Two Bronze Pennies

by Chris Nickson

  ‘If you don’t mind. I’ll just go up and get warm. It’s bitter out there.’

  By the time he heard her on the stairs he had tea mashing in the pot, and the fire in the parlour was burning bright. He took hold of her and gave her a long kiss. Arms tight around her waist, he lifted her and twirled her around until her face was flushed and she started to giggle.

  ‘What was that for?’ she asked when she regained her breath.

  ‘I’m just happy to see you.’

  She gave him a coy smile. ‘If that’s what I get, you can be happy to see me every day, Mr Harper.’ She twisted in his embrace. ‘Just be careful around the corset, these stays pinch like nobody’s business. I hope you’ve got a cuppa ready. I’m parched.’

  He poured for them both.

  ‘Did you go and see Mrs Le Prince with Muyrère?’

  ‘I certainly did.’ Annabelle’s eyes widened. ‘I don’t know what her father does, but he must have made a fortune. That Oakwood Grange is a mansion. When we pulled up in the cab I thought I ought to go to the back door. I could never afford a place like that.’

  ‘Would you want one?’

  ‘Well, no,’ she answered immediately. ‘I like it here. But even so.’

  ‘How was she?’

  ‘How do you think?’ She gave him a look. ‘Her husband’s missing, probably dead. How would anyone feel? You’re too much of a copper, Tom.’

  ‘Did she have much to say?’

  ‘She kept talking about some man in America called Edison. I’ve never heard of him.’

  The name meant nothing to Harper. ‘Who is he?’

  ‘Some sort of inventor, or something. He came up with those bulbs for electric lights and the phonograph. A few other things as well, I think.’

  He was impressed and surprised. ‘What about him? Does she think he’s involved?’

  ‘She says he wants to stop her husband taking out a patent on that moving picture camera.’ She paused for a second and he looked at her. ‘She claims he had her husband murdered. She really believes it.’

  ‘Did you talk to her at all?’

  ‘Not really. Just when the captain went out to smoke a cigar. She’s frantic. You can imagine. If you ask me, I’m not sure she really knows what she’s saying.’

  ‘Does she have any evidence about this Edison man?’

  ‘He asked her that. She doesn’t. She’s just sure, that’s all.’

  ‘There’s nothing anyone can do without evidence,’ he said.

  ‘That’s what Muyrère told her.’

  ‘What else did she have to say?’

  ‘That was it, really. Their son’s coming in a day or two. He’s grown, he’s been working in America. He might know something more.’

  ‘Maybe Muyrère will find something in New York. He’s off there the day after tomorrow.’

  ‘Really?’ Annabelle’s eyes widened. ‘He never mentioned that.’ She glanced at him suspiciously. ‘I hope you’re not getting any ideas.’

  ‘Don’t worry,’ he laughed. ‘The force wouldn’t pay.’

  ‘If they do, you’d better take me, Tom Harper,’ she warned. ‘Do you think he’ll find an answer?’

  ‘Honestly?’ he said. ‘No. He probably knows it, too.’

  ‘That must be hard.’

  He shrugged. ‘Every copper’s had it. Doesn’t mean we get used to it.’

  ‘I’ll tell you something, and you can pass it on to that chief constable of yours.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘You’d get a damned sight more out of people if you had women asking the questions. You men, you just don’t have a clue.’

  Reed stood hidden in a doorway on the Headrow, the cigarette cupped in his hand. Men moved past in the darkness, on their way home from work. He took his watch from the pocket of his waistcoat. A little after five. None of the others were in the Cork and Bottle yet; he’d checked through the windows before he took up his position.

  He needed Boyd on his own. He was the one most likely to talk.

  He waited, out of sight, as Godfrey and Lawton moved along the other side of the street, talking together as they entered the public house. Boyd should be along soon.

  He spotted the man far enough away to catch him on the street.

  ‘Bloody cold,’ Reed said, rubbing his hands together. His breath made a small cloud.

  ‘I’ve been walking for the last half hour.’

  ‘Where were you?’

  ‘Over in Armley. Had to see someone.’

  ‘Any good?’

  The man shook his head. ‘Nowt.’

  ‘I had some luck with the dice. You fancy something to warm us?’

