Constant Lovers rn-3

by Chris Nickson

  ‘I don’t suppose she happened to hear any conversation?’

  Rob shook his head.‘Not for want of trying, though, from the look of her.’

  ‘Did she see Sarah when she left?’

  ‘Just heard the door. And Will went out soon after. Sarah collected the horse and left early afternoon.’

  ‘Good, that’s one more piece.’ He smiled at Lister’s look of confusion. ‘Do you ever play puzzles?’

  ‘I did when I was young.’

  ‘Sometimes a crime is like a puzzle and you need to discover the answer bit by bit until you reach the answer. This one’s going to be like that. You knew Jackson. Do you know who his close friends were?’

  ‘Some of them.’

  ‘I want you to talk to them, see if they knew he had a girl. We also need to find out where he was after Sarah left and the day after that. Go to his business, too, see if he was there and working.’

  ‘Yes, boss.’

  ‘When you get down to it, most of what we do is asking questions,’ the Constable explained. ‘When we’ve done that we sift through the answers and hope for important information.’

  ‘Wheat and chaff,’ Rob said. ‘I’ll do my best, boss.’

  ‘Good lad.’

  Alone again, he tried to make sense of things. He was glad that the mayor was obstructing the Gibtons. When progress was so slow it made his life easier. Still, however difficult it was, they were crawling forward, inch by inch. It was just as he’d told Lister; there’d be no quick solution to this.

  And then was the problem of the false servants. He knew that there was a good chance Worthy could discover them first using threats and violence to find information. If he did find them and kill them, proving he was behind it would be a difficult matter. Nottingham knew all too well just how cunning the pimp could be. When it came to his own survival, the man had no scruples. He’d cover his trail and even sacrifice one of his men if it would keep him out of prison and away from the noose.

  What else could they do? Sedgwick knew his job, he’d do all he could to find the thieves. Still, the Constable had a few sources that were purely his own; perhaps it was time to talk to them.

  Hercules lived in a tiny outbuilding tucked at the back of the yard of the Rose and Crown. No one knew if he’d been born with that name; few had ever asked. His room had an earth floor and a small pallet of ancient straw covered in blankets once used for horses. Age had stooped him into a figure dressed in patched rags, looking more like a scare-the-crow than a man. In return for his lodging and the scraps of food left by customers, he swept out the inn and cleaned the stables. He was the man no one noticed, an invisible heartbeat, but someone who heard everything. Sometimes, in exchange for a few coins he’d never spend, he gave Nottingham information.

  He was exactly where the Constable expected to find him, in one of the stalls, brushing the coat of a horse to a soft shine. Hercules had little love for most people, but he was content around horses, whispering tenderly to them in a voice wracked and ruined by the years, and they responded to his gentle care. He heard Nottingham approach and pointed him to a corner as he continued working.

  ‘You’ve heard Amos Worthy was robbed?’

  Hercules nodded, his mouth close to the nag’s ear, words coming out as quiet as breaths.

  ‘He’s looking for the girl who did it. So am I.’

  The man turned. He had a face that had aged without grace, carrying all the deep wrinkles of life, his beard thick and white, reaching down on to his chest, his eyes a deep, penetrating blue.

  ‘I heard them talking,’ he said. ‘Her and her man. They were here after it.’

  ‘Did they stay here?’

  ‘Saved their brass. A few drinks and they were off.’

  ‘Do you know where?’

  ‘No. Never said that I heard.’

  ‘What did they look like?’

  ‘Young ’uns, the pair of them.’ He searched his memory for a moment. ‘She had dark hair, I know that. Skinny as a twig, too. A clever face. She was in charge.’

  ‘And him?’

  ‘Dark hair, too. Not tall, but he was broad. Scars on his hands like he’d done a lot of fighting. He was older than her, mebbe twenty.’ He stopped. ‘Brother and sister, mebbe? They had that look about them, that and the way they talked.’

  ‘So how did you know who they were?’

  Hercules took something from the pocket of his filthy, disintegrating coat and fed it to the grateful horse.

  ‘She were boasting about it, wan’t she? Said how easy it had been to fool the old man. Lower her bodice a bit, show some leg.’

