Gods of Gold

by Chris Nickson

  He scribbled his news on a note and left it on Reed’s desk. He knew he should leave word for the super, but when he opened up the pocket watch he saw that any moment now they’d be starting the march out to the gasworks. Kendall and all the other police were going to have their hands full for the rest of the night. By morning he might have time to listen. A few hours would make no difference, anyway. And what he had to say was going to make the chief constable and the council very uncomfortable.

  He couldn’t make head nor tail of it. He felt stunned, as if someone had let off a bomb in front of him. The boxer and his friend kill a blackleg after murdering Henry Bell and Col Parkinson. They threaten people for a moneylender. And they snatch little Martha.

  Had he become dim-witted? Was his mind addled? None of the pieces fitted together.

  He sat at his desk, tossing his pen on to the blotter, smoking three cigarettes as he tried every which way to match things up. But however he looked at it, he couldn’t find any pattern or logic. There was nothing to hold on to. He rubbed his eyes; they were gritty and bulging under his hand. Everything was a jumble in his head, like a skein of yarn that he couldn’t untangle. He needed rest if he was going to try and make sense of it all; all he’d managed was an hour or two on a waiting room bench the night before. Finally he gave up in frustration, crammed the hat on his head and left.

  He paid his fare, soothed by the rolling of the tram wheels on the tracks and the clop of the horses drawing the vehicle. The next thing he knew, the conductor was shaking his shoulder and grinning.

  ‘You wanted Sheepscar, lad.’

  He stood as the vehicle rattled away up Chapeltown Road, trying to rub the weariness from his face and the dust of the day off his suit.

  There were only two customers in the public bar of the Victoria, old men crouched over a table in the corner playing dominoes. Daniel the barman finished filling a jug of beer for a young lad to take home to his father, and jerked his thumb towards the ceiling.

  ‘She’s upstairs, Tom. She’ll be glad to see you. Just go through.’

  Harper looked around in surprise. ‘Where is everyone? It’s usually packed in here by now.’

  ‘No money,’ Daniel said with a sad laugh. ‘Besides, all those with any sense are staying at home this evening. The others are already down at the Town Hall, spoiling for a fight. Count yourself lucky you’re not there.’

  ‘I am, believe me,’ he answered, meaning every word.

  Annabelle was at her desk, head bent, absorbed in an account book. He paused in the doorway to watch her. He loved the shape of her neck, her hair gathered up, the movement of her wrist as she wrote. He coughed and she turned suddenly, eyes wide in surprise.

  ‘Tom!’ She smiled and came to hold him, her arms tight around his back. ‘Oh, thank God. I was worried you’d have to be out there tonight.’ She pulled away for a moment, scared, staring at his eyes. ‘You don’t have to go back, do you?’

  Harper shook his head. ‘Not until tomorrow.’

  By eight they’d settled on the sofa, his head back against the thick cushions. He’d told her about the day, arm around her shoulders as she curled into him.

  ‘What are you going to do?’ she asked.

  ‘Find them. That’s my job.’ He closed his eyes, trying to let work vanish over the horizon for a few hours. Tomorrow he could look at it all with fresh, rested eyes.

  Two more weeks and he’d be living here, he thought. Every evening could be like this. He’d have the closeness of a wife, the small, intimate things that built a life together.

  ‘This wedding …’ he began.

  ‘Ours, you mean?’ Annabelle asked wryly. ‘That wedding?’ She tapped him playfully.

  ‘Who’ll be coming from your family?’ Her parents were both dead, she’d told him that.

  ‘Why, scared of who you’ll meet?’ she teased.

  ‘I just wondered. You never mention them, that’s all.’

  ‘I don’t really see them.’ She shifted in a rustle of silk, her face serious. ‘I’ve only one brother and a sister still alive. All the others are gone.’

  ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘It happens.’ She shrugged and he knew she was right. Among the poor, too many still died young. You accepted it as part of the cost of life. He’d lost a brother to diphtheria before the lad even had time to grow. ‘Gerald lives in Hunslet,’ she continued. ‘I probably haven’t talked to him in six years.’

  ‘Why not?’ He might not always like his sisters but he couldn’t imagine not speaking to them.

