Modern Crimes

by Chris Nickson

  ‘I’m not sure,’ Lottie admitted. ‘What else did Ronnie say about it?’

  ‘This and that. Grumbling that his dad wouldn’t give him more, I remember that.’

  It wasn’t just Irene who knew what was happening. That was interesting, but it didn’t change anything. Ronnie was dead; there was nothing he could tell them.

  ‘Nothing more?’

  ‘Not that I recall. Like I said, it didn’t make that much sense so I didn’t pay it any mind.’

  ‘What are you going to do?’

  ‘Me mam says I need to find a job and start earning my keep. I keep telling her I’m still poorly but she thinks I’m just swinging the lead.’

  ‘You look after yourself.’ But Lottie felt as if she could see the future. Jos would be bullied by her mother. It would be off to the mills before she was well and a short life with her health broken. ‘What about that lad who’s sweet on you?’

  ‘Ray?’ For the first time the girl’s face brightened. ‘He’s been coming round. Maybe you’re right about him.’

  ‘Give him a chance.’

  ‘Maybe. I’m…’

  Not ready yet. Everything was still too raw, in her body and in her mind.

  ‘Of course.’

  They were down by East Street Mills when Cathy spoke.

  ‘What she told you, does it help at all?’

  ‘Not really. Ronnie’s dead. It’s hearsay. And too vague.’

  ‘All adds up though, doesn’t it?’

  The problem was that it added up to zero, she thought. They knew but they couldn’t prove who was responsible. Maybe they’d never be able to convict anyone. All those lives ruined for one man’s greed. And many more she didn’t know: the people in his factory who’d lose their jobs.

  ‘Penny for them,’ Cathy said.

  ‘Nothing really.’ She sighed. ‘Come on, we’d better get back. If Mrs Maitland’s out looking she’ll think we’re skiving somewhere.’

  Quiet for the rest of the day. A heavy crush of people on the tram as it crept along Chapeltown Road, so full that the conductor couldn’t even move between them. Standing on the pavement, she felt relieved, able to breathe again.

  Another week nearly over, just Saturday morning duty. The weekend looked fair. Geoff had suggested taking the bike out on Sunday, packing a picnic and making a day of it in the Dales. Why not? Winter would be here soon enough, bringing bronchitis and chilblains. Something to look forward to when she was marching around the market looking for shoplifters and pickpockets.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  MORNING report was short, in and out of the office in two minutes. But as Lottie had her hand on the doorknob, Mrs Maitland called her back.

  ‘I didn’t agree with your suspension, Armstrong. I argued against it. I wanted you to know that.’

  ‘Yes, ma’am. Thank you.’ What more could she say?

  ‘You should be aware that Miss Walker is leaving today.’

  ‘Ma’am?’ At first Lottie wasn’t sure she’d heard correctly. Irene was safe here. She had to know that.

  ‘Miss Walker telephoned a cousin who has agreed to take her in.’ The woman sighed with frustration. ‘I’ve talked to her, Sergeant McMillan’s talked to her, but she’s determined to go. She’s gone from being terrified to insisting she’ll be safe now. We could charge her with obstructing justice, but no jury’s going to convict under the circumstances. Not when she’s a minor.’

  ‘Do you think she’ll last long at the cousin’s?’

  ‘No,’ Mrs Maitland said as she shook her head. ‘She’ll be out of there like greased lightning. You’ve met her. But there’s nothing we can do if the cousin is willing to take responsibility for her.’

  ‘Yes, ma’am.’

  ‘One more thing.’ The matron raised an eyebrow. ‘The sergeant told me you were the one who spotted her in Queen Square and helped him bring her in.’ Lottie felt her throat go dry. Duty she’d done while suspended. ‘It won’t go any further. Sharp work. Well done.’

  ‘Thank you, ma’am.’ Lottie felt relief flood through her.

  ‘I know you’ve put a great deal into finding Miss Walker. It seemed only fair to tell you what was happening.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  And dismissed.

  ‘You’ve got to be kidding,’ Cathy said in disbelief. ‘She’ll be out of there before bedtime.’

  ‘There’s not much we can do about it.’

  ‘They can’t stop her? Hold her or something?’

