The Year of the Gun

by Chris Nickson

  ‘Yes.’ Giddins nodded. He was a reluctant witness; everything had to be teased out of him. But at least he seemed honest. He’d been at the abbey the night Kate Patterson was killed. He’d heard the shot and knew what it was.

  ‘Heard enough guns before, haven’t I?’

  ‘What did you do?’ McMillan asked.

  ‘Went over there, careful like. So no one would know I was around.’

  ‘And what did you see?’

  ‘Her. There were enough of a moon. She was dead. Saw enough like that at Passchendaele.’ Another survivor, Lottie thought, and glanced at him again from the corner of her eye. He looked older than that. Rough living, she supposed.

  ‘Did you take anything?’

  Giddins shook his head. ‘I couldn’t do nothing to help her.’ His boot kicked nervously at the ground. ‘Thought I’d better make myself scarce or you lot would be thinking I’d done it.’

  ‘I know you didn’t, Mr Giddins. Did you see anyone leaving? Hear anything?’

  ‘Someone running.’ He pointed to the open area of grass and shrugged. ‘Just a figure, that’s all.’

  ‘I need you to think,’ McMillan said softly. ‘Was it a man?’

  ‘Yes.’ No hesitation in the answer. ‘Could see from how he ran. There was enough moon for that.’

  ‘How was he dressed? Were you able to see?’

  ‘Not really.’ His face brightened. ‘But he did have a cap on, like officers wear.’

  ‘Are you certain about that?’ McMillan stared at him.

  ‘Course I am.’ He turned his head, hawked and spat.

  ‘What else? Could you make out any kind of uniform?’

  ‘Don’t know. Too dark.’

  Worth the attempt, though. Something occurred to her. ‘Did you hear anything else that night, Mr Giddins? Sound carries in the dark.’

  He looked sharply towards her, then away again. There had to be a reason, Lottie thought, a woman in his past, perhaps.

  ‘No. Not until the shot.’ He paused. ‘Oh, there was something. A little while before. A car door.’

  ‘After the man ran off did you hear a car starting up?’ She held her breath.

  ‘Don’t know.’ Giddins looked from face to face. ‘I don’t,’ he insisted.

  Better the truth than a lie that had them chasing ghosts.

  McMillan gave him a shilling as they left. Worth that, she thought. Chadwick strode off with them.

  ‘What do you think, sir?’ he asked.

  ‘A little something. You’re right, he had nothing to do with it. Any luck finding the other tramp yet?’

  ‘Leslie?’ The constable shook his head. ‘No, nobody’s seen him. He’ll turn up when he’s ready and I’ll have a word.’

  ‘Let me know, George. And good job.’

  Chadwick beamed. ‘Thank you, sir.’

  ‘An officer’s cap,’ Lottie said as she drove. ‘Do you think it helps?’

  ‘It narrows things down. If Giddins is right,’ he added.

  ‘He seemed convinced.’

  ‘By something he saw for a moment in a little bit of moonlight,’ McMillan said dismissively. ‘For now I’ll take it with a grain of salt. That question about voices and sounds was good, though.’

  ‘The car door could have been a taxi.’

  ‘We’ve tried all the companies. None of them dropped anyone off here that night.’

  ‘Could be a lone operator.’

  ‘He wouldn’t get the petrol coupons.’

  ‘They’re easy enough to buy on the black market,’ she reminded him.

  ‘I know,’ he admitted with a sigh. ‘I’ll get someone asking. The papers have been sniffing around; someone must have got word. The Chief Constable and the Home Office have had to slap them down.’

  ‘You can’t blame them,’ Lottie told him. ‘It’s their job.’

  ‘And I’ve got mine. It’ll be easier without them looking over my shoulder. What do you think – will Ellison help us?’

  ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘He was already looking into the guns vanishing. Now he has a bigger reason. He seems thorough.’

  She glanced in the mirror, seeing McMillan watching her. Lottie could feel the pinpoints of heat on her cheeks starting to grow.

  ‘Good luncheon, was it?’ His mouth twitched into a smile.

  ‘Very pleasant. He told me about Seattle. Did you know Frances Farmer comes from there?’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘The film actress. You must have seen Calamity Jane.’

