The Tin God

by Chris Nickson

  He’d started keeping a cautious eye on Terrier John. The man was definitely living like the gentry. A couple of servants, not out and about until after ten. But after that he spent the morning down near the fish market, smoking his pipe and chatting to the skippers and hands. Home for his dinner and a quiet afternoon, then around the public houses in the evening.

  Maybe he felt more comfortable with people like them, Reed thought. Back in Leeds, John had passed his time with labourers and thieves. The explanation could be as simple as that. But in his gut, he knew something was wrong.

  Reed sat with the Excise officer in the Customs office overlooking the harbour. They met once a month, seeing where their interests overlapped and making sure nothing slipped through the cracks.

  ‘Does the name John Millgate mean anything to you?’ Reed asked.

  ‘Should it?’ Harry Pepper puffed at his pipe. He’d worked on the boats when he was young, and he had a fisherman’s physique, broad and heavy, with large, callused hands.

  ‘He was known as Terrier John when he lived in Leeds. Been here three years, according to my sergeant. Spends a lot of time by the boats.’

  ‘And you think he might be up to something?’ Pepper smiled.

  ‘It would be his style. You’re the one who knows the people here.’

  ‘A few of them. The rest keep their distance now I work for the Crown.’

  ‘They smuggle?’

  Pepper shrugged. ‘There’s always been a bit of it. Always will be. Nothing like it was a few years ago, mind. It was a war back then. They’d shoot us if we tried to arrest them. It was worst down at Robin Hood’s Bay, like an industry there.’ He made a note on a pad. ‘Leave it with me. I’ll let you know.’

  Elizabeth was still at the shop, supervising the carpenter who was fitting the counter. She turned as Reed rapped lightly on the window, then smiled.

  ‘Hello, Billy love, this is a surprise.’

  ‘There’s not much on. I thought you might fancy a walk. It’s a grand afternoon. We probably won’t have many more of them this year.’

  She glanced doubtfully over her shoulder at the man working quietly, then nodded.

  ‘Why not?’

  Along Church Street, then holding her arm and guiding her up the steep cobbled hill of the Donkey Road to the abbey. In the churchyard they stopped, gazing down over the town. It never failed to lighten his heart, seeing everything laid out before him, the hills and the houses rising away from the water, the piers and the sea.

  ‘Are you glad we moved?’ he asked.

  ‘I am,’ Elizabeth told him. ‘I was scared at first, but I think it’s going to be one of the best things we’ve done.’ She smiled at him. ‘Apart from when we met, of course.’

  The late-night banging on the door. Harper thought he’d left that behind when he was promoted. But it persisted, until he was groping his way down the stairs in his dressing gown and pulling back the bolts on the pub door.

  A constable, a new face he didn’t recognize, so young he must have barely finished his training.

  ‘Beg pardon, sir, but they need you at the station.’ He touched his cap in an embarrassed attempt at a salute.

  The superintendent tried to rub the sleep out of his eyes.

  ‘What’s happened?’ It had to be important to drag him out at … ‘What time is it?’

  ‘Struck midnight not long ago, sir. I’m not right sure what’s going on. Something to do with a woman, I know that. They just sent me down here to fetch you.’

  ‘You can go back. Say I’ll be there as soon as I can.’

  Annabelle stirred as he dressed, but she didn’t wake. Very quietly, he slipped out and started walking along the empty street. His footsteps rang off the buildings, the only sound in the dark.

  ‘Right,’ he asked the night sergeant, ‘what’s so urgent?’

  ‘Detectives’ office, sir. The inspector and the sergeant are there.’

  There was a woman with them, sitting with her face hidden in her hands. Good clothing, covered in dust, a tear on the shoulder of her gown. Harper raised an eyebrow, and Ash tilted his head: out in the corridor.

  ‘That’s Mrs Pease, sir,’ he said quietly once he’d closed the door. He waited for the name to sink in.

  ‘She’s the candidate for the Poor Law Guardians in Hunslet,’ Harper said.

