The Iron Water

by Chris Nickson

  She perched awkwardly, as if she had no right to the comfort, and gathered her callused hands in her lap. He said gently, ‘I’m Detective Inspector Harper with Leeds City Police. This is Sergeant Ash. I’m afraid we have some bad news about your brother.’

  ‘Len?’ She looked up suddenly, her eyes wild. ‘What’s happened to Len?’

  ‘He’s dead,’ Harper told her. ‘I’m very sorry.’

  ‘He can’t be. He can’t be.’

  ‘I’m afraid it’s true.’

  ‘But he’s only young,’ she protested. He could see it in her eyes, the unwillingness to believe him. If her brother was gone then so was all her hope. She was truly on her own.

  ‘I’m sorry, Mrs Palmer, it’s definitely him. But I need to ask you a few questions.’

  She was crying soundlessly, the tears running down her cheeks. Harper took a handkerchief from his pocket and passed it to her.

  ‘Not much I can tell you.’ Her voice was empty as a husk. ‘I haven’t seen him in years.’ She turned to look at Ash. ‘You, I know you, don’t I?’

  ‘I was Len’s friend when we were little. Alfred Ash. I grew up in Dufton Court.’

  ‘That’s right. You always had a dewdrop on your nose.’

  ‘Like as not.’ He laughed. ‘Even in summer it was always cold down there.’

  ‘It were.’ She seemed to shudder at the memory. ‘That’s why I got married, the first offer I had. Just to get out of there. My Charlie took care of us, too, until he died.’

  Harper gave a small nod; better to let Ash handle this.

  ‘When did you last see Len?’ the sergeant asked.

  ‘Years.’ She frowned. ‘Five? He came by the house, drunk as a lord and left ten quid on the kitchen table.’

  ‘That’s a lot of money,’ Ash said.

  It was more than a lot; it was a fortune, more than a maid would earn in a year.

  ‘He said he’d come into some and wanted to share.’ She dabbed at her face again with the handkerchief. ‘I never saw him again.’

  ‘Did you have a falling-out?’

  She was silent for so long that the inspector wondered if she was going to answer.

  ‘No,’ she said eventually. ‘We were never that close in the first place. After us mam and dad died, I doubt we saw each other three times. Me and my Charlie, we tried to do things right and Len just went his own way. You’d know, being mates with him.’

  ‘I hadn’t seen him in years, either.’ He thought he could hear a note of regret in Ash’s voice.

  ‘Aye, well.’

  ‘Do you know what he was up to?’

  ‘Can’t have been anything decent if he had money like that to throw around, can it? That’s what my Charlie said. It’s why I was happy to keep my distance.’ She stared around the room, confronting her loss. ‘Look where it got me.’

  ‘Did you hear anything about Len?’

  ‘No. I didn’t want to, neither.’ She turned to Harper. ‘What about the funeral?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ he answered. It would likely be in the cemetery across the road, an unmarked grave. ‘I’ll tell the matron when I find out.’ But whether she’d be allowed to go was out of his hands.

  ‘We’ve still got nothing,’ Harper said as they rode on the omnibus back to Millgarth. The day had turned hot, and sweat stuck his shirt to his back. ‘What do you think? Was Len Tench one of Archer’s enemies or one of his friends?’

  ‘Maybe he was a friend who’d become an enemy,’ Ash suggested. A traitor. That was perfectly possible.

  ‘What about that man you mentioned? Bradley. Have you found him?’

  The sergeant frowned. ‘Not yet, sir. He seems to have vanished into thin air.’

  Back at Millgarth, no sooner had they walked through the door than Sergeant Tollman wanted Harper’s attention.

  ‘A message came in for you just a few minutes ago, sir. Could you go down to Park Row and have a word with Inspector Reed? He said it’s urgent.’

  Harper looked at Ash and raised his eyebrows. ‘Keep digging. I want to know all about Tench. And see if you can turn up this Bradley.’

  What could Billy want, he wondered as he strode out along the Headrow. Harper dodged between people, smelling all the thick summer fumes and soot of the city. In the distance, down the hill, the Town Hall stood proud, its stone a deep black. He could faintly remember a time when the building looked pale and new. But things changed. Everything changed.

