The Iron Water

by Chris Nickson

  All Reed could do was shake his head. ‘I hope he can manage it. Give the Yard a black eye.’

  ‘If Annabelle has anything to do with it, he will.’

  Wharton was waiting in the office, attempting to look busy. But the pen in his hand hadn’t written a word on the page and he kept glancing up.

  ‘Come on, you look like you’ve got something on your mind,’ Harper said.

  ‘It’s about Miss Brooker, sir.’

  The inspector settled in his chair. ‘Well?’

  ‘I went out walking again last night. Just down from the wharves I saw a man. Red hair, young. I don’t know why, I can’t explain it, but I just thought he had to be the one she’d been seeing.’

  ‘Was your hunch right?’ Of course it had been; they wouldn’t be sitting here otherwise.

  ‘Yes, sir.’ He flushed with pride. ‘They were supposed to meet on the night she died, but he had to work late. By the time he arrived there was no sign of her and he thought she’d given up and gone home. He went back the next night and the two after that, but she didn’t appear. It was all secret so he couldn’t go to her house. The first thing he knew was when he read the newspaper.’

  A sad tale, but life was full of those and nothing they could do about it.

  ‘Very good,’ Harper told him. The young man’s face reddened more. ‘Did you check where he worked to be certain he was telling the truth?’

  ‘On my list, sir. I haven’t had time yet today, what with everything else going on.’

  ‘Early in the morning,’ he ordered. ‘Perhaps we can finish one thing, anyway.’

  By the time Harper trudged back to the Victoria, late darkness had fallen. He’d spent the evening in the public houses and the beershops, talking, listening, pushing hard with his questions. There’d been one or two snippets, but that was all they’d been: fragments of information.

  On the way back he’d stopped at Millgarth. Superintendent Kendall was there, drinking tea from a cracked cup as he pored over some of the paperwork on his desk.

  ‘Any luck at the Bull and Mouth, sir?’

  ‘Not so you’d notice.’ Kendall ran a hand through his hair. The deep circles stood out under his eyes. ‘John the landlord is straight as a die. He was working when Hill was in but he swears he hadn’t seen this copper-haired man before or since.’

  ‘We’ll find him.’

  ‘When, Tom? You know what’ll happen once the papers get a sniff of someone from the Yard taking over, don’t you? That’s it for you and me. We’ll never see another promotion. We’ll be lucky if we don’t end up back on the beat. There’s even talk that the chief will have to resign if Robertson comes.’

  ‘It’s not the end of the week yet.’

  ‘No.’ His eyes looked haunted by the prospects for the future. ‘Go home. Sleep. Fresh eyes in the morning.’

  ‘You should as well, sir.’

  Kendall pointed at the pile of letters waiting for his attention. ‘Once I’ve gone through this lot. I could paper my house three times over with it.’

  The night was warm, heavy with the stink of industry. The door to the pub stood open, the noise of the men inside leaking out to the street. Harper made his way through, waving to Dan the barman, then up the stairs. He felt as if the day had been too long. Bed, rest, start again and hope.

  Mary was asleep, no breeze to stir the curtains in the room. Annabelle was bent over her ledgers with a nib in her hand; she turned with a smile as he entered.

  ‘I was hoping you’d be back before it was too late.’ She was already rising as he moved towards her. ‘Don’t take your hat off, we’re going out again.’

  ‘Now?’ he asked as she pecked him on the cheek and picked a bonnet off the back of a chair. ‘Where?’

  ‘I said I’d find you information.’ On the landing she called up the next flight of stairs and Ellen appeared in the doorway. ‘Can you keep an eye on Mary? We’ll only be a few minutes.’

  ‘Course I can, love.’ The woman wiped her hands on her apron. ‘Take as long as you need.’

  The street lamps were glowing as they walked arm in arm up Roundhay Road. She kept to his right, close to his good ear.

  ‘Where are we going?’ Harper asked.

  ‘I told you I was going to ask around. I went and talked to all the gossips and the women who run the corner shops and the pubs. By now it should be all over Leeds.’

  He was exhausted but he’d keep going. Annabelle had hope. The belief that everything could work out.

  ‘Who are we seeing?’

  ‘Mrs Johnson. She runs a rooming house just up past Roseville Road.’ He turned and gave her a curious glance. ‘She sent me a note. It sounds like she had an interesting lodger last week.’

