The Tin God

by Chris Nickson

  ‘It is, sir,’ Harper agreed.

  ‘How do we keep these people safe? Not just the candidates, but those who come to hear them speak? We can’t have them too fearful to show up.’

  Crossley was an astute man. He’d been in the army and he’d been in the police. He’d earned his rank, not just a pen pusher or someone who looked dignified in gold braid.

  ‘We have a twenty-four-hour guard on Mrs Pease now. We could do that for the others – if they’d let us. I know my wife would say no.’

  ‘Why would she?’ He reached into a humidor, selected a cigar, clipped off the tip, then lit a match, making sure the end caught evenly as he puffed smoke.

  ‘She’d feel hemmed in. Some of the others might, too.’

  ‘Surely it’s better than the alternative,’ Crossley wondered. ‘But that would be taxing on us, given the men we have right now. Recruitment’s down at the moment. I’d be reluctant to have good bobbies standing around all day, and the poor ones wouldn’t be worth a damn.’

  He knew the job, but the man was also a politician. A good one. Crossley would never have been appointed otherwise, and he certainly wouldn’t have lasted in the position; the watch committee would have savaged him like a pack of wolves. He needed to keep an eye on how things would look to the council, the press, and the public.

  ‘I say we offer it, sir. Let them make the choice.’

  The chief considered the idea, then nodded.

  ‘We’ll do that. But what about the other half of the equation? How can we make people feel they’ll be safe at meetings? That there won’t be another bomb?’

  ‘I’ve had soldiers checking the halls beforehand. In uniform, so people can see them.’

  ‘Good,’ Crossley nodded. ‘What else?’

  ‘I’ve posted coppers at the women’s meetings.’

  ‘The only problem …’ the chief constable began.

  ‘I know, sir. The male candidates are going to start complaining.’ He frowned. ‘I don’t see any way around that. Plenty of them hate the idea of women running for office, as it is. They’ll say we’re giving them special treatment.’

  ‘And we are, but it’s for a damned good reason,’ Crossley said. ‘I’ll tell them that if they bring it up. I’m not so certain about women in office myself, but they have the legal right, so it’s up to us to make sure they can run.’ He held up a hand. ‘I’m sure your view is a lot more radical than mine, Tom. How’s your investigation coming along? Do you have any suspects yet?’

  Harper brought the chief up to date, the man listening closely.

  ‘So we have no name and just a fairly general description? From the sound of it, he could be almost anyone you see on the tram. And if he’s working alone, how are you going to find him?’

  ‘I wish I knew, sir. Keep plugging away and asking questions. If he’s this determined, he’ll try something else. With men at the meetings and watching the women, we should be able to catch him in the act.’

  ‘As long as it’s before anything else happens.’ He took the cigar from his mouth and stared at it. ‘But you can’t guarantee that, can you?’

  ‘You know I can’t, sir.’ It seemed like a ridiculous question. There were always so many things that might happen, and Crossley knew it.

  ‘Let’s just hope that luck is on our side for once. Who have you put on the case?’

  ‘Ash and Fowler.’

  ‘The first team.’

  ‘I’m working on it, too.’

  ‘I assumed nothing less, Superintendent.’ The chief nodded and smiled. ‘After all, you have a vested interest.’

  ‘That I do, sir.’

  ‘I’m not having a bobby following me around,’ Annabelle warned.

  ‘I never believed you would,’ Harper told her. ‘It’s there for the women who want them. We’ll still have a copper at every meeting and we’ll keep checking the halls.’

  She nodded. ‘That’s fine. And I like having you there when I speak. You. But that’s it. If people saw me with a bobby behind me they’d start wondering.’

  He needed to move her off the topic if he could. ‘How did the campaigning go today?’

  ‘I only spent this afternoon on it. I went over to see Catherine Pease this morning. She’s not giving up.’

  ‘That’s what she told me, too.’

  ‘Nothing on whoever did it?’

  ‘Not yet.’

  Annabelle glanced at the clock.

  ‘I’d better get myself scrubbed up for the meeting tonight. Don’t want to stand in front of them looking like a mucky pup.’