  Reed had a small office at the fire station. He was sitting behind the desk, his uniform jacket unbuttoned to show a collarless shirt underneath, trousers held up by a pair of wide braces. A cigarette burned in the ashtray and a faded brass spittoon stood in the corner.

  ‘Hello, Billy,’ he said.

  ‘Tom.’ He looked up. ‘I’ve got something for you.’

  Harper settled himself in a chair. ‘Nothing much, I hope. I’m already up to my ears with that body from the lake.’

  ‘I know.’ He gave a small nod. ‘But see what you think. We were called out last night to a warehouse fire on Wellington Street. The lads were there quick enough to stop it doing any serious damage. But there was someone inside. He was dead.’

  ‘Go on.’ He didn’t see what this had to do with him.

  ‘It was arson. I could smell the paraffin as soon as I walked in. The place was all dry goods, there shouldn’t have been a drop of it in the place.’

  Inspector Reed pursed his lips. The man had settled well into his new rank, Harper thought. Assured, thoughtful, professional.

  ‘Anyway, the body wasn’t badly burned. I sent him off to Dr King. I heard from him a couple of hours ago. The man was killed the same way as your bloke in the lake. Hit on the back of the skull. He thinks it’s probably the exact same weapon. He’s sent a copy of his report to Superintendent Kendall.’

  ‘That’s the last news I needed, Billy.’ Harper gave a long sigh. ‘I don’t suppose you have a name for him?’

  ‘No identification. Nothing at all, no wallet, no keys, no coins. Just a handkerchief in his pocket.’

  ‘Who owns the warehouse?’

  ‘Someone called Goldsmith rents it. I had a word with him earlier. He wasn’t behind the fire, I’m sure of that.’ Billy had been a good detective; he could trust the man’s judgement. ‘I’m still looking into who owns the building. I thought you ought to know. It might be something to help you.’

  ‘Or make everything more complicated.’ He rubbed his cheeks. ‘Thank you, Billy. Can you let me know what you find out about the owner?’

  A quick handshake and he was back out on Park Row. Pleasant enough but all the camaraderie of the past had vanished. Now it was professional. Well, there wasn’t much he could do about that. Billy had made his decision.

  But what he’d just passed on was the last thing Harper needed.

  He took Ash with him, down into the harsh smell of carbolic under the police station in Hunslet. Today King was humming loudly, some melody Harper didn’t recognize. As they came through the door he gave a small cough.

  ‘I wondered how long before I’d see you.’ The doctor reached into his waistcoat pocket and drew out a watch. ‘You’re quick. I didn’t expect you for an hour yet. Inspector Reed must be efficient.’

  ‘He said you think it was the same weapon.’

  The doctor nodded, wisps of hair flying around his skull. ‘If I were a betting man I’d put money on it. Does that satisfy you?’

  ‘Definitely.’ If King was that certain it had to be true.

  ‘My guess is that it was a metal bar of some kind. Rounded. Just like the other killing. I imagine the fire was supposed to destroy the body, but the brigade extinguished it before it could do much.’

  ‘Was he killed there?’ Harper asked.

  ‘Probably. It’s never easy to move a corpse.’ He walked over to the table. A human shape was evident under a stained sheet. King drew it back. ‘That’s your man, Inspector. Whoever he might be.’

 
; He heard an intake of breath beside him.

  ‘What is it?’ Harper asked, turning to Ash.

  ‘Christ, it’s Ted Bradley,’ the sergeant said with quiet horror.

  ‘Tell me about him,’ Harper said as they marched hurriedly back over Crown Point Bridge. The river stank, and the sun tried to burn through the haze of smoke that pushed down on the city.

  ‘He was more Len’s friend than mine. He must have already been at the chemical works when we started there. Ted was older than us, thought he knew everything. Nice enough, but he’d get the hump easily. Not too bright, if you get my drift, sir.’

  The sergeant sounded stunned as he dragged out the memories.

  ‘Were you close?’

  ‘We knocked about a bit until I left. Len liked him more than I did. There was something about Ted … I kept my distance a bit. I never knew where I was with him. After I left the works I hadn’t seen him again until just now.’

  ‘It’s starting to look as if he and Tench were in something together. Is there anything else you can think of?’

