Modern Crimes

by Chris Nickson

  A final walk around after everything had closed for the night. The lines for the trams and buses were so long it was quicker to walk back to town. The pubs were closing, people spilling out on to the pavements. A few women, but mostly men, some happy, some angry, all of them quietening as they saw the uniforms.

  Lottie stifled a yawn with her hand. ‘I’m exhausted. I want to soak my feet but I’ll probably fall asleep first.’

  ‘I know. And another night of it tomorrow. Aren’t we lucky girls?’

  Saturday felt different. The Feast was full from the time it opened. The working week was over and people wanted to have fun. But there was something else in the air. An undercurrent, Lottie thought. She could sense it. An edge of danger. Anger. Once darkness fell it seemed to grow stronger.

  ‘There’s something,’ Cathy agreed, looking around and trying to find an answer in the sea of faces.

  The trouble came a little after nine. At first Lottie wasn’t certain she’d heard anything, then the shouting became louder and clearer, drowning out the music and the noise of the rides.

  ‘Come on,’ she told Cathy, grabbing her by the wrist and starting to force a path through the crowds. The voices were on the far side of the fair. Angry, yelling, close to violence.

  People were like sardines, squashed together between the rides and the tents, most of them oblivious to everything except the world in front of their noses. Lottie pushed ahead, squeezing, elbowing, until she was there, Cathy right behind her.

  Two gangs. It had to be. They were facing off against each other, about ten on each side, some of them already bloody. One or two had chains wrapped around their fists. A hammer dangled from someone’s hand. They were all young men, a few girls behind them, faces shining with excitement.

  They were women police constables. They weren’t supposed to get involved in this. There to deal with girls and women only: those were the standing orders.

  But there were no other coppers around; if they didn’t do something, innocent people could be hurt. People were pressing back, trying to get away.

  Lottie tried to shout, but her voice was simply lost in the air. No one even heard it. Then she took out her police whistle. A long, shrill blast that cut through everything.

  That worked.

  The fighters turned to stare at her. No fear, just curiosity. One of them started to laugh, a harsh, barking sound.

  Lottie took one pace forward, then another. She was close enough to smell them now. Sweat, drink, stale tobacco. Engine grease. Hate.

  One of the gang leaders spoke. He was a tall, broad young man, handsome except for the two scars on his cheek. And too young to have got them in the trenches.

  ‘Go away, luv, and you won’t get hurt. We’ve got business here.’

  ‘Not any more,’ Lottie told him.

  He smiled, showing broken brown teeth. ‘You’re not even a real rozzer. Bugger off.’

  Idly, like she was nothing. Just a bluebottle that annoyed him. No, she thought. She wasn’t standing for that.

  ‘Come here,’ she said.

  He turned his head, grinning at his mates. He was going to have a laugh with her. Put her in her place.

  So he thought.

  Lottie’s kick caught him square between the legs. She watched him crumple on the ground, folded, clutching himself.

  Everything was silent around her. Then a yell as a lad from the other side charged towards her. Cathy appeared, her small fist swinging, catching him full in the chest. But he was too big, too strong, pushing her aside.

  He raised his hand, ready to bring it down on Lottie’s face. He was grinning, relishing this. But he waited too long. She jabbed her arm forward, fingers straight. It caught him hard in the pit of his stomach. Suddenly he couldn’t breathe, gasping and falling down on to his knees.

  The others started to move back. All except one. He stood his ground. Tall, older than the rest. So thin he was barely there, trousers too big, held up by an old pair of braces. But it was his eyes she noticed. Dead. Empty. Like the men who wandered around town, the ones who’d seen too much on the Western Front and could never escape it.

  Slowly, lovingly, he pulled a knife. Lottie felt a trickle of fear run down her back. Light caught the blade. It was clean, shining.

  ‘Put it down,’ she said gently. He didn’t notice, didn’t hear. He was in a world of his own. It was as if she’d never spoken. She was the enemy. ‘Weapons down.’ She tried to shout it out like a sergeant, but it had no effect.

  Lottie breathed deeply, watching the man as he came towards her. She was terrified, the sweat clammy on her skin. All it would need was one cut…

  Before he could strike he was falling, the knife arcing out of his grip and flying through the air to land on the cinders. Cathy struggled from under him and to her feet.