  ‘He’s the type who thinks a woman should stay at home and look after the babies,’ she answered with bitter resignation. ‘He doesn’t approve of a female showing any sign of thinking or independence. He made sure I knew that the last time we met.’

  ‘What did you do?’

  She grinned. ‘Threw him out on his ear.’

  ‘What about your sister?’

  ‘Eliza? She’s still on the Bank, two streets from where we grew up.’ Annabelle snorted and her mouth twisted into an odd shape. ‘Married to a sad, feckless bugger who couldn’t find a job if it came looking for him. She’ll come. So will he if there’s free drink.’ She paused. ‘What about your sisters?’

  ‘You’ve met them. They’ll be here. They think I’m lucky to have you.’

  ‘Clever women, those two,’ she smiled. ‘Are they going to tell me all the things you did when you were a boy?’

  ‘God, I hope not.’ He grimaced at the idea, then yawned widely.

  ‘Do you want to sleep in the spare bed again? I can send one of the men to your lodgings for your clothes.’

  Harper thought for a moment, then nodded. He was comfortable. Walking home would wake him up, make his mind work until the small hours when he really needed sleep.

  She hugged him, then hurried downstairs.

  She was back in a trice. ‘I sent Dan. It’ll give him something to do, there’s hardly anyone in the bars. I told him to bring you a suit and a shirt.’

  He laughed, astonished at the way she could organize anything in a moment.

  ‘What?’ she asked.

  ‘Nothing. I love you, that’s all.’

  ‘Well, since we’ll be married soon enough, I’m glad to hear it.’ She arched an eyebrow. ‘You’re not so bad yourself.’

  He yawned once more and she said, ‘Come on, off to bed with you.’

  ‘Sorry,’ he told her, ‘it’s been a long two days. And I need to be up early.’

  ‘I’ll make sure you are, don’t worry about that.’ She kissed him tenderly, eyes twinkling. ‘Just to give you summat to keep thinking about.’

  She was there in the morning, waking him with a cup of tea, already dressed, her eyes bright and playful.

  ‘You’d best not expect to get used to this, Tom Harper,’ Annabelle warned.

  ‘What time is it?’ He could sense the pale early light beyond the curtains.

  ‘Half past four. Charlotte’s poorly today so I’ve been helping with the baking.’

  ‘How long have you been up?’

  ‘An hour or so. Those loaves don’t make themselves.’

  His eyes had adjusted to the gloom and he could make out her apron and old dress, sleeves pushed up, and the cap that covered her hair.

  ‘You look like a scullery maid.’ He grinned.

  ‘And there’s nowt wrong with that,’ she told him archly. ‘It’s not that long since I was one meself. Anyway, up you get. Your clothes are hanging on the back of the door. I’ll have Kitty clean what you were wearing yesterday.’ She sighed and shook her head. ‘How do men always manage to get everything so dirty?’

  An hour later he walked into Millgarth, before the early trams were running. As he left the Victoria she’d put a heavy slab of bread and dripping into his hand and given him a quick kiss.

  ‘You just watch out for yourself,’ she told him.

  The station was quiet, the night sergeant still on duty at the desk.
/>   ‘How bad was it?’ Harper asked.

  The man shook his head. ‘Terrible, sir. Ten constables in the infirmary, another twenty walking wounded, two sergeants down. We were lucky. It could have been a lot worse.’

  ‘Sounds as if it was bad enough. The railway bridge?’

  ‘Aye, and from there all the way to the works. It was like a bloodbath. Cavalry had to charge the strikers.’

  ‘No one died?’

  ‘No.’ He glanced up towards heaven. ‘Miracle, in’t it? We got the replacements in, anyway. How long they’ll stay is anyone’s guess.’ The sergeant gave a shrug.

  The office was empty, but Reed had left a note on his desk: What do we do now?

  What could they do now? It was a good question. He needed to find the boxer and the other man, and he needed to do it quickly. That pair had the answers, they were the ones who connected Col Parkinson and his daughter to a dead blackleg. There was just one thing missing. He strode back out to the desk.

  ‘Has anyone been reported missing in the last day or so?’ he asked.

  ‘Not that I know of, sir. Why?’

