, his thoughts had led him nowhere. It was full light, all the noises of the town outside, but he hadn’t moved from his chair.
‘Take a look at this,’ Nottingham said and pushed the letter towards him.
‘What?’ Lister laughed in disbelief. ‘Who sent this?’
‘It was waiting this morning.’
‘This is wrong,’ he said. ‘It has to be.’
‘But it’s possible.’
Rob let the note fall to the desk. ‘No. Why would Thompson arrange to have Stanbridge and Smith killed? He’s making good money lending to merchants and he knows they’ll pay him back.’
The paper was unsigned, denouncing Thompson as the person behind the murders. He knew it was unlikely, just someone with a poisoned mind, but …
‘You need to look into it.’
‘We won’t find any proof, boss.’
‘I daresay we won’t,’ he agreed. ‘But this way, if the mayor gets wind of it, we can say we’ve checked.’ He heard the church bell ring the hour. ‘I’ve a funeral to attend.’
Nottingham stood by the graveside as the curate rushed through the service. It was the desolate part of the graveyard where no headstones stood to mark the dead. In her best gown and hat, Lizzie was next to him, Isabell at her side, her young face frowning and serious. Two women, older prostitutes, stayed a few yards behind.
Nottingham wore his good jacket and breeches, shoes polished. He owed Jane that, at least, bowing his head as the cheap coffin was lowered into the ground. If he hadn’t asked her to find out about Charlotte … He gazed around. Apart from the few in the churchyard, nobody paid the burial any mind. No men watching from a distance. The killer hadn’t come to watch.
It was over quickly, the parson hurrying away to the warmth of the vestry, as the gravediggers bent their backs and the hollow sound of sod falling on wood filled the air.
Lizzie put a hand on his arm. ‘Don’t blame yourself, Mr Nottingham.’
He sighed. ‘That’s easier said than done.’
‘Jane knew the risks in everything. You don’t understand what it’s like out there.’
‘No,’ he agreed. ‘But I can guess.’
She shook her head. ‘Believe me, you can’t. Just think well of her and remember her. That’s all we can do.’ Her voice dropped. ‘I asked a few of the girls I used to know about Charlotte. One of them remembered her.’
‘Who?’ he said, but Lizzie didn’t answer his question.
‘All she could say was that Charlotte vanished. Not even a word. Her pimp was frantic, didn’t want to l
ose the income. He didn’t know what had happened.’ She paused and stared at him. ‘Then he disappeared, too. She didn’t tell me his name.’
They followed the flagstones to the lych gate. His eyes checked again. No one was giving them a second glance.
‘How long ago was this?’
‘I’m not sure. It sounded quite recent. Does that help at all?’
‘Yes.’ He smiled at her. ‘John would be proud.’
Lizzie grinned and gave a tight, tired laugh. ‘That’s the best praise I’ve had all year.’ She turned to her daughter. The girl still hadn’t said a word. ‘Come on you, we’d better go and buy some wool to darn your stockings.’
‘Thank you.’ He took out a farthing and presented it to Isabell. ‘Treat yourself.’
Her eyes widened as she reached out to take it. Then the girl remembered her manners.
‘Thank you, sir,’ she told him in a high voice.
‘You shouldn’t spoil her,’ Lizzie chided.
‘It’s only a farthing. A few more years and she’ll be going to Emily’s school.’
‘I hope so.’ She took a firmer hold of the girl’s hand. ‘Say goodbye to Mr Nottingham.’
‘Goodbye, sir.’ She glanced back over her shoulder as they walked away and for a quick moment her sober expression dissolved into an eager grin.
He stood by the jail and watched until they were out of sight. People pressed around, carts trundled up and down the road. But no one appeared to be following them.
Lizzie shouldn’t have started asking questions; it was dangerous. At the same time, she’d brought him something useful.
At the jail, a note in Lister’s hand waited on the desk: Lady Lane, house with black door. Come as soon as you can.
He knew what he was going to find as he climbed the stairs to the garret. He could hear footsteps moving around and the rough murmur of men’s voices.
The body lay face down on the floor, blood soaked dark into the boards around it. Lister turned around. Hoggart the coroner was picking up his bag, ready to leave. He nodded as he passed.
‘Peter Kidd,’ the constable said.
‘You knew him?’ Rob asked in surprise.
‘I was here yesterday morning. He was a pimp. I told him to leave Leeds. How long has he been dead?’
‘Since last night.’ Lister gestured at a small bundle on the bed. ‘It looks like he took your order seriously.’
‘Who discovered him?’
‘The people downstairs. They woke this morning and found blood had dripped through the ceiling.’
He grimaced; that was a gruesome way to start a day.
‘Let’s get him to the jail and see what killed him.’
‘No need to look, boss. His throat was cut.’ He gave a small, apologetic cough. ‘Just like the moneylenders.’
‘Take him down there, anyway,’ the constable said. ‘Talk to the people downstairs. What time did they go to sleep, did they hear anything … you know what to do.’
‘Where are you going?’
‘I have to see someone who might know more.’ At least he hoped to God she would.
Nottingham marched quickly down Briggate, dodging through the crowds on the street, until he could smell the rotted stink of the river. But there was no girl who looked like Rose standing at the entrance to the passageway. This time he wasn’t going to wait and see if someone emerged. He entered, squinting against the dimness.
Nobody waited in the shadows and the yard beyond was empty. The constable came back out, looking around for anywhere she might be. A woman watched from across the street, leaning idly against the opening of another passage.
‘The girl who was there yesterday,’ he began.
