The Iron Water

by Chris Nickson

  ‘It’s not what you think, sir. We’ve known each other for years. She loves to tease, does Nellie.’ He gave a small cough. ‘At least we’re closer to him now.’

  Without warning, Harper pushed Ash into the shadow of a building.

  ‘Watch,’ he said.

  They stayed in the shadows as a man moved through the knots of people on the pavement, marching out purposefully until he reached the Cobourg then pushing open the door. On a mission.

  ‘Who is it, sir?’

  ‘Davy something-or-other. He works for Archer.’ The inspector kept his gaze on the pub. A few seconds later the man came tumbling out and Nellie Ingram stood in the doorway. He didn’t need to hear the words as she sent the man on his way.

  ‘Looks like she’s put a flea in his ear,’ Ash said with a chuckle.

  ‘We should be glad of that.’

  But it meant that Archer knew who Lamb was. And it would be a few hours before reports started coming in from the men on the beat.

  ‘Back to Millgarth,’ he decided. ‘I want you to question Morley. See if you have more luck than me.’

  The constable had barely set foot in the office before Harper said, ‘Mr Wharton.’

  ‘Sir?’

  ‘Did you check at the factory this morning about Miss Brooker’s young man?’

  Wharton smiled. ‘Yes, sir. He was telling the truth.’

  ‘That’s an end to the matter, then. Have you written a final report?’

  ‘It’s in the file for the inquest, sir.’

  ‘Very good.’ He waited until the young man nodded, then asked, ‘I was looking for you earlier. Where did you go?’

  ‘Out trying to find leads on Lamb, sir, the way you and the superintendent wanted.’

  ‘Did you come up with any?’

  ‘Not a thing, sir.’

  ‘You have the makings of a good detective.’

  Wharton beamed. ‘Thank you, sir.’

  Harper tilted his head. He wanted to be absolutely certain he heard every word.

  ‘It’s a pity you’ll never have the chance to make it happen.’

  For a second the man stood in shocked silence. ‘You mean my work’s not good enough?’

  ‘I mean you’re passing information to George Archer,’ the inspector told him.

  ‘I never—’

  ‘Only two people could have heard my wife tell me about the Cobourg earlier – you and Sergeant Tollman. On my way back here I saw one of Archer’s men going in there, and getting thrown out again for his pains.’

  ‘It must have been coincidence, sir.’ He sounded desperate.

  ‘How much has Archer been paying you?’

  Silence.

  ‘How much?’

  Wharton didn’t reply. He was still standing there when Kendall arrived.

  ‘What’s going on?’ he asked.

  ‘I think we’ve found one of the men passing information to Archer,’ Harper said.

  The superintendent turned sharply, his face looking old and hard. ‘Is this true?’

  The constable stared at the ground in front of his boots.

  ‘When did it start?’ Kendall’s face was beginning to turn red with fury. ‘In plain clothes or on the beat?’

  ‘When I was still on the beat, sir.’ His voice was small and fearful.

  ‘How much did he pay you?’ The super was curling his hands into fists and opening them again.

  ‘Two guineas a month.’

  Kendall snorted, his mouth in a snarl. ‘He must have thought his ship had come in when you became a detective.’ No reply. ‘Get out. Leave everything on your desk and go.’

  ‘Yes, sir. I’m sorry, sir.’

  ‘Get out,’ he repeated. As Wharton began to walk away, shoulders slumped, Kendall spoke to his back. ‘You’re a disgrace.’

  The door closed, the young man gone, and the silence grew.

  ‘I thought you’d have him arrested,’ Harper said quietly.

  ‘We’d only end up looking even bigger fools in court.’ Kendall was still staring at the door and breathing slowly. At least the anger had faded from his face. ‘I’ll tell you this, Tom. If I have my way he’ll never get a job within fifty miles of here.’

  ‘It’s a pity. He really had talent.’

  ‘How did you find out?’

  Harper explained, fitting it around the information Annabelle and Nellie Ingram had given him.

  ‘At least we’re still ahead of Archer,’ Kendall said when he’d finished. They had to put the business with Wharton behind them and keep their eyes on what mattered. ‘We’ve got a good sniff of Lamb now. I’ve just been talking to the chief. He’s going to try to get the Yard to hold off for two more days.’