  ‘Nothing really, sir. Like I said, I’ve been looking for the last day and couldn’t find hide nor hair of him. Not a sniff.’ He sighed. ‘Bloody hell, sir, eh? Bloody hell.’

  ‘Billy?’

  Elizabeth was sitting at the kitchen table when he entered, a cup of tea sitting cold and undrunk in front of her. He could hear her two youngest playing upstairs.

  ‘You look worried.’ He kissed the top of her head and took the chair next to her. ‘What’s wrong?’

  ‘Nothing.’ She looked up in confusion, her eyes bright. ‘Something’s very right. I think it is, anyway. Annabelle came by for a natter today. She’s decided to sell the shops.’

  ‘What?’ She’d only opened the most recent one a year or two before. ‘Why?’

  ‘She says she doesn’t have time, what with the little one and the politics and the pub.’ She raised her eyes, biting her lip. ‘The thing is, she wants me to buy them.’

  ‘You?’ The idea stunned him ‘How? We don’t have the money for anything like that.’ Annabelle Harper had to know it. He made a better wage now he’d been promoted, but nowhere near enough to afford to buy a business.

  ‘I know. She had a suggestion. We’d agree an amount and I’d pay her a little every week until it was all done. She’d sort of keep control but I’d make all the decisions.’

  At first he didn’t know what to say. It was so generous that it made him suspicious. What if the bakeries were failing? Was that why she wanted to be rid of them?

  ‘Don’t be daft,’ Elizabeth told him. ‘I manage them all, I know they’re little goldmines. I said I wanted to talk to you before we decided anything. What do you think? We’d have our own shops. Who’d have thought that?’ He could hear the excitement in her voice, the hope.

  He smiled. ‘Have you started doing your sums yet?’

  She smiled back and shook her head. ‘I wanted to hear what you thought first.’

  Reed put his hand over hers. ‘If you want to do it, I’m happy.’

  ‘I want to but it scares me, Billy. I don’t know. I just don’t know.’

  Even before he opened the door, Harper could make out the murmur of voices in the parlour. Annabelle must have guests. He turned the knob and entered, seeing her on the far side of the table, bouncing Mary gently on her lap as she listened intently. Tom Maguire had one of the other chairs, next to Miss Ford, the head of the Suffrage Society, her hair in a severe bun on the back of her head, and beyond her a man he didn’t know.

  ‘Inspector,’ Maguire said with a smile and a short cough, ‘you’ve caught us red-handed, plotting the overthrow of society.’

  ‘You remember Miss Ford,’ Annabelle said, ‘and this is Mr Marles.’

  The stranger stood and extended a hand. He was tall, hair neatly pomaded and parted, with whiskers down to his jawline and eyes blinking behind thick glasses. Broad cheeks and a ready smile. He was wearing a Barran’s suit that was slightly too tight, and a shirt with a fold-over celluloid collar.

  ‘Call me Arthur,’ he said as he extended his hand. ‘Grand to meet you. We’re just talking about the pamphlet.’

  ‘Pamphlet?’ He didn’t have a clue what the man meant.

  ‘It’s Tommy Maguire’s idea,’ Annabelle explained. ‘We’re going to produce something about the conditions in Leeds. The way people really live.’

  ‘It’s for the Independent Labour Party,’ Maguire said. ‘To show what things are like for the people who live here.’ He coughed again. ‘Maybe we’ll open a few eyes.’

  ‘It sounds like a good idea,’ Harper agreed. But that would depend on how many read it.

  ‘Mr Marles is an experienced writer.’ Miss Ford raised her eyes. ‘He’s very sympathetic, and we all thought he’d do a good job. The Suffrage Society is going to prepare everything for the section on prostitution.’ The inspector glanced at his wife. She didn’t know anything about the girls who sold themselves, did she? ‘I thought Mrs Harper would be perfect to lead the section on the problems of drink.’ Annabelle gave a smile, nervous, shy. Miss Ford lifted her teacup. Her eyes widened as an idea seemed to strike her. ‘Perhaps you could help us too, Inspector.’

  ‘Me?’ What use could he be? He wasn’t even sure he wanted to be involved. He was safer out of it.

  ‘You know about crime. About gambling.’

