Modern Crimes

by Chris Nickson

  Lottie paused, the key in her hand, as she heard Geoff’s laughter. Full-throated, open. So different from the quiet man she saw every day. Then a woman’s voice said something, and her body stiffened.

  She kept a smile on her face as she entered the room. A fire was burning in the hearth to warm the couple sitting at the table. Geoff, in his shirtsleeves, wearing a sleeveless V-necked jumper. His eyes were merry as he turned to look at her.

  And Cathy. Wearing her favourite frock, the one from the market that shimmered like silk. Playing cards in one hand, a cigarette in the other. She started to rise, then sat again.

  ‘I thought I’d just pick up the fish and chips on the way here, and when I explained, Geoff asked me to stay. You don’t mind, do you, Lottie?’ She gestured at the cards. ‘We were playing pontoon.’

  ‘I didn’t fancy a night in on my own,’ said Geoff. ‘Cathy said she didn’t have anything special to do tonight, so I thought…’

  ‘Oh, give over.’ She waved down the explanations as she sank into the easy chair and sighed. ‘You did right to make an evening of it.’

  Of course it was innocent. Stupid to think it might be anything else, even for a moment. Not with Geoff’s injuries. And it had been so lovely to hear him laugh like that, like an early Christmas present.

  All Lottie really wanted was to sink into sleep and push the world away for a few hours. She’d seen too much today. Pain, blood, death. But she wasn’t going to have that luxury yet. Not until she’d told them.

  Cathy made the tea, a strong, proper brew, and Lottie drank gratefully. She took off her shoes, finally starting to feel as if the day was behind her.

  ‘Well…’ she began.

  At five Lottie crept out of bed. She’d been awake for an hour, lying between the sheets with her mind racing, turning towards the clock, watching time pass so slowly. In the bathroom she shivered, washing and starting to dress, lacing up her brassiere at the side until it felt snug.

  Saturday morning and for once she wasn’t officially on duty. No uniform today. Instead she selected a blouse, a slip, and a brown woollen skirt that reached to mid-calf, pleated just below the knee.

  A cup of tea as she stared out into the darkness of the early morning. Thoughts of Jos had woken her. The girl on the floor, blood all over her. In the ambulance. As they took her away in the hospital. So helpless, so alone now, with the baby dead.

  Her heels sounded sharply against the pavement as she walked down to the tram stop, a good coat to keep out the dawn chill, a felt hat pulled down tight over her hair, and a determined look on her face. She’d left a note for Geoff. So much for a quiet Saturday.

  At the infirmary she had to ask before she found Jocelyn Hill. She was in the corner of a ward, screens around the bed, a constable sitting close by, feet planted firmly on the linoleum. Not someone she knew.

  ‘Can I help you?’ he asked. A firm voice, too used to hearing lies.

  ‘I’m WPC Armstrong.’ She nodded at the bed. ‘I found Miss Hill and came with her in the ambulance.’

  He stared at her, his eyes showing nothing. ‘If that’s right, who were you with and where were you?’

  ‘Sergeant McMillan. And it was on Blackman Lane. Number seventeen, up in the attic if you want me to be exact.’

  The copper grinned. ‘Sorry, but you wouldn’t believe some of the lengths people go to.’ He stuck out a hairy hand. ‘Tom Peters. They dragged me over from Wortley to sit here. I knew we had some lasses on the force but I’ve never met any of you.’ He paused for a second. ‘They’ve given you a better uniform than us, any road.’

  ‘I’m Lottie Armstrong,’ she told him quietly. ‘Has she woken?’

  ‘Stirred about three o’clock. The nurse came and gave her something. She’s been sleeping ever since.’

  ‘I thought I’d sit with her for a while.’

  ‘Be my guest,’ Peters said. ‘Since you’re here, I’ll stretch my legs for a minute and see if I can find a cup of tea. Do you want one?’

  ‘That’d be lovely. Thank you.’

  The chair scraped lightly over the floor as she sat and looked down at Jocelyn. The girl’s eyes were still closed, but her breathing seemed stronger and there was a little colour in her cheeks.

  Jos’s hand lay on top of the blanket. Small, thin fingers, the nails bitten down raggedly. Lottie covered it with her own, squeezing lightly. A moment later the girl stirred, her arm moving slightly. Not conscious yet, but just below the surface. And for now perhaps it was better that way.

