The Iron Water

by Chris Nickson

  ‘I’m scared,’ Elizabeth said. ‘It’s so big. And once I say yes …’

  ‘I know.’ He pulled her close again. ‘But you can do it.’

  ‘What did they say down on the wharves?’ Harper asked.

  ‘That there are probably thousands of men in Leeds who know how to tie a bowline, sir,’ Ash replied as he raised an eyebrow. ‘Anyone worth his salt would be able to do it.’

  ‘So we’re no further along.’

  ‘Not really. I’m sorry, sir.’

  ‘Never mind. It was worth a try.’ The inspector took out the paper Billy Reed had given him. ‘This is the owner of the building where Ted Bradley was killed. See what you can find out about him.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  Most likely it would be another dead end. But sooner or later they’d find a way through. Patience and persistence, that was half the job. He turned to the detective constable.

  ‘What about you, Mr Wharton? What else have you managed to discover about Miss Brooker?’

  ‘Very little, sir,’ he admitted. ‘I had the names of two of her friends. They both said Charlotte was always cheerful and helpful. That fits with what her mother said. But they also said she could be low at times, which goes along with what the sister told me.’

  ‘That’s not particularly helpful,’ Harper agreed. ‘What about a young man?’

  ‘Here’s where it becomes complicated, sir.’ Wharton frowned. ‘Charlotte had hinted to her friends that there might be someone, but she wouldn’t tell them who it was, just a man her parents wouldn’t approve of. But they’re not sure if she was telling the truth, whether there really was anyone or if it was just a tale. Sort of take your pick. I’m not sure how to find out.’

  The inspector tried to recall the details. ‘She liked to walk, isn’t that right?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘On her own?’

  ‘Sometimes, or with her friends.’ Wharton scrambled back, checking his notebook. ‘Occasionally her sister, but that seemed to be rare from what I could find out.’

  ‘That would be a perfect opportunity to meet someone, don’t you think?’

  For the first time, Wharton seemed to smile. ‘Yes, sir. Of course.’

  ‘Find out where she liked to go and when. Between them the friends and the mother should be able to tell you. Then get out there and talk to people. Someone must have seen her. Ask if she was on her own.’

  ‘Won’t that take a long time, sir?’

  ‘It might. Or you could be lucky with the first person. That’s what detective work is like, Mr Wharton.’

  And sometimes the answers never appeared. Better not to say that, he thought. Sooner or later the lad would discover it for himself.

  ‘Yes, sir,’ the constable said doubtfully. ‘Sir?’

  ‘What, Mr Wharton?’

  ‘The investigation you and the sergeant are working on,’ he began. ‘Will you be needing me for it? I’d be interested, I could learn a lot.’ His eyes were full of hope.

  Harper stared at him. ‘I’d prefer you to keep on with Charlotte Brooker,’ he said kindly. ‘You’re doing an excellent job and you’re taking a great deal of weight off my shoulders.’ And it was good experience in how to conduct an investigation with all its frustrations and triumphs.

  ‘Yes, sir.’ He could see the disappointment on Wharton’s face; he was still too young, too new, to disguise his feelings.

  ‘There’s one thing you’ll never need to worry about in this job,’ the inspector advised. ‘There’ll always be another case, and you’ll learn from every one of them.’

  ‘I talked to a few of my old informants yesterday,’ Kendall said with a wry smile. They were in his office, the door firmly closed, voices low. ‘Half of them are gone. It’s been too long. I’m rusty.’

  ‘Did anyone tell you much?’

  ‘Nothing we don’t already know. Everyone’s scared of Archer. None of them had even heard of Tench and Bradley.’

  ‘That supports what Morley said, that they’d never talked about their crimes,’ Harper said. ‘Maybe Horseshoe Harry was wrong. We could be sniffing at the wrong tree. He’s the only one who’s mentioned it and he’s dead now.’

  ‘Who killed them, then?’ Kendall asked. ‘It leaves us with no one in the frame. And look at the ways they tried to dispose of the bodies. No, Tom, there’s planning and manpower there.’

  They kept returning to that, how everything was arranged, the sheer luck of even finding Tench’s body, then the timing of Bradley’s death, so soon after his friend had been discovered.

