Modern Crimes

by Chris Nickson

  ‘What do we know about him, Sarge?’ she asked as he overtook a lorry.

  ‘Not a lot,’ McMillan admitted with a sigh. ‘He’s twenty-two, the family’s well off. I stopped at the Market Tavern and had a word with Nancy. Seems he likes to go down there and slum it with the criminals a couple of times a week.’

  ‘Did she say anything about Jocelyn?’

  He shook his head. ‘Not a word. But that place is busy at night. Half the crooks in Leeds spend their evenings there.’

  ‘Really?’ She’d heard it was rough but not that bad. ‘Why don’t you close it down?’

  ‘Better to know where we’ll find them than have them scattered all over the city.’ He gave her that cocky grin again. ‘Makes our job easier if we want to nick one of them.’

  He kept driving, past North Lane and out along Otley Road, until they were leaving the houses behind and seeing fields.

  ‘Close now,’ McMillan told her. ‘And don’t worry, they’re not out in the middle of nowhere.’

  A turn on to Spen Road, then another sharp left and he pulled up.

  ‘That’s it.’ He pointed at number four. It was a tall, detached house, three stout brick storeys, the front gate open, the drive empty. Neat bay windows downstairs, the inside hidden by net curtains. ‘What do you think?’

  ‘Looks like they have a pretty penny.’

  ‘The father has some company in Hunslet and the mother’s from a family that owns a bit of East Yorkshire.’ He turned in his seat. ‘I have a suggestion, Armstrong.’

  ‘Yes, Sarge?’ Tactics, she wondered? A way to approach Walker?

  ‘When it’s just you and me, why don’t you call me John and I’ll call you Lottie? It is Lottie, isn’t it?’

  ‘Yes, S… John.’

  ‘Better.’

  ‘I don’t think we’re going to get a chance to talk to Walker, though,’ she pointed out. ‘He’s supposed to drive a Standard and there’s nothing in the drive or on the street.’

  ‘Observant,’ he said approvingly. ‘I like that. But there’s going to be a maid or mother inside who can tell us where he’s gone. He won’t have brought Jocelyn back to a place like this, you can stake your pay packet on that. If she’s with him, he has a little love nest somewhere.’

  ‘Oh.’ He was right, of course. For a second she felt stupid. But this was McMillan’s business and he was supposed to be good at it. It was her first time; she was bound to make mistakes.

  As it was, all she had to do was stand there. The maid called the only family member who was at home, Walker’s younger sister, Irene. She leaned on the door jamb, looking as if the whole world bored her even as she simpered at the sergeant. Her parents were away for a couple of days at York races.

  The girl could have stepped out of a woman’s magazine. The bob, the silk dress, the shoes, the kohl to highlight her eyes, were all exactly right. Everything perfectly in fashion and she had the figure to carry it well. But another couple of months and she’d probably be shopping for something in the next style. Gamine, with big, dark Lillian Gish eyes, she was flawless. Yet McMillan seemed immune to her.

  Irene didn’t know where her brother had gone.

  ‘All I can tell you is he came home terribly late last night and went off again straight after breakfast.’

  ‘What about yesterday?’

  ‘I suppose it was the same then,’ she answered after a moment. ‘Yes, it was, I remember now. But Ronnie’s always done what he wanted.’

  She sounded sulky, Lottie thought. Bored.

  ‘Does he have places he likes to go? A set of friends?’ McMillan asked.

  ‘Well, of course,’ Irene Walker told him as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. ‘Dancing, cocktails. He sees Brian Dover quite a lot. Do you know Brian?’

  ‘No,’ McMillan said with a smile.

  ‘There’s him and a few others. They were all at school together.’

  ‘What about the Market Tavern. Has he ever mentioned that?’

  She shook her head. ‘I don’t think so. Why?’

  ‘It doesn’t matter. Do you know where we can find Mr Dover and some of his other friends, Miss Walker?’

  She returned with a pair of addresses written on a page torn from a notebook. At the bottom was a telephone number.

  ‘I added that in case you needed to get in touch about anything,’ she said. No blush, forward as you like, Lottie thought.

  ‘Thank you.’ He tipped his hat to her and turned away.

  Before she followed him, Lottie leaned closer to the girl and whispered, ‘There’s a ladder in your stocking.’