  Ten o’clock. She’d just seen the hand turn the hour when Jocelyn started to struggle awake. Eyelids fluttering, trying to open, her hands scrambling at the sheet.

  ‘Shhh,’ Lottie said, reaching out and stroking the girl’s skin. ‘It’s all right. It’s all right. You’re safe.’ Jos blinked, trying to move her head, to see, to understand where she was and how she’d got here. ‘You’re in hospital. You’re going to be fine. I’m a policewoman. You’re safe here.’

  Panic flickered in her eyes as she opened her mouth to speak.

  ‘How?’ It was a dry croak.

  ‘Someone attacked you.’ Lottie tried to keep her voice even, serious but soothing. ‘You and Ronnie. Do you remember?’

  Then it came, the fingers pulling away, moving over her belly. Eyes widening. And the screaming started. By the time the nurse dashed in, Lottie had hold of Jos’s wrists, trying to stop her from flailing too wildly.

  ‘Oh God. Keep hold of her, I’ll get something.’

  The girl fought, and the screams wouldn’t stop. Then the nurse jabbed a needle in her arm and in a few seconds she slumped, eyes rolling up under the lids. Lottie stood back, breathing hard, the sound still ringing in her ears.

  ‘That’ll knock her out for a couple of hours,’ the nurse said. ‘What happened?’

  ‘She remembered yesterday. Someone killed her baby and her boyfriend and she’s still alive.’

  ‘Poor little thing. No wonder she was yelling.’

  Not long after midday Lottie sensed the girl stirring. This time she was ready, leaning close and whispering even before Jos surfaced.

  ‘I know,’ Lottie said. ‘I know. It’s terrible but you’re going to be all right. You’re safe now. I’m here with you.’

  No screaming this time. Just the confusion and the realisation of all she’d lost. The tears ran down Jocelyn’s cheeks and Lottie wiped them tenderly away.

  ‘I’m sorry. You remember it all, don’t you?’

  The girl pointed at the jug of water on the table. Lottie poured a glass and raised Jos’s head so she could drink, sipping at first, then small gulps.

  ‘I’m a police constable. I was in the flat yesterday. I came with you in the ambulance.’

  ‘My baby…’

  All she could do was shake her head and let the girl grip her fingers tightly.

  ‘I’m sorry. They did everything they could.’ Before the tears could begin again, Lottie pushed on. ‘Who did it? It’s important, please, we need to know. Can you tell me what happened?’

  ‘We…’ Jos gathered her breath. ‘We were in the room.’ The girl stared straight ahead as if she was seeing it all happen again. ‘There were… footsteps. Ronnie…’ She gestured for the water again and drank once more. ‘Ronnie opened the door and they stabbed him. He’s dead, isn’t he?’

  ‘I’m sorry. He is.’

  ‘Oh God.’

  Lottie needed to keep asking questions. She needed the information.

  ‘They?’ she pressed. ‘How many of them?’

  ‘Two. I didn’t even have time to shout before they were on me.’ A long, hopeless silence. ‘That was it.’ The tears began again, running down her cheeks. Lottie took a handkerchief from her bag, dabbing softly at the girl’s face.

  ‘What did they look like?’

  ‘Just… ordinary.’

  ‘Were they young?’

  ‘About Ronnie’s age,’ Jos answered after a while. ‘They seemed like they
were enjoying themselves.’

  ‘Did they have dark hair? Fair? How were they dressed?’ She kept her eye on the girl. They needed every scrap of information she could give, but Lottie dared not push her too far.

  ‘I…’ Jocelyn closed her eyes together and bit her lip hard as a wave of pain passed through her. ‘One fair, one dark. The dark one was fat.’ Another tear trickled down. ‘He kicked me after.’ Her hand touched the emptiness of her belly.

  ‘Had you seen either of them before?’

  She shook her head slowly. The girl was fading. Lottie waited until Jos’s breathing was even, tucked the girl’s arm under the covers and moved quietly away.

  ‘Did you get owt?’ Peters asked.