  ‘So they didn’t know who he was?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Anything else useful?’ Nottingham asked.

  ‘He called her Nan and she called him Tom. And they didn’t sound like they were from Leeds.’

  ‘Where, then?’

  ‘Yorkshire, don’t know where. That’s all.’

  The Constable left a couple of coins on the floor of the stall and walked away, leaving the man and the horse peacefully together.

  Brother and sister, he thought. It made sense; at least they’d trust each other. And if they weren’t from Leeds they probably wouldn’t have known who Worthy was. They might not even know he was pursuing them or what to expect if he found them.

  Rob Lister found Henry Hill lounging in Garraway’s coffee house on the Head Row. From the scatter of pages on the table, he’d been leafing through the latest edition of the Mercury.

  The son of a country landowner, Hill had never worked. Instead, he spent his time at the house the family owned in the city, an old, rambling place near the bottom of Kirkgate, and he gambled, drank and whored as the mood took him. He was charming and funny, but for all his louche manner and London-cut clothes, he kept a clear eye and keen intelligence. He’d known Will Jackson as well as anyone.

  ‘Hello, Henry.’ Lister sat on the bench opposite him.

  ‘Rob.’ Hill greeted him with his usual lazy smile. ‘People are saying you’ve become a working man.’

  ‘I have.’

  ‘And for the Constable?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Hill sat back and raised his eyebrows.‘That’s hardly something I’d have expected from you.’

  Rob grinned. ‘Not enough cachet, you mean?’

  ‘Too much work, more like.’

  The pair of them laughed and Hill signalled for two dishes of coffee. One day, Lister thought, Henry might do something. He had abilities, if he ever chose to use them; he was an incisive writer and had a sharp mathematical mind. But if it happened it would be in his own time; the man was in no hurry, enjoying his freedom and his surfeit of money.

  ‘That was terrible about Will,’ he said.

  Hill shook his head.‘I can’t believe he did that. I’ve been trying to make sense of it.’ He looked up at Rob. ‘Do you know why?’

  ‘A woman,’ Lister told him.

  ‘Are you sure?’ Hill asked in surprise. ‘It must have been a great deal more serious than he ever showed, then.’

  ‘You knew about her?’

  Hill pursed his lips. ‘Not really. You know what Will could be like, he played his cards close and never said too much. He did drop a few hints when he was in his cups, though.’

  ‘Oh?’

  He drank and wiped the corners of his mouth fastidiously with a cloth napkin before looking curiously at Rob. ‘I have the strange feeling this conversation isn’t just social.’

  ‘It’s not,’ Lister admitted easily and lifted the dish to taste the steaming, bitter coffee.

  Hill seemed amused. ‘Well, I never imagined I’d be talking to a Constable’s man. Why are you interested in Will, anyway? It hardly seems to be anything to do with the law if he killed himself.’

  Rob tried to make his words light. Whatever he said wouldn’t be convincing. ‘Loose ends, if you like. What did he tell you about the girl?’

  ‘Oh, next to nothing, really.
’ He waved his hand idly in the air. ‘Is she married? I thought she must be since he’d say so little about her.’

  Lister didn’t respond and finally Hill gave up with a small, gracious bow.

  ‘He told me they were lovers. But the last time he was drunk he was talking about how things might change in the future.’

  ‘Change?’ Rob asked sharply.

  ‘I don’t know, he was very secretive about it. He didn’t say any more than that.’

  ‘When was this?’

  Hill thought. ‘The Wednesday before he killed himself??’ he wondered. ‘Yes, it must have been. I ran into him on my way home from the cockfight at the Talbot and we went on to the White Swan.’

  ‘And you didn’t see him after that?’

  ‘No. I went up to visit dear papa for a few days to keep in his good graces.’ He sighed. ‘I’ll miss him, you know. Will was a good friend to me over the years.’

  ‘I know,’ Rob agreed quietly.

  ‘Come out with me sometime soon,’ Hill suggested with a wan smile. ‘When you find some better clothes and you’re not asking questions.’

  ‘I will,’ Lister promised.

