Modern Crimes

by Chris Nickson

  ‘What about the baby’s father? Could she have gone to him?’

  ‘Possibly,’ Mrs Hill admitted. ‘She’d never say who it were, though, not even when her dad took a belt to her.’

  ‘No idea who it could be?’

  ‘One or two.’

  And they could easily deny it, Lottie thought. Not much help at all.

  ‘What about her friends? Who are they?’

  ‘You’d do best talking to Elizabeth Townend and Eileen Donnelly, then. Thick as thieves, the three of them.’ She gave a dark glance. ‘I’ll warn you, though, they wouldn’t tell me owt.’

  ‘Where do I find them, Mrs Hill?’

  The sun had a little warmth behind it as they walked over to the Burton’s factory in Burmantofts. Street after street of houses and factories, the smell of soot in the air

  ‘What did you think?’ Lottie asked.

  ‘That kitchen was covered in grease,’ Cathy complained. ‘I can still feel it all over my hands.’

  ‘About Mrs Hill, I meant.’

  ‘I think she’s more scared than anything else. Packing the girl off to the home like that seems a bit of a surprise. I hadn’t expected her to care so much about reputation.’

  But everyone cared in their own way, Lottie thought. And some of those ways were unexpected.

  The building was huge, and still growing, judging by the labourers they saw laying bricks and mixing cement. Inside, the sound of the machines filled the air like a swarm of flies; there were hundreds of women with their heads down, sewing the suits to go on sale in shops the firm had all over the country. Business was good. The noise only quietened as they were shown into a hushed waiting room.

  ‘Not bad, this place, is it?’ Cathy said, inspecting the posters on the walls. ‘Look, they’ve even got a social club. Nights out, day trips. Canteen. Why can’t we have things like that?’

  ‘Maybe you should apply on the way out. At least you wouldn’t have to wear a scratchy skirt.’ It came out harsher than she’d intended and she tempered it with a wink.

  ‘Maybe I will. At least I wouldn’t have to put up with Moaning Minnie on morning parade. She gets on my wick.’

  Time passed, the clock on the wall ticking away the minutes until the door opened and a young woman showed them to a room down the corridor. It was sparsely furnished with a table and some old chairs, and metal filing cabinets lining the walls. A storage room for old paperwork, Lottie guessed.

  Two girls sat waiting nervously, glancing around as the door opened. Lottie smiled, trying to ease their fears. But their eyes were on Cathy. She wasn’t surprised or envious; it was usually the way. Cathy had a look that attracted gazes, that small twinkle that made her seem as if she knew secrets.

  ‘Who’s Elizabeth and who’s Eileen?’ Lottie asked. She knew her voice sounded too jolly; couldn’t be helped.

  ‘I’m Eileen,’ one of the girls replied in a small voice.

  She should have guessed. Red hair gathered in a scarf, freckles on her nose. She looked so young. They both did.

  ‘I’m Constable Armstrong. Don’t worry, you haven’t done anything wrong.’ She could see the relief. ‘But you both know Jocelyn Hill.’

  ‘Jos?’ Elizabeth Townend asked in surprise. She was short, with dark brown hair carefully covered, eyes wide, a broad face and heavy lips. ‘What about her?’ The girl had a wary, suspicious voice.

  ‘Do you know where she’d gone?’

  ‘Course,’ Elizabeth snorted. ‘Got herself up the spout and her mam and dad sent her off to have it.’ She rolled her eyes. ‘Everybody knows.’

  Lottie looked at Eileen. She was staring at the floor, picking at a piece of skin by her fingernail. ‘Jocelyn disappeared last night.’

  She saw the brief look they exchanged. Shock, she decided; they didn’t know anything.

  ‘Why?’ Eileen asked.

  ‘We don’t know,’ Lottie replied gently. ‘Have either of you talked to her since she went into the home? Any letters or anything?’

  They both shook their heads. It was as if Jocelyn had left the world when she entered the house. Like vanishing into a convent.

  ‘Do you know who the father of her child is?’

  The question brought an embarrassed silence.

  ‘Do you?’ Lottie asked again quietly.

  ‘She wouldn’t never say,’ Eileen answered, blushing as she spoke.