  There was no question of Mary coming. Not now, with all the trouble. She’d stay upstairs at the Victoria, with Ellen. It wasn’t far to go, easy walking distance; that was one advantage to living in the ward. That and the fact that everyone knew and respected her. Simply strolling down the street, Annabelle had to stop every few yards to say hello, to ask after a husband, a mother, a wife, the children. It wasn’t politics, it was simply the way she was with them all.

  She’d win the election hands down, Harper thought, watching as she listened to a young woman with a threadbare shawl around her shoulders. None of the other candidates stood a chance round here.

  At home he’d paged through Kidson’s book until he found the words from the piece of paper Walsh had discovered in the railway arch. A song called The Outlandish Knight. More women dying. The man behind this was leaving his clues. He’d discuss it with Ash and Fowler in the morning. Maybe one of them might have a bright idea.

  EIGHT

  ‘I’m sorry to disturb you at home, sir,’ Sergeant Brown said as he stood on Reed’s doorstep. The last echo of the church bell from St Hilda’s still hung in the darkness, nine o’clock at night.

  ‘What’s happened?’ He was settled for the evening, waistcoat unbuttoned, tie and collar removed.

  ‘We’ve had a spot of bother on the beach between here and Sandsend.’ He frowned. ‘One man badly wounded, and another not looking too happy, though he’ll live. I brought the pony and trap and some lanterns. The tide’s out for hours yet.’

  ‘Let me get my coat.’

  ‘You might want a muffler, too, sir. There’s a sea fret forming. It’s going to be chilly.’ Brown paused. ‘The Excise and the Coast Guard are already there. This was their do. It was an Excise man who wounded the two fellas.’

  Smuggling, Reed thought. It couldn’t be anything else. ‘Who are they? Do we know them?’

  ‘Probably. We got a telegraph message from Sandsend. Constable Johnson didn’t know what to do so he sent for me. I thought you ought to be involved, sir.’

  ‘Good man.’

  Soon enough the cart was rumbling along the road. There was a sliver of moon, just enough to give some light, the clouds shifting slowly overhead.

  ‘If it was an Excise job, I don’t see why they want us,’ Reed said.

  ‘Probably because of the shooting, sir. And it’s our patch. Politics and that.’ He pulled back on the reins. ‘It’s near here. There’s a track goes down. We’d better light some lanterns first.’

  Brown was as surefooted as the goats Reed had seen on the mountainsides in Afghanistan. The inspector moved warily, taking his time. His foot slipped here and there, sending small showers of scree tumbling along the hillside as he held his breath.

  Down on the beach a series of lights illuminated a boat, one of the small local cobles, pulled high on the sand, still loaded with something, oars stowed on board. A member of the Coast Guard stood by it in his uniform, rifle at his side.

  Harry Pepper was talking to one of his men.

  ‘Billy,’ he said as Reed approached.

  ‘What happened?’

  ‘We had a tip that someone was bringing contraband ashore tonight. Caught them as they were pulling on to the beach, but they decided to put up a fight. One of them is on his way to hospital in Scarborough, and we winged another in the arm. But I thought it best to let you boys know.’ He smiled and lit his p
ipe.

  ‘Who were the smugglers?’

  ‘Nobody local. They must have come from the ship to meet someone up here. We got in first.’ Pepper glanced out to sea. ‘Coast Guard is out there. With luck, they’ll catch ’em.’

  ‘Who do you suspect locally?’

  ‘All of them,’ he laughed. ‘It’s a good way to make a little extra money. We’ll sweat the ones we caught and try to find some names. My bet’s on the Shaws.’ Reed gave him a questioning look. ‘Family from Robin Hood’s Bay. Anything from there up to Staithes, they probably have a hand in it.’

  ‘When you question the men, see if Terrier John’s name brings any response, will you?’ Reed said.

  ‘Still on about that? I can ask.’

  ‘News?’ Harper asked.

  ‘The meetings all went off without incident, sir,’ Ash said. ‘That’s something.’

  ‘Hunslet are having no luck tracing that man,’ Fowler told him.

  The superintendent rubbed his chin. ‘What’s the population of Leeds?’ he asked.