  ‘Yes.’ The inspector’s face was hard. ‘She stayed late after a meeting and was on her way home when a man grabbed her. Hand over her mouth, she didn’t even have chance to scream. Dragged her to a railway arch. Hit her a bit and told her that if she didn’t withdraw from the election he’d beat her properly.’ He paused. His mouth tightened. ‘And he threatened to rape her.’

  ‘How is she?’

  ‘Terrified, sir. Hardly stopped shaking yet. After he’d gone she managed to find a copper. He helped her. Luckily, she found a bright one. He knows what’s been going on, the threats. He whistled up a hackney and brought her here.’

  ‘She needs to go to the infirmary.’

  Ash shook his head. ‘I already tried. She refused. Says she’s fine, just needs a few minutes to collect herself.’

  ‘Have you questioned her?’

  ‘Not yet. I thought it might be better if you did it, what with your wife being a candidate.’

  Harper nodded. That made sense. She might be willing to tell him a little more.

  ‘Right. Bring a couple of mugs of tea, then you and Fowler clear out for a while.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  He brought a chair round and sat opposite her. The woman didn’t look up when he placed the tea on the desk.

  ‘I’m a copper,’ he began gently. ‘Tom Harper. I’m Annabelle Harper’s husband.’

  That made her stir, uncovering her face and looking up at him.

  ‘You’re safe here,’ he continued. ‘I promise.’

  She nodded and tried to swallow. An older woman, plenty of grey in her hair. Small, probably only five feet, and thin as a rope. But her could sense her determination struggling against the fear and the pain.

  ‘He …’ she began. ‘He …’

  ‘Just take your time,’ he told her. She started to shake and he brought an old blanket from the cupboard, draping it round her shoulders like a shawl. She drew it tight around her, huddling into it as if it was armour.

  It took a while to emerge, filling out the story she’d garbled to the copper on the beat. Mrs Pease turned her head to show the bruise on her cheek, and rolled up her sleeve to display the marks on her arm.

  The tears came after that. Shame, humiliation, anger. He brought a handkerchief from his pocket and passed it to her, listening without speaking. Better to let her go at her own pace, to take the path she needed.

  Finally, he had it all. The demand that she withdraw her candidacy, the threat of rape if she didn’t. She gulped at the last of the tea.

  ‘Can you tell me what he looked like?’ Harper asked softly.

  ‘Not too big. Average. But he was strong. It was dark … I was too scared.’ She hung her head.

  ‘It doesn’t matter,’ he assured her. ‘Is there anything you remember about him?’

  ‘His shoes,’ she replied after a second. ‘They were very shiny. I could see the lights in them. And he spoke well.’

  ‘Spoke well? What do you mean?’

  ‘Enunciated his words.’

  ‘I see.’ That fitted with their man. Educated. He waited, but there was nothing more. Finally, Harper said: ‘The police will have someone guarding you all the time, Mrs Pease. What does your husband do?’

  ‘I’m a widow. Bert died a few years ago.’

  ‘Do you have anyone you can stay with?’

  ‘My sister,’ she answered. She looked at him again. ‘Why?’

  ‘It’s probably a good idea to be there for a few days.’

  Realization dawned in her eyes and her mouth opened in horror.

  ‘Do you think he knows where I live?’

  ‘I�
��m not sure,’ the superintendent said, ‘and I don’t want to take chances. Like I said, we’re going to keep a bobby with you from now on.’

  ‘I’m not going to let him stop me.’ She set her jaw firmly. ‘You tell your missus that.’

  ‘I will,’ he said with a gentle smile. The questions were building in his mind. What about the other women? What if the man went after more of them? ‘You go and try to get some sleep. I’ll have someone escort you to your sister’s.’

  ‘That bomb,’ Mrs Pease said sadly, ‘and now this.’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘He must be a very frightened man.’

  ‘Yes,’ Harper agreed. ‘I think he is.’

  ‘Well, he’s not going to win.’ She spoke with quiet, dignified determination. ‘We’ve fought hard to get this far.’

  She stood, looking a little frail but refusing to hold on to anything. With a nod, holding her head high, she walked out of the detectives’ room. Ash would look after her. He’d organize the cover.

  What would the man do next? How could they keep all the other women safe?

