‘That’s what the other man said.’ She raised her manacled wrists. ‘But I’m still here and I’m still wearing these, aren’t I?’
‘You’ll keep them on until we find him. Where else might he be?’
She shrugged. ‘He might have left.’ Kate turned her head and looked at him. ‘He’s smart, Nick is. If he’s moved on, no one will ever catch him.’
‘Sooner or later, someone will.’
‘Not him.’
‘He tried to kill you,’ Rob said. ‘Or have you forgotten that?’
‘I remember.’
‘Then where will we find him?’
‘I don’t know!’ she shouted.
The pounding on the door roused him. Barefoot, carrying the cudgel, Nottingham went downstairs and opened the door to a freezing wind. One of the night men, wrapped in bundles of clothes like rags and holding his lantern high.
‘What is it?’
‘Sorry to disturb you, sir,’ he said with an awkward lisp. ‘But Mr Crandall said you and Mr Lister need to know. We found a body. Josh Bartlett.’
‘Bartlett?’ Rob hurried down the stairs, tucking his shirt into a pair of breeches. ‘How?’
‘Looks like someone stabbed him.’
‘Where is he?’ the constable asked.
‘The tenter fields below Boar Lane. Already sent for the coroner, sir.’
‘We’ll be there as soon as we can.’
‘He was certain he could beat anyone,’ Lister said as they hurried into town.
‘Apparently he was wrong.’
‘There won’t be too many who’ll mourn him. Definitely not his girls. He was a nasty bastard, even for a pimp. Big, brutal.’
‘And dead now,’ Nottingham said. ‘Three pimps gone, two murdered. Two moneylenders dead.’
‘Or maybe someone just saw the chance of revenge on Bartlett,’ Rob told him. ‘He’s dealt out enough punishment.’
‘Maybe,’ the constable said quietly. ‘Maybe.’
Hoggart the coroner had already been and gone. The body lay face up. Even in the dark shadows from the lanterns it was easy enough to see the blood all across Bartlett’s chest. Nottingham put a hand against the man’s neck. Still a little warmth in his flesh; he hadn’t been dead long.
‘He told me no one had been threatening him.’ Rob gazed down at the corpse.
‘From the look of this, it took quite a lot to kill him. I can see six wounds. There might be more once we get him in the cold cell.’
‘He liked to fight.’
‘This time he lost.’ Nottingham pushed himself upright, feeling the ache in his knees. He nodded at the two men waiting to carry the body to the jail. ‘Where did he live?’
‘Mill Hill,’ Rob replied.
‘See what you can find there. And hunt down the girls who worked for him. They should be able to tell us something.’
In the darkness the house felt strange, full of bitter, rancid smells. He’d brought a lantern and lit it with his tinder, waiting until the flame flared bright before moving around. The place was empty; Rob could sense it as soon as he entered.
He began upstairs, where he’d heard the woman sobbing the last time he’d been here. A bed with a dirty sheet, blankets tossed on to the floor. A jacket hung on a nail. No dresses, no sign of any female clothing.
The parlour was just as he remembered it, almost bare, a half-empty mug of ale sitting on the floor by a chair. All he found in the kitchen was a jumble of unwashed plates and the strong stink of rotten food. How could Bartlett have lived with that?
But it didn’t matter now. He’d never be coming back here. And it looked as if his whores had already fled.
Nottingham cut away the man’s waistcoat and shirt. Six wounds, from shoulder to belly; impossible to judge which one had killed him. Bartlett’s hands were ingrained with dirt, the nails bitten down to the quick.
He’d been powerful, well-muscled. But there were no fresh grazes or marks on his knuckles. It didn’t look as if he’d fought back. That was curious. From what Rob said, the man loved violence. He lived by it.
And died by it, too.
He was still studying the body when Lister arrived.
‘Nothing at the house, boss. His women have gone.’
The constable nodded and said, ‘Take a look at him. Tell me what seems wrong.’
He waited, giving Rob time to examine the body.