  ‘Three hundred thousand,’ the sergeant replied without hesitation. ‘Probably closer to three hundred and fifty these days.’ He shrugged when the others stared at him. ‘I read it, that’s all.’

  ‘Let’s say half of those are men, that’s a hundred and fifty thousand,’ Harper calculated. ‘Call it two-thirds adult, one hundred thousand. Not so many in their forties, we’ll go with fifteen thousand of them. Educated narrows it down even further. We’re down to two or three thousand. At most.’

  ‘Are you trying to cheer us up, sir?’ Ash wondered.

  ‘I’m trying to be realistic,’ Harper said. ‘He seems to be working alone. The odds are against us. He does keep leaving us clues, though.’ He explained about the new fragment of folk song. ‘Does that strike any sparks?’

  ‘Could be worth having another word with Kidson and his niece,’ Fowler said. ‘They might have managed to turn up something. Really, sir, they look like our best bet at the moment.’ It was a bright, close morning, the Indian summer stretching on; even with the window open, the room felt stuffy.

  Harper nodded; he’d planned on going there again today.

  ‘Whoever’s behind this only has a limited time. The elections are in less than five weeks.’

  ‘He’s already made a good start, sir,’ Ash pointed out. ‘How many of the women are taking police protection?’

  ‘Four. The male candidates will squawk, but the chief is going to take care of that. Any other suggestions for safety?’

  ‘I don’t know what else we can do, sir.’

  ‘There is one thing.’ The superintendent gave a dark scowl. ‘Catch this bugger.’

  ‘Oh,’ Ethel Kidson said as she opened the door. ‘Superintendent. Come in, please.’

  He’d walked out to Burley Road from Millgarth. The day was pleasant, too warm for a coat, and who knew if there’d be any more this year? It gave him time to let his mind wander, to shape his thoughts and try to make some sense from them. But by the time he reached the house he’d had no revelations. All they had were scraps of this and that. Fragments of knowledge.

  The hallway smelt of beeswax and dust, the banister and newels of the stairway gleaming, as if the maid had just gone over them. But the Turkish rug covering the floorboards was faded, half its fringe gone. In the parlour Kidson was seated at the table, the chaos of books and papers exactly the same as it had been before.

  ‘Uncle, Mr Harper’s back. The policeman.’

  The man looked up, eyes dark and quizzical as he stood and extended his hand.

  ‘You’re always very welcome here, of course, but I thought we’d answered your questions. And I’m afraid we haven’t found anything.’

  ‘Just one or two more questions, if you don’t mind, sir.’

  ‘Of course.’ Kidson glanced at Ethel. ‘Whatever we can do.’

  ‘Does this mean anything?’

  Harper brought the piece of paper from the Hunslet arch out of his waistcoat pocket and handed it over. The man squinted, then passed it to his niece.

  ‘The Outlandish Knight,’ he said with surprise. ‘It’s in my book, Superintendent.’

  ‘I saw it. We found this yesterday, sir. This was at the scene of an assault on a woman.’

  Kidson ran a hand through his hair, leaving it standing on end. ‘I really don’t understand it. Do you, Ethel?’

  ‘No. It’s definitely nobody we know. None of them would … at least I don’t think so.’ She blushed, then hardened her face into a frown.

  ‘What other songs in the book mention dead women, sir? I only found a very few.’

  ‘There are plenty of them out there,’ Kidson replied. ‘I printed some songs I collected in Yorkshire, but most of them have their origins elsewhere.’

  ‘Could you make me a list of the pieces in the book that include dead and dying women, sir? It would save me poring through everything.’

  ‘Of course,’ he said, as if he should have thought of it himself. ‘It won’t take long. The woman who was attacked, how is she?’

  ‘Shaken but fine. No damage.’

  ‘Good.’ He sighed. ‘I feel a sense of responsibility for all this.’

  ‘It’s hardly your fault, sir,’ Harper told him.

  ‘I know, but … these are lovely songs, Superintendent. They’ve been around for a hundred years, often much longer. Someone leaving them as clues to crimes, it just seems to … tarnish them.’

  ‘I don’t know about that.’ It seemed far-fetched. Yet there had to be a reason for it, something he didn’t see yet.

