Gods of Gold

by Chris Nickson

Reed brought the kit from his jacket and selected a pick, sliding it into the lock and holding it in place, then another, turning it around carefully, feeling it. He nodded. Harper turned the knob and the door swung open. It had taken less than half a minute.

  They were standing in a broad hall, black and white tiles under their feet. To one side, a staircase rose to the upper floor. There were people here. He picked out the scent of cooked food.

  ‘You look down here,’ Harper ordered quietly. ‘I’ll go up there.’

  Two of the treads creaked heavily under his boots. The landing was plain, dark boards, no rugs, no tables, no paintings on the walls. Nothing to give a sense of home. He tried the first handle, letting the door swing back to show a room that held a stripped double bed and a wardrobe.

  The second bedroom had been slept in, the sheets rumpled, a bolster still showing the imprint of a head, the window raised to let in air.

  There was a key in the lock of the third room. He turned it and pushed the door back, holding his breath.

  They were there, three of them huddled together on the bed in their nightdresses. The shutters had been padlocked; there was just enough light to make out their faces, full of fear in their silence.

  ‘Hello, Martha,’ he said gently. ‘Do you remember me? I was Constable Harper. It’s going to be all right now. I’ve come to take you all away from here.’

  The girls didn’t move, they just clung closer together. He held out his hand, hoping one of them would take it. If they didn’t he wasn’t sure what he’d do; he couldn’t drag them away. He looked around for clothes they could wear but spotted nothing.

  There were sounds from downstairs, angry voices, but he ignored them. Instead he squatted down by the bed.

  ‘I’m from the police,’ he explained slowly. ‘It’s over now. Whatever happened, it’s all over.’ He looked from one face to the next and the next, seeing disbelief, terror and tears that trickled silently down their cheeks. Who could blame them? He didn’t know what had happened here, but he could take a good guess. Whatever innocence they might have had was long gone, ripped away from them. He’d said it was all over, but it never would be for these lasses. They’d never be free of all this.

  Finally he heard boots in the hall and the three small heads turned towards the shape in the doorway.

  ‘Hello Martha, luv,’ Ash said. ‘I think we’ll get you lot out of here now.’

  And for the first time, the girl smiled.

  They were holding a man and a woman in the kitchen, both standing, handcuffed. Reed was red-faced, barely containing his fury. But no one was battered or bleeding; he’d managed to keep himself in check.

  ‘Who are they?’ Harper asked.

  ‘Robert and Barbara Sadler,’ the sergeant answered. ‘Did you find the girls?’

  ‘They were upstairs. Door locked, shutters locked. Ash is looking after them. Search the rest of the house.’ He waited until the door closed then turned to the pair. Robert Sadler looked afraid. He looked close to forty, mousy hair thinning, a skinny, pigeon-chested man in an ill-fitting brown suit, worn at the elbows and fraying at the cuffs, the short collar grubby and loose around the neck. He had the thin face of someone who’d never had enough to eat, and his eyes were wary.

  His wife seemed little better, frizzy brown hair breaking out of a bun. Her skirt and white blouse were full of old creases, and all the colour had vanished from her round cheeks and lips.

  ‘How long have you been here?’

  She was the one to answer, not glancing at him. ‘Six months. We’re here to look after the girls.’

  ‘And have them ready when men visit?’ Harper said.

  ‘It’s not like that,’ Robert Sadler began.

  ‘No?’ the inspector asked sharply. ‘What is it like, then?’

  But neither one answered. Six months, he thought. That meant there must have been other girls here. He rubbed his chin and asked, ‘Who pays you? Who hired you on?’

  ‘A man,’ Sadler said. ‘He comes out here every week.’

  ‘What’s his name?’

  ‘He doesn’t say.’

  The inspector looked at Barbara Sadler. ‘Who hired you?’

  ‘Him as pays us,’ she told him with a shrug.

  ‘What does the name Tosh Walker mean to you?’

  ‘Nowt,’ Sadler replied, but he spoke too quickly, fast enough for Harper to recognize a lie. It didn’t matter; they’d sweat it out of them at the station. One of the constables arrived to report.

