Skin Like Silver

by Chris Nickson

  It wasn’t far, on a street that ran up the hillside at a steep angle. An end terrace, close to the block of privies, the stink strong enough to make him retch.

  ‘You get used to it, sir,’ Williams said with a chuckle and knocked on the door. The woman who answered smiled to see the constable and invited them in, looking up and down the road to see if anyone was snooping. ‘This is Mrs Bradshaw, sir. She’s related to the Waites … how is it again, Cissie?’

  ‘Distant,’ she replied. She was in her forties, hands red and swollen from work, hair drawn into a tight bun on the back of her head. She smelt of soap. A washerwoman, he guessed. ‘I don’t even rightly know myself.’ The woman gave a full-throated laugh. ‘Daft, isn’t it?’

  ‘Are they in Cross Green?’ Harper asked.

  ‘I’ve seen him,’ she said. ‘He was going in the pub. Couldn’t believe it at first, he’s not been round here in years.’

  ‘You mean the father?’

  ‘Aye, that’s the one. I saw him when he came out again, too. He has a beard now but it was definitely him. Those eyes of his, I’d remember them anywhere’

  The inspector looked at Williams. The constable shrugged.

  ‘Do you know where he’s living, Mrs Bradshaw?’

  ‘Nay, luv, not an inkling. That’s all I noticed, and no one else has seen him. Not that they’d remember him, most like. He moved away when he got wed, and that’s a long time now.’

  The family was here. Now it was just a matter of tracking them down. The area wasn’t so large.

  ‘What do you think, sir?’ Williams asked when the door had closed behind them.

  ‘I think you need to start asking some questions. Find out what families have moved in recently.’

  ‘I’ve already asked about anyone called Waite.’

  ‘They’ve probably changed their name. Talk to Mrs Bradshaw again, get a description of Waite.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘Let me know when you have something.’

  As he strode along East Street on his way back to Millgarth, he felt some small satisfaction. It was only a matter of time before he’d be questioning Barbara Waite about the dead baby.

  The police station was hushed. It was the shank of the afternoon, towards the end of the shift, when the day men began thinking about going home. Harper made a cup of tea and settled at his desk. At least there’d been a little progress today.

  Once it was dark they’d go over to the Bank and bring Grady out. It was going to be rough, but one crime solved. Maybe even two, if he was lucky. The inspector reached into the bottom drawer of his desk and brought out his truncheon. Good, solid mahogany. He slipped the leather strap over his wrist. A good blow from that would make anyone think twice. He needed gloves, though. The skin on his palms was still soft and tender where it was healing.

  There was nothing more to do until nightfall and all the men were assembled. He picked up Catherine Carr’s diary again. He’d looked at it so often that he knew half of it by heart, could almost recite it like the poems he’d had to learn in school.

  If she’d just written a little more, he’d know exactly where to look and this business would be over. Right now he was flailing, simply hoping to stumble across the right answers.

  Reed arrived a little after five, Ash a few minutes later. They sat, waiting. No need for talk. Harper could feel the boots moving in the station as the shifts prepared to change. At least he didn’t have to hear all the banter and orders: that was the only good thing about losing part of his hearing.

  He flexed his hands. Maybe everything would be smooth and simple. Arrest Grady and get him back to Millgarth before any trouble began. But it was wishful thinking. They’d be hurling stones and cobbles.

  Somewhere, he could hear the bell of a telephone, loud and piercing. Then the night sergeant came in, the colour gone from his face.

  ‘There’s been a shooting, sir,’ he announced. ‘Out at Carr’s boot factory. One dead, one wounded.’

  FIFTEEN

  Harper looked at Reed. The sergeant was already on his feet and reaching for his hat.

  ‘Have them telephone for an ambulance. I want as many men there as you can find. We’re on our way.’

  ‘What about the constables you wanted for tonight, sir?’

  ‘Never mind that now.’ Murder trumped everything. ‘Whistle up a hackney. We need to be out there quickly.’

  He tipped the driver well; they’d made quick time. As they alighted the horse shook its head, flecks of spittle and sweat across its muzzle.

  Sugden. It had to be. And he’d timed it well, the light gone, the shifts changing, plenty of men around. Easy targets, simple to escape quickly into the gloom.

