‘Me? Know anything?’ He wiped his eyes and gulped down air. ‘What would I know about killings? Got me work cut out trying to last till evening. I don’t have time for any of that now.’
‘Then who might?’ Nottingham asked. The man was dying, but there was nothing he could do about that. Nothing anyone could do; Dunkley wouldn’t let them.
‘Have you tried John Wood?’ The cough began again. Another nip from the bottle stopped it.
John Wood. Interesting that his name should come up again.
‘He claims he’s working for Mr Warren these days. A bookkeeper.’
‘If you believe that, happen you should have stayed retired.’ Dunkley turned his head and spat. ‘Now go on, get out of here.’
John Wood. It would be a good place to start in the morning.
Ogle’s bookshop was no more than a hundred yards along Kirkgate from the jail. He’d rarely been inside, but the manager knew him, wishing him a pleasant good morning. The musty smell of mildew and old paper followed him up the stairs.
Warren’s office was a jumble of papers, but there was no sign of the man himself. Wood was alone, bent over his desk, a quill in his hand. He looked up with a start as Nottingham entered, trying to pull papers over his work.
Too late, though. The constable picked up the document and the one beside it.
‘I thought you said you had a talent for numbers.’
‘I do,’ Wood answered. His face was red and his hand began to shake. ‘I’m just copying that for a gentleman. We do it if they ask.’
‘Copying?’ He read through one paper, then the other. ‘You’re not doing a good job of it, then. Look, you’ve changed a few words. Here and here and here. If I didn’t know better, I’d think that Mr Joseph Middleton owned a certain property in Holbeck instead of Mr Martin.’ The constable shook his head. ‘That’s very poor work. Should I tell your employer?’
‘Don’t, please. He dun’t know.’ His eyes were pleading. ‘The gentleman offered me a guinea to do it and mek it look official. I’ve got a woman now, Mr Nottingham.’ He reached out a hand for the papers but the constable rolled them and put them in his jacket pocket.
‘What else am I going to find in here, John?’ He leaned forward, hands on the desk, his face close enough to Wood’s to smell the sour, frightened breath. ‘Something like that could see you transported for seven years. Not too many last long enough to come home from there.’
‘What do you want?’ He lowered his head.
‘I want to know about the killings that have been going on. Moneylenders. A pimp. Two whores. I need to find out who’s behind it.’
‘I can’t—’
Nottingham cut him off. ‘I don’t think you heard me properly.’ His voice was cold. ‘I’m not offering you a choice. I don’t care how you find out. And if you try to lie to me, you’ll be up before a judge before you know it. Maybe that woman of yours will even miss you.’
Back on Kirkgate he smiled to himself. He knew he could have searched the office and found plenty to damn Warren. But he didn’t care about that for now. It could wait for another day. He wanted the killer.
Something was growing. He could feel it, as certain as the fact that day would break tomorrow. Something was festering under the surface. And he needed to lance it before it took over.
Lister slid on to the bench beside the constable. All around them, the White Swan was filled with people. A group of merchants huddled in one corner discussing business. Working men warmed themselves by the fire before an afternoon in the cold.
‘Dyer caught a glimpse of the cutpurses this morning,’ he said. ‘He went after them but they’d already gone. Into thin air, he said.’
Nottingham put the pie back on the plate.
‘Where did it happen?’
‘Mill Hill. Out near the tenter fields. He said the Parish Church had just rung eight o’clock.’
Nottingham gulped down the last of his ale and stood. ‘Let’s take a look.’
‘I was going to eat.’
The constable grinned. ‘Then you should have arrived earlier. Come on.’
The thin wind down by the river seemed to slice at his skin. Rob pulled the high collar closer around his ears. His legs felt heavy with the cold, like moving lead. Not a soul to be seen on the grass. No cloth hung out to stretch on the tenter posts in this weather.
Where was the boss going? He was striding out ahead, never pausing or glancing around until Leeds lay half a mile behind them, only grass and woods ahead. The air might be fresh here, but it was bitter.