  ‘No one else in the house, sir.’ He gazed in disgust at the Sadlers.

  ‘Right,’ Harper ordered. ‘I want two of you to take this pair to Millgarth. And I want them to arrive in one piece,’ he said pointedly. ‘Not too many bruises, you understand?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘The rest to search the house fully.’ He paused, staring at Robert Sadler. ‘Then start digging in the garden. Anywhere the earth looks disturbed.’ He saw Sadler’s mouth tighten.

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  The uniform marched the couple off and Harper strode away. He found Reed in a room that had been made over into an office, nothing more than a desk and two chairs sitting on the bare boards. This wasn’t a home, he thought, it was a shell, a place to use, to make money.

  The sergeant held up a book. ‘Names and dates,’ he said, his voice dark. ‘And some of the names are important ones.’

  ‘Anything to connect it to Tosh?’

  ‘Not yet. There are beds in some of the rooms, and a sitting room for the Sadlers. That’s about all I could find.’

  ‘He’s involved. We’ll find it. Come on, Billy,’ he said.

  ‘Where? There’s still plenty to do here.’

  ‘We’re going to arrest Tosh Walker. Let the constables take care of everything else. We’ll put it all together later.’

  First, though, they reported back to Millgarth station. Kendall listened in silence, anger growing on his face.

  ‘How are the girls?’ he asked when Harper had finished.

  ‘Ash is looking after them. Martha knows him. I told him to take them to the Infirmary. Past that …’ His words faded away. He didn’t know the answer. Probably no one did.

  ‘There are two girls missing from the workhouse and one from the orphanage. And Martha Parkinson,’ Reed said. ‘We only found three girls there.’

  ‘You think there’ll be bodies?’ Kendall asked worriedly.

  ‘I told the men to dig up the grounds, any likely places.’

  It was enough to convince the superintendent. ‘Take three constables,’ he ordered. ‘You said there’s already a man on Walker.’

  ‘Detective Constable Martin.’

  The superintendent nodded. ‘I want Walker here whole and unharmed,’ he warned. ‘Nothing for his lawyer to claim.’ He stared at Reed. ‘You understand?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’ The sergeant coloured.

  ‘Walker will be at his office,’ Harper said. ‘Billy and I can take him. I need some people at his house, too. There’ll be records there, and maybe other people.’ He thought about the boxer’s friend.

  ‘I’ll take care of that myself,’ Kendall told him. It was rare for the superintendent to lead a raid. Running the station kept him at his desk. But Harper knew well enough that the man missed real policing.

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘Go and get him, Tom. Just make sure it all sticks this time.’

  ‘I will.’ He grinned.

  Detective Constable Martin looked like a copper. The large feet in their shiny black boots, the way he stood, trying to stay out of sight and inconspicuous, everything about him yelled police, Harper thought. He was a good enough detective, but he stood out on Park Row, where most of the men who passed looked sleek and groomed. It was a street of money, of banks, insurance offices and other, shadier businesses.

  Walker had an office a few yards from the big new Post Office, an expensive address. But he could afford it. He’d have spotted Martin – he’d
have been blind not to – and he’d be expecting a visit. They’d find nothing incriminating there – he’d already warned his accountant to run. But he wouldn’t know they’d learned about the house on Wetherby Road and been out there.

  ‘Who’s in there with him?’ Harper asked.

  ‘Just a clerk as far as I can see.’ A folded copy of the Post stuck out of Martin’s pocket. ‘You want me to go in with you, sir?’

  ‘Stay here until we come out with him. If you see anyone running, stop them.’

  It was a small office, just two rooms. One for the clerk who looked up, startled, as Harper and Reed entered, the other for Walker. But little business was done here. Tosh ran his empire from hotel bars and pubs. He liked to be seen, to remind people who he was and what he could do.

  ‘I was wondering when you’d call, Inspector.’ He nodded at the window. ‘You’ve had your dog around me for a few days.’

  ‘We’re going down to Millgarth,’ Harper said.

  Walker smirked. He was a large, intimidating man, wearing a suit so perfectly cut it must have cost more than the inspector made in a month. His hair glistened with pomade, his moustache was carefully trimmed into a thin, razored line above his lip. A faded scar, the memory of an old knife cut, ran down the centre of his forehead to the bridge of his nose. But his eyes were dark and dead. There was nothing behind them.