  ‘I’d like to help, if I may.’ Kidson looked at his niece. ‘We both would. This is our field. We know it well. I’m respected, if I might say so.’

  He had nothing to lose by accepting the offer. As the man said, folk songs were their world. They knew all the people. Maybe they’d have luck in places he didn’t even know existed.

  ‘Gladly,’ he said, gazing from one face to the other. ‘I’m happy for whatever I can get.’

  ‘That’s settled.’ Kidson rubbed his hands together. ‘We’ll start work later today.’ His eyes were twinkling with anticipation. ‘This is going to be a very different type of song hunt.’

  ‘I just hope it’s a fruitful one.’

  ‘We’ll do our best,’ Ethel Kidson said.

  He was preparing to leave for the day, drying the pen nib on an old rag and pushing the signed papers to the corner of his desk, when there was a knock on the door. Always one more thing, Harper thought.

  ‘Come in.’ He sat down again.

  Constable Walsh. The officer he’d met in Hunslet the day before. He’d wondered how long it would be before the man turned up, but this was quicker than he imagined.

  ‘Good afternoon, Constable.’

  Walsh stood at attention, eyes straight ahead.

  ‘Relax,’ Harper told him. ‘Sit yourself down.’ He waited until the man had settled himself on the chair. ‘I take it you’re interested in the job.’

  ‘I am, sir. I talked it over with the wife last night. I told her, it’s too good a chance to turn down.’

  ‘There’s no more money in it.’

  ‘I know, sir. But for the future …’

  He was ambitious. Good, as long as it didn’t get the better of him. Harper had seen that happen before.

  ‘When I saw you in the railway arch, you were giving orders to the other constables. Directing them.’ He saw Walsh give a soft smile. ‘Tell me, can you take orders as well as you give them?’

  ‘I can, sir. I want to learn.’

  ‘You’d be working under a couple of the best coppers I’ve ever met. You have potential. Listen, understand, and it might develop. But if you start thinking you’re God’s gift I’ll kick you out so fast you’ll be on the far side of Leeds Bridge before you know it.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’ Walsh grinned broadly, showing off a set of brown, stained teeth.

  ‘I want you to talk to Superinte
ndent Grayson. Have him sign the official request. If he’s willing do that, you’ll be welcome here.’

  ‘Thank you, sir. I won’t let you down.’

  ‘I know,’ Harper told him. ‘I wouldn’t give you the chance.’

  Finally he was home, after a jolting ride on the tram that left his back aching. The brakes squealed at every stop, metal on metal, the sound grating against his poor hearing. Harper was glad to walk through the doors of the Victoria and see Dan behind the bar.

  The pub was busy with thirsty men enjoying a pint or two after work. The air mixed the smells of the forge, the chemical plant, the tannery and God knew what else as he passed through.

  Upstairs, though, the only scent was Annabelle’s perfume. She was kneeling on the floor in her best frock as she and Mary went through the girl’s arithmetic.

  ‘The teacher said I got this wrong, but she didn’t tell me how.’

  ‘Let’s take a look. You’ve got three numbers. Try counting it out on your fingers.’

  Mary did as her mother said, slowly and deliberately. Harper stood by the door, watching, smiling. Just before the end, the girl looked up, eyes wide with realization.

  ‘Now do you see it?’ Annabelle asked.

  ‘Yes, Mam.’ The girl set her jaw, disappointed at herself.

  ‘You got everything else right.’

  ‘I know. But I wanted to get it all.’

  No rest for the wicked. A quick meal of cold pie and a cup of tea, then off to tonight’s meeting.

  ‘She wants to be perfect,’ Harper said.

  ‘Then she’s going to get a rude awakening one of these days,’ Annabelle said.

  ‘You know what she’s like. She’ll keep trying.’ Like mother, like daughter, he thought. Neither of them would ever give up.

  ‘Then we’d better hope she grows out of this. I feel sorry for her teacher.’

  He laughed as they crossed Roundhay Road. Mary was a handful, no doubt about it.

  ‘It’s the funeral tomorrow,’ Annabelle said quietly.

  ‘Funeral?’