  ‘It doesn’t matter.’

  That was odd. By now he’d expected Henry Bell’s wife to be desperate at his disappearance. Another mystery to add to all the others.

  He knew his first duty – he had to tell Kendall what he’d learned. Another hour and there’d be frantic conversations going on in offices as the chief and the aldermen wondered what to do. Part of him relished setting that cat among the pigeons. His copper’s heart wanted to catch the boxer and his friend, to discover what had happened, and to bring Martha home.

  The streets were still quiet, the pale clouds high over Leeds as he marched along the Headrow. A sunless day, another day with no gas and no work for thousands. The crowds were smaller in front of the Town Hall, no more than a thousand of them now, dropped papers and trampled placards filling the spaces between men. For a moment he thought he saw Tosh Walker’s face among them and stopped, wondering why a criminal like him was here. Then he blinked and the man had vanished. Stupid, he thought, and moved on. Four constables guarded the rear entrance, saluting smartly as he entered.

  After the crowds of uniforms and blacklegs that had filled the building the day before it all seemed curiously quiet, the halls and rooms empty, the floors swept clean, as if it everything in here had been some kind of dream. He stood, gazing around, finally roused by the echo of footsteps on the marble stairs. It was Chief Constable Webb.

  He looked tired. He looked old. Harper felt sorry for the man. Webb had only been in the post since March, not even long enough to know Leeds and understand the way things worked here. And now he had to deal with this.

  ‘Detective Inspector,’ he said, his voice as grave and ringing as a Baptist preacher.

  ‘Sir.’ He stiffened to attention as the man approached, keeping his good ear towards the chief. Webb’s uniform was creased and crumpled, stains and dirt blotching the good worsted. The lines were deep on his face, the eyes dark and full of pain.

  ‘I trust you have some good news for us.’ The voice boomed around the walls and up to the ceiling.

  ‘Some, sir.’ It was the diplomatic answer, at least for now.

  Webb nodded wearily. ‘Thank God for that. We need something after last night.’

  ‘We have a good idea who murdered the replacement, sir.’

  ‘That’s progress, Inspector.’ Webb favoured him with a nod. ‘Now I expect you to find him.’ It was a command, not a wish.

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘Superintendent Kendall’s in the clerk of court’s office upstairs. Report to him.’ As Harper turned away, Webb said. ‘Inspector?’

  ‘Yes, sir?’

  ‘Is there something wrong with your hearing?’

  ‘No, sir.’ Harper stared at him, surprise and horror on his face. ‘Why?’

  ‘The way you had your head tilted, that’s all.’ He looked for a moment longer, then shrugged. ‘Maybe it’s my imagination. Off you go.’

  By the time he reached the clerk of court’s office his hands had almost stopped shaking. It was too close. If the chief constable had discovered his hearing problem that would be the end of his police career. He swallowed hard, knowing he needed to be more careful. Harper breathed deeply a few times then turned the doorknob. The super was staring out of the window and drinking from a mug of tea. When he sat, he looked shocked, as if he’d seen too much in the last day.

  ‘Well, Tom?’ Kendall asked.

  Harper laid it all out, everything except Bell’s body; that was a secret he intended to leave unspoken. When he’d finished, the superintendent stayed silent for a long time, slowly rubbing at the bristles on his jaw.

  ‘So it wasn’t one of the strikers at all?’

  ‘It doesn’t seem like it. But it was meant to look that way.’

  ‘To pass the blame?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Who are these men? Who are they working for?’ the superintendent asked. ‘And why didn’t we know about them before?’

  ‘I don’t know. I really don’t. They’re not local, that’s for certain. We’d have come across them before, otherwise. And all the other things they’ve done in the last few days …’ He let the sentence tail away to nothing. He didn’t know how to finish it.

  ‘I don’t understand how they ended up on the Town Hall steps,’ Kendall said slowly. ‘That was meant to be council employees only.’

  ‘None of it makes sense, sir. Collecting debts is one thing. Killing someone and taking his daughter is another. But then stabbing a blackleg.’ He saw Kendall wince at the word. ‘A replacement worker. I don’t understand it.’