  ‘A little.’ She sighed. ‘God, I can’t imagine going through what’s happened to her.’ She glanced around the ward, seeing it properly for the first time. Women of all ages, some coughing, some huddled in the blankets, a few staring off absently. Everywhere the acrid, stinging smell of carbolic.

  ‘I’ll keep an eye on her. Don’t you worry.’

  Lottie smiled and patted him on the arm as she left.

  Outside, all the noise of Saturday overwhelmed her. She had to stand still for a second. People filling the pavements, buses, motor cars. The stink of exhaust fumes catching in her throat. After the hospital it seemed like an explosion of life.

  ‘Busier every week, isn’t it?’

  Lottie turned. McMillan was at her shoulder, staring at the street. He was unshaven, still wearing yesterday’s suit, a ring of grime on his shirt collar. His face looked almost grey with tiredness.

  ‘Don’t creep up like that,’ she told him. ‘You startled the life out of me. How long have you been there, anyway?’

  ‘Just arrived.’ He nodded at the Peugeot parked by the building. ‘Peters rang in earlier and said you’d come by.’ He grinned at her. ‘Wanted to know if he should chuck you out.’

  She snorted, then her face turned serious. ‘I had to be here. I told you.’ He nodded his understanding, and she went on, ‘I feel…’ It was hard to put into words. ‘Responsible for her, I suppose.’

  ‘Come on. I’ll buy you a cup of tea and you can tell me all about it.’

  Lyons on Bond Street was busy with shoppers. Families at the tables, children wriggling around restlessly. The hat pegs were a mix of bowlers, caps, straw boaters. Lottie waited while McMillan found a table, sliding in as a couple was leaving. He ordered a pot of tea and two toasted teacakes from a harried waitress.

  ‘Was she able to tell you much?’

  Lottie recounted what Jocelyn had said. McMillan scribbled notes, looking up as she finished.

  ‘He kicked her?’

  ‘Yes. Do you know them?’

  The sergeant shook his head. ‘There’s not enough to go on from that. We’ve been asking all over but we haven’t found anything yet.’

  ‘What can I do?’

  ‘You’ve already done it.’ He took a sip of tea and lit a cigarette. ‘I mean it. You were down here first thing. You sat with her. It sounds like you asked the right questions. You’ve done a wonderful job, Lottie.’

  ‘But?’ He was leading to something more; she could feel it.

  At least he had the good grace to look embarrassed. ‘The inspector says it’s a job for CID now. I’m sorry. I tried to tell him how valuable you’d been.’

  She cut him short.

  ‘It’s fine.’ Part of her had been expecting it. Sooner or later it was inevitable but the words still hurt. She blinked, reaching in her handbag for a handkerchief. She’d left it at the infirmary, balled up in Jocelyn’s hand. ‘Excuse me, please.’

  Hidden in the women’s loo, she dabbed at her face and applied fresh lipstick, breathing slowly as she watched herself in the mirror. She’d had a few hours of real police work. That was more than she’d ever really expected. Be grateful, she told herself. You know what it’s like now, and it’s hard graft.

  She tried to smile, but there was no heart in it. Never mind; at least Cathy would be glad to have her back on Monday.

  McMillan stood as she returned. A proper gentleman, she thought.

  ‘I really did fight to keep you,’ he insisted.

  ‘Thank you.’ She believed him. ‘I don’t suppose there was ever really much chance, anyway.’

  ‘I told you yesterday, you’re better than most of the detectives we’ve got. I’ll keep working on the inspector.’

  What else could she say?

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Lottie told him. ‘I need to go.’

  ‘Of course…’

  She was miles away, lost in what ifs, maybes, and disappointment. Lottie didn’t even notice the tram arrive until someone nudged her; she had to scramble in her purse for pennies as she took a seat.

  It was a decision that was always on the cards. Never mind that the sergeant thought she could do the job. Men had decided that women weren’t suitable. Women weren’t even as valued as regular police constables. Instead they kept order with women and children.

  Lottie breathed out slowly. She was angry. She’d had that taste of proper policing and she’d enjoyed it. She wanted more. But wasn’t that always the way, wanting what you couldn’t have?

  Geoff was in the kitchen, pieces of the wireless scattered over the table. Solder dripped on to an old tin lid and the room smelt as if something was burning.

  As soon as he saw her face he put everything aside, came over and held her tight. No questions, just the long hug she needed more than anything right now.