  Harper felt his heartbeat speeding up. ‘With red hair?’

  ‘It could be something or nothing,’ Annabelle told him. ‘She said to come any time.’

  ‘Do you know her?’

  ‘Only slightly. But it’s enough. She’s the kind who likes a nosey around everything. I’ll warn you now, she can talk the hind leg off a donkey if you give her the chance.’

  The house was one of a respectable terrace of three-storey villas close to Spencer Place, no more than a few years old, the brickwork still new enough to have a ruddy shine. Mrs Johnson was a compact, neat woman who showed them through to the kitchen. Everything was scrubbed and gleaming, and a book lay open on the old oak table.

  ‘You sit yourselves down,’ she said, pulling a shawl around her shoulders in spite of the warm night. ‘How’s that little one of yours, luv?’

  ‘Growing every day.’ Annabelle smiled.

  ‘Next thing you know she’ll be bringing a young man through the door. I remember when my—’

  ‘My wife said you might have some information for me,’ Harper interrupted. He was tired and ragged. He needed information but he was long past the point of small talk.

  ‘Yes. Sorry, luv.’ She sniffed and frowned then composed herself. ‘I had a gentleman staying here. He left on Saturday.’

  ‘Did he have red hair? A scar near his hair?’ Harper leaned forward, elbows on his knees, staring at her.

  ‘He did that,’ she replied, surprised. ‘He’s good at his job, your husband, isn’t he?’

  ‘Very,’ Annabelle agreed.

  ‘What else?’ Harper asked.

  ‘The scar, it were over here.’ She indicated with a finger.

  ‘What was his name?’

  ‘Mr Lamb. He didn’t tell me his Christian name; I don’t encourage that.’ Mrs Johnson pursed her lips. ‘He was an odd one. I was glad when he left.’

  ‘Odd?’ He cocked his head. ‘How?’ He knew he sounded desperate.

  ‘There were twice he stayed out all night.’ She sniffed once more and straightened her back. ‘I tell my guest the rules when they arrive: no noise, no young ladies in the rooms, and I lock the front door at ten o’clock every night. If they come back after that they’re out of luck. He did warn me it would happen, that he had to be out on business. But it struck me as strange. Who has honest business at that time?’

  ‘When did this happen?’ He held his breath.

  Lamb had been gone on the nights Len Tench and Tom Bradley died. Now Harper was certain he was after the right man. The two of them, then Bob Hill. Whoever Lamb might really be, whatever he intended in Leeds, death walked right beside him.

  ‘Did he say where he’d come from?’ Harper asked. ‘What was he like?’

  ‘He were polite enough, I suppose,’ she said grudgingly. ‘It were always Mrs Johnson this, Mrs Johnson that, and please and thank you when he needed something. He weren’t local, I can tell that. Said he was from Manchester, but I don’t know.’

  ‘Is there anything else you can tell me? Anything at all? Did he talk about himself? What type of work brought him here?’

  She talked, but after five minutes of this and that he knew she had nothing more to add. It didn’t matter. He was closer now. Still a
few days behind the man, but gaining. Things were starting to lock into place.

  Finally he thanked Mrs Johnson and stood. ‘You’ve been very helpful,’ he told her gratefully. ‘If he comes back …’

  ‘I’ll be sure to send a message to Mrs Harper. And don’t you worry, luv, someone like him doesn’t scare me.’

  He smiled. ‘You’re safe enough.’

  They walked back along Roundhay Road. The night seemed still and quiet. So many houses and factories around them and there could still be silence.

  ‘I’ll pass the word about anyone called Lamb,’ Annabelle said.

  ‘You’ve already been a godsend,’ Harper told her.

  ‘Don’t ever underestimate women.’ She smiled, reached on tiptoe and kissed him. ‘I’ve told you that before.’

  ‘Have you been to see Elizabeth?’

  ‘I ran into her today. I thought I’d keep my distance for a little while. Give her a chance to put her stamp on the shops. She knows where I am if she needs me.’

  His stomach rumbled.

  ‘Have you eaten today?’ Annabelle asked sharply.

  ‘No.’ He’d been too busy, rushing from pillar to post.

  ‘There’s some kettle broth at home. I’ll heat it up for you.’ She paused. ‘Was Mrs Johnson really helpful?’

