She’d taken a little extra time over her appearance, brushed her hair carefully and caught it up with pins so it wouldn’t stray. Rubbed all the tiny shreds of lint from her jacket.
‘You look splendid,’ Geoff told her with a kiss and a wink. ‘I love a girl in uniform.’
‘Get away with you.’ But it made her smile for a moment.
No reporting to Mrs Maitland. Straight up the stairs, ignoring the usual looks and the comments whispered behind hands. Shoulders back, she entered the CID room. The conversation stopped.
All four men turned. It was Sergeant McMillan who recovered first, moving forward with a smile.
‘This is WPC Armstrong,’ he explained. ‘I’ve asked for her to work with me on the Hill case.’ Lottie nodded at the faces. ‘These are Detective Constables Logan and Tyrell—’ the two younger men with cigarettes dangling from their fingers ‘—and this is Inspector Carter.’
‘Sir.’
Carter had a sweep of thick, dark hair, heavily pomaded, thin, bloodless lips and heavy eyelids.
‘Welcome, Armstrong,’ he said, but there was no warmth in his voice.
‘Could you give us five minutes?’ McMillan asked. A wink and the smallest nod.
Cathy was waiting for her by the toilet, eager for all the details.
‘You met a real gangster?’ she asked when Lottie had finished. ‘Was he the way they are in the pictures?’
‘He was just like a businessman. If I hadn’t been told I’d never have known.’
‘What about the girl?’
‘Irene?’ Trust Cathy to ask about her.
‘Yes. Was she pretty?’
‘Very. The thing is, she was trying so hard to seem grown up and sophisticated. You won’t believe it, she wrote down her telephone number for him.’
Cathy’s eyes widened. ‘She didn’t! My God, what did he do?’
‘He was smooth as you like. Just thanked her and left. Anyway,’ she added with a smirk, ‘he’s married. He told me. Three young children.’
‘What?’ Her head jerked up and she sighed. ‘Oh well, that’s him off my list.’ But her regret only lasted a moment. ‘I suppose you’re abandoning me again?’
‘I think so.’ She wasn’t certain what was happening yet, waiting on tenterhooks.
‘I suppose I’ll have to soldier on whilst you and John get all the glory.’ Cathy straightened her uniform skirt. ‘I’d better get to work.’ Her tone softened. ‘Don’t pay me any mind. I’m pleased for you, I really am. You deserve it.’
‘Newsome telephoned a few minutes ago,’ McMillan said as they left the station. ‘Walker supposedly has somewhere on Blackman Lane.’
‘Did he say where?’
‘I told you, a hint’s as far as he’ll go. That’s his idea of co-operation. We need to go up there and look. Ask whoever’s on the beat.’
‘I might have a better idea, sir.’
The space behind the Royal Hotel stank. The bins overflowed and there was a strong stench of urine from somewhere. Lottie paced around, waiting and trying to be patient. The sound of traffic was muffled and distant. A train went by on the embankment, the second in ten minutes, making the earth under her shoes shake as it passed.
Finally the door at the back of the building squeaked open on rusty hinges and a heavyset woman emerged. She was dressed in a man’s double-breasted suit, correct down to the collar and tie, shoes polished to a high gloss, short hair in a brutal shingle cut and pomaded down. Blinking in the light, she lit one of her Turkish cigarettes.
‘Hello, Auntie Betty,’ Lottie said. ‘I haven’t seen you in a while.’
At first McMillan refused to go in. They sat in the car on Lower Briggate and looked across the street at the place.
‘They’ll know I’m a copper as soon as I walk through the door,’ McMillan objected.
‘Well, I can’t. I’m in uniform,’ Lottie reminded him.
He pushed the brim of his hat back. ‘It’s just…’ He shook his head and a look of distaste crossed his face.
‘Because they’re different, you mean?’ She chose her words very carefully.
‘Yes. It’s wrong, inverts and mannish girls. It’s not natural.’
‘Sarge,’ she began patiently. ‘John.’ What was the best way to put it? ‘This is the quickest way to get the information. Betty’s lived up on Blackman Lane for years. She knows the place inside and out. Two minutes and she can tell me where we can find Walker.’