  Harper glanced at the clock. Five minutes past two. Late, or early, depending which shift you worked. Pitch black beyond the window. He knew what he had to do first thing in the morning.

  ‘I’ve got to go and see her,’ Annabelle said. They were standing in the kitchen, drinking tea and talking quietly; Mary was still sleeping. ‘I can’t believe it. Poor woman.’

  She wasn’t dressed yet, and her long hair still hung loose. He’d worked through the night then walked home, coming softly into the Victoria, up the stairs, and woken her in whispers. He wanted her to hear it all from him, before the rumour-mongers started their exaggerations. The reality was bad enough. But no worse, he reflected, than a dead caretaker in a church hall.

  ‘I need to go back soon,’ Harper said.

  She nodded. ‘I’d better get madam up so she isn’t late. She loves to make sure everything’s prepared in the morning.’ Annabelle pressed her lips together. ‘I’m glad you came home again. Thank you for telling me yourself.’

  ‘We’ll catch him.’ But he wasn’t certain if he was trying to reassure her or himself.

  ‘Everything in place?’

  ‘Yes, sir,’ Ash replied. ‘I took her over to her sister’s. There’s a bobby on her door now. Round the clock.’

  ‘We need to work with Hunslet on this, it’s their manor. Fowler, you take care of that.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘Make sure you let me know what’s going on.’

  ‘Of course.’ Then he was gone.

  ‘What do you want me doing, sir?’ Ash asked.

  ‘I’m not sure yet.’ The superintendent picked up a pen and twirled it slowly in his fingers. ‘I thought we had him pegged. Educated, knowledgeable, curious, happy to keep a distance from his actions. Now he gets violent. What do you make of that?’

  ‘It changes the picture. You saw Mrs Pease, though. She’s small, and not so young any more. I wonder if that’s why he chose her, thinking she might be easier to intimidate.’

  There was some logic in that, especially as she said her attacker wasn’t a big man.

  ‘If he thinks he succeeded, he’s going to get a shock.’

  ‘I have the idea he doesn’t really understand women, sir. Or particularly like them.’

  The tone of the letters, the assault … even the bomb fitted, in a curious way. A man who liked technical things, who kept his emotions at a distance.

  ‘Never married, do you think?’ Harper asked.

  ‘It’s a fair guess.’

  It added to the picture, another tiny brushstroke in the portrait.

  ‘That’s something. Let’s see what you can do with it. By the way, anything on Terrier John yet?’

  ‘I’ve been going through old reports with Sergeant Tollman, but so far we haven’t come up with anything hopeful. He’s been in Whitby for three years, you said, sir?’

  ‘That’s what Billy Reed wrote.’

  ‘I’ll keep digging, then. But I don’t see how we’d have missed anything big.’

  ‘Nor do I,’ Harper agreed. ‘But he didn’t magic the money up out of nowhere and he doesn’t have the nous to print it himself.’

  ‘I could widen the search. Try all over the West Riding. That might bring us something.’

  ‘It’s worth a shot. But don’t spend too much time on it. I need you out there searching for our bomber.’

  Ash grinned. ‘Don’t you worry about that, sir. Think of the Terrier as my hobby for those empty moments.’

  SEVEN

  He had plenty of work to keep himself busy. Reports to read, another to write, rotas and schedules and memoranda to sign. But Harper ignored them all, put on his hat and overcoat and walked over Crown Point Bridge into Hunslet.

  Leeds was busy, alive, bustling with people and traffic. Horses trotted with their loads. Even to his poor ears, the city was noisier than it had ever been. Every day it grew louder and brassier. And bigger. Places that had been fields when he was a boy were covered with houses and factories now. Walk through town and you were lucky if you could find a tree or a spot of grass.

  Dick Grayson had taken charge of the Hunslet division the year before. He was older, cautious and thorough; this would be his final promotion before retirement. But he was a good, honest copper, a man who’d seen a lot and been willing to learn from it all.

  ‘Very bad business,’ he said gravely. He wore a formal frock coat and high wing collar, grey hair blossoming into broad mutton-chop sideboards. ‘We had your sergeant here, working with our lot. It must have you thinking, your wife a candidate and all.’