  ‘We asked,’ Elizabeth interrupted, ‘but she just laughed and said she couldn’t tell us.’

  ‘No guesses?’ Cathy asked with a grin. ‘Come on, you must have done that.’

  ‘We thought it might be my brother.’ Elizabeth coughed. ‘But she said it weren’t. Not even warm.’ She shrugged. ‘So we really don’t know. Honest.’

  It was frustrating but it felt like the truth. A dead end. Lottie hated to go back to the station with nothing; it made her feel as if she’d failed. Mrs Maitland would look at her with disappointment, although the woman wouldn’t say a word.

  ‘Is there anyone who might be able to help?’ Cathy said it before she could.

  ‘Maybe Mrs Brown,’ Eileen suggested after a few seconds.

  ‘Who’s she?’

  ‘The midwife,’ Elizabeth said. ‘Over on Lavender Walk. I know Jos went to see her, back when she found out she were up the duff. We went with her and waited on the corner. She were in a right strop when she came out, wouldn’t say why.’

  But Lottie could guess. Midwives delivered babies. They also stopped women coming anywhere near term, doling out the herbs and potions that caused abortions if the gin baths and other remedies didn’t work. She must have refused to help Jocelyn. That was a start.

  ‘Right,’ she said as she rose. ‘Thank you. And look after yourselves.’

  ‘Do you think you’ll find Jos?’ Eileen asked. There was a tremor in her voice.

  ‘I’m sure we will,’ Lottie assured her. ‘You just leave it to us.’ She paused for a fraction of a second. ‘Is there anything else you can think of?’ One after the other the girls shook their heads. ‘All right. If you think of anything just send us a message at Millgarth. We’ll come and listen to you, I promise.’

  The corridor stank of boiled cabbage and custard, drifting up from the canteen below. Lottie wrinkled her nose and held her breath until they were outside. It took her back to Barnbow, all the smells of cooking as they came out of the sheds, sour enough to put her off her dinner half the time.

  ‘I don’t know how you do it.’ Cathy interrupted the memories.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘You’re so good at getting them to talk.’

  ‘Not really. I just ask questions.’ She shrugged. It was nothing special. It wasn’t even as if she was especially nosy normally; she didn’t know all the doings in her own street and didn’t care. But when it came to work, she was curious. She enjoyed it. It was like working through a maze or a puzzle and she’d always enjoyed that.

  ‘You have the feel for it.’

  ‘Right now I’m just worried about Jocelyn Hill.’

  If the girl hadn’t shown her face somewhere by evening all the beat bobbies would be asking and looking. A missing pregnant girl was cause for alarm.

  It wasn’t difficult to find the midwife. Everyone for streets around knew her. She’d probably delivered most of the children in the neighbourhood. There was no lavender on Lavender Walk. Not much of anything except grimy brick and cobbles.

  They’d barely turned into the street when a door opened thirty yards along and a girl came out, dressed in a short skirt that came just below her knees and a cloche hat jammed over short hair. She turned the key in the lock behind her then glanced around, eyes widening to see the two policewomen.

  Lottie recognised her immediately.

  ‘Margaret Simmons.’ It came as a shout. Before the words were out the girl was running, heels clattering on the pavement as she dashed away. Lottie began to follow but she already knew she didn’t have a chance. She’d never been fa
st.

  But Cathy was quick. As soon as the girl began to move she was already running. Within ten yards she was gaining ground, feet pounding, legs and arms pumping.

  Lottie smiled and stood, watching. Cathy had told her once she’d been a champion sprinter at school, as fast as any of the boys. Now she could believe it. Even before they reached the postbox at the end of the block, Cathy had hold of the girl and was taking out her handcuffs. She didn’t even look winded.

  ‘Maggie.’ Lottie shook her head as she approached. ‘You should have known we’d catch up with you.’ Never mind that it was just a pair of gloves from Schofield’s, or that they’d been looking for someone else on the street. Make her think she’d been nicked.

  Cathy beamed proudly. ‘What should we do with her?’

  ‘Do you want to take her down to Millgarth?’ Lottie asked. ‘I’ll take care of the other thing.’

  Maggie glared. ‘I thought you came for me.’