‘How do you know her, anyway?’
‘Her niece had a few problems. WPC Taylor and I helped sort them out. Betty came to see us out on patrol and said how grateful she was.’
He glanced at the entrance to the Royal Hotel. ‘All right,’ he agreed reluctantly. ‘We’ll do it like this: you go to the ginnel at the back and wait. I’ll pop in, have a word with her, say you need to talk to her. Be as quick as you can. We’ll meet back here.’
‘You’re looking well, Lottie.’ Betty smiled. Everyone called her Auntie, a strangely sexless figure, more man than woman and ending up neither. She was a fixture behind the bar, serving drinks for the homosexuals and lesbians who spent their money there, always ready to advise them on their problems but never finding answers to her own.
‘So are you.’
‘That poor man you sent in looked terrified.’ She gave a chuckle. ‘Kept looking around like someone might eat him.’
‘He’s harmless, Auntie. Just scared, that’s all. Did he tell you I need your help?’
‘Yes.’ She stared at the cigarette as she turned it in her thick fingers. ‘Something about Blackman Lane.’
‘We’re looking for someone who has a place there,’ Lottie said. ‘I don’t know if it’s a flat or a room.’
‘What’s his name?’
‘Ronnie Walker. He’s in his early twenties.’
‘Doesn’t ring a bell,’ the woman answered slowly. ‘They come and go so fast these days.’
‘He drives a Standard sedan.’
‘Oh, him.’ Her face brightened. ‘Number seventeen. He has the attic. What’s he done? Why are you after him?’
‘I can’t tell you, Auntie. And please don’t say a word.’
‘Lips locked,’ she promised. ‘And I’ll throw away the key.’
‘Thank you. For everything.’ She leaned forward and gave Betty a quick peck on the cheek, seeing the glimmer of loneliness in the woman’s eyes.
‘Number seventeen,’ Lottie announced with a smile as she closed the door of the Peugeot. ‘I told you Betty would know.’
‘God, she’s an odd creature. Gave me the creeps, dressed like that.’
‘She’s lovely.’ Lottie turned on the seat to look at him. ‘Without her we’d be hunting around and trying to find Walker’s address. I hope you won’t forget that.’
‘I know,’ he said quietly as he wove through the traffic on the Headrow and Woodhouse Lane. ‘I know. It’s just… well, it doesn’t matter.’ He gave her a tight smile.
‘Isn’t that a Standard?’ She pointed at a parked car on Blackman Lane. There were no more than a handful of vehicles, along with a Matthias Robinson’s delivery lorry.
‘That’s the one,’ McMillan agreed. ‘Right outside the house, too. The attic, you said?’
‘That’s what Betty told me.’ She wanted to remind him who’d given them the information.
‘Let’s take a gander. If we’re lucky, your Miss Hill will be here and we can finish this right now.’
The front door of the house was unlocked. They climbed the stairs slowly, one flight, then pausing on the landing before taking the second. At the top, the door stood ajar.
Something felt very wrong.
‘Let me go first,’ the sergeant whispered. He trod carefully, barely making a sound. He hesitated for a fraction of a second before grabbing the door handle and easing it down. Lottie had barely started the climb when she heard him shout, ‘Get in here now!’
CHAPTER FIVE
SHE dashe
d up the steps, pushing the door wide. Light came through a pair of dormer windows, showing the couple lying a few feet apart on the floor. McMillan was kneeling, fingertips against Walker’s neck, feeling for a pulse.
There was blood all around, on the carpets, soaked into the floorboards, a spray of it across the walls. All over the clothes and the skin of the young man and the young woman. The air smelt like iron. Flies were buzzing everywhere.
She didn’t even pause to think. All the training she’d received when she joined the force took over. Breathing through her nose, Lottie dropped on to her knees next to the girl and checked for any sign of life. For a moment she couldn’t feel anything, and she opened her mouth, ready to speak. Then it was there. Only faint, but regular: a tiny beat, and the slightest rise and fall of her chest.