  ‘My lawyer will have me out in an hour.’

  ‘We’ll see. Stand up.’ He nodded at Reed who produced a pair of handcuffs and snapped them on Walker’s thick wrists. As they left, the man said to the clerk, ‘Have Curtis come to the station.’

  People stopped to stare as they passed. Harper led them up Park Row and through the shoppers on Commercial Street. Walker said nothing, walking with his head held high, as if this was nothing more than a morning stroll.

  Tollman booked him in and came forward to escort him to a cell. Before he left, Harper leaned close to Walker’s ear and whispered, ‘Wetherby Road.’

  It would give the man something to think about until they were ready to interview him.

  TWENTY-THREE

  An hour. Harper kept pulling out his watch, seeing the second hand drag by and the minutes pass slowly. Someone brought him a cup of tea. He took a single sip then left it sitting on his desk to grow cold.

  A packet of Woodbines sat in front of him. He lit one, blowing out smoke but barely tasting it, willing time to pass. Reed had taken one of the detective constables to question the Sadlers down in the cells. That was fine; he’d come back with answers. Harper needed silence. He needed to think.

  Finally he was ready. He glanced at the dial one last time. An hour, right to the minute. He stood, pulled down his jacket, straightened his tie and ran a hand over his hair. At the door he gave a nod to Tollman as he passed.

  There was a small deal table in the interview room, the wood scarred with dozens of names and dates and obscenities. Harper sat on one of the hard chairs, the one in shadow. Sunlight streamed in, and the window was closed and barred, leaving the room airless and stuffy.

  Walker came readily, standing tall, still wearing the handcuffs. He smiled breezily as the constable escorted him to the empty, battered chair. It had one leg slightly shorter than the others, just enough to move awkwardly when someone shifted his weight. The sun through the window hit him full on the face.

  ‘Wetherby Road,’ Harper began.

  ‘You said that earlier. What about it?’ There was a gruff, hoarse quality to his voice.

  ‘We were out there earlier. Found three girls in the place and a couple by the name of Sadler.’

  Walker shrugged. The chair tilted and he slid a little, moving his feet to steady himself. ‘So?’

  ‘It belongs to a Mr Albert Walker.’

  ‘Never heard of him.’

  ‘Really?’ The inspector gazed at him with interest. ‘You’re sure of that, Tosh?’

  ‘Positive.’ Walker’s mouth was a firm, straight line.

  ‘That’s funny. According to the people who worked on that house last year, he’s supposed to be your brother.’

  ‘I don’t have a brother.’

  ‘I know that.’ He let the sentence hang in the air for a fraction of a sentence. ‘So who were the hard men you had there working for? The ones who beat the labourers up when they asked for what they’d been promised.’

  ‘You done?’ Walker began to rise. Harper reached across, put a hand on the man’s shoulder and forced him back down. The chair teetered; Walker had to steady it again. ‘I’m saying no more until my lawyer’s here.’

  Harper nodded at the constable. He opened the door and Laurence Curtis bustled in. He was a round, tidy man, in his sixties if he was a day. His white beard was neatly trimmed, eyes sharp and quizzical behind a pair of spectacles. He looked every inch the lawyer, from the worn leather of his bag to the black frock coat and neat tie under the wing collar.

  ‘Fetch a chair for Mr Curtis,’ Harper said and the constable dashed off to obey.

  ‘What grounds do you have for dragging my client here through the streets, Inspector?’ He sounded reasonable enough, almost friendly, with just the smallest hint of menace underneath the rich, educated tones.

  Harper took his time replying, waiting until Curtis was seated, the tails of his jacket parted gracefully behind him. He let the silence build. Then:

  ‘Child prostitution. Possibly rape. A murder or two, perhaps.’

  He saw the colour flush through the lawyer’s face. ‘This isn’t a time to be making jokes, Mr Harper.’

  ‘The three little girls we rescued from a house this morning didn’t find it funny either.’

  ‘I want time with my client,’ Curtis said.