  ‘I told you I’d ruin a pair of stockings,’ she said. Her knees were bloody, dirt all over her uniform.

  Lottie felt herself start to tremble inside. She knelt and picked up the blade, hand shaking so much she could hardly grab it.

  ‘I’ll buy you new ones,’ she said. ‘Silk, if you want. What did you do to him?’

  ‘Rugby tackle.’ Cathy laughed. ‘My brothers used to practice them on me when I was little. I never thought it’d come in useful.’

  The man lay there, not moving a muscle, eyes open, his mouth no more than a straight line.

  ‘Can you blow your whistle?’ Lottie asked. ‘I don’t think I’ve got the puff right now.’

  Five minutes passed before the constables arrived, eyebrows raised in disbelief. She gave them the knife, watching as they dragged the man away. Lottie was a little calmer, not shaking every second now.

  ‘I need a cup of tea,’ she said. ‘Let’s find a stall.’

  ‘All that you did with those two,’ Cathy said. ‘Where did you learn it?’ She was hobbling slightly as she walked. A wound in the course of duty.

  ‘When I joined the force, Geoff said I ought to know unarmed combat. Just in case. He insisted, drilled me like a soldier.’ She shook her head in disbelief. ‘I just did what he taught me. I didn’t think about it.’

  ‘You should get a medal, facing them down that way.’

  ‘And you might have saved my life.’

  ‘Do you think the brass will praise us for stopping that fight?’ Cathy asked wryly.

  ‘Probably haul us over the coals for doing men’s work.’ She drained the last of the tea from the mug. ‘Come on, once more round the Feast before they close for the night.’

  ‘Really?’ Geoff asked in amazement as they ate Sunday dinner. ‘You did all that?’

  ‘You’re the one who showed me.’

  ‘I know,’ he said, ‘but I never thought you’d need it.’

  ‘Neither did I, but I’m glad you made me learn.’

  ‘So am I,’ he agreed with relief.

  ‘Armstrong. Taylor.’ Monday morning report and Mrs Maitland looked up, holding two sheets of paper. ‘This is from the constables who arrested a man with a knife at Woodhouse Feast on Saturday night.’

  ‘Yes, ma’am,’ Lottie said.

  ‘It says the two of you disarmed and disabled the man before they arrived on the scene. Is that correct?’

  ‘It was Taylor. She tackled him.’

  Mrs Maitland turned her head. ‘Is that so?’

  ‘I did, ma’am,’ Cathy said. ‘But Armstrong was willing to take him on.’

  ‘I heard. One of the men from my church saw some of it happen.’

  Now it was going to start, Lottie thought. ‘I can explain, ma’am—’

  ‘There’s no need.’ Mrs Maitland smiled. ‘He isn’t given to exaggeration and he was full of praise for your courage.’

  ‘Thank you.’ She felt herself redden.

  ‘You took on two of them before the man with the knife?’

  ‘I don’t know. I wasn’t counting, ma’am.’ It was the only reply she could give that didn’t sound boastful.

&nbs
p; ‘And you stopped what could have been serious violence. Innocent people might have been hurt if it had gone ahead. I intend to put you up for a commendation. Both of you. Bravery over and above the call of duty.’

  Lottie straightened her back. She’d been expecting the worst, not this. From the corner of her eye she could see the astonishment on Cathy’s face.

  ‘Thank you, ma’am.’

  ‘That’s all. Dismissed. And well done.’

  ‘I’m not sure I believe that,’ Cathy began as they walked down the corridor.

  ‘You go on, I’ll just be a minute,’ Lottie told her. She’d spotted McMillan walking out to the yard. ‘See you outside.’

  ‘Sarge,’ she called and he turned, the key to the Peugeot in his hand.

  ‘Well, well. Your name’s getting around, you know,’ he said with a smile. ‘I’ve heard three people mention you this morning.’

  She blushed again. ‘I was just wondering, has there been any word on Irene Walker? Or those men who killed her brother.’ Until she’d seen McMillan, she guiltily realised she hadn’t given them a thought; her head had been brimming with Saturday night.