  ‘It does.’

  ‘I’ve got men out searching where it happened.’ He pulled a watch from his waistcoat. ‘Been there a couple of hours, if you want to go and take a look.’

  ‘I will. Thank you.’

  ‘How seriously should we take this man, Tom?’

  ‘With threatening letters, a bomb, a dead body, and a woman assaulted?’ Harper asked in disbelief. Grayson reddened.

  ‘Sorry. Stupid question. But having a man guarding Mrs Pease all the time is going to stretch us. Are you going to do it for all the women? Seven of them, isn’t it?’

  ‘I have an appointment with the chief about it this afternoon. But I think we need to do it. If we don’t and something happens, the press will maul us. And they should.’

  ‘The devil and the deep blue sea.’

  ‘Something like that.’ He stood, ready to leave.

  ‘Talk to Walsh out there,’ Grayson advised. ‘He’s young, but quick as anything. Give him ten years and he’ll be after your job.’

  It was easy to pick out Walsh. He was one of three constables, the others both older, but they deferred to him. Harper introduced himself and the men all snapped to attention.

  The railway line ran over a low viaduct, most of the arches below converted into workshops. But the closest one was empty, dark, the brick walls damp and dank to the touch.

  ‘It happened here,’ Walsh explained. ‘He dragged her off the street. No one would be able to see them.’

  ‘How long has this been empty?’

  ‘A year or so, sir. It used to be a painter and decorator’s yard, but the old fella who had it died.’

  ‘Our man knows the area, then,’ the superintendent said thoughtfully as he looked around.

  ‘At least he must have taken a good wander round in the daylight, sir.’

  He could hear the smallest trace of an Irish accent in Walsh’s voice. It was pleasant, giving a soft musicality to the words.

  ‘Have you found anything yet? Paper with writing on it.’

  ‘It’s mostly wrappers from this and that, sir.’ Walsh gestured to a small pile in the corner. ‘But there was one that had been written on, I think.’ He squatted, quickly sorting through everything, then held out a torn piece of notepaper. ‘Here we are. It doesn’t make any sense, though: Six pretty maids
I drowned here then And the seventh thou shall be. The paper’s torn. It sounds gruesome, if you ask me.’

  He took it from the constable’s fingers and stared at the handwriting, feeling the tingle in his spine. It looked all too familiar; he’d swear on a stack of bibles that it was the same as the other note and the letters. No surprise, but the confirmation he needed.

  ‘Good work,’ he said. ‘Is there anything else?’

  ‘Not in here. We’ve been up and down the street, but no one remembers anything. Mind you,’ he added with a wry grin, ‘the knocker-up comes by early when you’re on the morning shift, so you can hardly blame them.’

  ‘I remember that.’

  ‘Aye, so do I,’ Walsh said. ‘Better off on the force, if you ask me, sir.’

  Harper started to move away, nodding to the constable to join him. Grayson was right; the young man impressed him. He was thinking the whole time, looking, questioning and remembering. It was what a copper should be doing. But most didn’t.

  ‘Tell me, Mr Walsh, have you ever thought about moving into plain clothes?’

  The constable let out a low whistle. ‘Well now, I’d be a liar if I said no, sir.’

  ‘How long have you been on the force?’

  ‘I started two years ago in August, sir.’

  Grayson should have made him a detective by now, Harper thought. Perhaps he’d simply wanted to keep an intelligent man on the beat.

  ‘If you decide you’d like to give it a crack, come and see me.’

  ‘I’ll do that, sir. And thank you. We’ll keep looking here, but if I’m honest, I don’t think there’s anything to find.’

  The superintendent held up the piece of paper. ‘This helps me.’

  ‘It’s becoming a bloody awful business.’

  The walls of the chief constable’s office were lined with portraits of his predecessors, grand-looking men in uniform, serious expressions fixed forever on their faces. A picture of the Queen, stout, unhappy, hung behind him, overlooking it all. Colin Crossley sat behind a large desk, dressed in a lounge suit, shirt with a turnover celluloid collar, his hands very clean and nails manicured, looking more like a successful businessman than the person who ran the police force in one of England’s largest cities.