The Iron Water

by Chris Nickson

  ‘I’ve already heard about it,’ he said. ‘Give me the details, Tom.’

  He recounted the little he knew.

  ‘You’re absolutely positive he wasn’t on the boat they blew up?’ The superintendent frowned.

  ‘The men who towed it out swore they checked it fully. And his body would be more damaged if he’d been on board. Then there’s the rope around his waist …’

  ‘Where is he now?’

  ‘On the way to Hunslet.’ The police mortuary, in the cellar of the police station there.

  ‘How long before Dr King will get to it, do you think?’

  He made a quick calculation. ‘Two hours, at least. Probably a little longer.’

  Kendall rubbed his face wearily and shook his head. ‘The papers are going to love this one. “Mystery corpse unearthed by war experiment.”’

  ‘We’ll do what we can.’

  ‘Solve it.’ The words were an order. He understood. Journalists from London would be up here. The Admiralty would keep a close eye on things. Leeds would be in the news. After years of clamouring it had finally become a city at the start of the year. Now they’d have to prove they were worthy of the title.

  ‘Yes, sir.’ No other answer was acceptable.

  ‘Since you have some time before King will be able to tell us anything, I have another job for you …’

  There was a crowd gathered on the riverbank above Crown Point Bridge. A strange-looking boat was tied up at the wharf, six coppers around it, talking to men who might have been the crew. A few nosy parkers had gathered, keeping their distance as they tried to find out what was happening. And in the middle, a head taller than the others, Ash.

  Detective Sergeant Ash he was now, promoted the year before and worth his weight in diamonds. He was a natural detective, a man who made connections well, who could think on his feet. Harper had pushed for him to be given his stripes; he deserved them. He wasn’t Billy Reed, but he was clever and genial. Standing close behind him, eyes darting round nervously as he took it all in, was DC Wharton. He’d only moved into plain clothes the month before; it was too soon to tell how good he might become. But everyone had to start somewhere and learn.

  ‘What do we have?’ the inspector asked as he pushed through the small crowd. Kendall had told him nothing.

  Under his moustache, Ash smiled. ‘A little bit of excitement, sir.’ He used his thumb to point at the vessel bobbing on the water. ‘They’re dredging the river, started up past the railway stations a few days ago. That floated to the surface an hour ago.’ He indicated something on the cobbles, covered by a piece of sacking.

  Harper looked at him questioningly, knelt, and drew back the hessian.

  A leg. A woman’s leg, still in its stocking and boot, clumsily severed near the top of the thigh. He looked for a few seconds then replaced the covering.

  ‘Where was it?’ he asked.

  ‘Just downstream.’ It was one of the crew from the boat who answered, a bantam of a man with dark curly hair, his chest stuck out like a challenge. But his words were subdued and all the colour was gone from his face. ‘You see over there, where the river and the canal separate? A little before there.’

  ‘Thank you. Who are you?’

  ‘Will Horsfield. I’m the mate here.’ He patted the gunwale of the boat then shook his head sadly. ‘Been doing this job ten years and never had owt like this before.’

  ‘Have you taken any statements yet?’ Harper asked Ash.

  ‘The uniforms got everything, sir.’

  He gazed out at the river. It was deep brown, filled with choppy little waves, all the mud and silt churned up by the dredging, stinking from all that flowed into it from the factories. Nothing like the placid grey of Waterloo Lake.

  He’d been a copper for fourteen years and never had a corpse emerge from the water before. Now there were two in a single morning. What about this one? Another murder? Suicide? Accident? With only a leg they couldn’t tell a damned thing.

  ‘Right,’ he said after a minute and turned to Wharton.

  ‘Get that wrapped up properly and take it to Dr King with my compliments. Tell him I’ll be over later and I’d appreciate anything he can tell me. Warn him he has something else coming, too.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’ The young man looked slightly stunned.

  ‘After that go back to Millgarth and look through all the reports of missing women for the last month.’ That would be a start.

  ‘What about us?’ Horsfield wondered.

  ‘You can help us look for the rest of whoever she was,’ the inspector told him. ‘Go over every inch you’ve covered this morning.’

  As people dispersed, he heard the sergeant cough. ‘Dr King’s going to be busy, sir?’