‘No recent bruises. Only some old marks on his hands. And those cuts are big. A sword, not a knife.’
‘He didn’t defend himself. He might not have had a chance.’ He rubbed his chin. ‘What was he doing down in the tenter fields, anyway? He was too big to drag there after he was dead.’
‘Whoever killed him must have taken him by surprise. Probably the first cut put him on the ground and the rest were to make sure he was dead. I know him; he’d have been lashing out otherwise.’
‘Search the area properly once it’s light. I want men out looking for his whores, too. We need to talk to them.’ He glanced down at Bartlett’s corpse again. ‘Do you still think there’s nothing happening here?’
‘He had plenty of enemies.’
‘Ones he’d meet in a dark field?’
Lister sighed. ‘I don’t know, boss. But if there’s something, who’s behind it? Tell me that.’
‘I wish I could.’
Nottingham sat at the desk and rubbed his eyes. He had the sour dregs of ale in his cup and too many things filling his mind. Another few hours and he’d be attending Tom Williamson’s funeral, once the cloth market was over.
Outside, a thin drizzle was bringing in the day.
He didn’t understand what was going on in Leeds. He couldn’t make head or tail of it. But it was there. He could feel it Someone was working, eliminating the moneylenders and the pimps one by one, and he had no idea who it could be. This didn’t have the hallmark of anyone he knew. Not Tom Finer; these days the man cherished his respectability. But Rob was right about one thing: the town had changed in the last two years. More than he’d ever imagined.
He patrolled up and down Briggate twice, making sure everything was in order, then strode away as the bell announced the opening of the market. Earth was mounded in the graveyard of the Parish Church, ready for the burial.
At home, Lucy put food in front of him and stood by the table as he ate. Nottingham could hear Annie in the kitchen, finishing her work before going off to the school.
‘What is it?’ he asked as he swallowed the last of the bread.
‘I’ve sponged and brushed your good coat and breeches,’ she said. ‘And I darned the hole in your best hose.’
Nottingham nodded. There was more to come, he could tell.
‘It’s her. Annie.’ She inclined her head towards the other room. ‘Is she staying?’
‘I thought that was already settled.’
‘It’s your house.’
In name, perhaps, but most of the time it never felt that way.
‘Then she’s staying. Emily said you’ll need help once the baby comes to live here.’ He couldn’t bring himself to call the child Mary. Not yet.
‘I will.’ Lucy folded her heavy arms. ‘But with two more people we’re going to need more room.’
He’d never given it any thought. The house was simply the house. Home. But she was right.
‘Go on,’ he said.
‘I talked about it with someone.’
‘One of your admirers?’ He smiled as she began to blush.
‘Don’t be so cheeky,’ she told him, but the flush rose further up her face. ‘He says we can easily add two more rooms.’
‘And did he say how much it would cost?’
‘I wanted to talk to you first.’
Nottingham didn’t believe her. He knew Lucy; she’d want everything in detail, down to the last penny. But he didn’t have time to think about it now. He needed to be dressed and on his way to the service.
The Parish Church was full. Hannah Williamson a
nd her children sat alone on the front pew. Behind her, all the members of the corporation, looking grand in their robes. Then the merchants and every worthy in the town. He saw John Reynolds from the Rose and Crown, the landlords of the Old King’s Arms and the New King’s Arms and the other inns around Leeds; even Harry Meadows from the Talbot, dressed in a dark, sober coat. At the back were the men who’d worked at Williamson’s warehouse and others from the trade, the masters of the dyeing and finishing shops. He’d been a well-liked man. A respected man.
And his killer was still somewhere close. Whatever the girl claimed, the constable felt sure that Nick wouldn’t run. Not yet.
The mayor spoke, then Alderman Atkinson. The vicar took this service himself, two of the curates beside him. The sermon lasted until people became restive, and finally the coffin was carried outside into a damp, biting wind.
Emily was waiting there. Nottingham buttoned his greatcoat and joined her.