Near the top of a rise, Nottingham stopped and pointed.
‘Do you see that? Smoke.’
He was right; a wispy spiral rose through the trees, almost invisible in the pale light.
‘What now, boss?’ Rob asked.
‘We go in as quietly as we can. We’ll do it together. No one’s going to be watching in this weather. They’ll all be huddled round the fire.’
Lister followed. Once they were in the trees, the constable stopped for a moment, finding his bearings, then eased through the tall grass, trying to be silent. Soon enough Rob could smell the fire and the scent of cooking. Nottingham halted again and whispered ‘We’ll just walk straight in. You’re faster than me, you go after the boy if he’s there. I’ll point him out.’
Without another word he plunged into the small clearing. Rob barely had chance to take in the rough shelters made of branches before the children were up and scattering like a flock of birds, darting off hither and yon through the trees.
‘There!’ He pointed towards a scrawny lad with black hair, already vanishing deeper into the woods. Lister followed, running hard. He had surprise on his side, quickly gaining on the boy. He passed the other children, barely noticing them, intent on the figure ahead.
He was no more than ten yards away when the boy suddenly swerved and grabbed a girl who was trying to hide between a tree. The penknife was in his fist, the blade at the child’s throat.
‘You don’t want to do that.’ Rob was panting hard, keeping his distance. He put his hands out, showing they were empty. The little girl looked terrified, too frightened to move. But the boy’s face showed nothing. No emotion of any kind. Just dark, calculating eyes.
‘Let her go. You can run. I won’t follow if you don’t harm her.’ He moved a step closer. The boy pulled the girl’s hair, exposing her throat and pushing the blade against the skin.
‘I promise,’ Rob said, a desperate edge in his voice. ‘Just go, leave her.’
The boy stayed silent. Then, in one swift move, he slid the knife across the girl’s neck and let her drop. Without a backward glance, he skittered away, jumping over a fallen log and disappearing.
Lister was on his knees, cradling the girl’s head. She’d fainted. He took off his greatcoat, wrapping it around her. The wound was bleeding, but it wasn’t deep or dangerous. And definitely not fatal.
The boy was already out of sight. Sweet Christ, he thought, how could anyone do that? The girl was beginning to stir, crying, screaming. Rob stroked her hair and tried to soothe her. The blood was already starting to dry on her neck. He pulled out a dirty handkerchief, spat on it and tried to wipe the wound clean.
‘You’re going to be fine,’ he told her softly, repeating it until she looked at him with wide eyes and began to nod. The tears still came, trailing down her cheeks, and she was shivering hard.
Carefully, he picked her up and began to walk to the camp, talking softly. She was no weight at all in his arms, nothing more than skin and bone.
The constable was already there. ‘What happened?’
It only took three quick sentences to recount the tale. Nottingham looked down at the girl.
‘Don’t worry,’ he told her. ‘We’ll look after you now.’
There was something in his tone: she believed him and gave a timid smile. Rob could imagine how Nottingham had been as a father. He’d shown it just now, and with the baby in the church porch
. The tenderness, the gentleness.
‘What are we going to do with her, boss?’
‘Take her home to Lucy. She’ll know what to do.’
‘But—’
‘Look at her. She needs a good meal, some clean clothes, and somewhere warm. We’ll think about the rest after that. Would you like to sleep inside, by the fire?’ he asked the girl, and she nodded her reply. ‘What’s your name?’
She hesitated for a moment, as if she needed to remember it. ‘Annie.’
‘That’s a pretty name. There’s a lady called Lucy who’ll take care of you. Mr Lister will take you there.’
‘What happened with the girl?’ Rob asked.
He grimaced. ‘She was too quick for me. Gone before I even started.’ He rubbed the bristles on his chin. ‘I want that lad.’ He clapped his hands together. ‘You look after Annie here, then come back to the jail.’
Lucy examined the girl while he recounted it all. From the moment he came through the door she’d taken charge, carefully shepherding Annie into the kitchen and settling her down on a stool.