  ‘Nothing,’ he told her with a shake of his head. ‘I’ve had men asking all around, into the Leylands and up towards Woodhouse Lane. Nobody’s seen her. I’m beginning to think that friend of hers was wrong.’

  ‘No.’ Lottie thought back to the Gillian Bedrow’s face as she told them. ‘She saw Irene, I’m sure of it.’

  He sighed and shrugged. ‘She’s vanished into thin air, that’s all I know. The inspector’s still getting nowhere with the father. But we’re certain the murderers have left Leeds. Scotland Yard think they’re in London. They’re searching.’

  ‘Maybe today will bring something.’

  McMillan gave a wan smile. ‘From your lips to God’s ears.’ He hesitated for a fraction of a second. ‘Did you really beat up Tim Molloy?’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘The leader of the Fraser Boys. It was his gang at the Feast on Saturday. They were going to have a ruck with the Quarry Hill lot.’

  ‘I don’t know who it was,’ Lottie admitted.

  He started to laugh. ‘Most of the constables here would be too scared to go up against him and you put him on the floor. You’re quite a girl, you know that?’

  ‘Thanks, Sarge.’ She didn’t want to hear any more about it. ‘I’m sorry, I need to go.’

  ‘Wait here,’ she said to Cathy as they passed Bridges the milliner on Lands Lane. ‘I’ll only be a moment.’ In less than two minutes she returned with a brown paper bag. ‘Put that in your pocket.’

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘One pair of Clevernit black stockings. I owed you those for Saturday.’

  ‘Don’t be daft,’ Cathy told her, but she still folded the package away in the pocket of her uniform jacket. ‘Do you think the sergeant was pulling your leg about them being two gangs?’

  ‘He was serious. Maybe it’s as well we didn’t know.’

  ‘You had that look in your eyes. You’d have piled in anyway.’

  Would she, Lottie wondered? Or would knowing have immobilised her into just standing by? Sometimes knowledge could be a dangerous thing; it was safer to learn after the fact.

  ‘Too late now. It happened.’ She glanced at her wristwatch. ‘It’s almost twelve, we should find something to eat. Lyons today?’

  The place was full, but the nippies gave good service, taking their orders and bringing the food inside five minutes.

  ‘Do you think old Maitland meant it?’ Cathy asked. ‘About the commendation?’

  ‘I suppose so. She wouldn’t have said it otherwise.’

  ‘Jimmy would be so proud.’

  Geoff was too, Lottie recalled. He’d shown it quietly, but it was there. She was doing her duty, at least the way she saw it; nothing more than that.

  ‘I’m sure he’s proud of you, anyway. Things on an even keel?’

  ‘Getting that way. I like having him around, someone at home every night. And he has an interview this afternoon down at Hunslet Engine Company. A mate of his works there, says he can get him on regular. It’d be a weight off his mind if it happens.’

  The rest of the shift took them to Quarry Hill and out to Marsh Lane, almost within shouting distance of Millgarth. The soot and smoke from the factories seemed to collect there, leaving the air thick and dirty and on the tongue. Street after bleak, cobbled street, all the hope sucked out of them.

  They’d gone along two roads of the back-to-backs when Lottie heard the sound: the fast slap of feet on pavement. She turned, seeing a little girl dashing headlong towards them. No shoes, no socks, a dress that was rags, and her face contorted with pain.

  Lottie crouched and held out her arms, letting the girl run into them.

  ‘Shhh,’ she said, pulling her close. The lass couldn’t be more than four or five, so skinny that it was like holding a bag of bones. ‘I’m Lottie. Why don’t you tell me what’s wrong?’

  ‘It’s my nan, miss.’ The girl gulped in breaths between her tears, tracks of them running down her grimy face. Lottie wiped them away with her thumb. She knew what was coming but she had to ask anyway. ‘What about your nan?’

  ‘She won’t wake up.’

  ‘Come on,’ she said gently. ‘Show me where you live and we’ll take a look.’

  The girl took her hand, led them around the corner, pushed open the door of a house and walked into the parlour.