‘I left one of the older girls teaching the class,’ she said. ‘I wanted to come for this.’
There could never be any joy in a burial. He’d attended too many in his time. Nottingham waited until the first sod hit the coffin, squeezed his daughter’s arm and walked away. A moment with Mary and Rose, then to see John Sedgwick. Lizzie and James kept the grave neat.
You’d have loved to be deputy now, he thought. You’d have enjoyed all this. Chasing down Nick. But would you have believed me if I said that one person could be behind so many of these crimes? He could hear the man’s voice, arguing with him over a drink.
The constable shook his head and walked away. He was right. Even if he didn’t have the evidence yet, he knew.
Rob searched all across the tenter field. They’d found Bartlett near one of the hooks used for stretching cloth. The earth was darker there, tinged with something dark and sticky when he touched it. The man had been killed here.
It was easy to imagine. The pimp was cocky, he’d have had no qualms about meeting someone, no matter where. His girls must have known before anyone else; they’d scattered like birds, not a trace of them left. The men were keeping an eye out for them as they hunted Nick, but he doubted they’d ever be seen again. Too frightened.
There were too many with reason to kill Josh Bartlett. He’d gone out of his way to make enemies, picked fights everywhere, and beaten anyone who crossed him. There might even be a few happy to claim the brief glory of the murder. Folk were strange.
There was nothing out here to give him a hint, only a chill on his hands. He thrust them into his pockets and walked back to town.
Could the boss be right? He hadn’t believed it. But the longer this went on, the more he was forced to wonder. God knew they should have found one of the killers by now, at least had some sort of word. But everywhere he turned there was silence.
But wouldn’t he have seen it building? Surely he would have spotted it … that was what he didn’t understand. If someone wanted to move in, to try to take over the moneylending, the prostitution and God knew what else, why wouldn’t he announce himself? To show he had the power.
He stopped at the baker and bought himself a pie, his first food of the day. He loved the job, but it was rare to have time to eat regularly. At the jail he glanced through the night report in case it offered anything on Bartlett’s death.
He was still there, licking the last crumbs from his fingers, when Nottingham arrived in his good clothes. Of course: Tom Williamson’s funeral. He’d heard the bell tolling then forgotten all about it.
‘Anything?’
Lister shook his head. ‘I’m going to see a man who might know something. But no one’s been banging down the door to confess.’ He sighed. ‘Back to the beginning. How was the service?’
‘Full. Emily came for the burial.’
‘I don’t imagine there’ll be a dance now.’
‘No. I think Hannah Williamson has more pressing things in front of her.’
After Rob left, Nottingham poured some ale and wandered back to the cells. Kate looked up as he stared at her through the door.
‘You’re dressed smart today.’
‘We buried the man your Nick killed.’
She stayed silent, breathing in and out a few times, then asked: ‘What’s going to happen to me?’
‘I already told you, it’s for the court to decide. There’s a prison under the Moot Hall. We’ll be taking you there soon.’
‘Will you kill Nick when you find him?’
‘I told you that, too: not unless I have to. I’ll arrest him and let the jury make up their mind.’
‘He won’t let himself be taken.’
‘Tell me where I can find him,’ the constable said.
‘I took you there.’ She banged her wrists against her thighs, a little gesture of frustration. The manacles rattled.
‘You must have had other places.’
‘What if I tell you and you catch him?’ He heard the note in her voice. Hopeful, cunning. This was why the constable had kept her here. After all, she’d come to him out of fear. The longer she spent in a cell, she more she craved a favour.
‘We might be able to agree on something.’
Dusk was falling. The air felt frozen as he breathed. Mist rose over the fields in the distance. Nottingham walked with Lister at his side, Waterhouse and Dyer behind. The fog muffled all the sounds, killing them before they could echo. They all had their cutlasses drawn, ready.
Kate had given them directions. In return, if they took Nick, he’d agreed to let her go. No one would notice, and no one would care. People wanted the murderer, the rest didn’t matter. The mayor had sent for him after the funeral, demanding to know what progress they’d made.