  As Irene lifted a leg to check, she strode off to the car, a small smile on her lips. It was terrible, she knew. But true. And rather satisfying.

  ‘What do we do now?’ Lottie asked as McMillan drove back to town. In the distance, down towards the river, she could see smoke from all the factories hanging over Leeds.

  ‘Ah,’ the sergeant said, and she knew it wasn’t going to be good for her. ‘Back to the station and find out about those names Miss Walker gave me.’

  ‘You didn’t mention Jocelyn Hill to her. She might have known something.’

  ‘Would you trust her with a secret?’ He lit a Black Cat cigarette and blew out a thin plume of smoke.

  ‘No,’ Lottie agreed. ‘She just about threw herself at you.’

  He chuckled. ‘She gave us the information, that’s what matters. I think my wife will find it funny.’

  ‘You’re married?’ That had stayed quiet. Cathy would be disappointed.

  ‘Since just after the war. We have two boys and a girl.’ He nodded at her wedding ring. ‘You too, by the look of it.’

  ‘Yes.’ She smiled. ‘No children, though.’

  ‘Sometimes I wish we didn’t have children. I love them really, but it’s non-stop.’ He paused and glanced at his watch. ‘I know your shift’s over. Do you need to get home to your husband?’

  ‘He’ll be wondering what’s happened to me,’ she admitted.

  ‘Would you mind if I dropped you off in town and you took the tram? I want to track down this friend of Walker’s and see him.’

  Lottie could taste her disappointment. She’d wanted to be there, to be part of it all, especially when they found Jocelyn. They’d need a WPC there for that.

  ‘My husband won’t mind. Just let me tell him.’

  ‘You can ring him from Millgarth.’

  ‘We don’t have a telephone.’ She could leave a message with Mrs Bradley down the street. But then the whole neighbourhood would know her business. ‘It’s just off Chapeltown Road.’

  Geoff sat at the table, jacket on the back of his chair, sleeves rolled up, braces dark against his white shirt. He looked at her, bemused.

  ‘This is what you wanted, isn’t it?’

  ‘Yes. You know it is.’

  ‘Then why are you hesitating?’

  ‘I…’ It was the sense of duty, she thought. To him, to their marriage.

  ‘Is he coming to pick you up?’

  Lottie’s eyes flickered to the clock. ‘In an hour.’ McMillan had wanted time to find Brian Dover and talk to him first. Better she wasn’t there, he suggested with a dark grin.

  ‘Get some food inside you,’ Geoff told her. ‘It might be a long night.’

  She leaned forward and kissed him. How many men would encourage their wives like that? No wonder she loved him.

  The sergeant was five minutes early. She’d been watching from the front window, a mug of tea going cold in her hands, as he pulled up. Lottie dashed out. He was sitting at the wheel eating a sandwich.

  ‘This is my supper,’ he told her. ‘I’ll be done in a tick.’

  She could hear the soft, constant noise of the Peugeot’s engine and feel the vibrations in the metal and the seat.

  ‘I’ve been thinking about Jocelyn and Ronnie Walker,’ she said.

  ‘Go on. Don’t mind me eating; I’ll still be listening.’

 
She took a deep breath before speaking. He’d probably already considered everything, but she still needed to say it and hope she didn’t seem too forward.

  ‘Walker must have had a shock when Jocelyn showed up at the Market Tavern. He probably thought he was rid of her, and then she turns up again, big as a house.’

  ‘Maybe. But we know the two of them came out and drove off in his car.’

  ‘That’s what the lad who followed her told me,’ Lottie said.

  ‘I had a word with someone who was in the Market that night,’ he told her. ‘He saw her, remembered her because she looked ready to drop her baby. Everyone noticed her, he told me. My man doesn’t know Walker, but he said she was talking to a chap for a few minutes, then they left together. All very pleasant, no cross words.’

  ‘Funny that the landlady doesn’t remember if it caused such a stir,’ Lottie said sharply.

  ‘I wouldn’t worry about that. Nancy tends to recall things only after her memory’s been prodded a few times.’ He gave her a wry grin. ‘She’s perfected the art of saying nowt. Brian Dover didn’t have much to tell, but he claims Ronnie’s been spending more time at the Market lately, and talking about his tough pals as if he wants to become one of them himself. Having Jocelyn walk into the place like that won’t have helped his standing.’