  ‘Yes. It’s been a strange morning …’

  Two hours later he was walking across Crown Point Bridge, Ash at his side, Wharton a pace behind them. The River Aire lapped at its banks as if nothing had happened. Barges were tied up at the wharves, two and three deep, loading and unloading cargo. The water stank, refuse floating, the corpse of a dead dog caught in the current. Summer, but the smoke from the factory chimneys kept the sunlight out, covering everything with a blanket of soot.

  He saw the dredger moving slowly, men watching over the side.

  On the way back to the station he told the sergeant about the torpedoes and the body that rose from the lake.

  ‘Watery graves today,’ Ash said. ‘Not a pleasant place to end up, is it, sir?’

  Wharton had discovered five women reported missing over the last few weeks. Any one of them could have ended up in the river. He’d need more before he could go any further.

  They turned into the police station on Hunslet Lane and took the steps down to the cellar. Through a door and into a tiled corridor with its stench of carbolic. King’s Kingdom.

  Dr King had been the police surgeon for over thirty years. He was in his eighties now but showed no inclination to retire, his mind alert and acerbic, his body still spry. Loud, tuneless singing came from one of the rooms.

  ‘He must have gone to see that Mozart opera at the Grand,’ Ash said.

  ‘Who?’ Harper asked.

  ‘A composer, sir. He’s dead now. That’s one of his arias.’

  The body from Roundhay Park was on one table covered with a sheet; the leg from the river lay on another, still in its hessian. King wiped his hands on a dirty piece of linen as they entered. He beamed as he saw the policemen.

  ‘I have to congratulate you, Inspector, you come up with the most interesting specimens. Two in one day, that’s a record even for you. Both from the water, too. That’s novel. And you’re here with Sergeant Ash.’

  ‘That was a good job on Il Mio Tesoro, sir.’

  ‘Do you think so?’ King brightened. ‘Can’t do it the way I used to. I sang it once in the Amateur Operatic Society.’ He peered at Wharton. ‘Ready for this, young man?’ he asked with a dark smile.

  ‘Have you examined the bodies yet?’ Harper tried to herd them back to business.

  ‘I thought we might enjoy that together, Inspector.’ It was King’s gruesome little test, making them watch the post-mortem and hoping they’d faint or be forced to leave. He unknotted the string around the limb.

  ‘Well,’ he began after a moment. ‘This is fascinating.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Where the leg’s been severed.’ He pointed. ‘I’ve never seen anything quite like it. Take a look.’

  The wound was ugly, almost as if someone had ripped the limb from the rest of the body.

  ‘A dredger found her, is that correct?’ King asked.

  ‘Yes, sir,’ Ash answered.

  ‘That might explain it.’ He seemed to be talking to himself, moving around, studying it from all angles. ‘Yes. They have blunt blades.’ King looked up. ‘I can’t think of anything else that might have caused it. This certainly wasn’t done by an axe or a knife. That would have been a cleaner cut.’

  The doctor un
laced the boot and removed it.

  ‘It’s cheap enough, mass produced,’ he said. ‘Worn at the heel.’ Slowly he rolled down the sodden woollen stocking, then brought it close to his face. ‘I’d say this is probably grey when it’s dry. That might help you.’

  ‘Anything would be useful,’ Harper told him.

  King began to examine the leg.

  ‘She was quite young. No more than twenty-five, if that, but fully grown – say older than sixteen. There’s no sign of varicose veins. It’s impossible to tell just from this, but I don’t believe she’s been in the water more than ten days.’ He stood back and rubbed his chin. ‘No, that’s all I can say on this one.’

  He turned and pulled back the sheet covering the man from the lake like a conjurer revealing his trick.

  It was easier to get a sense of the body now. His hair had dried mousy brown. It was long, over his ears and on to his neck. But he looked quite young, probably in his late twenties, with long sideboards down to the jawline, and a thin moustache.

  ‘First we need to give him a name,’ Harper said.

  ‘Leonard Tench,’ Ash replied without any hesitation as he stared into the corpse’s face.

  ‘What? Are you sure?’

  ‘That I am, sir. He grew up next door but one from me. I’ve known him all my life.’

