The Tin God

by Chris Nickson

  Harper shook his head. ‘Too general.’ He considered for a moment. ‘Her election papers. They’d have her address.’

  ‘Town Hall,’ Ash said. ‘As soon as they open, I’ll go and see if anyone’s asked to see them.’

  ‘Good. Now, how did he know the husband would be at home and on his own? What time did his shift finish?’

  ‘Nine,’ Fowler answered. ‘The factory’s only five minutes’ walk away. Looks like he’d been home long enough to give himself a thorough wash. His hands and face are clean.’

  ‘Look at the people who work for the bootmaker. Clerks, management, people like that. It might be one of them. He invited the man inside …’

  ‘It could have been someone who said he admired Mrs Cain’s campaign and wanted to meet her.’

  All too easily.

  ‘Yes,’ he admitted. They simply didn’t know. ‘Where’s the body?’

  ‘I sent him over to Dr King, sir,’ Ash said. ‘Post-mortem tomorrow, although the cause of death is obvious. Knife to the heart.’

  ‘One wound?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘So he knew where to aim,’ Harper said thoughtfully. ‘Could be worth looking at that doctor again, the one interested in folk songs.’

  ‘He doesn’t match the description in any of the other incidents, sir,’ Ash said.

  ‘Find out where he was tonight, anyway.’ He was going to cover everything.

  The duty sergeant arrived with tea. The superintendent perched on one of the desks.

  ‘Even after he tried to snatch Mary, I never imagined he’d go this far. I even thought the death from the bomb might be an accident. But now I don’t believe he has a conscience. Just a goal.’ He shook his head. ‘Who in God’s name would kill to stop a woman running for office?’

  ‘Someone who’s very seriously disturbed,’ Fowler suggested. ‘But who probably hides it quite well.’

  ‘That doesn’t help us at all.’

  ‘The newspapers will be all over this,’ Ash said. ‘Plenty of juicy scandal there for them – “Candidate’s Husband Knifed To Death”.’

  Harper grimaced. He hadn’t even thought about that. His eyes strayed to the clock. Not even twelve. It was going to be a very long night.

  Harper took advantage of a lull in the investigation to slip home for breakfast. At least he could deliver the news to Annabelle himself. It was becoming a habit.

  All the colour drained from her face in an instant, and he thought she might faint where she stood. But she tightened her grip on the chair back until her knuckles were white.

  ‘Poor Alexandra,’ she said. ‘You know, she was one of the first I met after I joined the Suffragists. She’d do anything to help people. That’s why she wanted to be elected. I talked to Harry Cain a few times, too. He was always cheery. Pipe stuck in the corner of his mouth every time I saw him.’ A smile of memory came and vanished in a moment. ‘What can I do to help her?’

  ‘Go and see her. She can probably use plenty of comfort right now.’

  ‘I will.’ She nodded.

  Mary wandered into the kitchen, still in her nightdress, bare feet padding across the wooden boards, a book tucked under her arm. She looked at their faces.

  ‘Is something wrong, Mam?’

  ‘No, sweetheart.’ Annabelle composed herself and swung her daughter up into her arms. ‘Your da just had some news that surprised us and came home to tell me. Now, you want me to hear you read from that book before school, don’t you?’

  ‘The elections office remembers a man coming in and asking to see the papers of all the women running to be Poor Law Guardians,’ Ash said.

  ‘Was it him?’

  ‘The clerk didn’t pay too much attention. But from what he remembers, I’d say it probably was.’

  ‘Did he have to leave a name and address?’ He seemed to recall that was needed to see the documents.

  ‘It was in the ledger. Mr William Smith.’ He raised an eyebrow. ‘And where he lives doesn’t exist. No such street.’

  Harper ran a hand through his hair. The man knew where all the candidates lived. He could have watched every single one of them. That explained how he knew about Mary.

  ‘I know some of the women didn’t want police protection. But like it or not, they’re going to get it.’

  ‘That might not go over too well, sir.’

  ‘I don’t care. It’s a damned sight better than him killing them. And I want their families warned to watch out, too.’

  ‘I’ve already done that part, sir. First thing this morning.’

  The superintendent nodded. He was lucky to have a man like Ash, someone who could think and plan and act. A polite cough drew his attention.

  ‘What about Mrs Harper, sir? Are you going to have a man on her?’

  She’d hate it. It would spark a furious argument. But he had to do it. It was impossible to assign constables to the other women and not her.

  ‘Yes,’ he said reluctantly. ‘But you’d better be prepared to bury me with full honours once she knows.’

  ‘Inspector …’ Dr King began, then smiled and shook his head. ‘I mean Superintendent. I’m not sure I’ll ever become used to calling you that.’

  ‘I don’t know that I’ll ever be used to hearing it,’ Harper admitted.