  ‘More than you can imagine.’

  ‘They’re not going to beat you.’ She squeezed his arm in hers. ‘I’m not going to let them.’

  Them, Harper thought. He wasn’t even certain who the real threat was any more, the criminals or Robertson of the Yard. Defeat on one hand, humiliation on the other. Hobson’s choice.

  Annabelle picked up her pace. ‘Come on, let’s get you home and fed. You mark my words, there’ll be more of the women coming forward tomorrow.’

  He hoped she was right. ‘Have I told you that I love you?’

  She arched an eyebrow. ‘Not often enough, Tom Harper.’

  TWENTY

  ‘At least we know where he was last week,’ Kendall said. It was only one small victory but there was a note of triumph in his voice. ‘We’re after him now.’

  ‘I’ve telegraphed Manchester to see if anyone knows him,’ Harper said

  ‘Copper hair and that scar. People are going to remember him.’ The superintendent rubbed his hands together. ‘What about you two?’ he asked Ash and Wharton.

  ‘Something that puzzles me, sir,’ the sergeant began slowly, rubbing his chin. ‘If this Lamb fellow’s from Manchester, how did he know who to contact here? Killing Len and Ted took some planning, we’re agreed on that.’ Harper nodded. ‘He must have had people in place for a while.’

  ‘It’s a good point,’ the inspector agreed. He’d considered it himself, riding along on the early tram into town and staring out of the window at the grim faces of men on their way to the morning shift. ‘Either he’s working for a gang in Manchester that’s looking to expand over here—’ he saw the superintendent grimace ‘—or he’s doing something on his own. Neither is good for us.’ He pulled his watch from his waistcoat pocket. ‘I hope we’ll hear back very soon.’

  ‘I’ll have the bobbies on the beat check all the hotels and lodging houses.’ Kendall scribbled a note. He turned to Wharton. ‘Have you found anything?’

  ‘Sorry, sir. Nothing.’

  ‘Keep trying.’

  ‘We’ve tied him to all the murders,’ the inspector said. ‘We want him. But Ash is right. He has to have some friends in Leeds who are helping him. The question that keeps coming back to me is why he started with Tench and Bradley. Why he didn’t kill Morley and finish that job? There’s got to be something in that.’

  ‘Morley’s in there somewhere,’ Ash agreed. ‘I’d lay good money on it.’

  ‘Well, we haven’t managed to get anything from him,’ the superintendent pointed out. ‘Gilmore and Archer have people watching him so there’s nothing more he can do.’

  ‘And the truce between the gangs is still holding—’

  ‘For now,’ Kendall muttered darkly.

  ‘—so we don’t have to worry about them. Not yet, anyway.’

  ‘Do you think they know about Lamb, sir?’ Wharton asked thoughtfully.

  ‘I don’t think so.’ Harper gave a small sigh. ‘Let’s hope not, anyway. We’re sunk if they do.’

  ‘Let’s get to work, gentlemen,’ the superintendent ordered. ‘Just a word with you first, Tom.’

  The door closed, leaving the two of them in Kendall’s office.

  ‘Time’s ticking away.’

  ‘I know, sir. We’re making progress, though.’

  ‘They’re small steps. We’re going to need a lot more than that to solve this before the end of the week.’

  The spectre of the Yard and the disgrace that would come with it hung heavily over them both.

  ‘Believe me, I know.’

  ‘What do you want me to do?’ Kendall asked.

  ‘We know what Lamb looks like now. We know what he’s done.’ He shrugged. ‘All I can think of is the same as before. Go back, talk to people. We have the description, see if it rings any bells.’

  The superintendent nodded. ‘Seen with Bob Hill, and the mother of one of the kidnap victims talking to this Mrs Keeble … we still have that connection to Archer, don’t we?’

  ‘To the people around him,’ Harper answered with care. ‘I really don’t believe George is involved. What does he get from killing one of his own men?’

  ‘Hill with Lamb,’ Kendall said slowly. ‘Archer could have found out that Bob was plotting against him.’

  ‘If that was true, he wouldn’t be looking all over Leeds for whoever killed the man.’

  ‘Then what about the housekeeper?’

  What about Susan Keeble, he wondered? Could she be involved? He’d believed her when they’d talked. But she might be worth another visit …

  ‘I’ll go out there.’