‘What about her?’ As she turned her head to speak he could smell the gin on her breath and see the dullness in her eyes.
‘Have you seen her today?’
He watched as she tried to focus on him then turned her head away again.
‘Young, was she, luv?’
‘Yes. With dark hair.’
The woman shook her head. She had to put out a hand to steady herself against the wall. He moved away; she’d already forgotten he’d even been there, lost in her own dreams.
There was only one more prostitute out, close to the corner of Boar Lane. But she knew nothing, eyes darting worriedly as he asked his questions.
He’d return later. Maybe the girl would be there. He realized he’d never even asked her name.
Lister walked around the body. Peter Kidd, the boss had said, although the man carried nothing to identify himself. But he had precious little of anything. A few coins in his pocket and some spare, tattered clothes in the bundle he’d packed.
The landlady said that Kidd had taken the room just a fortnight before; he was already late with his rent.
Any whore he ran had to be very new or very stupid.
‘Have you found anything?’ Nottingham asked as he entered the cell.
‘There’s nothing to find,’ Rob told him. ‘Nothing at all. If you didn’t have his name we’d never have known who he was.’
‘He was someone who made a bad choice.’
‘Well, he won’t be making any more,’ Lister said. ‘Before you say it, there’s no proof this is connected to anything else. He might have owed money, there could have been an argument—’
‘What about the people downstairs?’
‘From the look of them they probably wouldn’t have heard the last trumpet.’ Rob snorted. ‘Drunks, the pair of them. We don’t have any proof of anything.’ He pointed at the corpse. ‘Chances are we’ll never know the truth.’
‘That girl I mentioned, Charlotte?’
‘Yes.’
‘I’ve heard that she vanished a little while before her pimp. He had no idea what happened to her.’
‘Boss,’ Lister said with a sigh, ‘do you remember what you told me not long after I began on the job?’
‘What was that?’
‘The simplest explanation is usually the right one.’
He saw Nottingham smile.
‘Very likely I did. But usually doesn’t mean always. This,’ he said, looking down at Kidd’s body, ‘is connected to the other murders. I can feel it.’
‘Is that what you’re going to tell the mayor?’ Lister kept his voice at an urgent hiss. ‘Do you think he’ll want to hear that? You know we don’t have any evidence to back it up. Believe it if you really have to, but for God’s sake, keep it between the two of us.’
He could see the doubt in the constable’s eyes. Then he nodded.
‘Between us,’ he agreed. ‘For now.’
‘Good.’ That was something.
TEN
The day brought no luck. By the time darkness arrived, Nottingham felt drained. But there was still work to do. Lister would go around the inns once more, asking more questions and trying to pry small nuggets of truth out of the lies.
He pulled on his old greatcoat, buttoning it to the neck, and slipped his cudgel into the large pocket. Men filled the taverns, finding relief in drink after a day of work. The whores were on Briggate, shivering in the cold and trying to look enticing as they set out to draw a few pennies from the night. But the dark-haired girl who’d taken Jane’s spot was nowhere to be seen. No one waited by the passageway.
He went from one woman to the next, but only two could remember her. No one knew her name, none had spoken to her. The most anyone recalled was that she’d stayed long into the evening, looking lost. There one minute and gone the next time they looked.
His face was chapped by the wind, he was weary and aching, but he wasn’t ready to give up and go home yet. Instead he stopped at the White Swan to lose himself in the chatter and the warmth for a few minutes. Michael the landlord poured him a mug of the special twice-brewed and he took a long sip. A fire burned in the grate and the air was thick with the smoke from a dozen clay pipes and the rank smell of bodies.
Nottingham sat and listened. Across the
years he’d heard interesting things in the taverns and inns around Leeds. People dropped hints of this and that without thinking. Once someone in his cups had sat beside him and confessed to a killing.
Now all the talk was of the dead pimp and the moneylenders. People loved a good murder, the gorier the better. He heard imaginations roam, wild suggestions. But nothing to set him thinking.
The constable finished the drink and pondered another before pushing the mug away and leaving. Outside, he shivered. The sky was clear, the air sharp and bitter.
A lantern was burning in the jail. He turned the door handle. Crandall, the night man, was sitting at the table, a quill in his hand, looking anxious as he tried to write.
‘Is something wrong?’
‘Not really, sir.’ The man bit his lip, then he sighed and said, ‘We’ve found another body in the river. Pretty young thing, that’s all. It’s sad.’
He breathed in, feeling the fear rising up his spine. He hadn’t even seen the corpse but he was certain he’d know her face.
‘I’ll take a look at her.’
Nottingham lit a candle and walked back to the cold cell. The flame flickered and dimmed, then suddenly burned brighter so he could see her stretched out on the slab.
She looked even younger now, so much like Rose that it took his breath for a moment. Her skin was a startling white in the soft light, dark hair sodden, almost black, the same cheap gown he’d seen her wear the day before pressed wetly against her body There were tiny cuts on her hands, little red lines, and her nails were torn. A heavy bruise on her cheek and marks on her neck. He’d seen enough drownings in his time: this was no accident. Someone had hit her and forced her head under the water until she was dead. Then she’d been tipped into the Aire. She’d fought hard for her life and lost.
He bunched his fist, digging his nails into his palm until he could feel the pain. For a long time he stood, simply staring at her. Memories of his daughter surfaced and he could feel the hopelessness all over again. He hadn’t been able to help Rose when the fever took her and her unborn child. And he hadn’t been able to stop this one from dying.
‘I don’t suppose you found anything with her?’ he asked as he returned to the office.
Free from all Danger Page 8