‘Don’t you worry, we’ll have you warm and clean in no time,’ she said as she ladled soup into a bowl. ‘Go on, get that inside you. Your skin’s like ice.’ He watched, knowing there was no more he could do. ‘You did right, bringing her here,’ Lucy said as he turned to leave.
‘It was the boss’s idea.’
‘Doesn’t matter whose it was,’ she said. ‘It was still good.’
THIRTEEN
He’d never had a hope of catching the girl. As soon as she saw his face she was darting away, surefooted through the trees. Nottingham had started to give chase but gave up quickly. She was too fast for him, she knew these woods too well. He’d often slept out here when he was young, but that was years before. The young man he’d been back then had long since vanished.
The boy was going to kill. It felt inevitable. As they walked into town, Rob had described his expression. No feeling, no fear. He’d had a taste of blood and he liked it. How were they going to stop him?
He paced around the jail, trying to find a plan.
‘They’re going to be even more careful now,’ the constable said.
Evening now, sitting at home with hot food in their bellies. The day had sparked no new schemes, just thoughts that trickled nowhere.
‘At least we know who they are,’ Rob said.
‘That’s not worth much.’
Nick and Kate. Those were the names Annie had given when Lucy talked to her. They’d arrived just a fortnight before, she said, the two of them together, and taken over the group of homeless children.
‘From what she says, they’re a right evil pair,’ Lucy told him. ‘He beats anyone who steps out of line or questions him. Keeps all the money they steal for themselves.’
‘How’s Annie?’ Nottingham asked.
‘Asleep in my bed. It’s probably the first warm night she’s had in an age. Her mam died a year back and she’s never had a da that she’s ever seen. Doesn’t know what happened to her little brother.’
It was no different from so many histories the constable had heard through the years. Life was rarely soft and gentle. ‘What about her wound?’
‘She won’t even have a scar,’ Lucy replied. ‘It’s just a scratch. Bled a bit, but that’s the worst of it. A week and you won’t know it was ever there.’
‘I’ll need to talk to her.’
‘When she wakes, Papa,’ Emily said quietly. ‘Let her rest.’
He nodded. The girl deserved her sleep, at the very least.
‘What are we going to do with her?’ Rob asked.
Nottingham could feel their eyes on him. He didn’t know the answer; he hadn’t even thought that far ahead when he told Rob to bring her here. Find a family to take Annie in? Let her stay? But where would she sleep? What would she do?
‘I could ask the Williamsons,’ Emily suggested. ‘They might know of someone. Oh.’ She frowned, annoyed at herself. ‘With everything else, I forgot: Mr Williamson stopped at the school this afternoon. They’re holding the dance to benefit the school on November the fifth at the Cloth Hall. Isn’t that wonderful?’
Nottingham glanced at Lister. Any other day in the year and that would be excellent news. But November the fifth was Gunpowder Treason Night. Bonfires burning all over Leeds and men shooting off their guns to celebrate. The apprentices would be out drinking and ready to riot. There’d be no rest for the constable and his men until the early hours.
‘That’s very good, indeed,’ he told her. From the head of the table he could see Rob and Emily exchanging looks. No matter; if there was something they wanted him to know, they’d tell him in time. ‘I’m off to my bed.’
‘Annie was still asleep when I left,’ Nottingham said. He’d put fresh coal on the fire in the jail to take off the dawn chill. ‘Lucy’s going to try and find out more about this Nick and Kate from her.’
‘They’ll have their eyes open for us now.’ Rob poured a mug of ale.
‘Good. I want them looking over their shoulder the whole time. That way they’ll make mistakes. Keep the men out around town again.’
‘Yes, boss.’ He hesitated. ‘You know that Emily will expect us to go to that dance.’
‘I daresay she will,’ the constable agreed with a smile. ‘Women always do. You can go, I’ll take care of everything. I’m not sure who’ll have the more troublesome job.’
The note had been pushed under the door of the jail during the night. John Wood had taken the threats seriously. Talk to Oliver Nelson, it said.