  ‘What about the others?’ He nodded at the pub, just up the street.

  ‘I don’t have the money to treat everyone.’ He jingled the coins in his pocket. ‘Come on, I’ll buy you a brandy, then we can join them.’

  For a few seconds Boyd looked uncertain, then the thought of a drink sharpened his smile. ‘Go on,’ he agreed. ‘Just a quick one.’

  Reed had only been in the White Swan a few times. No one would remember him, especially without the beard. The place was hidden away on Swan Street, tucked between the music hall and Thornton’s Arcade. He scoured the room for familiar faces but eyes simply glided over him.

  The brandies were doubles. Enough to loosen the tongue a little, especially if a man hadn’t eaten all day. They touched their glasses in a toast and drank in a single gulp.

  ‘Better?’ Reed asked.

  ‘Aye, that hit the spot.’

  ‘I have enough for one more.’

  ‘I can’t stand my round,’ Boyd warned him.

  ‘Doesn’t matter.’ He came back with two more glasses. ‘All the others, they seem to be just talk.’

  ‘They’re good lads,’ Boyd protested.

  ‘You know what I mean,’ Reed said. ‘Those friends you were talking about, they sound like they know what they’re doing.’

  ‘They do,’ Boyd agreed. ‘You know what it’s like.’

  Reed snorted. ‘I see it every bloody day. Hard for a man to make an honest living.’

  ‘You ought to talk to Alfred.’

  ‘Alfred?’ He felt the hairs rise on his arms. ‘Who’s that?’

  ‘It’s what he calls himself.’

  ‘Why Alfred?’ Reed asked. ‘Who is he?’

  ‘It’s just what he likes to be called, that’s all.’

  ‘I see. Interesting fellow, is he?’

  Boyd nodded. ‘He knows his stuff. All facts and figures. Bit of a toff.’

  ‘Toff?’

  ‘You know, he has money an’ that. Educated, like, sounds posh.’

  ‘I’d like to meet him,’ the sergeant said.

  ‘Ah.’ The man tapped the side of his nose. ‘He doesn’t like too many getting close.’

  Reed shrugged. ‘Pity. I could probably get along with a man like that.’ His voice hardened. ‘I saw what the bloody natives did to my mates in Kabul.’

  Boyd glanced around, suddenly uncomfortable. ‘Keep it quiet,’ he hissed. ‘We don’t need everyone knowing.’ He hesitated, then said, ‘I tell you what, if you’re so eager for this, meet me at noon tomorrow. I’ll take you to him.’

  ‘All right,’ Reed said, trying to sound as if it meant nothing.

  Boyd shifted on his seat. ‘We’d better go and join the others. They’ll be wondering what happened.’

  ‘Where tomorrow?’

  ‘Victoria Square, in front of the Town Hall.’

  Reed nodded his agreement.

  In the end he only stayed an hour. His mind was racing. He made his excuses. But instead of walking along Woodhouse Lane, out to his lodgings, he ducked through the courts and yards, making sure no one was behind him, then down to Millgarth station.

  He made the note brief, just what Harper needed to know, and left it on the desk. Now he could go home and sleep. And wait for the morning.

  TEN

  ‘Tom! Someone’
s banging on the door.’ Annabelle lit a candle.

  He blinked himself awake.

  ‘What?’

  ‘There’s someone at the door.’

  He sat up and listened. Oh God, he thought. No sound in his right ear at all. Again. Just emptiness.

  ‘What is it?’ She saw his face. ‘Tom?’

  ‘Nothing.’ He shook his head. ‘I’ll go down.’

  The floor was freezing under his bare feet. He banged his palm against the ear, hoping it might shift something and bring his hearing back. Harper drew back the bolts and pulled the door open.

  ‘What?’

  It was the same young constable who’d come on Christmas Eve, when they’d found Abraham Levy’s body. The name fell into his mind: Stone. He cocked his head, left side facing the man.

  ‘There’s a fire, sir. At the synagogue on Belgrave Street.’

  Harper glanced at the horizon. There was no sign of flames or smoke in the clear darkness.

  ‘How bad?’

  ‘They managed to put it out before there was any real damage, sir. Constable Maitland said you should know.’

  The poor lad looked nervous, scared to be waking an officer in the middle of the night.

