The Iron Water

by Chris Nickson

  She didn’t only think about the present; she kept her eyes on the future, too. Six months before, when Mary was suckling one evening, she had looked down at the baby and said with certainty, ‘This one will have the vote.’

  ‘Have you been reading the tea leaves again?’ Harper teased her.

  ‘I don’t need to, Tom,’ she replied seriously. ‘It’ll happen sooner or later; it’s bound to. We might not be around to see it, but she will.’

  He’d never forgotten that. It had sounded as if she’d seen something through the years. He wanted to believe her, but who really knew? And he had too many other things on his mind. Len Tench. Ted Bradley. George Archer.

  FIVE

  Harper wrote a note to Billy Reed. He was officially taking over the investigation of Bradley’s death.

  Bradley and Tench had been in something bad together; he could take that as read. Now the police needed to discover if anyone else had been with them, then keep whoever it was alive while they found the killer. And they needed to know exactly what they’d been up to.

  He’d already sent Ash out to talk to people again, hunting for each tiny scrap of information. As soon as Harper finished his report he’d be back out there, too.

  ‘Sir?’

  Wharton had entered without him even noticing; he’d been too engrossed in his thoughts.

  ‘Did you talk to the sister? Cordelia?’

  ‘I did, sir.’ The lad’s face gave too much away, Harper thought. He could see the doubts behind his eyes. That would pass; he’d learn to keep it all hidden.

  ‘You sound as if something’s wrong.’

  ‘It’s just that some of the things she said don’t chime with what the mother said.’

  The inspector put down his pen and leaned back in his chair. ‘You’d better sit down and tell me about it.’

  According to Cordelia, Charlotte had enjoyed going out with young men. She’d hidden it from her parents, of course, knowing they’d never approve. But she’d confided in her sister. There was no particular young man, it seemed; the girl liked to flirt and tease before moving on to someone new.

  ‘Was she able to give you any names?’ Harper had been making a few notes.

  ‘No, sir,’ Wharton replied slowly. ‘And that’s not all. She told me that Charlotte was often quiet, too. Dark moods, she called them. She didn’t come out and say it, but it was like she was hinting Charlotte wasn’t quite right in the head.’

  ‘And you had nothing about any of this from the mother? Nothing at all?’

  ‘No.’

  The inspector thought for a minute.

  ‘Go back and have a word with the mother again. Don’t tell her where you learned all this. Just say you’ve heard a couple of rumours. Ask her. Chances are she’ll deny it all, but watch her, especially the eyes.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’ Now he had orders, Wharton looked relieved.

  ‘See what you can find.’

  Wharton left, and Harper had just locked the file on the Bradley killing away when the superintendent called him into his office.

  ‘Two of them murdered the same way,’ Kendall said. ‘And they knew each other.’

  ‘They both knew Ash, too. A long time ago.’

  ‘Anything to connect them to Archer yet?’

  Harper shook his head. ‘Not a thing. All I ever had was that tip from Horseshoe Harry. No one else has mentioned Archer.’ He shrugged helplessly. ‘You couldn’t fill a thimble with what we’ve learnt so far.’

  ‘Any ideas?’

  ‘Tench and Bradley met at the chemical works. I’m going out there to ask a few questions. What worries me is there could be someone else walking around with a death sentence over his head. Or already killed, for all we know. If he’s out there and we find him, we can keep him safe and find out what’s happening.’

  ‘And if it was just the two of them?’ the superintendent asked.

  ‘Then we’re back to the beginning.’

  ‘Keep working on that connection to Archer.’

  ‘There might not even be one,’ Harper pointed out.

  ‘It’s there,’ Kendall told him. ‘I can feel it. It was sheer luck we ever found the first body. As soon as he’s discovered, a second turns up dead. Same method, and a fire to try and cover it up. How many people in Leeds have the power to sort out something like that?’

  ‘There’s Charlie Gilmore, Tosh Walker …’ Harper began.

  ‘It’s not Gilmore’s style, you know that. And you put Tosh away three years ago. It’s Archer.’

  ‘I’ll keep looking.’ It was all he could say.