  ‘I like your idea of having Gilmore and Archer watching each other with that boxer,’ the superintendent said. ‘That ought to keep him safe. Have you seen him fight?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘You should. He’s wonderful to watch in the ring.’ He started to fill his pipe, tamping down the tobacco with a fingertip, then striking a match and puffing until the air around his head was thick with smoke. ‘We’re still scratching around the outside of all this, aren’t we?’

  ‘It feels that way,’ Harper agreed. ‘I’ve got Ash out chasing leads that’ll probably come to nothing and I don’t have a clue where to turn.’

  ‘I told you, Archer’s canny. Remember that the newspapers are watching. Very soon they’ll start demanding results from us.’

  ‘We just need a way in.’ The inspector raised his eyes. ‘Even if it’s just a single thread. But honestly, I’m not sure Archer’s involved.’

  ‘We’ll see,’ the superintendent said. ‘I’ll go looking for more of my informants today.’

  ‘Thank you, sir.’

  Kendall gave a small laugh. ‘I’ll tell you, Tom, it felt strange to be doing real police work again.’

  ‘Good, though?’

  He nodded. ‘It made me wonder why I’d stopped. Then I came back here and saw this.’ He gestured helplessly at all the paper on his desk.

  The warmth of the day washed over Harper as he left Millgarth, all the stink and soot and noise of the city. He stood on the pavement, hearing the shouts from the market as people cried their wares. People flowed around him and the traffic passed. Where now, he wondered.

  TEN

  Harper went to visit the other men who’d had family snatched by Tench and his men: a chemist with premises on Kirkgate and a bible seller on Cookridge Street. Both of them were nervous, well-dressed, carefully groomed. But neither would say a word, no matter how much he assured or cajoled them. Exactly the same as Peters the draper.

  They were lying. He could see the anxiety in their eyes. But nothing he did made them even acknowledge it. They must have had the fear of God put in them.

  Ignorance wasn’t bliss, Harper thought. Anything but.

  By five he was back in Millgarth. He’d gone round his narks once more, pressing them. Again he’d gained nothing apart from more frustration and men shaking their heads. With Horseshoe Harry dead he needed someone else to connect Archer to the murders. And no one was doing that.

  Ash had already returned, looking down in the mouth.

  ‘Mr Worthington, the man who owns the building where they found Ted, he looks clean enough, sir. He’s lost money on the fire – didn’t have insurance.’

  ‘Any connection with Archer or Gilmore?’ the inspector asked.

  ‘Not that anyone found. The place came to him in his father’s will. Everything seems above board. Nothing dubious.’

  ‘It doesn’t matter; I hadn’t expected much. Go and spend the evening with your wife.’ Ash brightened. ‘All this will still be here in the morning.’

  There was no sign of Wharton as he finished writing out his report. Harper was blotting the ink, ready to lock the paper away when the superintendent appeared, nodding towards his office.

  Kendall didn’t look pleased, Harper thought as he closed the door behind them. His face was flushed and worried.

  ‘Did you have any luck?’ His voice was sharp.

  ‘No, sir.’
r />   ‘Well, I have something to tell you.’ Kendall ran his tongue around the inside of his mouth. ‘I ran into someone who used to pass me a few tips.’ He put his pipe down and picked it up again. The inspector waited, trying to hide his impatience. ‘He likes to go fishing. Gets up in the middle of the night so he can be on the spot before dawn. That’s when they start biting, he says. He was up at Waterloo Lake a few days ago.’

  Suddenly Harper was very attentive indeed. ‘When was this, sir?’

  ‘Two nights before the torpedo demonstration.’

  For a moment he could hardly breathe. He could feel the pulse beating hard in his neck. ‘What did he see?’

  ‘Three men with a horse and cart going away from the lake. There was a rowing boat up against the bank. He thought that was odd since they’re usually tied by the café. The air was still, and he could hear them go out along the carriage drive to the Wetherby Road.’ Come on, Harper thought. He needed more than that. ‘And there was enough of a moon that he could make out the faces.’

  ‘Who?’

  The superintendent stood and began to pace, hands pushed deep in his pockets. Come on, the inspector thought, spit it out.