  He snorted. ‘I don’t think I’ve had chance to go to the pictures since 1941. Sarah goes with her friends.’

  ‘You need time at home, too.’

  ‘You ought to try telling the criminals round here that. On top of everything, now I have this. And I can’t even trust my gut any more, it seems. I was certain that house on Shire Oak Road was involved. I’m getting old, Lottie.’

  ‘We all are.’

  As soon as she was through the door, Lottie padded around in the darkness closing the blackouts. Maybe it was a ridiculous ritual now, as silly as carrying a gas mask, but it was the law and she didn’t want a summons from the warden.

  Nothing in the post. But there rarely was, other than bills. In the bedroom she took off her uniform and eyed herself in the mirror above the dressing table. Not too bad, she decided. The girdle helped, the slip was flattering, and she weighed what she had twenty years before. Maybe she’d have the hairdresser put a little colour in her hair…

  Don’t be so daft.

  A housedress, light the fire in the lounge and see what was in the larder for tea. Once the war was over she’d sell the house. It was far too big for one person. She’d be more comfortable in a flat.

  The smell of distemper had still been fresh on the walls when they moved in nine years before. It had been too big for just the pair of them even then, but Geoff was doing well at work. A new semi was a sign of success. And there was a big garden where they could plant. Over time, the things they owned gradually expanded to fill the spare rooms. She’d thrown most of it away after Geoff died but there was still too much.

  He’d enjoyed making furniture for the house, working from the plans in Practical Handyman. A bookcase, an occasional table, stands on either side of the bed. He was good with his hands, always tinkering, enjoying making things take shape.

  Yes, after peace arrived she’d sell up. She’d miss the neighbours – Dr Smith at number nine, Margie Kennedy at number five – but it wasn’t difficult to keep in touch.

  Corned beef hash for her supper, and she felt lucky to have a tin of corned beef. The radio played in the dining room, Tommy Handley and the others in ITMA. Sometimes in the evening Lottie believed she could still sense Geoff here; sometimes she thought she caught a glimpse of him out of the corner of her eye. Less in the last couple of years. And rarely since she’d started the job; that had given back something of herself, a purpose.

  As she ate, Lottie’s thoughts strayed back to the case. The two dead women… she didn’t see how they could find anything without a huge stroke of luck. What clues they had didn’t seem to lead anywhere yet.

  She sighed as she washed up. Maybe the Americans really would help. That brought her back to Captain Ellison. Enough, she told herself. Quite enough. He’s divorced.

  Frost during the night, lingering to make her cautious as she drove. She’d had to scrape at the bedroom window to peer out into the darkness.

  As they left the city centre there were still patches of black ice on the road. They passed one car that had spun off into a bank on Selby Road. By the time they reached Whitkirk, though, the sun was peeping out. No warmth in it, but at least it made her feel hopeful.

  ‘Turn right here,’ McMillan told her as she passed the old church. A few houses and then it felt like a country lane with tall hedges on either side. ‘Along there.’ He pointed to a track between two stone posts.

  It must have been a farmhouse once, a dour-faced building of dark sto
ne. But she couldn’t see any ploughs or tractors. Lottie turned in her seat.

  ‘Have we come out here for more fresh eggs?’

  McMillan gave her a wry smile. ‘A copper does a good job and rises through the ranks, he might be able to afford a place in Horsforth. A black marketeer can put down the cash on somewhere like this.’

  She looked at the building again. ‘Crime pays.’

  ‘If you get away with it,’ he agreed. ‘Harry Park has.’

  ‘Not enough evidence to arrest?’

  ‘Not since he got smart, and that was long before the war.’ He opened the door. ‘Come on, let’s see how public-spirited he’s feeling.’

  The ground was so hard and sharp that crossing the dirt to the front door felt dangerous. Inside, though, a fire was roaring in the dining room. They waited until Park’s wife had bustled around with tea and slices of Dundee cake. When she closed the door behind her, the man pulled out his pipe and lit it. Time for business.

  Harry Park was a bony man with a full head of white hair and a long, pale scar down his left cheek. Fifty, at least, a thick cardigan under his suit jacket. He didn’t look like a criminal. But most crooks didn’t; she’d learned that her first time around with the police.