  ‘True,’ she agreed. ‘Did he have any idea where to find him?’

  ‘No,’ McMillan admitted with a sigh. He crumpled the empty sandwich wrapper. ‘That’s better. When we were in the trenches we used to talk about what we missed in England. For me it was always tongue sandwiches. I’d eat them every day if I could.’ He put the car in gear. ‘Come on.’

  ‘Where are we going?’

  ‘To talk to a couple of criminals.’

  CHAPTER FOUR

  THE gramophone needed winding. Even as Lottie walked down the dark street she could hear the music becoming slower and slower. It was that new jazz record, What’ll I Do, one she liked to whistle on patrol. She made a face as the sound ended.

  Lottie knew they were in Armley, one of the poorest areas of Leeds, but she had no idea a road like this existed here. Running down a hill off Town Street, even at night it seemed quite different from the rest of the area. She could hear leaves rustling in the trees and smell the grass. The cobbled road led to a row of well-tended cottages. It was like an undiscovered little village, she thought. She heard a cranking sound from one of the houses and the music started again, at the proper speed this time.

  McMillan strode ahead of her, past the houses and down the hill, hands pushed into the pockets of his mackintosh, moving in and out of pools of light from the street lamps. She followed, still glancing around with pleasure, taking in all she could see. She could happily live down here.

  The sergeant turned down a drive and Lottie hurried behind. Suddenly she was staring at the back of a large old stone house that had been hidden from view. Lights showed in the windows. McMillan was looking around impatiently.

  ‘His name’s Bert Newsome. Let me do all the talking,’ he said quietly. ‘He’s probably going to be surprised to see a woman here. Let’s hope it makes him say something he hadn’t intended.’

  ‘Crime must pay well,’ she said, looking at the building.

  ‘This used to belong to a mill owner. He bought it for a song during the war.’

  ‘He wasn’t in the army?’ Lottie asked, surprised; even criminals had been patriotic.

  ‘Medically unfit.’ She could hear the disgust in McMillan’s voice. He rubbed a thumb over his first two fingers; money had changed hands. ‘Poor eyesight. That was the report.’ He knocked hard on the back door.

  She nodded, attentive as she heard footsteps on the tiles and the face of a maid appeared.

  ‘To see Mr Newsome. Tell him it’s Sergeant McMillan and Constable Armstrong.’

  The girl’s eyes widened with astonishment as she saw Lottie in uniform, then she nodded and hurried away. The door was still open and the sergeant stepped inside as if he owned the place, glancing around the kitchen.

  The house might be grand, she thought, but they hadn’t done much to this part of it. Still the old blackleaded range and the stone sink. The only modern touch was a geyser for hot water.

  The footsteps again, and the maid led them through to a parlour that overlooked a long front garden. Another view to surprise her. It wasn’t decorated on a budget. All the furniture was good quality, quite new, and everything thoughtfully arranged; that had to be a woman’s touch.

  The man waiting for them was younger then she’d expected, no more than forty, with a ready smile and an easy manner. Dressed in a beautifully cut pale grey lounge suit, his hair short, he didn’t look like any kind of crook she’d imagined. More like a businessman who’d done well for himself. His eyes seemed amused as he watched them.

  ‘Sergeant,’ he said. ‘A pleasant surprise.’ He gestured at one of the chairs. ‘Have a seat. And miss.’ He gave a small bow that could have been mockery; it was impossible to tell. ‘Now, what can I do for you?’

  ‘Ronnie Walker,’ McMillan said. ‘Ring any bells?’

  Newsome shook his head and took a cigarette case from his jacket. ‘No. Should it?’

  ‘He likes to hang around the big men a little. Been seen at the Market Tavern buying drinks for Archie Brennan and Seth Johnson.’

  ‘I daresay they won’t mind who stands them a drink.’ A flash of a smile that vanished in a second. ‘But no, I don’t know your chap, sorry. Maybe I should if he’s always that generous.’

  ‘So you’d have no idea where I could find him?’ McMillan seemed perfectly comfortable, sitting back in the chair, legs extended.

  ‘Not a clue.’ Newsome cocked his head. ‘You said Archie knows him?’