  ‘I’ll give you a quarter of an hour.’ He took out the watch. ‘You have until half past.’

  Harper and Reed sat in Kendall’s office, waiting for him to start. He moved a pipe between his hands then set it down on his desk, next to his tobacco pouch.

  ‘Just his wife and servants out at the house,’ the superintendent said. ‘You know what she’s like, she’s harder than Tosh. Nothing incriminating that I could find. I left a couple of uniforms to bring it all in.’ He paused, picked up the empty pipe and sucked on it. ‘Someone else had been there, though. An extra cup, tea still warm. And another bed that had been slept in. Whoever it was must have left just before we went in.’

  ‘The boxer’s friend,’ said Harper. ‘I’d put money on it.’

  ‘Probably.’ His voice was flat and dark. ‘But how did he know we were coming?’

  ‘Walker’s clerk or his lawyer, possibly.’

  ‘Maybe,’ Kendall agreed doubtfully. ‘Have you got anything from Tosh?’

  ‘Not yet. Curtis is with him.’

  The superintendent snorted. ‘What about the couple from the house?’ he asked.

  ‘Still saying they don’t know Tosh.’

  ‘So we’ve got nothing at all,’ Kendall said.

  ‘Not yet,’ Harper told him. ‘If there are bodies up at that house, the Sadlers will talk. And we haven’t talked to the girls we brought out of the house yet. They might be able to recognize Tosh.’

  ‘That’s if and might, Tom.’

  ‘I know,’ he admitted, slowly releasing out a long breath. ‘Councillor Cromwell could have given us the link to Tosh and the killing at the Town Hall.’

  ‘Cromwell killed himself,’ Kendall reminded him coldly.

  ‘Walker visited him before he shot himself.’

  ‘That won’t mean anything in court and you know it.’

  Harper nodded reluctantly.

  ‘I’m taking over the interview with Walker,’ Kendall decided.

  ‘Sir?’ Harper could feel himself bristling. He’d discovered all this. He’d brought Tosh in, he wanted to draw the man’s guilt from him.

  The superintendent raised his hand to stop any protest. ‘Think about it for a minute. You’re the one who knows everything that’s going on, Tom. I need y
ou to put it all together, to look after the pieces.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘Keep pushing that couple,’ Kendall ordered Reed. ‘They’re the ones most likely to crack. But watch yourself.’ He gathered up pipe and pouch, stuffing them into the pocket of his jacket, and stood. ‘Right,’ he said, ‘we know they’re guilty. Let’s make them admit it.’

  He didn’t want to stay in the office, waiting for news, for anything that might finally send Walker to jail. He wanted to be questioning the man himself, cracking him open piece by piece. Kendall was good, he’d seen him work often enough. He was subtle and oblique. But he didn’t know this case. He hadn’t seen Martha Parkinson and the other girls in that house, he hadn’t watched their eyes widen with terror as he opened that door, or the way they clutched each other.

  He paced the room, smoking. He wanted to be doing something. Anything. Tollman brought him another cup of tea.

  ‘Gas is back everywhere, sir,’ he said, but the inspector barely heard him. He lit another Woodbine, not even able to remember when he’d put the last one out. A minute? An hour?

  Finally Ash returned, coming into the office with his cap crushed under his arm.

  ‘They’re all still at the hospital, sir. They’re keeping them in until tomorrow. Just for observation, they said.’

  ‘And?’ They both knew the question that lay behind the small word.

  Ash cleared his throat. ‘What we thought, sir. They’ve all been raped, over and over. The doctor was close to tears, poor lad. He said there might be some damage, he didn’t know. Because they’re all so small, you see. But he thought most of it would be here.’ He tapped his head with a large, thick hand. ‘Sir?’ he asked.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Can I have five minutes with Bob Sadler? For Martha.’ His face was hard, hands curled into fists.

  ‘You know the answer to that,’ Harper told him.

  The constable nodded. ‘Is Mr Reed with him?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Happen he’ll give him what he deserves, then.’

  No, Harper thought. That was why there was another copper with him. The Sadlers would be safe enough. At least until they went to jail. Convicts hated anyone who used children.