  Before he could continue there was a tap on the door. Tollman.

  ‘Sorry to interrupt, sir, but there’s someone on the telephone. From Manchester. A Detective Inspector Clark.’

  He’d used the instrument a number of times, but he never felt comfortable with it. Even with his good ear pressed hard against the receiver, it always tested his hearing; he could never be certain he’d understood correctly. A bad line and it was painful.

  More than that, the idea of talking to someone miles away seemed impossible. He knew it was the future, more and more people had them. Just not for someone like him. At least Annabelle hadn’t suggested one for the Victoria yet.

  ‘Hello?’

  ‘Harper? This is Clark in Manchester.’ A brisk Lancastrian voice, dour and dry. ‘You wanted to know about someone called Lamb.’

  The connection was so clear that the man could have been in the same room. Thank God for that, at least.

  ‘Do you know him?’

  ‘Oh aye. Ken Lamb. You know he has red hair, don’t you? A darker colour, very noticeable. Everyone just calls him Red. We’ve had our eye on him since he was a nipper.’

  The same man. ‘Scar on his temple as well?’

  ‘That’s the one. What’s he done over your way?’

  ‘We think he’s murdered four people.’

  Clark let out a low whistle that came through the telephone like static. ‘We’ve had him pegged for one or two killings in the past but never found anyone who’d testify against him. Four? Bloody hell. What’s happened to him?’

  Harper explained in a few short sentences. The chance to talk to anyone familiar with Lamb was priceless.

  ‘I don’t see him doing work like that for someone from Manchester,’ Clark answered after a moment. ‘I’ve not heard of any of the gangs looking for new horizons. And Lamb’s a bit of a loner.’

  ‘Is he clever?’

  ‘Smart as a bloody whip. He knows how to use people. I’ll warn you, he’s violent, too.’

  A few moments of silence as that sank in. He could feel the blood pounding in
his neck, the beginnings of an ache in his head.

  ‘Do you think he could be trying to take over the gangs here?’

  ‘He’s always been ambitious, has Red. But bloody hell … this is a leap, even for him. He’s clever, but you don’t manage that on your own, do you?’

  ‘That’s what I thought.’

  ‘If you get close, watch yourself,’ Clark warned. ‘He’s good with his fists, used to be a boxer. If he’s desperate enough he might kill a copper.’

  ‘A boxer?’ the inspector asked sharply.

  ‘That was a few years ago. He wasn’t that good, by all accounts. I can send his file over on the express if you’ll have one of your men meet it. Everything we know is in there. Hold on a minute.’ Suddenly all sound vanished. For a moment Harper thought they’d been cut off. Then, ‘I started asking around before I rang you. No one seems to have seen Lamb for two months. That’s plenty of time to lay some groundwork over your way.’

  ‘It is,’ Harper agreed. ‘I appreciate all this.’

  ‘You’re welcome, if it helps you catch him. Just something between you, me, and the doorpost.’ Clark’s voice quietened. ‘If you get the chance, kill the bastard. You’ll be doing us all a favour. Good luck, Inspector.’

  He replaced the receiver. Without thinking, he rubbed the ear that had been listening so intently.

  Ken Lamb. Red Lamb. He’d know a lot more once all the information arrived. But the little he’d learned made him certain. This was the man behind it all. And he’d been a boxer once …

  ‘Boxer?’ Kendall said. ‘Do you think he knows Morley?’

  ‘I’ve no idea. But it could explain why the man’s still alive when his friends are dead.’

  ‘I want Morley down here sharpish. You know him, you handle that one yourself.’ The superintendent gave a fleeting smile. ‘Since you’re pals maybe we can avoid brawling in the street. I’ll arrange for someone to meet the Manchester express.’ He hesitated for a second. ‘The inspector really said that? Kill him?’

  ‘“Kill the bastard. You’ll be doing us all a favour.” Exact words.’

  ‘Let’s see when we find him.’

  Somewhere above the smoke and the clouds the sun must be shining, Harper decided as he strode along Lovell Road. The heat pressed down, and people looked miserable as they trudged along. He saw two men idling outside the stairs to Dooley’s Gym, trying to keep themselves in the shade. Morley’s shadows. In a few minutes they’d have a surprise.