  ‘You’re not important enough,’ Lottie told her. ‘You just showed your face at the wrong time.’

  ‘Come on.’ Cathy had a grip on Simmons’s arm. ‘You’ll like being back in jail. You can see some of your old friends.’

  The outside of number twenty-one was spick and span, windows gleaming, paintwork washed. The front door gleamed. Mrs Brown was houseproud.

  Lottie didn’t expect to learn much. Abortion was against the law. Admitting anything to do with it was a ticket to jail. No one was that stupid. But she had to try.

  Mrs Brown was dumpy, sleeves rolled back to show heavy forearms. A fleshy, jowly face, with eyes that seemed to have seen everything, and wavy hair the colour of old iron. She glanced at the uniform.

  ‘You’d better come in,’ she said.

  Back into the kitchen, the centre of the house, probably the only room always in use. A kettle was steaming on the hob, apple peelings on newspaper in the middle of a battered deal table. By the back door, a large old leather bag. The tools of the trade, Lottie thought.

  The woman sat down with a deep sigh. ‘Right,’ she said, ‘what do you want?’

  What was the best way to do this? By the book wasn’t going to work. Woman to woman? All she could do was play it by ear.

  ‘You probably haven’t heard yet,’ Lottie began, ‘but a girl’s gone missing.’

  Mrs Brown cocked her head. ‘Oh aye? What’s that got to do with me?’

  ‘She came to see you a while ago. I wondered if she might have been back, or if you know where she’s gone.’

  ‘What’s her name, then?’ She pulled out a packet of Black Cats, lit one and blew smoke at the ceiling.

  ‘Jocelyn Hill.’

  The laugh sounded like a cackle, mouth open wide to show half the teeth missing.

  ‘She’s run off from that home, has she? I thought she might, she never wanted to go in the first place.’

  ‘It was her mother’s idea, wasn’t it?’

  Mrs Brown nodded. ‘Out of sight, out of mind, and no little ’un to embarrass everyone. But she’s not been back here, luv. All I could do for her is deliver the poor little thing, and that won’t be for a few weeks yet.’

  ‘Could she have gone to see the father?’

  The woman shrugged. ‘Who knows? She never told me who he were. Didn’t ask, not my business. That it?’

  ‘Yes.’ Another dead end. ‘You didn’t hear any rumours or gossip about the dad, did you?’

  Mrs Brown pursed her lips. ‘There’s always gossip when a girl ends up with a bun in the oven. Maybe there was something about Ray Coleman. Maybe it was someone else. I don’t really remember.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  A name. A thread, if nothing more. But she couldn’t do anything about it. If a man was involved, one of the male constables had to take over. Those were the rules. She hated them; she was capable and wanted to be able to follow the investigation. She was a copper; she wasn’t about to faint with an attack of the vapours. But there was no choice but to obey if she wanted to keep her job. At least she’d have something to report.

  Still, she thought as she strolled back to Millgarth, it hadn’t been a bad day for the policewomen. They were on the trail of the missing girl and they’d put a shoplifter in the cells. That should make Mrs Maitland very happy.

  CHAPTER TWO

  LOTTIE gathered the plates off the table, took them into the kitchen and returned with the teapot.

  ‘You won’t believe what Mrs Maitland said this afternoon,’ she said to Geoff.

  ‘What?’ She saw the interest in his eyes, the pleasure he took in her, and remembered again why she’d fallen in love with him. He might have his failings, but he truly cared about her.

  ‘She wants me to go with one of the male constables tomorrow.’

  ‘That’s good, isn’t it?’

  He didn’t understand her job. Geoff had encouraged her to apply, pushed her when she’d had her doubts, even trained her in unarmed combat so she could defend herself, but he’d never seen quite why she wanted to become a policewoman. His world at Dunlop was very ordered, controlling an office of clerks and typists, making sure the world of tyres ran smoothly.

  ‘Good?’ She grinned with satisfaction. ‘It’s never happened before.’

  She’d scarcely been able to believe her ears when the matron told her. It felt like the biggest thing that had happened since she’d been sworn in. The anticipation rippled through her.