‘She’s still alive.’ Her voice was focused. Lottie took the girl’s hand in her own and squeezed it gently. ‘We’re here now,’ she said. ‘Police. Don’t worry, we’ll look after you.’
Her hand moved over the bulging belly. A stab wound. Was the baby still alive? She didn’t have any way to tell. But all the blood…
‘Walker’s dead,’ McMillan told her, getting to his feet. ‘We’re going to need an ambulance for her.’
‘I’m not sure if the baby’s alive or not. Jocelyn needs someone with her.’ She reached into the pocket of her uniform and threw him her police whistle.
They waited outside as the ambulancemen worked their way downstairs with the stretcher.
‘Would you mind going to the hospital with her?’ McMillan said. There was pleading in his eyes.
‘Of course not,’ she told him and saw the relief on his face. She wanted to be there, anyway. In case. To see it through, to try and help Jos stay alive. The baby too, if there was still a chance. Then she wanted to find who’d done this.
‘I need to stay here,’ he continued as if he needed to explain. ‘The fingerprint boys will be arriving soon and the crew from the coroner’s officer.’ His voice tailed away.
‘I’ll be with her,’ Lottie assured him.
He nodded, distracted. He’d smoked cigarette after cigarette, lighting one from the end of the last. She’d even had one herself, a way to calm the shakes that began once she started to understand everything in front of her.
One murder. Two if Jocelyn didn’t pull through. Three if the baby was dead. Not that, she prayed.
All she could do was hold the girl’s hand on the journey. For the first time, Lottie had a proper chance to study Jocelyn’s face as the vehicle speeded along to the infirmary. So young, she thought. Not a line on her skin. Eyes closed. Her hair tangled and dull. She hadn’t even stirred since they found her. Her hands had been put together over her breast, above the two slashes in her belly. Lottie put her mouth close to Jocelyn’s ear.
‘Don’t you give up,’ she said softly. ‘We’re almost at the hospital now. They’ll take care of you. And the little one.’
As soon as they reached the infirmary a pair of nurses took charge, escorting the stretcher quickly along the corridor and through a door marked No Admission. Even her policewoman’s uniform wouldn’t make her welcome beyond that.
Five minutes while a harried clerk took down the few details Lottie could give her. And then the waiting. Barren, uncomfortable wooden chairs ranged against the plain walls. After a few restless hours she begged use of a telephone and rang Millgarth.
She needed to let Geoff know she’d probably be late. Very late, most likely. Cathy should be back from patrol, probably dolling herself up for a night on the town. Lottie had to wait while they searched for her.
‘Where are you? I can hear all sorts of noise in the background.’
‘The infirmary. Do you think you could do me a terribly big favour?’
‘The infirmary?’ There was panic in Cathy’s voice. ‘Are you hurt? Is something wrong?’
‘Calm down. I’m fine.’ She quickly summed up the day. ‘Do you think you could go and see Geoff and tell him I need to stay here? None of the neighbours are on the phone. I know it’s a lot to ask…’
‘No, I’ll do it,’ Cathy offered without hesitation. ‘What about the baby?’
‘I don’t know yet.’ She hesitated, thinking of the girl’s face in the ambulance, pale, bloodless. ‘Really, I don’t. They won’t say a thing. I don’t even know if Jos is going to pull through.’
‘Don’t worry about Geoff. I’ll tell him.’
The pair of them had met before; Cathy had visited after work one Saturday.
‘Tell him to go and get fish and chips for his tea. Better than him trying to cook anything.’
Another hour passed. Two. By now she could see evening through the windows. Her back hurt from sitting for so long. A nurse took pity and brought her a cup of tea.
‘Just wet and warm,’ she whispered with a shake of her head. ‘But that’s how Sister likes it.’
‘Do you know… ?’
‘The girl? She’s still in theatre. The surgeon’s doing all he can.’ She gave a soothing, practised smile. ‘He’s very good.’
‘The baby?’
‘I don’t know. I’m sorry.’
Then she was alone again. No one to talk to, nothing to read. She was too scared to slip away and find something; someone might come with news. Instead there was nothing but the slow tick of the clock.