  ‘You haven’t come all the way out here to pass the time of day, Chief Superintendent.’ Park smiled. He had a resonant, cultured voice. ‘And you’re not here to arrest me; you’re not smiling.’

  ‘Guns,’ McMillan said.

  The other man shook his head quickly. ‘You know me better than that.’

  ‘Times are changing, Harry. Leeds is getting to be like the Wild West.’

  ‘Going to be worse after the war, Mr McMillan.’

  ‘I daresay. But I’ll be gone by then, thank God. I’m thinking about the here and now.’

  ‘Like what?’ He had quick, sharp eyes, Lottie thought, and they were focused on the Super.

  ‘American handguns. Colts. A case of them went missing. And I’ve had a Colt used in a pair of crimes.’

  ‘I wouldn’t know anything about it.’

  ‘Nobody seems to.’ McMillan looked reflective. ‘We’ve been asking around. Keep hitting brick walls.’

  ‘Well, I’m sorry. I can’t help you, either.’

  ‘You could ask around. Make people believe you might be interested.’

  Park cocked his head. ‘Why? People know I don’t like shooters.’

  ‘I told you, Harry, times are changing. People might imagine you want to change with them.’

  The man was silent for a long time, sucking on his pipe. ‘What’s in it for me?’

  ‘I have two dead women. One ATS, one in the WAAFs. You help me find who killed them.’

  Park rubbed his chin. ‘You should have said.’

  ‘I’m saying now. But it doesn’t go beyond these four walls.’

  ‘I can ask around. No guarantees.’

  ‘I know. Just let me know any names. Even a hint of one.’

  ‘All right.’

  ‘A daughter in the service?’ Lottie guessed as she nosed the car back down the track.

  ‘Had. A Queen Alexandra’s nurse. Killed at Dunkirk.’

  ‘That explains it,’ she said quietly. If he’d lost his own girl, he’d feel the murders of two others. Even the biggest criminals had hearts and weaknesses. ‘I was wondering why you told him when we’ve been keeping it quiet.’

  ‘It won’t go any further; I know Harry. And he’ll do what he can. He’s my last resort.’

  ‘Where now?’

  ‘Let’s go and find your friend Ellison,’ he said after a moment. ‘Maybe he has some news for us.’

  ‘I don’t know why you keep calling him my friend.’ Her voice was sharp. In the mirror she saw him smiling.

  Much of the Ring Road was complete, but there weren’t many vehicles around on a Saturday. She made good time over to Otley Road, then through to the Masonic Hall on Castle Grove. Captain Ellison was in his office, a cubby hole tucked away in the attic.

  ‘They tell me this is where the servants used to sleep,’ he apologised, ducking his head to go through the doorway. ‘I hope they hired small guys. What can I do for you? Have you gotten a break?’

  ‘I was hoping you might have,’ McMillan said.

  ‘I’d have called you if I did. I’ve got a possible, but that’s all.’ He shrugged. ‘Wait and see what happens.’

  ‘Have you had chance to read the file?’

  ‘I spent a couple of hours with it last night.’

  ‘Any ideas?’ He smiled. ‘As a copper, I mean.’

  ‘Not much beyond the obvious. The killer’s been very careful. He dumped the WAAF’s body. Do you have any idea where she was killed?’

  ‘Nothing yet.’

  ‘There’s something… he must have had access to a vehicle. That’s going to limit things. Maybe not a whole lot, but it’s something.’

  McMillan nodded. ‘I talked to a tramp a little while ago. He was out there when the first girl was killed. Thought he heard a car door, and later he thinks he saw someone in an officer’s cap running off.’

  ‘The door would fit with the car.’ Ellison shook a Lucky Strike from the packet and lit it. ‘So we’re a little further along.’

  ‘Assuming the witness is right.’

  ‘Do you believe him?’

  ‘I want to.’ McMillan was cautious.

  ‘Yeah,’ the American agreed. ‘I know what you mean. Got to keep an open mind.’

  ‘Except I don’t have the luxury of time. I have a pair of murders to solve. That’s why you’re seeing me again.’

  ‘I’ll do what I can, but don’t expect anything overnight,’ Ellison warned him. ‘I’ve got something, but it’s going to take a little while to put it all together. If I storm in I’ll just screw it all up.’