The constable had a hazy recollection of the man. Lanky, too thin for his clothes, the type who nibbled at the edge of the law but was scared to go too far on the other side. Someone who would once have spent his evenings at the Talbot. But where would he drink now?
Nottingham walked with no sense of where he was wandering. Nelson had worked, he seemed to remember that, but for the life of him, he didn’t know at what. He stood at the top of Briggate, gazing back down the street towards the river. His breath bloomed in the air. At least the sun was shining to hearten everyone. And it was only the shank end of October; the cold had come too early this year.
Off in the distance he heard a fiddle begin to play a lively tune, the sounds rising above the rumble of cartwheels on the cobbles. Warm music for a frosty morning. He followed the sound down to Vicar Lane.
Blind Con was standing with his back against the wall, lost in the melody and keeping time with his foot. He’d cut the fingers off a pair of gloves, and his left hand danced swiftly over the strings. Nottingham watched the people who passed, seeing them start to smile, one or two of them dropping small coins in the hat. He waited until the final note then dropped in a farthing of his own.
‘Well met, Mr Nottingham. I heard you arrive.’ He always knew.
‘Keep playing like that and you’ll have spring here before we know it.’
‘People like something cheerful on a day like this. And it stops my fingers from freezing. This weather’s too bitter for an old man.’
‘Tell me, Con, do you know someone called Oliver Nelson?’
‘Tall fellow, a very light tread,’ Con replied after a moment. ‘Likes to talk when he’s had a few drinks.’
That sounded like Nelson. ‘Do you know where I’d find him?’
‘Last I heard, he was working for Cooper the wheelwright.’ He stared at the constable as if his blind eyes could see. ‘What’s he done?’
‘Nothing that I know of. Why?’
‘He’s always kept low company, that’s all.’ He shrugged and raised the fiddle to his shoulder, drawing the bow over the strings slowly, as if deciding on a melody before starting on another lively piece.
Cooper had his business in a cramped yard off Swinegate, making the wheels for carts and carriages. Two apprentices sweated to join the curved pieces as he supervised, cursing them until he was satisfied with their work. He wore a heavy leather apron that hid a big, bro
ad chest, long hair tied back in a sailor’s queue.
‘Help you, sir?’
‘I’m Richard Nottingham—’
‘I know who you are,’ Cooper cut him off. ‘What do you want?’
‘Oliver Nelson.’
‘Steaming shed.’ He gestured to the rear of the yard, then barked out, ‘Olly!’
A few heartbeats later a door opened in a wreath of steam and Nelson emerged, wiping the damp from his face with a dirty rag. As soon as he saw the constable, he stopped, panic rising.
Nottingham took a step, but the other man was faster. In one quick movement he hauled himself on to the roof of the shed and was away over the wall behind, gone from sight in two blinks of an eye.
‘Where does he live?’ the constable asked. But Cooper was still staring, not believing what he’d seen. ‘I said where?’
‘Queen’s Court,’ one of the apprentices answered.
He pushed past the people on the street. A herder was driving his cattle up Briggate. Nottingham dodged between the animals, hearing them low and smelling their sweet breath, then ran through the tiny entrance to the court.
Houses were jammed one against the other, only a thin path threading through to another ginnel at the end that led through to Call Lane. Nottingham could feel his heart beating hard in his chest as he looked around for the smallest sign of movement.
Finally he caught something from the corner of his eye, there and gone as fast as a kingfisher. A shadow behind a dirty window, three houses along, up on the second storey. He pulled the loop of his cudgel around his wrist.
The front door gave easily as soon as he pushed against it. The stairs groaned as he climbed. His mouth was dry, the taste of metal on his tongue. The constable took each step carefully, watching and listening.
Nobody was waiting upstairs. There was only a single door in front of him, warped in its frame. He could hear a child whimpering on the other side. Nottingham turned the knob and forced his shoulder against the wood.
Nelson was there, standing in the middle of the room with a knife in his hand and terror on his face. A woman cowered in the corner, her shawl pulled over the infant in her arms.
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