  He strolled down to the Calls with a faint feeling of satisfaction, ignoring the thick, rancid smells of ordure from the tannery. Talking to Henry was the first thing he’d handled himself and he believed it had gone well. He’d asked his questions and he’d learned a little more about Will.

  He was certain he could enjoy this work. So far he’d done so much more than he could ever have imagined in his life. He was seeing a Leeds he’d never known, never even guessed at, as if someone had drawn a whole new city over the one that was familiar to him. But however gruesome it might be, all this was giving him the sense of being alive. It made him think and that was more than any job in the past had done.

  Far more than that, he liked the Constable, and John, too. They weren’t cowed by wealth or title, and that was something to admire. He believed he could learn from them. His father might imagine he’d leave after a week, as he’d done in so many other situations, but he was sure he’d stay a great deal longer if he could satisf?y the boss.

  At the cloth finishers he noted that the name of Jackson on the sign had already been crudely painted out. He didn’t have to wait long for Tunstall to appear, looking anxious and harassed.

  ‘I wish you people would stop coming here,’ he complained. ‘First it was that what’s his name, the tall one, and now you. It’s bad for business when people see the law arriving.’

  ‘We’re just trying to find out about Mr Jackson,’ Lister said mildly.

  ‘He killed himself, that’s what happened. You know that.’ He threw his arms in the air in exasperation.

  ‘You’ve taken him off the sign fast enough.’

  Tunstall fixed him with a fierce gaze. ‘Well, wouldn’t you? Who wants to deal with a firm where one of the owners killed himself?? Who wants to be reminded of that? Our orders are already down. The sooner he’s forgotten the better, if you ask me.’

  He pushed his hands into his coat pockets defiantly, rocking on the heels of an expensive pair of buckled shoes. There was money here, Rob thought and smiled pleasantly at him.

  ‘Then it’s best we find out everything as soon as we can, isn’t it?’

  Tunstall sneered. ‘Go on, then. But I hope it’s the last time.’

  ‘The week before Mr Jackson killed himself, was he here all week?’

  ‘Most if it, aye.’

  ‘When?’ Lister asked. ‘Do you remember?’

  ‘I know he was here on the Monday because we had to sort out some problems with one of the pressing irons and that put us behind. Tuesday, let me see. . aye, we had to keep on those lazy sods in there to finish an order. Wednesday we were looking over the accounts and talking about whether we needed a bigger place.’

  ‘Business was good, then?’

  Tunstall gave a bitter laugh. ‘Business was bloody wonderful until he went and killed hisself. This week I can hardly get any bugger to talk to me.’

  ‘What about the rest of that week?’ Rob prompted.

  ‘He was gone Thursday, I remember that. Said he had people to see.’ He paused and thought. ‘He popped in after dinner. Checked a couple of things and left again.’

  ‘What was he looking for?’

  Tunstall shrugged. ‘No idea. He was only here a minute or two. He looked poorly, and he didn’t come in Friday, either, I remember now. Sent a message that he wasn’t well.’

  ‘And when he came back?’

  ‘He was fine. Whatever he’d had, he was over it, working hard like he allus did. First I knew of anything wrong was when someone said he was dead at the Cloth Hall, and I didn’t believe it.’

  ‘No signs at all?’

  ‘Nothing.’

  ‘Then I’ll leave you,’ Lister said.

  ‘Just make sure you don’t come back. I’ve a business to try and run here.’

  He found Sedgwick and the Constable in the White Swan. There was a plate of bread and cheese between them and a mug of ale on the table.

  ‘Sit down and help yourself,’ Nottingham told him. ‘What did you find out?’

  As they ate and drank Lister passed on what he’d learned. The Constable studied him thoughtfully.

  ‘So now we know that Jackson had the time to kill Sarah. But if they were lovers, why would he want to do that?’ He glanced at the others. ‘Any ideas?’

  ‘What if she’d told him it was over?’ Sedgwick suggested. ‘That could do it.’

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘Well, if she was pregnant, maybe she was going to be faithful to her husband and she broke things off.’

  ‘But Will told his friend that things might change,’ Lister pointed out.

  ‘He didn’t say what kind of change, though, did he?’ the deputy countered.

  ‘No, true, but. .’