  ‘Remember, Tom, that body in the lake was in the London papers.’ His voice was grave. ‘They’ll expect us to find answers.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’ He hadn’t forgotten. But he was going to be thorough.

  ‘And not a word.’ The super tapped the side of his nose. ‘Just you, me, and Ash.’

  ‘What if I need more men?’

  ‘I’ll help if you need me. It’d do me good to get out of here.’

  Harper stepped out into the noise of the city. The rattle of carts, the squeak of wheels, the metallic groan of the omnibuses and trams, the clop of hooves on cobbles. Voices everywhere. At least his hearing muted it all; everything seemed to be at a remove, as if it was coming from a distance.

  Without even thinking, he ended up at the café by the market, sipping a cup of tea. No one came near him. Even Tom Maguire simply looked, nodded and took another table.

  He didn’t know how long he’d been there when a chair scraped and someone sat across from him.

  ‘I’ve been looking for you, sir,’ Ash said with a smile.

  ‘Anything?’ He took another sip of the tea. Stone cold. He waved for two more cups.

  ‘Maybe. I ran into one of the lads from the chemic. It seems that Len and Ted were often seen with a chap called Morley.’

  ‘Did you know him, too?’

  ‘He must have started there after I left.’

  ‘Is he still at the works?’

  ‘No, sir. It’s Eustace Morley, sir.’ He said it as if everyone should recognize the name.

  ‘Who?’

  ‘The boxer, sir. You must have heard of him.’

  Of course. Now he remembered. He’d heard people talking and seen pieces in the newspaper a few times. Everyone seemed convinced that he was one of the best fighters in Leeds, a man with a future in the ring.

  ‘Do you know where he lives?’

  ‘Not yet, sir. I’m working on it. He’s been gone from the chemic a year or more, same as the others. But he spent a lot of time with Len and Ted. Thick as thieves, someone said.’ He grimaced and shook his head.

  ‘We’d better find out, and see if he’s still alive. It sounds like it all began at the works, doesn’t it?’

  ‘Whatever it was, sir.’

  ‘Let’s go back out there and talk to the managers.’

  ‘That’s what I was thinking, sir.’

  ‘As soon as you’ve drunk up.’

  As they walked through the gates of the chemical works the smell seemed to descend like a cloud. He felt it stinging in his throat and his lungs.

  ‘How did you stand it?’ he asked Ash.

  ‘Like anything else, sir. You get used to it.’

  ‘Go and talk to more of the men here. See if there’s anything they can add.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘Why don’t we meet at the Victoria when we’re done?’ It was close, and perhaps he’d have a minute or two with Mary.

  ‘Good enough, sir.’

  The people in the office seemed to bounce him from pillar to post. First a clerk, who made him wait to see a senior clerk, then twiddling his thumbs until one of the managers had time to see him.

  Mr Hardisty carried the prissiness of a man certain about everything in his life. Someone with destiny. His hands were spotless, the nails pared short, and his face was clean-shaven. He wore a modern three-button suit, his high wing collar the only
concession to tradition.

  ‘I understand you wish to learn about some of our former employees, Inspector.’ The man perched on the edge of his chair, elbows on a desk where blotter and pens were carefully aligned.

  ‘Three of them actually, sir. I gave your clerk their names. Leonard Tench, Edward Bradley and Eustace Morley.’

  ‘Mr Morley was our most famous employee.’ He said it with equal measures of pride and disdain. ‘I have our information on all of them here.’ Hardisty patted three thin folders and gave a quick smile. ‘You understand that they haven’t been employed here for a while.’

  ‘Of course. I’d like to take those folders if I might, sir.’

  ‘I’m not sure I’m happy with that.’ Hardisty had thin lips; when he pursed them they seemed to disappear altogether.

  ‘Two of those men have been murdered. The third might be in danger.’ He watched the man blanch. He paused. ‘I’m sure you understand.’

  Hardisty pushed the files across the desk and gave a small cough. ‘We’d like them back when you’ve finished with them, if that’s possible.’

  Harper was already picking them up as he stood. ‘I’ll see what I can do, sir.’