  A small weight lifted, at least for a while. A little more time, a few more yards on the lifeline.

  ‘We’re close,’ the inspector said. ‘I can feel it.’

  ‘You’ve read Lamb’s file. Do you think he’s behind everything?’

  ‘He’s supposed to be bright and ruthless. That fits. Still …’

  ‘What?’

  ‘He had help here. He must have. He’s only been here two months. He’d have needed friends.’

  ‘Morley?’ Kendall guessed.

  ‘If it is, I can’t pry a damned word from him. And I still don’t see how he fits in, not with his friends dead. Maybe it was Bob Hill, then Lamb decided to use him to bait George Archer.’

  ‘We need Lamb. Then we can begin unravelling everything.’ The superintendent took out his pipe and began to fill it. ‘At least Gilmore and Archer are keeping the peace.’

  ‘Let’s hope it stays that way.’ He glanced at the clock. No word from any of the beat men yet. Anything would be better than just sitting and waiting. ‘But it wouldn’t hurt to reinforce things.’ He stood, straightened his tie and reached for his hat. ‘You did the right thing with Wharton, sir.’

  ‘What I did wasn’t what I really wanted to do.’ He gave a wan smile. ‘Maybe it’s just as well or I’d be in court myself.’

  Only one man stood guard outside the Sword, sweating in his thick wool suit, a brown bowler hat perched high on his head. He kept his eye on Harper, giving the merest nod towards the door. The man he wanted was there.

  There was no pleasure on Charlie Gilmore’s face. The bar was empty, none of his men in sight; none of the regulars who used the place either. Only the barman reading his newspaper and Charlie alone at the big table.

  The last few days had been unkind to him. His face was hollow, gaunt, as if he’d barely eaten. Harper sat and faced him.

  ‘When’s Declan’s funeral?’

  ‘Tomorrow. Mount St Mary’s at eleven.’ He raised his head and a sly look passed across his eyes. ‘Why, are you thinking of coming, Inspector? It’s going to be the biggest the Bank has ever seen.’

  ‘I don’t think you’d welcome me, Charlie.’

  ‘Have you found his killer yet?’ His words were slightly slurred.

  ‘We’re close. And it’s no one who has anything to do with George Archer.’

  Gilmore turned his head and spat. ‘I know that. Why do you think nothing’s happened between us? And he understands I had nothing to do with his man being murdered. We’ve been exchanging notes, Inspector.’ Harper couldn’t hide his astonishment. ‘That surprise you? We’re both chasing the same quarry.’

  ‘Not both, Charlie,’ Harper corrected him. ‘Three of us. And I’m going to find him first.’

  ‘Why? Because you have the women working for you?’ It came out as a sneer.

  ‘Maybe the question you need to ask is why they’re not working for you.’ He gestured at the empty pub. ‘If they love you so much around here, why aren’t they queueing at the door with tips? Maybe they’re sick of one of their own trying to rule them with fear. Have you thought about that?’

  ‘It’ll take a better man than you to goad me, Inspector. Perhaps you’d better run to your wifey to do your job for you. And I daresay George will tel
l you the same.’ He turned away. ‘Good day, Inspector.’

  He’d hoped for better but expected worse. He could take insults; God knew he’d experienced enough of them as a copper. But the news that Gilmore and Archer were working together was interesting. Worrying, too.

  Smoke from the factories laid a blanket over the city and the streets felt like an oven. The July heat showed no sign of breaking. All the faces he passed on the pavement looked on edge. Thoughts of violence hung over their heads. Another day or two and there’d be fights. Men would beat their wives over nothing at all. There’d be woundings and killings in the pubs and beershops.

  Archer was exactly where he’d hoped to find him, in the office of his accountant, above a shop in New Briggate, the windows facing the Grand Theatre. He visited twice a week, keeping a close eye on all his enterprises.

  Roger Harrison the bodyguard filled the landing with his smell of bay rum and cheap cigars. He didn’t try to stop the inspector squeezing past them. The door opened and he saw George Archer sitting in a leather chair, studying a balance sheet. He glanced up, annoyance turning to anger as he saw the inspector’s face.

  ‘Out,’ he ordered. ‘This is a private meeting.’

  ‘And this is urgent,’ Harper said. ‘Do you want to know or not?’