  This was why she loved him, why she’d married him. She didn’t always need to spell things out for him. He understood and he cared. That was worth more than almost anything she could imagine. He’d wait until she was ready to tell him and let it all spill out. Then he’d be there to hold her again.

  On Sunday they worked in the back garden, digging up most of the potatoes and cleaning away the debris from the raspberry canes before going over the ground.

  ‘It’s probably too early to get it ready for winter, really,’ Geoff said, but he did it anyway. He was wearing his old battledress jacket, like so many men up and down the country. In the kitchen a joint was roasting. By the time it was ready they’d have worked up a good appetite.

  Her back ached from the digging, but they’d done a good job. The earth looked dark and rich. Another month or so and it would be ready for some manure.

  She enjoyed days like these, the autumn sun the colour of lemon, a hint of early sharpness and mist in the air. It wasn’t quite her favourite season, but a close second. And for the last two hours she’d barely thought about the Hill case.

  Lottie sighed as she sipped at a cup of tea. For a moment the image of Jocelyn in her hospital bed slipped into her mind, but she pushed it firmly away. There was nothing more she could do. In a few minutes she’d start the rest of the Sunday dinner. Carrots and potatoes they’d grown themselves, straight from the ground. And Yorkshire pudding, of course, the way her mother had taught her to make it, with the fat so hot it sizzled. That was one thing her mother could do well. Geoff would work a little longer then pop down to the pub for a pint. The routine they’d developed. Perhaps it would seem boring to someone like Cathy, but it was comfortable to them. As snug as an old cardigan.

  ‘WPC Armstrong reporting, ma’am.’

  ‘WPC Taylor reporting, ma’am.’

  Lottie felt Cathy looking at her from the corner of her eye. There’d be a flood of questions as soon as they were alone.

  ‘Back with us, Armstrong?’ Mrs Maitland asked. The woman was relishing this, Lottie brought back to earth after rising above her station.

  ‘Happy to be home, ma’am.’ She forced herself to smile.

  The woman nodded. ‘No special orders today. You know what to do. Dismissed.’

  The door had barely closed behind them before Cathy was opening her mouth to speak. Lottie put a finger to her lips. Outside.

  Monday. Time to walk around Quarry Hill and Marsh Lan
e. The slums and the stench. Some of the houses were already empty and boarded up, awaiting demolition. It was a start. The whole area needed to be razed, she thought. There was more prostitution round here than anywhere else in Leeds; that was what she’d been told.

  Not that they ever saw much of it in the hard light of a Monday. Mostly worn-down women trudging to and from the wash house with their laundry. They’d found a girl loitering once and taken her in, but that was their only success.

  ‘Well?’ Cathy asked as they waited to cross the road. Not a question, more a demand.

  ‘Inspector Carter wants CID working on the case.’ Lottie tried not to sound bitter but it still seeped through.

  ‘Why? I thought your sergeant wanted you to help.’

  ‘He did. I even went down to the hospital on Saturday and got a description when Jos woke up. But…’ She pressed her lips together and shook her head.

  ‘It’s not right,’ Cathy told her.

  ‘I know. Life isn’t, though, is it? Come on, we’d better get moving.’

  It was the same as every other Monday, but it felt different. Not as satisfying. She went through the motions, chatting with faces she knew from the area. Inside, though, she seemed empty. Even the gossip and talk with Cathy didn’t have the same spark.

  It’ll pass, she told herself. She was simply feeling blue, a bit sorry for herself. Soon enough she’d be back in the routine.

  Yet by the time her shift ended she felt no better. The hours had dragged and her heart hadn’t been in it. With a coat over her uniform and a hat pulled down on her head she came out of Millgarth and sighed.

  She’d had one small taste of real policing, nothing more than that. It couldn’t have affected her that deeply. Another day and she’d be back to the old Lottie.

  A car horn honking over and over disturbed her thoughts. She glanced across in annoyance and saw McMillan in his Peugeot waving at her. For a moment she was tempted to turn away; that would be childish, she thought. Instead she opened the door and leaned in, smelling the tobacco and his hair pomade.

  ‘Do you have a few minutes?’ he asked. ‘I’ll give you a lift home, if you like.’