  But where the hell was the constable who was supposed to be standing guard?

  Workers had gathered in the large yard, small groups clustered together in the dusk, the light of cigarettes and pipes marking them out in the darkness. A pair of bobbies were going around, taking statements. Someone had set up oil lamps around the body. A piece of old canvas covered the corpse, no more than a few yards from the gate. Harper walked over, knelt, and pulled the covering away.

  The man’s chest was a bloody mess. But his face was mostly intact, just small wounds and blood. Bald, with a heavy hawk nose and thin lips. Brown eyes that would never see anything again.

  The inspector felt someone watching and turned. A young constable was watching him.

  ‘I’m sorry, sir, but who are you?’

  ‘Detective Inspector Harper. Who was on duty out here?’

  ‘Simpson, sir.’ He pointed to a figure standing off by himself.

  ‘I thought two were shot.’

  ‘They’ve already taken the other one to the infirmary, sir. Not sure if he’ll make it, mind. It looked bad.’

  Harper strode across to Constable Simpson. ‘Where were you when the shooting happened?’ he said coldly.

  ‘I had to nip away, sir.’ He hung his head. ‘Call of nature.’

  But his breath told the truth. He stank of whisky.

  ‘Turn out your pockets.’

  The last thing Simpson produced was the hip flask. Shamefacedly, he placed it on the ground.

  ‘Go home,’ he said. ‘You’re suspended. You’ll be called in for a hearing.’

  ‘Yes, sir,’ Simpson said quietly. ‘If I’d known …’ he began.

  ‘If you’d bloody well been where you were supposed to be, there might not be a corpse lying there now.’ He stopped. ‘Did you see anything at all?’

  ‘I heard the shots and came running. Two of them were lying on the ground. I ran to the gate but I couldn’t see anyone. They have a telephone here so I had them ring the infirmary for an ambulance and then the station, sir.’

  ‘Get out of here.’

  Dammit, he thought. Too many drunks and incompetents on the bloody force. Now it had cost one life, maybe two.

  Plenty of men had seen Sugden. He hadn’t tried to hide himself, striding into the yard with his shotgun. One of the witnesses, Mark Kidd, had been too far away to do anything as the man fired. He’d been the first to reach the bodies, yelling out for help.

  ‘Who were they?’ Reed asked him.

  ‘Luke White.’ He nodded at the corpse with a bleak expression. ‘He was a foreman.’

  ‘Was he the one who sacked Sugden?’

  ‘That’s him.’

  ‘What about the other man?’ Harper wondered.

  ‘John Trevelyan.’ His voice was flat and empty. ‘Been here years, he had.’

  ‘Did he have anything to do with Sugden’s sacking?’

  ‘John? No. Just in the wrong place at the wrong time, that’s all.’

  ‘Did you see the man with the gun?’ the sergeant asked another man.

  ‘Stanley Sugden.’ He didn’t even hesitate before answering. ‘I’d know him anywhere with that bloody beard. He was a menace to himself with all the machines around. Mr White told him over and over, cover it or cut it of
f. Finally they got into it, started fighting. After Stanley hit him, Mr White didn’t have any choice but to sack him.’

  Reed stood by the gate, staring over to the far side of Meanwood Road. Plenty of woods along the valley. The perfect place to disappear. More constables had arrived and he’d sent four of them to start questioning the local residents. Someone must have noticed something.

  ‘What do you think, Billy?’ the inspector asked.

  ‘If Sugden’s a lunatic, he’s the slyest one I’ve ever seen. He picked his time carefully. We don’t have a hope in hell of tracking him now. Woods close by …’ He shook his head.

  ‘It’s your case,’ Harper told him. ‘I’ll be here, but you make the decisions. Do whatever you need. Ash is taking statements.’ He was about to continue when he felt a touch on his arm and turned. One of the clerks, pale and shaken, trying not to look at the body on the ground.

  ‘Mr Carr would like a word, sir.’ He gave a short nod and walked away. The inspector raised his eyebrows at Reed then followed.

  Neville Carr’s anger exploded as soon as the inspector closed the door. He was pacing around the room, face dark with fury.