  The examination didn’t reveal much, but Harper wasn’t giving it his full attention. He wanted to be back outside, asking Ash about Leonard Tench. At least the doctor’s voice was loud enough that he didn’t have to worry about missing anything.

  ‘He didn’t drown,’ King said finally. ‘He was put in the water after he was dead. He was probably only down there for a day, two at the most. Weighted down by something.’

  ‘What killed him, sir?’ Ash’s voice was hoarse.

  There was silence for a minute or more, then the doctor answered, ‘A blow to the head. The usual blunt object, but this one was hard enough to cave in his skull.’ He stood back, thinking, then looked at the chest and limbs. ‘Yes. He was bitten by whatever they have in the water there, but he wasn’t stabbed. I’ll send on my report later.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Harper told him, eager to escape into air that didn’t rasp against his throat.

  ‘How well did you know him?’

  Ash hadn’t spoken since they left Hunslet. He’d walked with his head down, staring at the flagstones on the pavement. Wharton kept with them, listening attentively.

  ‘Best friends when we were nippers,’ Ash said with a small, wan smile. ‘In and out of each other’s houses, our mams would clip us both round the ear. You know how it is, sir.’

  He did. His own childhood had been the same way.

  ‘And what happened to him?’

  ‘We lost touch a few years back. Must have been … back in ’84, I suppose, when we were eighteen.’

  ‘Where was this?’

  ‘Quarry Hill. Dufton Court, down there off Somerset Street.’

  The place was no more than a loud shout from Millgarth. Filled with the poor and the Irish, cheek by jowl. Harper had been through it often enough. Plenty of places with two or more families to a room. Damp cellars where water ran down the walls, but people were glad to live in them anyway, because any roof was better than none.

  ‘Do you have any idea what he might be doing now?’

  ‘Not a jot, sir. I’m sorry.’ Ash hesitated. ‘It just took me back a bit, seeing Len like that.’

  ‘We’re going to need to find out everything about him. Do you know anyone who might be able to tell you?’

  ‘I can ask. We moved up to Burmantofts when I was nine but both of us ended up working at the same place.’

  ‘Where was that?’ He wanted every tiny scrap of information.

  ‘The chemic in Sheepscar.’ Ash pursed his lips. ‘Chemical works. I left as soon as I could. Joined the force.’

  ‘You get busy. Discover everything you can.’ He glanced towards the clock on the Parish Church. ‘Meet me back at the station at five o’clock.’

  Six hours, Harper thought. With a little luck that should be enough time to learn about the man. He turned to the constable. ‘How many of the missing women come within the doctor’s age range?’

  ‘Two, sir.’

  That narrowed it down – as long as the body wasn’t a girl no one would miss or care about. ‘How long has each of them been missing?’

  Wharton fumbled in his jacket for his notebook and riffled through the pages. ‘One’s been gone ten days, the other just three days. Sir,’ he added quickly.

  ‘Who’s the first one?’

  ‘Charlotte Brooker,’ he read. ‘Aged nineteen. Her father’s a manager at the gas works on York Street. She said she was going for a walk in the evening and never came back.’

  ‘Right.’ Harper carried on walking. ‘What about the other one?’

  ‘She’s just sixteen. Emily Lacey. Lives in Holbeck. Works at Marshall’s. She’s run off before.’

  The first one. That was what his gut told him. At least it was somewhere to start. And if it was Charlotte Brooker, her family would finally learn what had happened.

  ‘Go and see Mrs Brooker,’ he ordered. ‘Don’t tell her we found a leg. Say we might have a lead. I want you to find out whatever you can. Scars, identifying marks, anything like that. What she was wearing when she left.’

  ‘Yes, sir,’ Wharton said.

  ‘Leonard Tench,’ Harper said to Sergeant Tollman as he walked into Millgarth. ‘Do you know him?’

  Tollman rubbed his chin. ‘It seems to ring a faint bell, sir,’ he said eventually. ‘Wait a minute.’ The desk sergeant disappeared into a back room, waddling more than walking as his belly bulged against the shiny buttons of his uniform. He reappeared in a moment, carrying a heavy ledger. ‘Got him. Shoplifting in ’85. Looks like he worked up to a spot of burglary two years later. Nothing until ’90, then we brought him in for beating someone. He got three months that time. Haven’t seen him since. Why do you want to know, sir?’