  On the tram home she’d already looked forward to the next morning, scarcely noticing her stop or the walk up from Chapeltown Road to their house on Oak Road. She knew she’d only be working with Constable Tennison for a few minutes, listening while he questioned Ray Coleman about Jocelyn Hill, but even so, it was a huge step forward. For women on the force, but even more for her.

  ‘You’re sensible enough, Armstrong,’ the matron had said. ‘I think you can be trusted.’

  ‘Yes, ma’am. Thank you.’

  Lottie hung up her uniform, slipped on a comfortable dress and started to cook tea. But everything seemed to happen without thought; her mind was fixed on the next morning. Being a proper copper. Part of her hoped that they wouldn’t find Jocelyn overnight. Terrible, and she knew it. Even so…

  She finished the washing up and settled down with the new issue of Good Housekeeping. On the wireless the news from the BBC was just finishing. Geoff had built the set the year before, endless evenings in the kitchen with a set of plans and a soldering iron. It was cobbled together, far from perfect, but it worked. A bit like their marriage, she thought with a quiet smile.

  ‘Do you fancy doing something tonight?’ Geoff asked. ‘The pictures?’

  ‘Would you mind if we stayed at home?’

  Normally she’d have jumped at the chance. The Thief of Baghdad had just opened at the Tower. But not tonight; her mind was too fixed on the morning. If they went to see a film she’d never be able to concentrate. It would just be a waste of money.

  ‘Of course not.’ He gave her a bright smile.

  She was at the station long before Mrs Maitland. Lottie waited, cradling a mug of tea. She was aware of the blatant stares and the sly glances of the uniforms as they left after roll call. Never mind, she told herself. Only to be expected. They’re men.

  ‘You’re miles away, luv.’

  The voice was deep, seeming to rise from the ground, and wryly amused. She looked up quickly to see a broad man towering over her. He was in his fifties, hair cut brutally short. But his eyes were warm and he was grinning.

  ‘You must be Armstrong,’ he continued. ‘I’m Constable Tennison. You might as well call me Henry, every other bugger does.’

  She stood, taking the large hand he offered. ‘Charlotte Armstrong,’ she said. ‘Lottie.’

  ‘Soon as your guv’nor shows up and gives us the nod we’ll go and talk to Coleman.’ He grimaced. ‘They haven’t found that lass yet.’

  ‘Do you know him?’

  ‘All his life,’ Tennison answered with a nod. ‘An
d he knows me. I’ve clouted him round the ear a few times when he was a nipper, done him for truancy.’ He shrugged. ‘He’s not a bad lad. Only twenty now, so he was a bit too young to fight. Lost two brothers in the war, spent the years running a bit wild. And you know what it’s like these days. There’s nothing in the way of jobs for the likes of him.’

  ‘It’s no better for the girls.’

  ‘I know that, luv. I see it every day. I know Jocelyn and her friends too. Poor lass. I hope we find her sharpish. Maybe Ray can help.’

  Mrs Maitland marched briskly round the corner, took out a key and unlocked her office. As she opened the door, she said, ‘Enter.’

  Tennison raised an eyebrow at Lottie and followed her into the room. They stood at attention while the matron removed her hat and took her seat behind the desk.

  ‘You both know this is unprecedented,’ she said seriously. ‘The first time a male and female constable have worked together. The station inspector and I only sanctioned it because it’s urgent that we find what’s happened to Miss Hill. I don’t need to remind you that she’s been missing for a day and a half now, and no sign overnight. So I’m willing to pursue every avenue, however unorthodox.’ She paused for a second. ‘Still, no matter what, I expect the two of you to conduct yourselves properly. Armstrong, remember that Constable Tennison is in charge, and the honour of the women police constables rests on your shoulders. If he gives you an order, you will obey it. Understood?’

  ‘Yes, ma’am.’

  Mrs Maitland looked at them both, then nodded. ‘Dismissed.’

  Cathy was waiting outside, learning against the wall, ready to report for duty. She gave a broad wink, assessed Constable Tennison, and hissed, ‘Tell me all about it later,’ then slid through the open door.

  ‘Blimey,’ Tennison said once they were outside, ‘that matron of yours is something, isn’t she? What does she do, chew steel girders for breakfast?’