  ‘She’s out with the baby, Tom,’ Dan the barman told him as he walked into the pub.

  ‘Did she say where she was going?’

  ‘Up to Burmantofts.’ The man finished pouring the beer, took the money and turned back to him. ‘She said she had some business there.’

  Of course. With Elizabeth. Upstairs, Ellen shooed him out of the kitchen as he started to make tea. She’d just finished cleaning and she wasn’t about to let any man make a mess in there.

  Instead he pushed a pile of books aside, sat at the table and began going through the folders.

  Ted Bradley first. Born in 1863, at nine years old he’d gone from school straight to work at the chemical plant. Disciplined three times over the years, all for minor things, and docked wages here and there for lateness. His first address had been out in Meanwood, then six years ago he’d moved to Roseville Terrace. Married? Into lodgings? He made a note of the address; they’d try there later. A year ago he’d handed in his notice at the works. And that was all there was.

  He opened the next file: Eustace Morley. Started at the factory six years before. Fined regularly, everything from lateness to sloppy work. Several times for fighting. Sacked a year earlier after threatening a manager. An address close to the cavalry barracks.

  And finally Leonard Tench, but the paperwork told him nothing they didn’t already know. He’d left three years before, when he went to prison. A note said Do Not Rehire. Rarely late, but doubts about his honesty, suspected of having light fingers.

  He was sitting thoughtfully when Ellen brought a pot of tea and a plate of sandwiches. She always cut the bread as thick as doorstops and slathered on the dripping.

  ‘That’ll feed you up,’ she told him. ‘Annabelle would kill me if I let you go hungry.’

  ‘I don’t think there’s any danger of that.’

  ‘You just make sure you eat it up.’ It was part advice, part demand. He grinned.

  ‘You’re going to have to feed Sergeant Ash, too,’ Harper said. ‘He’ll be here soon.’

  ‘I’m sure we can manage,’ she sniffed.

  He felt the footsteps on the stairs before he heard them, then the door opened and Ash came in and sat across from him. A cup was already set, a full plate waiting, and he looked at it hungrily.

  ‘Go on, it can wait until you’ve eaten.’

  ‘Thank you, sir. Be good to get the taste of the plant out of my mouth.’

  It was five minutes before he’d finished, washing the meal down with a long swig of tea.

  ‘What did you manage to find out? The files have the basics, but nothing about who they were.’

  ‘There are still plenty there who remember them. One or two who recall me, too,’ he added ruefully. ‘Most of them had time for Len and Ted. If they had something rum going on, no one seemed to know about it. They’d go out for a drink with the lads, just the usual, really.’ He shrugged. ‘People were sorry to see them go.’

  ‘What about Morley?’

  Ash sighed. ‘Different kettle of fish altogether, sir. He wasn’t too well-liked, although he got along fine with Len and Ted for some reason. People were scared of him, if you ask me. They still went to see him fight, mind.’

  ‘I’ve never followed boxing.’ Half his working life had been spent dealing with people who’d been beaten. Why would he want to see more of it?

  ‘Morley’s good,’ the sergeant said. ‘I watched him once, in ’91. They held it in that old barn near the bottom of Lower Briggate. Packed the place. He was up against John Coyne. Beat him, too. No one expected that.’

  ‘He was disciplined at the works a few times for brawling.’

  ‘That sounds about right from all I heard. Most of them weren’t sorry when he was sacked; wondered why it took so long, really.’

  ‘We’d better go and find him. Leave the others for now. They’re dead, he’s still alive.’

  ‘We hope he is, anyway, sir.’

  Number five, Beaufort Place. Less than five minutes’ walk from the Victoria. Bricks the colour of soot and smoke, the same as all the neighbours. The thin, dirty stream of Gipton Beck at the end of the street, where boys were playing; running, laughing, fishing hopefully.

  The woman who answered the door looked weary, drained by the heat of the day, exhausted by life. Her hair hung lank over a faded cotton shawl, thin arms crossed over a small body, her face drawn, so pale she was almost grey.