  The police surgeon had to be in his mid-eighties, round, most of his hair long gone apart from a set of long, wispy grey side-whiskers. But there was still an air of vitality about him. He enjoyed his job down in King’s Kingdom, the mortuary under the police station on Hunslet Lane. He was completely at home among the corpses and the heavy, biting smell of carbolic.

  ‘You must be here about last night’s body,’ King said. ‘It’s the only one I’ve had recently. You police must be doing your job well, it’s been a quiet year for murders.’

  ‘Be grateful for small mercies. Have you taken a look at him yet?’

  ‘Yes. It was cut and dried, if you’ll forgive the rather awkward pun. A single blow, pierced the heart. The assailant wasn’t more than two feet away. A thin blade, very sharp.’

  ‘Skilled?’

  ‘Yes,’ King replied after a moment. ‘He knew where to strike.’ The doctor took a cigar from his waistcoat pocket, chopped off the tip with a scalpel, lit a match and began to puff. ‘Why? Do you have someone in mind?’

  ‘Is it knowledge a doctor would have?’

  ‘I’d sincerely hope so. Although I’d trust no physician would ever do something like that. The Hippocratic Oath.’

  ‘You know people as well as I do,’ Harper began, but King shook his head vigorously and held up a hand.

  ‘I hope I never know humanity as intimately as you do, Superintendent. I see the results of what they do, and that’s bad enough. I don’t want to know the reasons for it.’

  ‘The dead man, what was he like?’

  ‘Fifty-two, and he looked every day of it. Balding, the little hair he had left was mostly grey. A manual labourer from the look of him. His knuckles were gnarled with the start of arthritis. Palms heavily callused. Clean, but there was a smell of leather on his skin.’

  ‘He was a bootmaker,’ Harper said, and King nodded.

  ‘What else would you like to know? Death would have been immediate.’

  ‘Any sign of a struggle on the body?’

  ‘Nothing. I’d say he was taken completely by surprise.’

  FIFTEEN

  The wind was fierce. Even from the top of the hill he could hear the waves crashing over the pier, loud as cannon fire. Billy Reed turned up the collar of his mackintosh and tapped his hat down on his head.

  ‘I hope you don’t have to go anywhere today,’ he told Elizabeth.

  ‘The café,’ she told him. ‘I’m expecting a load of dishes to be delivered.’ She peered over his shoulder at the rain bouncing off the pavement. ‘If they can make up it up here from Scarborough.’

  ‘Stay as dry as you can,’ he said as he kissed her.

  By the tim
e he reached the police station on Spring Hill, his trouser legs were sodden. None of the boats would be out today, surely. Not in weather like this. Sergeant Brown greeted him with a smile as he took off the coat and shook himself like a dog.

  ‘First big blow of the season, sir. Plenty more of these to come before the herring fleet heads out again in the spring.’

  ‘Is there much crime here in the winter?’

  ‘A bit more drunkenness and fighting, maybe,’ Brown answered after a little consideration. ‘But not crime crime, if you understand, sir.’

  ‘I think I do.’ It made sense if you were a copper.

  ‘I lit the fire in your office. Should be cosy by now. And tea’s brewing.’

  ‘Thank you, Sergeant,’ Reed said, his gratitude genuine.

  An hour later he felt warm and dry. The wind might have eased a little, he thought hopefully as he looked out of the window. Maybe there’d be a lull. He had an appointment with Harry Pepper at Custom House at eleven and he didn’t fancy another soaking.

  No such luck. He saw the boats bobbing in the heavy swell along St Ann’s Staith, glad the towering waves couldn’t penetrate into the harbour, then ducked through the door and up the stairs.

  Pepper was on his own in the office, the air thick with pipe smoke.

  ‘Makes me glad I don’t work the boats any longer,’ he said as he stared out towards the North Sea. ‘Still two of them out there, did you know that?’

  ‘Will they be all right?’

  ‘Let’s hope. Experienced skippers. They probably put in somewhere to wait it out. Still, there’ll be plenty of people praying today.’ He sighed. ‘How was your meeting?’

  ‘Hard to tell. He didn’t have much to say.’

  ‘That’s his way,’ Pepper said with a grin. ‘He spends words like they were money. But if he tells you something, you can take it to the bank. And if we can arrest some more smugglers, I’ll be happy. Especially if there’s a ring operating out of here. The Coast Guard will be pleased, too. It’ll give them something to do instead of sitting around and pretending they’re Jolly Jack Tars.’

  ‘Terrier John is mine, though,’ Reed told him.

  Pepper shrugged. ‘You’re welcome to the collar. Tell me, did our friend make you play dominoes?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘A word of warning: don’t ever beat him. He likes to think he’s the best.’

  ‘I’ll make sure I remember that.’

  He dashed along Church Street, as if he might be able to dodge between the raindrops, then into Elizabeth’s café.