  ‘He’s our man in the lake. What’s the address we have for him?’

  ‘Number three, Rugby Mount.’

  Not far from the Victoria, Harper thought. Closer still to the chemical works.

  ‘Thank you.’

  So Tench was a thief and a man with a quick temper, he thought as he walked along the road. God knew there were enough like that in Leeds. But to die that way … he’d never heard of a killing like it. Not the murder itself, but weighing down the body in the lake. Someone hadn’t wanted him to be found. That took planning. It took effort. Two men, at the very least, more likely three. And some important reason.

  On Rugby Mount it was impossible to escape the choking smell of the chemical works. It burned his nostrils and throat as he breathed. A scrawny cat lazed on the cobbles as the inspector walked past and knocked on the door of number three.

  The woman who answered was short, almost toothless, with wispy grey hair and clouded eyes. She had the pinched face and sunken cheeks of someone who’d never eaten well enough, and skin as wrinkled as tanned leather.

  ‘What do you want, luv? We’re full.’

  A rooming house; that made sense.

  ‘Leonard Tench,’ he said.

  ‘Left two days ago.’ She paused and corrected herself. ‘No, someone come for his things two days back. I’ve not seen him since Friday.’ The woman shook her head. ‘Some folk. Been here four year and then gone without a word.’ She stared. ‘Who are you, anyway?’

  ‘Detective Inspector Harper, Leeds City Police.’ He still wasn’t used to the new name of the force.

  ‘Why?’ the woman cocked her head, suddenly sharp. ‘Has summat happened to him?’

  ‘I’m sorry to have to tell you, but he’s dead.’

  She crossed herself, muttering something under her breath.

  ‘I’d like to see his room.’

  The woman shook her head. ‘Already someone in it. And there weren’t a scrap left. I swept it out m
esen. The man who came, he took everything.’

  ‘Did he tell you his name?’

  ‘No. I didn’t ask.’ She folded her arms under her bosom. ‘Why would I? He just told me Len had found a job in Manchester and he’d offered to pack up his things and send them on.’

  ‘Can you describe the man who came?’

  She thought for a moment and shrugged. ‘Ordinary. Red hair, I remember that. Dark red, you know, like copper.’

  ‘Was he young? Old? Tall? Short?’

  ‘Middling. I don’t know, a bit older than Len, I suppose. I’m sorry, luv, I didn’t really bother about him. Like I said, though, I were surprised at Len, not coming back here to take care of everything himself. He’d always been pleasant enough.’

  ‘Was he paid up?’

  ‘To the end of the week.’

  ‘What was Len like, Mrs …?’

  ‘Fisher. Not good, not bad, really. Just there. I’ll tell you summat for nowt, though, he must have had a strange job.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ He could feel the hairs on his arms prickling.

  ‘It weren’t regular, like. He’d laze in of a morning like he had a butler to take care of him. Then sometimes he’d be gone a day or two. Often he weren’t back while late. But he allus paid on time. Not like some of them, wanting to let it slide.’

  ‘You’ve no idea where he worked?’

  ‘Used to be at the chemic, he said, and he smelled like it, an’ all. But they all have their shifts, like clockwork. So he weren’t there no more. As long as he handed over his money every week and didn’t cause no trouble, I never fussed about it.’

  ‘What about his friends? Did you ever see any of them?’

  ‘No,’ Mrs Fisher answered, then hesitated. ‘I’ve just remembered. It must have been last year. Maybe the one before. I asked him why he lodged round here if he didn’t work here. He said he had a friend close by. That’s all.’

  He asked a few more questions, but she’d already told him what little she knew. As he turned the corner on to Meanwood Road he saw a familiar figure trudging towards him.

  ‘Thank some good luck and Sergeant Tollman,’ Harper explained when Ash reached him. ‘We’re close to the Victoria. Let’s go there and see what we have.’

  As soon as he walked into the parlour, Mary started toddling quickly towards him. Stumbling at first, then almost running, face full of joy as she threw herself against his legs. He could hear Annabelle in the kitchen, humming quietly to herself. The table was covered with books on politics, a few open, the others stacked high.