  ‘I thought you’d stationed a man out here to stop something like this happening,’ he shouted.

  ‘We did, sir. You know that.’ He must have seen the constable every day. ‘He had to leave his post for a minute sir.’ He hated to cover for the man, but this time a lie was better than the truth.

  ‘And now my best foreman’s dead and another worker’s in hospital.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  Carr exhaled. Harper knew he had no choice but to take all the abuse Carr could give him.

  ‘What are you doing about it? It was Sugden, wasn’t it?’

  ‘It was.’

  ‘Do you know where he is yet?’

  ‘We’re looking, sir.’

  Carr pointed a stubby finger. ‘I’m holding you responsible for finding him.’

  ‘That’s my job, sir.’

  ‘I’ve lost one man. The workers have been standing idle for over an hour. I’m not going to get a damn bit of work from the night shift.’

  ‘We’re out searching.’ Harper kept his voice calm and professional. All the man cared about was getting his money’s worth out of his workers. ‘And I’ll make sure nothing else happens here.’

  ‘Too bloody late now, isn’t it?’ Carr yelled.

  ‘Yes, sir.’ The inspector gritted his teeth. ‘If you’ll excuse me, I have work to do.’

  ‘I’ll be talking to the chief constable.’

  He didn’t bother to reply. Outside, even the air that stank of leather smelled cleaner than Carr’s office.

  Luke White’s corpse had been removed. Ash was waiting in the yard, his heavy face grave.

  ‘The infirmary sent a message. They couldn’t save the other man.’

  Harper took a deep breath. ‘Right.’ He looked down, seeing two broad patches of blood glistening in the failing light, flies buzzing around them. ‘Have you told Sergeant Reed?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘Let’s see what help he needs.’

  The sergeant was directing constables. A thin rain was beginning to fall, the bobbies hunched in their capes. He sent a group of them off.

  ‘More house to house?’ Harper asked.

  ‘For what it’s worth,’ Reed sighed. ‘We’ve not found anything so far.’

  ‘Going to scour the woods in the morning?’

  ‘As soon as it’s light. God knows there’s nothing more we can find here.’

  ‘Keep at it. I’ll go and see Dr King about the bodies tomorrow.’ He smiled. ‘I know it’s not your favourite place.’

  The sergeant grimaced. ‘I’d rather be out here.’ He glanced up at the sky. ‘Even in this. I’ll keep them out a little while longer. How did things go with Carr?’

  ‘He tore a strip off me.’ Harper shrugged. ‘I can’t blame him. But he doesn’t care about the men, just the time lost. I’ll leave it with you, Billy.’

  As they waited for the tram, Ash said, ‘If our man hadn’t been skiving, he might have been dead, too.’

  ‘I know,’ the inspector replied. But he’d have been doing his job, and it might have given the workers a chance to escape. It was a disaster, a complete bloody disaster. Two murders. It would be in all the newspapers. A madman on the loose. People would be terrified and he could hardly blame them. Sugden wanted revenge. He’d already had that. But Harper felt certain that the man hadn’t finished yet.

  They were almost at Sheepscar when he spoke again. The tram was steamy, windows covered in condensation, the air full of the smell of damp wool.

  ‘Tomorrow morning we’ll go in and get Grady. When people are at work or getting up.’ He grinned. ‘We might leave with a few less bruises.’ He stood. ‘This is my stop. First thing tomorrow.’

  The rain had turned steady, dripping off his bowler hat. Reed heard wheels turning and looked around, moving out of the way as Carr left the factory in his carriage.

  ‘What next, Sergeant?’ a constable asked. ‘We’ve been around the area. The best we’ve got is someone who might have seen Sugden heading off to the woods. It’s not much.’

  It was bugger all, Reed thought. A hope and a wish.

  ‘Keep two men asking around,’ he ordered. ‘And I want someone here. You never know, he might decide to come back for a second helping. You can stand everyone else down for the night. Have them back here in the morning and we’ll beat the woods.’

  The man nodded.

  Even if Sugden was over on the hillside in a little camp, he’d be gone with first light. Maybe he was a lunatic. But he wasn’t a bloody fool.

  ‘I’m in the kitchen,’ Annabelle shouted as she heard the door. ‘I’ll be done in a minute.’