  ‘That’s my job,’ he agreed. ‘But I’m not sure if I’d be allowed …’

  ‘Would it help if I talked to the chief constable?’ Miss Ford asked.

  ‘I don’t know.’

  He moved around the table, picking up Mary, wanting to be out of the parlour and away from the conversation. ‘I’ll just take her out of here so you can continue.’ He rested a hand on his wife’s shoulder and gave it a small squeeze before walking off with their daughter.

  He didn’t hear her come into the kitchen. The guests had all left in a tramping of feet on the stair. Mary was back in the parlour, happily playing with her blocks. Harper filled the kettle and put it on the range before emptying the teapot and washing it out. When she touched him on the neck he started in surprise.

  ‘I said your name when I came in,’ Annabelle told him.

  ‘I’m sorry. I …’ He didn’t need to explain. They both knew. Deaf in his right ear. Not completely, but close enough. There was nothing to be done about it. He’d seen the doctors; he knew the truth.

  She kissed his temple.

  ‘You’re going to be a writer now?’ he asked.

  ‘No, I’m not,’ she said with utter certainty. ‘Mr Marles or one of his friends is going to do that. I just have to put everything together for them, thank God.’

  ‘You can do that.’

  ‘Maybe. They want facts and figures and tales. All the damage drink does to people every year. But the idea’s good.’ She put a hand on his arm. ‘If people do read it and start to understand what it’s like to be poor, maybe they’ll listen to the Labour candidates. It could change things.’

  ‘Maybe.’ He didn’t hold out much hope that many would want to know. People were too wrapped up in themselves.

  ‘It’s still going to be a big chance, Tom. We’ve got to do something. They really want you working on it, too.’

  ‘God only knows why.’ But perhaps there was some sense to it, he thought. He saw the way people lived. Survived. He knew better than most. Still, it would never happen. The chief wouldn’t allow him to take part: far too political. And he was grateful for that. They might not want to hear some of the home truths he’d be likely to tell.

  He changed the subject. ‘Did you think Maguire looked poorly?’

  ‘He says it’s just a summer cold.’ She shrugged and then her face brightened. ‘I made the offer to Elizabeth today.’

  ‘Really? What did she say?’ Steam started to rise from the kettle’s spout. He brought the pot over and poured in a dash of water to warm it. Empty it again before spooning in the tea leaves. An
nabelle watched approvingly.

  ‘She wants time to think about it. Wouldn’t you?’

  A little yell came from the parlour and she dashed out, returning with Mary in her arms. The girl was crying, but it was half-hearted, astonishment more than real pain. Harper bent and kissed her forehead where the skin looked a little red and the tears instantly stopped. Just a tumble. She’d had them before and there’d be plenty more to come.

  ‘With a magic touch like that you ought to have a job as a governess.’ Annabelle’s eyes were full of mischief as she stepped back and assessed him. ‘Mind you, I’m not sure how you’d look in a dress.’ She bounced Mary gently in her arms. ‘Would you like to see your Daddy like that?’

  ‘Give over,’ he told her with a laugh. Then, more seriously, ‘Do you think Elizabeth will accept?’

  ‘I hope she does. I spent a lot of time building those businesses up, I don’t want to sell them to a stranger. She’ll do a good job and it’s a fair offer.’

  ‘What if she doesn’t want to do it?’

  ‘Then I’ll have to think again.’ Annabelle gave a sigh. ‘I’d keep them if I could. But honestly, Tom, if I’m going to be working with the suffragists, have this little one running me ragged and trying to keep the pub in order, something has to give.’

  ‘We could always get a nurse,’ he suggested. They’d discussed it quite a few times before.

  ‘No,’ she replied firmly, the start of a blaze in her eyes. It was always her answer. ‘If all the women round here can raise their children without one, so can I.’

  ‘It’s up to you.’ They could afford it quite easily; they already had Ellen, the cook-housekeeper. But it was a matter of pride for her to be able to do everything she could herself. Around here what she couldn’t afford was to look as if she was getting above herself.

  But it was strange: the more she took on, the more Annabelle seemed to blossom. During the day she moved from one thing to another with grace, always capable, always thinking, reading one of her political books whenever she had a spare minute. She was as much at home with a local councillor or some bigwig from this Independent Labour Party as she was with the crowd downstairs in the bar.