  ‘What time is it?’ the inspector asked.

  ‘A bit after two, sir.’

  ‘You go back to what you were doing. I’ll be there as soon as I can.’

  In the bedroom he groped for his clothes.

  ‘What is it?’ Annabelle asked.

  ‘A fire at the synagogue.’

  ‘I mean you, Tom. Something’s wrong, isn’t it?’

  ‘I can’t hear anything in my right ear.’

  ‘What?’ She sat up quickly. ‘Nothing at all?’

  ‘No.’ He pulled on his shirt and trousers, and knotted his tie.

  ‘It’ll pass,’ she assured him. ‘You probably just slept on it.’

  ‘It’s not the first time.’

  ‘Tom?’ She paused for a heartbeat. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I have to go. I’ll tell you later.’

  He gave her a quick kiss, grabbed his overcoat and headed out into the night.

  Harper crossed North Street, feeling the cold and ice through the soles of his boots. On Belgrave Street the fire engine was still there; the Fire Inspector stood under the street lamp, talking to Constable Maitland.

  ‘Evening, Tom,’ Inspector Richard Hill called when he spotted him. ‘Sorry to drag you out, but this lad thought you’d want to know.’

  ‘Hello, Dick.’ The pair of them had joined the force at the same time. They’d both walked beats before Hill moved over to the fire brigade. It was still part of the police force, with the same ranks, but different jobs. ‘Quick thinking, Constable,’ he told Maitland. ‘What happened?’

  ‘I’m back on nights, sir. I was at the top of Trafalgar Street, sir. I saw something over here and came to investigate.’

  ‘What did you see?’

  ‘I thought someone had lit some rubbish to stay warm. A lot of them have been doing it in this weather, sir.’

  ‘Go on,’ Harper told him. He shifted to hear the man’s voice properly.

  ‘There wasn’t anyone here, so I blew my whistle, sir, and called the brigade.’

  ‘We were lucky,’ Hill picked up the story. ‘Got here before it could took hold. And whoever set this didn’t really have a clue. If he had we’d still have the hoses running.’ He raised an arm. ‘Come with me.’

  Hill walked over to the main door of the synagogue and knelt by a pile of soaked wood and paper. ‘Smell that?’ he asked. Harper nodded. Under everything was the faint odour of paraffin. ‘If they’d used more of it, everything would have gone up. Be bloody grateful.’

  The door was heavily charred, the wood still smouldering in places. It would need to be replaced. But Hill had been right, it could have been so much worse. Another few minutes, a little more paraffin …

  ‘What do you think?’ Harper asked.

  ‘It’s arson. There’s no doubt about that. I’ll take a closer look once it’s light. There might be some clues.’

  ‘Where’s the rabbi?’ the inspector asked Maitland. ‘He should have been here by now.’

  ‘Manchester, sir. Some sort of conference. He’s back in the morning.’

  ‘What about the caretaker?’

  ‘In the infirmary, sir. Slipped on Boxing Day and broke his hip.’

  ‘Right.’ Harper was concentrating hard to hear them both. His right ear was still completely deaf. He tried to ignore it, to think about what was happening. ‘You can go back to the beat, Constable.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’ Maitland saluted smartly and walked away.

  ‘You have problems around here, Tom? I read about the murder in the newspaper.’

  ‘Looks like it.’ They began to walk back along Belgrave Street. Harper kept Hill to his left.

  ‘You haven’t found the killer?’

  ‘Not yet.’ Harper nodded back at the synagogue. ‘What do you think about the fire?’ Hill was experienced. He had a keen eye and a sharp mind.

  ‘You really want to know? Thank God they were idiots. If they’d had a brain between them there’d have been plenty of damage. Burning a place like that?’ He shook his head. ‘Someone wants to start something.’

  ‘We’ve put more bobbies on patrol, but they’re all over there.’ He nodded towards the houses packed together on the far side of North Street.

  ‘I’m sending someone up to stand guard here.’ Hill shivered. ‘Poor sod, don’t envy him when the weather’s like this. You ever miss walking the beat, Tom?’

  ‘Not really.’ He’d enjoyed it at the time. He’d learned about people, about crime. About life. But this job, being a police detective, was the one he’d always wanted.