  It was filthy. Piles of paper on the floor, the smell of excrement and urine everywhere. Dirty clothes. She tried not to breathe, but it was impossible to ignore the stink. It seemed to cling to her skin as soon as she entered.

  ‘Where’s your nan?’

  She was sitting in a chair in the kitchen, her face peaceful and very dead. Dirty pans were piled on the table, rubbish on the stone floor. Lottie spotted movement, a rat’s tail vanishing as it burrowed into a pile of something in the corner. She forced herself to stay calm.

  ‘What’s your name?’ she asked.

  ‘Annie,’ the lass answered. She was staring at her grandmother. ‘Is my nan going to be all right?’

  Lottie nodded at Cathy, sending her back to Millgarth to ring for the coroner. Nothing suspicious about this death.

  ‘Where are your parents?’ she asked.

  It came out in bits and pieces. Annie was four. Her mother was dead. She’d seen her dad a year ago but didn’t know where he was now. She lived here with her nan, the only home she could remember.

  ‘Is there anyone else around? An aunt?’

  ‘No, miss. I’ve never seen one, anyway.’

  Lottie sighed. Another girl for the orphanage. But maybe she’d be better off there. At least it would be clean and she’d have enough to eat. No lice in her clothes or nits in her hair. And no rats sharing the kitchen.

  ‘I tell you what, why don’t you and I go and have something to drink and a piece of cake? What do you think about that?’

  Annie looked worriedly at her grandmother. ‘But what about my nan? What’s going to happen to her?’

  ‘Someone will be here in a minute to take care of her.’

  Still, they waited outside until Cathy returned. Lottie talked to a couple of the neighbours, giving them the news in whispers.

  ‘Poor little mite,’ one of them said. ‘Still, it might be for the best. There were nowt for her behind them four walls.’

  The canteen at Millgarth was warm and steamy. She sat Annie down, returning with a glass of milk and a bun for the girl who stared at it wide-eyed and fearful.

  ‘I don’t have no money, miss.’

  ‘My treat,’ Lottie told her. God knew, she deserved something. ‘There are a few things I need to tell you…’

  She found an empty office and sat Annie down with a pencil and a piece of paper, waiting with her until the man from the children’s home arrived. Mr Blaine; she’d met him before. He was balding, officious, the type who looked down his nose at the world.
/>   ‘I’d have thought you might have put some decent clothes on her, Constable. At least a pair of shoes.’

  ‘As you might have noticed, sir, we’re a police station, not a clothes warehouse.’ Lottie stared at him. ‘I’m sure you’ll have things to fit her at the home.’ She handed him a folder. ‘Those are her particulars. As far as I’ve been able to gather from her.’

  He nodded. ‘Come along, girl,’ Blaine said. ‘No shilly-shallying. We don’t have all day.’

  The room felt empty without Annie. Lottie picked up the drawing, stick figures of an old woman and a little girl in a house. There were smiles on their faces. Through the window a bright sun was shining. She folded it and tucked the paper away in her pocket.

  Cathy was standing outside the house, talking with several of the neighbours and scribbling in her notebook.

  ‘The coroner’s inside. I’ve found out all I can. The dead woman was called Gertie Gardener. Been here as long as anyone can remember. Husband died years back. Had six children, but only one lived more than three years.’

  ‘That’s Annie’s mother.’

  ‘Yes. She died two years ago. Consumption, not surprising in that place. No other relatives that people know about. The girl’s father took off before she was born. Arthur Leech. In and out of jail. He’d slip by and see the lass every once in a while. Violent when he’s drunk. Sounds like she’s better off without him.’

  ‘She’s on her way to the home now,’ Lottie said. They’d done all they could. All that remained was locking up when the body had been removed and filling out the report. Not the first time they’d done this. But she’d never been in a house as dirty as that before.

  Dismissed, raincoats covering their uniforms, they came chattering out of the station. Cathy stopped short, mouth wide open. A few yards away, holding a bunch of flowers, stood a man in a suit, a cigarette dangling from his grinning mouth.

  It had to be Jimmy.

  ‘You got it?’

  He nodded and Cathy flew to hug him, not even caring that people stopped to stare.

  ‘Start tomorrow.’