  ‘The aldermen hoped the strikers were responsible, you know.’

  ‘I’m sure they did, sir.’ He kept his voice even, looking directly at the other man.

  ‘You need to find this pair, and sharpish.’ He calculated the reserves of men. ‘I can spare you three constables.’

  ‘Thank you, sir. I heard about last night.’

  ‘It was the worst I’ve ever seen in this job, Tom,’ the superintendent said slowly, raising sad eyes. ‘It was war, plain and simple. Us against them. Do you know when I realized how bad it was? When I had to watch the cavalry charging Englishmen. Our own people. I’m just glad no one died.’ He gave a small, shamed chuckle. ‘It’s a terrible day when people think that seems like a victory. More of the replacements have already gone from Meadow Lane. Only a handful are left there now. The strikers climbed up on the walls and persuaded them to leave. But the council won’t pay their fares home.’

  Harper imagined them, in fours or fives, friends or family together, cousins, brothers, neighbours, walking down the roads away from Leeds. What would Harry Gordon have ended up doing if he’d stayed alive?

  ‘And all for a few bloody pennies and pride,’ the inspector said quietly.

  ‘Tom,’ Kendall warned quietly, then relented. ‘I don’t know, maybe you’re right after all,’ he conceded with a sigh. ‘It’s a bloody mess. I need you to find these men.’

  ‘I’ve passed the word. If they come into any of those courts off Briggate I’ll hear about it.’

  ‘What about elsewhere?’

  ‘I’ll do my best, sir,’ was all he could offer.

  ‘I want them today. So will the chief constable.’

  ‘So do I, sir.’ Everywhere he turned, the two men were there. They were like shadows he could never quite grasp, always just beyond his reach. ‘I want to know what they’ve done with Martha Parkinson. With respect, sir, we’ve been forgetting her.’

  The superintendent’s smile was shrewd. ‘I know,’ he admitted. ‘But you haven’t, I’m sure of that.’ Harper bowed his head for a moment. ‘I’ve known you too long, Tom. When you find this pair, just be careful. The fighter sounds dangerous.’

  ‘The fighter’s just muscle. It’s the other one who worries me.’ He paused. ‘And whoever’s paying them.’

  �
��Never underestimate a big man,’ Kendall warned him. ‘You’d better make a start. Keep me informed. If you catch them I want to know immediately, understood?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  When Harper left the room he could still feel the fear inside him. He’d come close to being discovered by the chief constable. He’d been careless, complacent. From now on he needed to be very aware and very careful. He lit a Woodbine, eagerly drawing down the smoke before exhaling in a long stream.

  Reed was waiting just inside the front doors, slouching against the wall. He looked refreshed, shaved, his eyes clear and alert.

  ‘Find them today,’ the inspector told him. ‘Those are our orders.’

  The sergeant gave a grim chuckle. ‘Did he say where and what time we had to do it?’

  ‘I think he might grant us a few hours’ leeway there, Billy.’

  ‘No one’s reported Henry Bell missing yet,’ Reed said as they walked along the Headrow.

  ‘I know.’ It was wrong. Someone, his wife, his lawyer, should have missed him long before now. A full day had passed since they’d discovered the body.

  ‘We could pay a visit and find him.’

  ‘No,’ Harper decided. Looking for the boxer and the other man was more important. ‘Let’s go through the yards first. If there’s nothing, then we’ll go.’

  But no one had seen the fighter or his friend. Ginny Dempsey had no word.

  ‘Bell?’ Reed asked and Harper nodded.

  Inside the office, flies buzzed loudly and the air was heavy with the stink of decay. The sergeant held a handkerchief to his face as he pulled open the cupboard door and Bell’s corpse tumbled out.

  ‘Go out and whistle for some uniforms.’ Harper glanced down at the body. ‘We’re going to need him out of here.’

  Alone, he riffled through the papers again, checking he’d missed nothing the day before. But either the killer had taken everything valuable or Bell had kept his ledgers elsewhere.

  He’d need to go out and talk to Bell’s wife. Why hadn’t she reported him missing? And what about Desmond, the lawyer? He should have been here first thing yesterday, seeing to his client after his time with police. It was all out of kilter, nothing added up.