  ‘Will you keep me posted? I’ll let you know anything we find. Lottie can keep in touch.’

  She gave him a look. Teasing was one thing; this was a step too far. But she simply said, ‘Yes, sir.’

  As they left, Ellison caught her eye and smiled. She gave a quick nod then hurried out to the car.

  ‘“Lottie can keep in touch?”’ she said acidly as the Humber accelerated down Otley Road.

  ‘In a professional capacity.’

  ‘It didn’t sound that way.’

  ‘You’re touchy today.’

  ‘Am I?’

  ‘Yes.’

  He sighed. ‘Too much on my mind. I’m sorry. But you’ve had that twinkle in your eye since yesterday.’

  Twinkle? That was cheek. Ellison seemed pleasant. Yes, she was looking forward to tonight. But that was all.

  ONE thing about the blackout – you could walk past your closest relative and never notice them. As Lottie stood outside Millgarth that evening the coppers came and went but none of them gave her a second glance.

  He was already five minutes late. She liked punctuality. If he hadn’t arrived by quarter past she’d make her way home. A little hurt but also angry. Lottie had taken time over her appearance, something smart without going overboard. Debbie had given her a shampoo and set with some colour to take out the grey. A Utility dress, the first new piece of clothing she’d bought since the previous spring. Her last good pair of stockings and a hat she hadn’t worn in years. She didn’t use much make-up, but today she’d spent a good half-hour at the dressing table, trying to make sure she looked just right.

  ‘Lottie?’

  She turned at the sound of her name, surprised to feel her heart beating a little faster. She could barely make him out, a darker, solid shape in the blackness.

  ‘I’m here.’

  ‘I’m sorry, I took a couple wrong turns in this blackout. I hope you’re not too mad at me.’

  ‘I might forgive you in time.’ She tried to make her voice sound light and carefree.

  ‘Where do you want to go?’

  ‘I don’t mind. Up to you.’

  ‘This is your city.’

&nbs
p; With rationing, where could they find a decent meal? In the end it was Jacomelli’s. Nothing fancy but she’d always enjoyed decent food there.

  ‘Do you have somewhere Italian?’ Ellison asked as they studied the menu. ‘Or a Chinese?’

  ‘No,’ she said, surprised at the question. ‘Why would we?’

  ‘It’s good, that’s all. I’m amazed you guys never discovered it.’

  He was in uniform. The shirt was freshly laundered and he’d shaved before coming out; there was still a fleck of soap under his ear.

  ‘Maybe they have them in London.’ She smiled. ‘Things take a while to reach Leeds.’

  They talked. She surprised herself, telling him about her life, being a Barnbow Canary in the last war, marriage. Even working as a policewoman, then being dismissed from the force.

  ‘And McMillan is the guy who got you thrown out of the cops?’ he asked in disbelief.

  ‘Not really,’ she said. ‘I disobeyed his direct order.’

  ‘That’s quite something.’ He pushed the empty plate aside and lit a cigarette. Enough about herself; she’d already said far too much. Seattle, America, seemed far more exotic.

  ‘There’s not much to tell,’ Ellison said. ‘I made it into the army for the end of the last war but not overseas. Joined the cops just in time for the general strike we had in Seattle. Worked my way up. Got married, had a couple of kids. We fell out of love, divorced.’ He shrugged.

  ‘Divorced,’ she said quietly.

  ‘Plenty of people do it.’

  ‘Not over here. It’s…’ she searched for the words. ‘Not acceptable.’

  Ellison gave her an easy grin. ‘Different customs. Anyway, we’re just going to be friends, right?’

  ‘Yes,’ Lottie agreed. She shouldn’t have even brought it up. ‘Go on, what else about you?

  ‘I’m a big Rainiers fan.’

  ‘Rainiers?’

  ‘Baseball,’ he explained. ‘Every chance I get during the summer I’m down at Sick’s Stadium to watch them play.’

  She hadn’t understood a word but it didn’t matter. The language, the accent, it was all so different. Somewhere over the rainbow, away from here. Where the sun shone.

  Finally, the coffee cups empty, ashtray full, he glanced at her and said, ‘We can go on somewhere if you like. A nightclub.’