  Archer chewed his bottom lip for a moment. ‘I need five minutes, Ben,’ he said to the accountant. ‘Do you mind?’

  They waited as the man closed his ledgers and returned them to a drawer, taking time to lock it with ink-stained fingers. Finally they were alone.

  ‘You’ve got brass balls, I’ll give you that.’ He sounded amused. ‘Marching in here like that.’

  ‘Do you want to talk or not, George?’

  ‘What I want to do is hang you out of the window by your ankles. Maybe even let you drop.’ He stood, menace on his face. ‘Do you want to tell me what the bloody hell you’re doing? Dragging my housekeeper away? My bloody housekeeper!’

  ‘Are you done?’ He’d had enough of posturing and poses and people with something to prove. ‘I’ve already been threatened by someone much tougher than you today. Wharton’s gone, you won’t be getting any more information from him.’ He studied the man’s face but it gave nothing away. ‘So are you going to listen, or do you love the sound of your own voice too much?’

  ‘Go on.’ Now Archer sounded curious.

  ‘It’s as simple as this. I’m the one who’s going to catch Lamb.’

  ‘If you can.’

  ‘The police can.’

  ‘No.’ The man’s voice was firm. ‘I owe Bob Hill. He’d been with me a long time. He was like family.’

  ‘You won’t win.’

  ‘Don’t put money on that.’

  ‘I will. Even if you and Charlie Gilmore are working together.’

  Archer raised an eyebrow but didn’t reply. He took out a cigar, cut the tip with a knife from his waistcoat pocket, then lit it. ‘I’ll tell you something. Once all this is all over, I’m done. I’m out of the game completely. Most of my money’s in legal stuff these days. I’m going to keep it that way.’

  ‘Do you think you can stay respectable, George?’ Harper didn’t believe a word.

  ‘I do.’ He nodded. ‘I’m getting too old for this. Used to be I’d relish the idea of a hunt and a scrap. Not these days. And I don’t want a war with bloody Charlie Gilmore. I made sure we nipped that in the bud.’

  ‘What about all those little schemes that have been filling your bank accounts for years? What are you going to do about them?’

  ‘Get rid,’ Archer replied wearily. ‘Gilmore can have them if he wants. We’ve been talking about it. There’s no future in this game.’

  Harper leaned against the door jamb. ‘Do you want to know what I think?’

  ‘You’re going to tell me anyway.’

  ‘I think Lamb’s working with someone to take over from you and Gilmore.’

  ‘Fine. Let him. He’ll have no fight from me about it.’ He shrugged and shook his head. ‘But when I catch him I’ll make him pay for Bob. That’s one thing I have to do.’

  ‘He was seen talking to Lamb the day he died.’

  ‘I don’t believe you.’ Archer kept his voice steady but his eyes were filled with fire. ‘I knew Bob all my life. I know what he’d do and it’s not that.’

  Who ever really knows anyone else, Harper wondered. ‘Walk away now, George.’

  Archer shook his head. ‘I can’t. Not from that. That’s a debt of years.’

  ‘Then you know what I’ll do if I catch you.’

  ‘Your lot haven’t managed it yet.’ The ghost of a smile crossed his mouth. ‘Do your worst, Inspector.’

  Back at Millgarth, there was no more word about Lamb. Many of the constables had reported back, nothing to find, nobody fitting his description in the hotels and rooming houses. The rest still had to return or send a message.

  He paced the office. He was drained. Absolutely empty. But there were still things to do today.

  The hackney dropped him off at the end of the drive to Lakeside. It had been a bone-rattling ride, the cab jouncing and bumping along the road. He stretched, breathing in the cleaner air. Fresher, too, away from the smoke.

  From the plain back door of the house, the tradesman’s entrance, he could stare down over the big lake. A pair of anglers sat by the path, hunched over their rods. A couple walked arm in arm towards Barran’s fountain on the hill. Everything looked so peaceful, so ordinary.

  He turned away and knocked on the door.

  ‘You’re telling me you never said a word to Bob Hill or anyone else?’

  They were in the housekeeper’s parlour. Susan Keeble sat in the chair, staring daggers at him.

  ‘That’s exactly what I’m telling you. Same thing I told you two minutes ago and the last time you were out here. You’re not that stupid, are you? I’m not going to do anything that means my nephew could end up dead.’