  ‘They’re not willing to. It sounds like the brass have decided to give up on the whole thing and hope the story goes away and dies a quiet death.’

  ‘It won’t if someone kills Irene, too.’

  Lottie looked at her. ‘I know. Believe me, I know.’ She’d been thinking of nothing else since they left the station. But there was nothing she could do about it. The decisions to let Irene go to her cousin had been made by the brass. She was a mere WPC, and hanging on to that job by the skin of her teeth.

  Time to change the subject. ‘What are you and Jimmy doing with the weekend?’

  ‘Nothing.’ A flat answer, but Cathy’s eyes flashed. ‘He said that after working he wants to rest. Maybe the pub tonight, but that’s it. I told him he’d better not be like this all the time. He just grinned and winked, cheeky beggar.’

  ‘You’ll have to train him.’

  ‘Don’t you worry about that,’ Cathy told her. ‘Once everything’s really settled I’ll get him doing things my way.’

  ‘It’s going to be fine.’

  ‘Yes. I really think it is.’

  Off in the distance Lottie could hear a gramophone. Kitten On The Keys. It had been popular a few years before, one of those melodies that burrowed into the brain. She’d be humming it for days now.

  As they returned to Millgarth for the end of shift, she saw a slim figure in a blue-grey coat and dark blue hat climb into a taxi.

  ‘That’s it,’ Cathy said. ‘She’s gone.’

  ‘Let’s hope that’s not as true as it sounds.’

  She was up early on Sunday to make sandwiches. Meat paste, salmon paste, and plenty of them. The country air and walking would give them both an appetite. A couple of jam tarts she’d picked up at the baker on her way home yesterday and a bottle of beer each. Just right for a picnic in the Dales.

  Lottie could hear Geoff upstairs, the sluice of water as he washed and shaved in the bathroom. She sang as she worked, It Had To Be You. She couldn’t carry a tune in a bucket, but with no one listening, who cared? Today she was going to enjoy herself, forget the week that had just passed.

  In the hills above Grassington they leaned against a drystone wall, looking down at the valley and the river that ran along the bottom. They’d marched a good five miles across the hills, relishing the clean beauty of the countryside.

  The clouds hadn’t parted all day but it didn’t matter. A light breeze had blown away the cobwebs from her mind. She was smiling and happy as she drained the last of the beer and placed the empty bottle in the basket.

  ‘Sometimes I think it would be perfect to live in a place like this,’ Geoff said.

  ‘Only for a little while,’ Lottie said. In his heart she was sure he knew that, too, but for a few minutes it didn’t hurt to let the imagination wander. A stone cottage, a simple life. A lovely dream, but within a month they’d be packing up and going back to Leeds. Like this, close enough to visit, was just right. The bike was a good idea, she had to admit it. A couple of cushions in the sidecar so she didn’t feel every dip and bump in the road and the trip was a joy.

  She put her hand over his. ‘Maybe one day,’ she told him. They both knew it was a beautiful lie.

  Millgarth was busy as she walked in to report for duty. She spotted Sergeant McMillan, but he was deep in conversation with Inspector Carter.

  ‘What’s going on?’ she asked Cathy.

  ‘From what I overheard, Mr Walker and that other man in the case—’

 
; ‘Donough?’

  ‘That’s him. They’ve both vanished and everyone’s panicking.’

  ‘What about Irene?’

  ‘No idea.’ Cathy shrugged. ‘No one’s said a word.’ She looked at her watch. ‘Come on, we don’t want to be late.’

  Leaving for patrol she saw McMillan again, striding away towards his car. He stopped when she called out.

  ‘You heard?’ he asked and she nodded.

  ‘The basics. What about Irene?’

  ‘Still at her cousin’s.’ He gave a quick grin. ‘I’ve had a man watching the house; I’m not about to let her slip away again. I have to dash.’

  ‘Of course.’ And he was gone.

  The hunt for Walker and Donough was nothing to involve her. The policewomen had patrol, a day of walking, watching, and helping people. For the first hour Lottie seethed with frustration, knowing that the men would be finishing something she’d helped to start.