  ‘Tim O’Shea,’ he said finally. He looked stunned.

  ‘But—’ Harper began.

  ‘I know. Before you ask, he says he’d swear on it,’ he said dully, no expression in his voice.

  Tim O’Shea was one of Charlie Gilmore’s men. Harper’s mind was racing, questions spinning and skittering around. This changed it all.

  ‘There’s one more thing,’ Kendall continued. ‘He thinks one of the others was Declan Gilmore.’ He held up his hand. ‘He didn’t get enough of a glimpse to be absolutely certain.’

  They stared at each other.

  ‘I’d like to talk to your friend.’ It was all Harper could think to say. He needed to hear it for himself, to be sure.

  Kendall shook his head. ‘He only told me because we’ve known each other for donkey’s years. I’m not even going to tell you his name, Tom.’

  If he couldn’t speak to the source, there was one question he had to ask. ‘Do you believe him, sir?’ When the man didn’t reply immediately, he continued, ‘Gut feeling?’

  ‘I do.’ The super nodded and sighed. ‘Believe me, Tom, I’ve thought about nothing else since he told me. But he didn’t come looking for me, I found him. He couldn’t even have known I’d be asking.’

  The silence was like a weight on them.

  ‘I had myself convinced it was Archer,’ Kendall said quietly, a dazed expression on his face. He chuckled and shook his head. ‘What did I teach you when you were starting out as a detective?’

  ‘Always keep an open mind.’

  ‘Shows how well I remembered my own lessons, didn’t it?’

  But Harper was already trying to look ahead. ‘Your nark, did anyone spot him?’

  ‘He’s sure they didn’t,’ the superintendent replied slowly. ‘It was still dark and he was on the other side of the lake, back among the trees. As soon as he saw them he hid.’

  ‘But he can’t be certain he wasn’t seen.’

  ‘He says it’s fine, and he’s not a hothead.’

  ‘What if we need evidence in court?’ the inspector asked.

  ‘Let’s cross that bridge when we come to it, shall we? We’ve got O’Shea’s name, that’s a start.’

  ‘Yes.’ Harper turned things over in his mind. ‘We still have the same question, though, don’t we? Why did someone kill Tench and Bradley?’

  Gilmore must have been behind both murders. For the life of him he still couldn’t see a reason.

  ‘We’d better get O’Shea in,’ Kendall ordered. ‘See what he has to say.’

  ‘There’s one good thing – Tim was never much of a liar. We’ll get some truth from him.’ He’d been convicted and in prison at least three times that Harper could recall; probably more than that. ‘As soon as we grab him Charlie Gilmore’s going to know.’ He’d hear from anyone who witnessed it.

  ‘Can’t be helped.’

  ‘If Declan Gilmore’s involved …’

  He was a hard man, brutal, vicious. He revelled in pain and violence. Declan made his brother seem mild.

  ‘Worry about him later.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘Tom,’ Kendall added, so softly that his hearing could barely catch the words. ‘We’re still keeping this between the three of us. Even if Archer’s not directly involved I don’t want him getting word. Not yet.’

  ‘Are you going to be working on Sunday?’ Annabelle asked.

  The question took him by surprise. His mind had been elsewhere, trying to make sense of the information from the superintendent. He’d only picked at the meal, no appetite for the lamb chops and mash. Harper put down his knife and fork and pushed the plate away.

  ‘I don’t know,’ he answered, and ran a hand through his hair. ‘Did you have something in mind?’

  She smiled at him.

  ‘You know I start that job for the Suffragist Society on Monday. I thought we could go up to the park if the weather stays warm. All three of us. Make an afternoon of it. Concert at the bandstand, take a picnic.’

  He glanced at his daughter. As soon as she’d finished her food she’d wriggled down to the floor. Now she was back with the wooden blocks, her favourite toy, at least for today.

  ‘That sounds perfect.’ He put his hand over hers and grinned. A chance to promenade with his family.

  It was a gentle, quiet evening. No tantrum from Mary during her bath or as they settled her down to sleep. She didn’t try to fight it, but closed her eyes as Annabelle told her a story. Harper stood in the doorway, watching, feeling content in a way he’d never imagined.

  ‘Are you ready for it all?’ he asked when they sat together later.