  ‘Evidently Bob Hill used to know one of the men who did the kidnapping. You could have had a quiet word with him, it rang a bell, and he decided to do you a favour.’

  She snorted. ‘Happen he could. If I’d had a word. But I didn’t.’

  ‘We know who killed Hill,’ the inspector told her. ‘A man called Lamb, from Manchester. Does the name mean anything to you?’

  ‘Never heard of him.’

  ‘No?’ he asked. ‘That’s funny. Hill was seen talking to him before he died.’

  ‘What’s that got to do with me?’

  ‘You tell me, Mrs Keeble.’

  ‘You’re off your head, you are.’ She started to rise. ‘I’ve given you ten minutes, that’s all you’re getting. I have meals to look after. The girls won’t do a thing if I don’t keep my eye on them.’ Mrs Keeble looked him full in the face. ‘I don’t know what you wanted to find, but it’s not here.’

  Waiting for the electric tram down to Sheepscar he could smell his own sweat in the thick woollen suit. Women fanned themselves, wilting in their dresses, pinched by their corsets.

  The vehicle moved slowly, the windows down to try and catch a breeze. Along Roundhay Road, from the green of trees to smutted brick, the houses growing smaller, more closely packed together, the people poorer.

  The cobbles were dry and dusty as he alighted at the terminus. Not a breath of wind. Smoke from the factories along Meanwood Road – the chemical works, the bootmakers, the tanners and God knew what else – hung low, in clouds coloured from storm grey to dark green.

  The bar was no cooler than outdoors. Just a handful of drinkers were scattered around the room. He waved a greeting to John Willis, sitting awkwardly on his chair. No more than thirty-five and his life over after losing half his left leg when a boiler exploded at work. His face was puckered and livid where the water had scalded him. Now he was unable to do much but sell bootlaces around the neighbourhood, pushing himself along on crutches.

  The door to the cellar was open; Dan was probably down there if he had any sense,
where things were cooler. The inspector climbed the stairs. Miss Quinn sat at the table, tracing a column of figures with a fingertip. He waited until she’d finished, nodding her head in satisfaction.

  ‘I don’t know how you do that,’ he said. ‘Keep it all in your head, I mean.’

  She gave a small laugh. ‘I don’t either,’ she said, a hint of surprise in her voice. ‘I just do it. Maybe that’s the trick, not to think about it.’

  ‘Are the books making sense yet?’

  ‘Bit by bit.’ She started to gather her things. ‘I’d better pack everything away. I should have left an hour ago.’

  ‘Is Annabelle here?’

  ‘She’s just changing Mary. I’ll be out of your hair in a minute.’

  Her movements were brisk and efficient, sliding bookmarks into the ledgers and piling them neatly on one side of the table. She finished just as Annabelle emerged from the bedroom, putting Mary down and watching the little girl’s face light up as she ran across the floor. Every day she was growing. Each footstep more confident than the last. For a second he believed that she’d be grown in a heartbeat.

  ‘I told you your da was home.’ She grinned. ‘As soon as she heard your voice she was squirming.’

  He picked Mary up, nuzzling his nose against hers.

  ‘Back tomorrow?’ Annabelle asked Bertha.

  ‘Yes, in the morning,’ the young woman answered. She winked. ‘You were definitely right.’ She pinned a straw boater to her hair.

  As the footsteps faded he turned to Annabelle. ‘Right about what?’ he asked.

  ‘Never you mind,’ she said, leaning over and kissing him. ‘Woman’s talk. Did Nellie help?’

  ‘Yes.’ He told her, watching her laugh when he added the part about her seeing off Archer’s man.

  ‘I’ve not heard from anyone else.’ It almost sounded like an apology.

  ‘I’m grateful for everything you’ve done. We’re closer now.’

  ‘Will you be able to find him? Before anyone from the Yard comes up here, I mean.’

  ‘I promise.’ And he hoped he was right.

  The early evening was too hot, too heavy to eat anything. They played with Mary until the little girl’s bedtime. Later, sitting together on the settee, Annabelle told him how a man from the local Labour party ward had arrived to ask her to do their books for them; he’d heard about the work she was doing for the Suffrage Society.