  Finally she settled back into the routine. They gave directions, waited with an old woman who’d fallen and hurt her hip until the ambulance arrived to take her to the infirmary, and moved on a pair of girls who were loitering neat the bottom of Kirkgate. An ordinary morning.

  ‘Do you mind if we go to the canteen at Millgarth for dinner?’

  ‘You want to know what’s going on, don’t you?’ Cathy grinned.

  ‘Don’t you?’ Lottie asked.

  ‘Go on, then, I can see you’re dying to find out.’

  The station was strangely quiet, only a few men still there. The rest were out searching, Cathy learned from a large records sergeant as he ate his suet pudding.

  ‘Keeping a lid on everything,’ he said. ‘The way I hear it, they’ve been dragging men off the beat to help, too.’

  ‘Have they had any luck?’

  The man shrugged. ‘With Carter in charge they’ll probably do as well as the captain of the Titanic.’ He put his head down and started to eat again.

  Cathy raised her eyebrows at Lottie and they took seats in the corner. ‘He’s a little ray of sunshine, isn’t he?’

  ‘Still, it means no one knows anything.’

  ‘They haven’t found them yet,’ Cathy said. ‘The word would be all over otherwise.’

  That was true. The men would be trooping back, full of themselves and feeling victorious. Whatever was happening, it wasn’t bringing in the results. She thought about Sergeant McMillan. When she’d seen him that morning he’d looked haggard, strained. By now he was probably ready to crack. At least those years in the trenches would have helped him stay steady.

  Back out on Kirkgate they had to attend to the injured after a bus crashed into a tram. No one badly hurt, but it was a chance to put their first aid training to use. Cuts and bruises for the most part. By the time they were done and all the walking wounded were on their way, an hour had passed.

  ‘Let’s finish this circuit back at the station,’ Lottie said. ‘I need to swab the blood off my uniform, anyway.’ She showed the dark stain on her sleeve.

  Cathy winked. ‘It’s as good an excuse as any, eh?’

  ‘Well, I do!’

  This time a few more men were milling around. As Lottie scrubbed at the blood over the sink she heard Cathy asking questions before rushing back in.

  ‘They’ve found Walker.’

  ‘In Leeds?’ She dabbed at the wool with a towel to dry it.

  ‘London. Scotland Yard picked him up. They’re questioning him and sending him back.’

  ‘What about Donough?’

  ‘Nothing yet, they said. They’re still out beating the bushes.’

  ‘Do they believe he’s still in town?’ A thought came to her.

  ‘I suppose so.’

  ‘Was McMillan out there?’

  ‘I caught a glimpse of him. Why?’

  ‘I just need a word, that’s all.’

  She found him outside the back door of the station, leaning against the wall with his eyes closed as he smoked a Black Cat cigarette.

  ‘Penny for them,’ she said.

  ‘They’d be overpriced at a farthing.’ He sounded dead on his feet.

  ‘How many men are keeping an eye on Irene?’ Lottie asked.

  ‘Just one, I told you. The last I heard, she hadn’t stirred out of her cousin’s house.’

  ‘What if Donough’s looking for her? Have you thought of that?’

  He smiled but his eyes didn’t open.

  ‘Of course I have. But I can’t see him doing it. He’s going to be more concerned with saving his own skin. The Yard rang a few minutes ago. I don’t know what they’ve done, but Walker’s telling them everything. And they’ve arrested the man who killed Ronnie.’

  ‘That’s wonderful news.’ She saw him frown. ‘Isn’t it?’

  ‘Yes and no. The Yard gets the credit.’ He sighed. ‘I don’t know, maybe they deserve it. We couldn’t get anything from Walker. But we had orders from upstairs to treat him with kid gloves. They don’t have that.’

  ‘And what about Donough?’

  ‘I don’t have a clue. Any suggestions greatly appreciated.’

  ‘I told you: Irene. I think he’ll go after her to finish things off.’

  McMillan turned his head and opened his eyes to stare at her. ‘I know you’ve been right before, but not this time. He wouldn’t even know where her cousin lives. She’s safe enough, believe me. The only person she needs protecting from is herself.’

  ‘Have you told Irene that Scotland Yard has her father?’

  ‘I haven’t had time.’

  ‘I’ll go there if you want. After my shift ends.’

  ‘No. But thank you.’