  ‘The job? As much as I’ll ever be.’ She chuckled. ‘I’ve been reading so much my eyes are going square.’

  ‘You’ll be fine.’

  ‘I’ll do my best,’ she said with a sigh. ‘That’s all I can do.’

  ‘Has Elizabeth said anything more about the bakeries?’

  ‘Not yet.’

  ‘When I saw Billy yesterday he was asking me about them. He wanted to know if there was something you hadn’t told Elizabeth.’

  ‘Cheek.’ For a moment the colour rose on her cheeks but it passed as quickly as it arrived. ‘Still, I suppose I can’t blame him. She’ll set him straight, anyway.’

  Downstairs in the pub people were singing.

  ‘Someone must be celebrating,’ she said and listened a little longer. ‘God, I’d better have the piano tuner in. That thing sounds like a cats’ chorus.’

  They pushed the man down on a chair in the interview room.

  ‘I’ll kill you.’ His gaze moved from one to the other. ‘This is a free country. You can’t just come and take me like that.’

  ‘Maybe you’d rather we dropped you in a lake,’ Harper said softly.

  For long seconds O’Shea went silent, enough for the inspector to know he was guilty.

  ‘What are you talking about? What do you mean?’ But it was only bluster and hot air; he’d given it all away.

  Ash closed the door. Just the three of them in here, and O’Shea looked worried.

  Harper took his time, sitting, watching, in no rush to speak as O’Shea fidgeted. He was a small man with ragged dark hair and a scrubby beard, old clothes and battered boots. Dirt was ingrained on his hands and face, as if he never saw a proper wash from one week to the next. His gaze fluttered nervously, not settling on anything.

  Time, the inspector thought. Let his worry build into fear.

  Tim O’Shea wasn’t a captain in the Boys of Erin. He didn’t even rank as a lieutenant or a sergeant. Men like him were simply cannon fodder, muscle and bone to be used. Not bright, but loyal. Snatching him had been the easiest thing in the world. He was a creature of habit: a drink at the Sword to start his day and steady his hand. Then into town, looking fo
r titbits of work to put a few pennies in his pocket. At dinnertime he’d return to the pub and spend his afternoon there, one of so many fawning around Gilmore, hoping for some job, any job.

  All they had to do was wait and watch as he began his wanderings. On Kirkgate, O’Shea was one of many people on the street, with no one to protect him and nowhere to run. The policemen came up from behind, Harper on one side, Ash on the other, each grabbing a wrist. The man hadn’t even tried to run. He already knew he didn’t have a chance. But Tim O’Shea had been born without hope. He sat there now, left eye twitching with a nervous tic.

  ‘I’m going to tell you a story.’ The inspector broke the silence. ‘Maybe you’ve already heard it.’ He waited but O’Shea said nothing, not even glancing at him. ‘Once upon a time there was a man. You’d never call him a good man, but there were far worse in the world. For one reason or another, though, he was killed. Murdered. Are you listening to me, Tim?’ He watched the man give a quick, nervous nod. ‘Now tell me, what do you think would be a good way to get rid of the body? How about tie him to something heavy and dump the corpse in the water where no one would ever find him? Who’d ever know?’ He kept his eyes on O’Shea. ‘Do you know the problem with the best-laid plans, Tim? They don’t always work, do they?’ The man didn’t reply. He tried to keep his face blank. ‘That’s not all, though,’ Harper went on. ‘The fellow who was killed had a friend. A very good friend, they’d been close for years. Perhaps he knew too much about things. So he had to die, too, especially after the man in the lake turned up. A well-set fire doesn’t leave much behind. Nothing more than ashes. It was just good fortune that the brigade arrived in time to put out the blaze before the corpse really burned.’ He paused. ‘How do you like the story so far, Tim?’

  ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ O’Shea muttered.

  ‘But you do, Tim. You do.’ Harper spoke lazily, as if he already knew everything. ‘After all, you were in the cart that took Leonard Tench out to the lake. You probably rowed the boat.’ For a second he thought about bringing up Declan Gilmore’s name. Not yet; it wasn’t time to play that card. ‘Turn your hands over, Tim. Let me take a look at your palms.’