  ‘I heard you got yourself wed, too.’

  ‘Back in July.’

  ‘Under her thumb yet?’ Hill laughed. ‘She runs a pub, is that right?’

  ‘Down in Sheepscar. The Victoria.’

  ‘It’s all right for some, eh? I’ll have to pop down sometime and see how you’ve done for yourself.’

  Harper grinned. Hill had been married for ten years now, with four children, and was still desperately in love with his wife.

  ‘You do that, Dick. I’ll buy you a pint.’

  After more than an hour out in the weather, Millgarth station felt deliciously warm. Harper pushed a poker into the fire, seeing the flames jump, and held out his hands to the heat. He stood long enough to soak it in before taking off his coat and walking over to the desk.

  The note from Billy Reed sat on his blotter. He read it through three times. Alfred? Who the hell was Alfred? A real name or one the man had taken? Come noon he’d follow the sergeant. He needed to know.

  Harper pulled out his pocket watch and wound it without thinking. Not even four yet. For a moment he considered going home, but it wasn’t worth it; by the time he arrived, Annabelle would be up to supervise the bakers. She’d be full of questions about his ear and he’d only have an hour before he’d need to get himself ready to come back here. He could sleep in his chair; he’d done it often enough before. The questions would wait until evening.

  He rubbed his ear gently. Still nothing. The last two times the hearing had come back after a few minutes. It had been a couple of hours now. What if it had gone forever? He knew they had deaf men on the force. There was old Andrew Watson; he’d walked the beat in Burley for forty years and heard no more than a post for most of that time. But never a detective. The force wouldn’t want that.

  Harper closed his eyes and prayed that when he opened them again he’d be able to hear.

  He sat up with a start as the door slammed. Superintendent Kendall stood by the desk.

  ‘Sleeping on the job?’

  Harper glanced at the clock on the wall. Five minutes to seven. He’d finally dropped off close to five. His mouth was dry. He yawned and brushed a hand over his hair, trying to look presentable. Very carefull
y, he turned his head. There was still no sound in his right ear. He swallowed.

  ‘I …’

  ‘Don’t worry. The desk sergeant told me.’ The smile faded from his face. ‘How bad was it?’

  ‘Just some damage to the door. They caught it early.’ He focused on Kendall’s mouth, tilting his head to be certain to hear every word. ‘Dick Hill says the people who did it were complete amateurs. He’s going back this morning to see what he can find.’

  ‘I’m going to put more men out there at night.’ The superintendent pursed his mouth. ‘It’s too volatile. I need this tied up quickly, Tom.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘I hope Reed’s found something.’

  ‘He might have.’ The inspector pushed the note across the desk.

  ‘Alfred?’ Kendall asked, raising his eyes.

  The inspector shrugged. ‘I’m going to follow him.’

  ‘Just make sure you spend some time in the Leylands first. They’re going to be angry. I need them to see you there.’

  ‘I will, sir.’

  ‘Are you all right?’ Kendall gave him a quizzical look.

  ‘Sir?’ He could feel the chill creep up his back.

  ‘You have your head tilted. Crick in your neck?’

  ‘Oh.’ He moved. ‘Must be.’

  ‘Make sure you look after yourself.’

  Before the Leylands, though, Harper walked over to the Old Hall Hotel. It was a chance to say farewell to Muyrère. He liked the man; the Frenchman was a solid copper on a thankless task. He was sitting at the breakfast table, an empty plate in front of him. The inspector poured himself a cup of tea.

  ‘I hear Mrs Le Prince was talking about someone called Edison,’ he said.

  ‘Which may be something or another wild idea.’ The capitaine shrugged. ‘More questions to ask in America.’

  ‘Much to do today?’

  ‘Not really – a few more questions at the foundry, that’s all. Then tomorrow morning it’s the train for Liverpool and the ship to America.’ He brought a cigar from his pocket and lit it. ‘I’ve had enough. All I want is to be at home again.’

  ‘How long’s the voyage?’

  ‘Too long,’ he said with a wistful smile. ‘Then there’s New York, and the journey back to France. You know, Tom, I always felt so proud that I’d learned English well. Now it’s beginning to seem like a curse. You’re lucky, you see your wife every night.’