  ‘Why? Do you want to push me out of this?’

  ‘It’s not like that,’ he began, then tossed the cigarette end away and lit another. ‘There’s nothing to be gained from you talking to Irene. We already have everything from her. And there’s no other way they’ll let you help. I’m sorry.’

  ‘I see.’ Her voice was cold. ‘I’d better get back on patrol.’

  She left him standing there, smoke pluming from his mouth.

  ‘Well?’ Cathy asked.

  ‘Come on, we’ve an hour left yet.’ She set off through the empty open market area at a quick march.

  ‘What’s wrong? Don’t take it out on me.’

  ‘I got the brush-off. He was keen as mustard to have me around when they were looking for Irene. Now they can’t let me help. How would you feel?’

  ‘Angry,’ Cathy admitted.

  ‘There you are, then.’ She felt humiliated, on the edge of tears. They’d made use of her and as soon as that was done, sent her back where she belonged. Even McMillan. It had all been a con. What was worse, she’d believed it. She’d believed him when he said he was grateful.

  ‘Let’s go down by the river,’ Cathy suggested, and Lottie smiled. There wouldn’t be too many people past Crown Point Bridge. No one to see her face and wonder.

  ‘Good idea.’

  She was halfway up George Street, on her way to the tram stop after her shift, when she felt the hand on her arm. Lottie turned, angry at being touched. The fury stayed in her eyes when she saw him.

  ‘I’ve chased you all the way from the station,’ McMillan said. ‘I’m sorry. What I said earlier, it came out wrong.’

  She shook herself free of his grip. ‘Thank you. If you’ll excuse me, I need to get home.’ She knew people were staring. Let them; he deserved it.

  ‘Do you still want to go and see Irene?’

  She stopped. ‘Why? What made you change your mind? Desperation?’

  He pushed his hands into his trouser pockets. ‘It’s a simple question: yes or no?’

  ‘I thought you said you already had all the information she could give. Besides, she doesn’t know Donough.’ He’d turned down her help once. She wasn’t going to make it easy for him.

  ‘Maybe there’s something. A scrap. Anything.’

  ‘Why me? Mrs Maitland talked to her at the station.
’

  ‘I owe it to you.’

  ‘Maybe you should have thought of that a couple of hours ago.’

  ‘For God’s sake, I said I’m sorry.’ He sounded on the verge of exasperation. ‘Now, are you coming?’

  Was she? Lottie saw the pleading in his eyes. It was honest, it was a man at the end of his tether and with nowhere else to turn.

  ‘All right,’ she told him after a moment.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  MEANWOOD. Past the factories and the municipal swimming pool that lined the road, and beyond the cheap houses that clung to the hillside as it climbed from the valley. All the way out, almost to the park. Where the homes stood tall and clean.

  McMillan parked on a quiet street. A few other vehicles, one twenty yards away with a man at the wheel. He gave a quick look as McMillan emerged, then a small shake of his head.

  ‘That’s Logan. He’s good. Anything suspicious and he’ll be on it.’ He pointed. ‘This one.’ It was the middle of an Edwardian terrace. Villas, really. Three storeys tall and probably a cellar under it all. Fresh paint on the woodwork. The small front garden was well-tended, roses all deadheaded, ready to be pruned towards the end of the winter. It was a place the owner cared about.

  ‘What’s the cousin’s name?’ Lottie asked.

  ‘Mrs Winter. Lost her husband and her son in the war.’ He glanced up at the house. ‘Comfortably off, though.’

  A harried maid of all work showed them through to a parlour. Mrs Winter sat in an easy chair, lowering her book as they entered. She was probably only in her early fifties, but there was nothing modern about her. Grey hair gathered in a tight bun. A black dress to her ankles, as if she’d never left mourning, and a harsh, disapproving expression on a pinched face.

  ‘Sergeant,’ she said. ‘I hadn’t expected to see you again.’

  ‘I’m sorry to disturb you,’ he said, twisting his hat in his hands. ‘But we just need a few words with Miss Walker if we might. This is Woman Police Constable Armstrong.’

  The girl had her back to them, staring out of the window over the garden. Her fingertips rested on the sill, body tense, as if she was a prisoner here, not a guest.