She’d sworn that this was their only other secret place. Now he had to hope that she was desperate enough to tell the truth.
EIGHTEEN
South of the river, then east. The camp was close to the riverbank, she said, about half a mile along, hidden behind a large tree.
In the faded light could just make out the shape, a tall, sturdy oak that reached above its neighbours. Its leaves were all gone the winter, jagged branches stark against the sky.
They fanned out into a short line as they drew closer, trying to move quietly through the tangled grasses. Close to, Nottingham could make out a rough shelter of boughs. For a moment he thought he saw a tiny flash of movement inside.
‘Now,’ he shouted. ‘Run.’
The men began to dash, shouting loud enough to stir the dead. Nottingham stood and watched, grasping the hilt of the sword tightly. The boy ducked out of his shelter, glancing this way and that. He had the little knife in his hand. No expression on his face: no fear, no anger.
Nick waited until Lister and the others were a few yards away. Then he moved, fast as quicksilver. A feint to his right before darting off to his left, just out of reach of Rob’s cutlass.
And suddenly the boy was sprinting, his legs a blur, eyes fixed on the constable.
He wanted to kill again. It was there in his eyes, intent, dark.
The men were following, but Nick had ten yards on them; they couldn’t hope to catch up. One chance, Nottingham knew that was all he would have. He watched, not moving, until the boy was so close he could smell his stink.
Now, he thought, and stepped to the side, bringing up his weapon and feeling the blade slice into the boy’s thigh.
Nick went straight down. His legs were still moving but they couldn’t support him any longer. Then the constable brought his boot down hard on Nick’s hand and kicked the knife away. Such a small, innocuous weapon. But so deadly.
The lad was clutching at his wound, moaning. Tears were running down his cheeks.
‘Are you all right?’ Lister asked. He was winded, bent over to catch his breath.
‘Not a scratch.’ The constable smiled. ‘More than our friend here can say.’
‘He was fast.’
‘Bring him to the jail,’ Nottingham ordered. ‘Drag him if you ha
ve to, I don’t care. And get a doctor to look at that wound. I want him alive for the gallows.’
He walked away.
The cells were empty by the time they hauled Nick in. Rob looked at the constable and raised an eyebrow.
The lad would survive. For now, anyway. He’d never walk properly again, the doctor said. But that hardly mattered. He’d never need to limp further than the dock and the gibbet.
Nottingham poured a cup of ale and sipped slowly. His throat was dry, scratchy.
It was over. But too late for poor Tom Williamson.
Lister locked the door to the cells, just the two of them in the office.
‘You let her go?’
The constable nodded. The girl had simply stared at him as he unlocked her chains, as if she couldn’t believe it was happening.
‘What am I going to do?’ Kate asked as she rubbed her wrists.
‘I don’t care,’ Nottingham said to her. ‘But you’ll leave Leeds.’
‘Where can I go?’
‘Anywhere but here.’ He dug two pennies from his pocket and put them in her hand. She looked at him again, then darted off, slamming the door to the jail behind her.
‘She earned it. She told us where we’d find Nick.’
‘Finally.’ Rob spat out the word.
‘No one’s going to give a damn about her. Most people will have forgotten she ever existed.’
‘So she gets a second chance?’
‘For as long as she lasts.’ He took another drink. ‘I don’t think either one of them has much of a soul. She never even asked about him, if he was alive or dead. They were a matched pair.’ He turned his head towards the closed door. ‘The only difference is that Nick liked to kill.’ He slammed the mug down on the desk. ‘Now, we have some other murders to attend to.’
The word had spread quickly. As Nottingham walked up Briggate the next morning to give his report to mayor, folk stopped to congratulate him and wish him well. But the news would be poor consolation to Hannah Williamson and her children.
‘Good work, Richard,’ Brooke said. He was seated at his desk, a small hill of papers in front of him. ‘We’ll send him off to York tomorrow. He can rot there until the Assizes. How did you find out where he was?’
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