Finally, close to half past nine, she heard the slow pace of footsteps and a man appeared in the door. Bald, haggard, a face weighed down by jowls, and a grim, cheerless mouth.
‘I’m Mr Curtis. You brought the girl in?’ He had his hands thrust deep into the pockets of a coat that had lost its whiteness, stained with patches of blood.
‘Yes.’ She stood, staring at him. ‘WPC Armstrong. How…?’
‘I was able to save her,’ he answered gravely. ‘She’s not out of the woods yet, though. She’s going to be seriously ill for several days. She lost a great deal of blood.’ He hesitated. ‘I’m afraid the baby was already dead when she was brought in.’
‘I see.’ She felt a dullness rising in her chest. Somewhere inside she’d believed both of them would survive.
‘There was nothing I could do,’ Curtis said, as if he needed to explain. ‘I’m sorry.’
‘Can I see Jocelyn?’ Lottie asked, but he shook his head.
‘She won’t wake until the morning. Even then I wouldn’t expect much from her for a while. You might as well go.’
‘Thank you.’
After so long in a small waiting room it felt strange to be walking through town. Along the Headrow, towards Millgarth. She felt exhausted, drained inside. Ready to go home and sleep for hours. First, though, she needed to report in and hope McMillan was there.
He was the only person in the CID room, his trilby perched right on the edge of his desk. The sergeant raised his eyebrow in a question when he saw her. She gave him the news and watched him bite down on his lower lip.
‘God,’ he said quietly. ‘But she’s going to survive?’
‘That’s what the surgeon said.’
‘I’ll send someone down to stand guard.’
‘Have you managed to find anything?’ Lottie asked. She stifled a yawn with the back of her hand. ‘Sorry.’
‘Nothing from the fingerprint men yet. I’ve had constables doing a house-to-house in the area but no reports. Two of my men are digging into Walker’s background. That might give us something. I went out to tell the family. His parents are back from York.’
‘That must have been awful.’
‘It’s the worst part of the job.’ The sergeant shrugged. ‘Still, someone has to do it. If they knew why anyone would want Ronnie dead, they were keeping their mouths shut. Even that sister of his was quiet.’
‘Do you think he was involved in something?’
‘He must have been. Why else would someone want to kill him?’
‘I suppose I’m off the investigation now?’ Lottie asked. The thought had gnawed at her all the way ba
ck from the infirmary. No woman police constable could be involved in something as serious as this; WPCs worked with girls and women in trouble. Not death.
‘You? Why?’ He cocked his head. ‘Has someone said something?’
‘But it’s a murder case.’
‘True,’ he agreed. ‘Double murder. And it’s also the attempted murder of a young woman. As far as I’m concerned that makes you still a part of it. No one’s told me any different.’
‘If you’re sure…’
‘I’m positive. Without you we might never have got to Miss Hill in time. Of course I’m sure. And if anyone objects, I’ll have a word them. Even your Mrs Maitland.’
Lottie smiled. ‘Thank you.’
‘Now go home,’ he told her. ‘You look all in.’
‘I’m supposed to be off all weekend, but I could come in. Jos will be waking up. I’d like to be there. If you don’t mind, that is.’
‘I think it’s a good idea,’ he agreed, and ran his palms down his cheeks.
Lottie had one hand on the doorknob when a thought struck her. ‘Has anyone told her mother?’
‘I sent the beat officer over.’ McMillan’s voice was weary. ‘Let’s put it this way: she didn’t drop everything and rush over to the hospital.’
Waiting for the tram a man edged up to her, head bowed, holding an old army blanket like a shawl around his shoulders.
‘Do you have a penny for an old soldier?’ he asked. She could see the humiliation on his face and gave him tuppence from her purse. That could have been Geoff, she thought, or her cousin who’d died in the first months of the war, his body never recovered from the shell hole in no man’s land.
On the tram she almost dozed, and her legs felt like lead as she walked along Sholebroke Avenue. She could see a glimmer of light through the curtains in the front room as she unlocked the door.
Modern Crimes Page 5