  Harper hung his mackintosh and hat on the coat rack, glad to be home again. The fire was crackling, the room warm, inviting him to sit.

  ‘You won’t believe what’s—’ she began merrily as she bustled through the door, wiping her hands on her apron. ‘What’s happened?’

  He didn’t realize his face was showing the strain of the day.

  ‘We had a shooting. Two men dead.’

  ‘My God.’ She brought a hand up to her mouth.

  ‘We know who did it. Catherine Carr’s brother. Billy’s in charge.’

  She sighed. ‘Poor Katie. It’s like she was cursed, isn’t it?’

  He put his arms around her. ‘We’ll find him,’ he told her, ‘and the one who killed her,’ although he had no idea how. Or even how he’d manage to get to the bottom of all these cases. ‘Now, what were you going to say?’

  She was quiet, reflective for a moment, then answered quietly. ‘Miss Ford sent me a note. She wants me to speak again next week. She told me they loved what I had to say.’

  ‘I said you were good.’ He gave her a squeeze.

  Annabelle blushed. ‘I know you did, but … I never dreamed they’d want me to do it again. I thought it was just going to be the once, to be kind.’

  ‘You’ve got something. They listen to you.’

  ‘And now I have to do it all over again,’ she said glumly.

  ‘You’ll be fine. It’ll be easier the second time around.’

  ‘We’ll see.’ She took hold of his hand, turning it over and examining the palm. ‘I’m going to put some more ointment on that. It’ll heal faster.’

  He smiled, remembering his mother using the same words when he was a small boy.

  ‘Sit down,’ Elizabeth said. ‘You’re like a cat on hot bricks tonight.’

  ‘I can’t settle,’ Reed told her. ‘I keep thinking about Sugden. I need to find him.’ He pushed the chair away from the table and stood.

  ‘He’ll still be there in the morning. All you’re going to do is wear out the floor if you keep pacing like that.’

  He nodded and lit a cigarette. She was right, he needed to calm himself. He had to be thinking straight in the morning.

>   ‘How was the bakery? Has that lad been showing up to pay off his debt?’

  She cleared away the plates. A kettle of water was heating on the hob.

  ‘Jemmy? He’s a grand little worker. He was shy at first, but he tries hard. Puts in two hours before school.’

  He came up behind her as she stood washing the pots at the chipped stone sink, and his arms circled her waist.

  ‘You’ve got a soft spot for him, haven’t you?’

  ‘He spent most of the first morning saying sorry. I thought he was going to burst into tears. He tries hard.’

  ‘Have you been feeding him?’ He nuzzled against her.

  ‘Of course I have. I can’t send him off without any breakfast.’ She paused. ‘One way or another this case of yours will be over soon and you can go back to the brigade. If you still want to,’ she added cautiously.

  ‘What do you mean? Of course I do.’

  Elizabeth gave a quick nod. ‘It’s just that you’ve been wrapped up in this. Is that what it’ll be like when you’re a fire investigator, too?’

  ‘I don’t know.’ He honestly had no idea what to expect. He’d seen Inspector Hill working, the detail of his knowledge. It would take a long time to understand that much.

  ‘Will you still be fighting fires as well?’ she asked.

  ‘Only the big ones, where they need everyone.’

  ‘But not every day?’ There was an hopeful edge to her question.

  ‘No,’ Reed assured her. ‘I don’t suppose so. There’ll be too many other things.’

  ‘I’m glad about that.’ She turned, wiping her hands on her apron before putting them round his neck. ‘I worry about you every time you go off to work.’

  He’d heard it from the others on the crew; every fireman’s wife was the same. Each shift was a gamble. All you could do was pray you’d go home again.

  ‘It’ll be fine. I promise.’

  ‘You know, you haven’t had a drink in a long time.’

  ‘Yes,’ was all he said. Sometimes it was a struggle. When he’d had a bad day. On his way home tonight he’d been tempted. One drink, it wouldn’t hurt. Instead he’d waited for the omnibus, letting the feeling slowly pass. He wasn’t about to sign the pledge, nothing as daft as that. No making promises he couldn’t keep. He’d try. That was all he could do.