  ‘Eustace Morley? He’s not lived here since they let him go from the works,’ she told them. ‘I said to him, no wage, no room. It was bad enough when he was earning, rolling in at all hours. Loud when he wanted, as well. But I had to put me foot down somewhere.’

  ‘Do you know where he went?’ Ash asked. He had the kindly tone that put women at ease and made them respond.

  ‘I do not,’ she insisted. ‘I heard he’d gone up by Clay Pit Lane, but God only knows if he’s still there.’

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

  ‘I only allow tenants on the premises,’ the woman said with a loud sniff. ‘It’s a rule.’ She looked at one of them, then the other. ‘You know he was a boxer, don’t you?’

  ‘Yes,’ Harper replied.

  ‘He used to go down somewhere off Lovell Road for that.’ She hesitated. ‘But if you want to arrest him for summat, I’d be careful. He’s even bigger than you,’ the woman said, nodding at Ash, ‘and he’s good with them fists of his.’

  ‘Which do you want?’ the inspector asked as they walked back to Roundhay Road. ‘To try and find where he trained or where he worked?’

  ‘Trained, I think, if you don’t mind, sir. Chances are he went to Tommy Dooley’s gym. I’ll try there first. If not, they’ll know where to find him. I’ve not seen anyone box in a while. It might be an education.’

  Harper pulled the old watch from his waistcoat pocket. ‘Let’s meet at Millgarth at five.’

  ‘What if I find Morley, sir? What do you want me to do with him?’

  ‘Bring him in. We need to talk to him properly. It’s for his own safety.’

  ‘And if he doesn’t want to come?’

  ‘Make him.’

  A grim smile crossed Ash’s face. ‘Yes, sir. It can’t be worse than when we had that Buffalo Bill Cody fellow here last year.’

  The American had brought his Wild West circus to town the September before, performing down at Cardigan Fields. Harper had taken his family to the event. Mary was no more than a few months old. Plenty of excitement, riding and shooting. A proper spectacle with real cowboys and Indians. But the true excitement came later.

  Harper had been off duty, but Ash had told the tale often enough. Cody and some of the cowboys had gone into the Three Legs on the Headrow for a drink. One whisky turned to several, then tempers began to unravel. The s
ergeant had been the one who’d waded in and ended things. Five arrested for affray, and Bill the cowboy left with a host of bruises and battered pride for his trouble. But not a mark on the policeman.

  ‘Let’s hope not, anyway.’

  SIX

  The quickest way to Wade Lane was on foot, up the hill west of Sheepscar. Faster than catching one tram into town and another going out the other way. But by the time he reached Carlton drill ground Harper was sweating in the July heat.

  A pub was always a good place to begin. If Morley lived in the neighbourhood, people would know him. A boxer would be famous in all the streets around his home.

  The Mason’s Arms stood directly across the road. Inside it was all shadows, with the smell of stale beer and smoke that clung to the ceiling. A few customers were scattered in the corners, quiet drinkers keeping themselves to themselves with a glass or two teased out to see them through the day.

  He bought lemonade from a suspicious barman, grateful for the tartness of the drink. He knew full well that the man had made him for a copper. That wasn’t a problem; he was proud of the fact.

  ‘Eustace Morley,’ he said as he put the empty glass back on the bar.

  ‘What about him?’

  ‘I’d like to know where to find him.’

  ‘Try over there.’ He tilted his head towards the far corner where someone sat, half-hidden in the shade. ‘If he wants to talk to you.’

  Sometimes luck smiled, he thought. Just not often enough when you were on the force. But this saved him hours of trailing from address to address, following one empty lead after another. He walked across the bar, out of the sunlight, his eyes adjusting, until he was standing in front of a big man.

  Morley had a shaved head, with something rubbed on his scalp to make it glisten. The only hair was a thick moustache over his upper lip. Massive, scarred hands held a newspaper.

  ‘Hello, Eustace. I’ve been looking for you.’

  Morley pursed his mouth and stared, eyes wary. ‘You don’t look like a sporting man.’ He had a rasp of a voice, as if someone had taken a file to his throat.

  ‘I’m with the police. Detective Inspector Harper.’

  ‘So?’ He didn’t look worried or frightened.