  ‘What it means is that we need to look more deeply into the idea that he murdered her,’ Nottingham interrupted firmly. ‘Right now we have two people with the time to do it, him and Samuel Godlove, and I really don’t believe Godlove was behind it.’

  ‘So what do we do?’ Lister wondered.

  ‘Dig,’ Sedgwick told him.

  ‘He’s right,’ Nottingham agreed. ‘Rob, I need you to go through Jackson’s papers again. I’ll go to his lodgings and see if there’s anything more. And I’ll see if he has any knives that match the murder weapon.’

  ‘Yes, boss.’

  ‘But,’ the Constable warned, ‘we need to be careful. Keep your mind open. Just because Jackson seems the likeliest killer, it doesn’t mean he did it. We need to keep looking for others, too.’

  ‘And try to find the maid,’ the deputy added, but Nottingham sighed.

  ‘She’s dead somewhere, John. She knew too much. She probably saw too much. No one would kill Sarah and leave Anne alive.’

  Lister slid out of the bench. ‘I’ll go and make a start.’

  After he’d gone the Constable turned to Sedgwick. ‘What do you think of Rob?’

  ‘He could be good,’ the deputy said warily. ‘It’s early days yet.’

  ‘True,’ Nottingham agreed. ‘But I have the sense he’ll be here a while.’

  Sedgwick raised his eyebrows slightly. ‘Maybe. His family has money, why would he keep doing this?’

  ‘Because he seems to like it.’

  ‘I’ll wait and see.’

  The Constable stared at him. ‘Give him a chance, John. He’s not after your job.’

  ‘Maybe he’ll want yours in time, though,’ the deputy said.

  Nottingham smiled slowly. ‘I’ve told you, you’re the one I’d always recommend.’

  ‘But you don’t make the decision, boss.’

  ‘No,’ he agreed with a nod. ‘I’ve always said, they’ll listen to what I say. Don’t worry about it. There’s no need, not for a long time yet.’

  Fourteen

  Nottingham walked down to Jackson’s lo
dgings. He needed to see the place himself, to gain a sense of the man and try to understand him. He wandered between the two rooms, standing at the window and looking down on the people moving along Briggate, taking in the smells and atmosphere of Jackson’s life, everything overlaid with the staleness of a life ended and closed.

  He’d probably inherited the furniture from his parents, the Constable thought, running his fingertips lightly across the dust on the dark wood. It was old, battered here and there, but serviceable enough for a young man who didn’t spend much time at home.

  The rooms were clean and uncluttered. He took the remainder of the dead man’s papers from the desk and folded them into the large pocket of his coat. In the bedroom he pawed through Jackson’s clothes, hunting for notes and scraps.

  The man owned three suits, plus the one he’d been wearing when he died. That was an extravagance for most men, and from the feel of them, he hadn’t spared money on the cloth. Two were made from fine worsted, fashionably cut with deep cuffs on the sleeves, the breeches intended to be tight and flattering. There were five waistcoats, two of brocade in colourful patterns, the others more sober, for business most like. One pair of shoes with silver buckles and a pair of boots, lovingly cleaned to a high shine. A drawer held clean linen, and he ran his hand under the clothes for any pieces of paper that might be hidden.

  He found a knife, but it was nothing like the one that had killed Sarah. Other than clothes and papers, the two rooms held little that gave any sign of who Jackson really was. This was a place where he existed, not where he lived. And there was certainly nothing of Sarah. No keepsakes, no love tokens, no memories. After half an hour he gave up.

  At the jail he passed everything to Lister.

  ‘Go through it all,’ he instructed. ‘Business as well as personal. I know Tunstall said everything was fine, but let’s check. You never know what you’ll find.’

  ‘Yes, boss.’ He raised his head from the papers.

  ‘It’s slow, but it has to be done, Rob.’

  ‘I don’t mind,’ he answered with a smile. ‘It sounds strange, but I’m enjoying it.’

  He needed to know more about Jackson, Nottingham thought as he walked down to the river and out along Low Holland. Just up the bank the cloth was being stretched out in the sun. A mild breeze came off the water, a gentle coolness that felt pleasant on the hot afternoon.