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘I suppose I could telephone to him and ask if he knows where the man might be. As a favour to you.’

  Newsome left the room, making sure the door was completely closed behind him, then a muffled voice from the hall. She glanced at McMillan. He was grinning, enjoying himself, and gave her a wink.

  ‘He’s in Manchester for the day,’ the man said when he returned. ‘Not due back until late. He’s going to ring me in the morning.’ Newsome gave a small shrug. ‘Sorry. I can let you know tomorrow, if he has the information.’

  ‘That’s fine.’ The sergeant stood. ‘Tomorrow will do.’

  ‘Would you care to go out of the front door, Sergeant?’ The man planted his words deliberately.

  ‘We’re fine with the back. Wouldn’t want your neighbours to get the wrong impression.’ He tipped his hat. ‘Good evening.’

  ‘Well?’ McMillan asked as they strolled back up the hill. He lit a cigarette and blew out smoke. ‘What did you make of him?’

  ‘Apart from the fact he was lying through his teeth, you mean?’

  He laughed. ‘You noticed that, too, did you?’

  ‘He knew exactly who Ronnie Walker was. I think he wanted to be sure anything he said wouldn’t come back on him. And I think he has the information. He wanted to see how badly you needed it.’

  McMillan whistled softly through his teeth.

  ‘You should really join CID. You’re quicker than most of the ones we have.’

  Lottie flushed with pride. It would never happen but the praise was wonderful to hear.

  ‘He rang…’

  ‘Archie Brennan. Newsome will be on the blower to me in the morning, I can guarantee you that. But it won’t be more than a hint. That way we’ll be in his debt a little but we’ll still have to do the digging.’

  ‘Is that how it works?’ she asked.

  ‘Sometimes. Give and take, negotiate with the enemy. No one ever said policing was a clean business.’

  ‘Did my being there make any difference?’

  ‘Definitely. Usually we’re daggers drawn when we meet. He controls half the prostitutes and protection rackets in Leeds. Today he was polite as you like. I think he let us know he cou
ld find out about Ronnie to try to impress you with his generosity.’

  ‘I never feel terribly impressed with crumbs.’ She was quiet until they reached the car. ‘He’s married, isn’t he? Newsome, I mean.’

  ‘Useful crumbs,’ he reminded her. ‘And yes, he is. She’s his second wife. The first died in the influenza outbreak after the war. Why?’

  ‘I just wondered. The place looks like it has a woman’s touch, that’s all. Except for the kitchen.’

  ‘They probably hardly ever eat there. You can find them in restaurants most of the time. More or less have their own tables at Powolny’s and King Edward’s.’ He shook his head and gave a frustrated sigh.

  ‘Now we’d better hope Jocelyn turns up overnight. The longer it is, the more chance of a body.’

  ‘Do you think she’s dead?’

  ‘Honestly?’ He lit a cigarette as he drove down the hill, all the lights of night time Leeds in the distance. ‘I hope not,’ he said finally. ‘Now, I’d best get you home. There’s nothing more you can do until morning.’ McMillan smiled at her. ‘You’ve made a good start. Trust me on that.’

  ‘Well, I’m not surprised he said you’d done a good job.’ Geoff began to chuckle. ‘Honestly, you’re the most capable girl I’ve ever met. I used to see you at Barnbow, taking charge of everything—’

  ‘Me?’ That wasn’t how she remembered things. She’d been efficient once she learned the system, but glad to defer to the women who ran things.

  ‘You,’ he insisted. ‘Honestly, it was one of the first things I noticed. You looked so confident it scared me a little. You can handle this.’

  Lottie blinked in astonishment. Geoff had never said anything like this before. He been behind her joining the police, in trying things, but never praise like this.

  ‘Do you mean that? It’s not just something to make me feel better?’

  ‘Of course I mean it,’ he told her, and she couldn’t doubt the words or the look in his eyes. ‘You’ll probably end up as the first woman detective.’

  That worked for the evening, but by the time she was marching down Sholebroke Avenue to catch the tram Lottie felt nervous. She’d had beginner’s luck. She hadn’t even needed to do much, just be there. What if she made a hash of it all today? Sitting on the bottom deck as the tram rattled its way along the tracks, she glanced out of the window at the people they passed. Were they all terrified too, she wondered?