  She was sorting through a crate of crockery, checking every plate and cup for breakages or cracks, while the delivery man waited impatiently. Finally she was satisfied; she signed his invoice and let him leave, muttering under his breath.

  ‘I thought I’d take you out for something to eat,’ Reed said.

  Her eyes brightened. ‘Billy, love, you know just what to say to a girl. Let me get my coat.’

  The showers had passed and the clouds had lightened by the time Harper stood in the doorway of Millgarth police station, buttoning his overcoat. The hackney drew up and he climbed in, giving an address in Meanwood.

  Officially Harry Cain’s murder was Ash’s case, but the superintendent wanted to see the widow. He’d met her twice with Annabelle, and he needed to assure her that the police would do everything they could. For whatever worth words might have when she was bereft.

  Alexandra Cain was dressed in black. A neighbour sat with her in the parlour. The door to the kitchen stayed firmly closed, the room where the killing happened. Harper balanced a saucer on his lap, holding a teacup in his fingers.

  ‘Your Annabelle came by this morning,’ Mrs Cain said. ‘Not long after that detective constable left.’

  ‘She said she would.’

  ‘Wanted to offer her sympathies. I told her what I’m saying to you now: I’m not going to go on and run for office. I can’t. Not after this.’ She pulled out a handkerchief and dabbed at her eyes.

  ‘I understand.’ It was what he’d expected as soon as he saw her face, as if all the hope had been ripped from it. She’d been married to Harry for thirty-one years, she said. Knew from the moment she saw him that he was the one, and never stopped loving him. They hadn’t been blessed with children, but half of the kiddies in the neighbourhood had ended up at their house one time or another.

  ‘Your missus is a right ’un,’ she said with approval. ‘Couldn’t have been kinder.’

  ‘I’m glad. And we will find him, Mrs Cain.’

  ‘I know you will, love.’ She sighed, the weight of time heavy on her. ‘I know you will. But a lot of good it’ll do me, unless finding him brings my Harry back.’

  And they both knew the answer to that. He made his farewell, looking up and down the street as the door to the terraced house closed behind him. Everything was so ordinary. Most of the houses were neatly kept, windows sparkling, steps donkeystoned. Completely unremarkable. But now, for years to come, it would be known as the place where the murder happened at number fifteen.

  Two dead. The killer had finally achieved something; he’d made one of the women drop out of the race. But there were still six left. For most, something like this would terrify them. For some, it would only stiffen their resolve. He’d need to wait and see on that.

  Meanwhile, the police had enough on their plate trying to find the man who’d knifed Harry Cain and contain the fright he seemed determined to spread.

  It wasn’t far to Roundhay Road. He ducked into the Victoria. Might as well face the ructions with Annabelle. Instead there was only Dan, shaking his head.

  ‘She’s out with that politics stuff again, Tom. And we need to make a beer order. Tell her, will you?’

  Even with his hearing, Harper made out the sound of the children at the primary school from a hundred yards away. Playtime, he thought, then pulled out his pocket watch. Dinner time, he corrected himself; where had the morning vanished? He stood by the railings until he picked out Mary. She was running around, playing tig with some of the other girls.

  She’d said nothing more about being grabbed. No nightmares that woke her, she hadn’t seemed anxious. For all the effect it had, it might never have happened. But it would be pushed down somewhere, simmering away. He’d seen that happen with coppers. Sometime later, a few days, months, years. It would boil up to the surface. He didn’t want that with his daughter. Yet he didn’t know what he could do about it.

  A tram was coming and he ran to the stop, arm out. On board, he gazed at the streets as they passed, knowing them all so well. Home, Harper thought. Home.

  ‘Give me some good news,’ he said to Ash when the inspector returned to the office, Walsh trailing behind him.

  ‘Wish I could, sir. We’ve got nothing. All the houses along the street had their curtains drawn. No one heard a thing. It’s easy enough to get anywhere from there, too. No one’s going to remember a man who looks respectable.’

  ‘That’s his shield,’ Walsh said. ‘Respectability. He’s the type no one notices. He’s mad as a bloody hatter, but he looks completely normal, so no one pays attention. He can hide behind it. And he’s well-spoken, so no one would think of questioning him.’

  ‘Good,’ Harper nodded. It was a succinct analysis. But it still didn’t help them catch him. ‘Mrs Cain is dropping out of the race.’

  ‘She told me last night, sir. I didn’t know if she’d change her mind. Can’t blame her, can you?’ The constable gave a small, tight smile and sighed. ‘Poor soul.’

  ‘No, I don’t blame her at all.’

  ‘What has Mrs Harper said about the police protection, sir?’ Ash asked.

  ‘I haven’t seen her yet. What about the other women?’

  ‘They’ve accepted it. Reluctantly, but in the light of what’s happened …’

  Better to be safe. But none of them could really be safe until this man was caught. He had an agile mind, he looked beyond the obvious, and he went for
things that would hurt the most.

  ‘If you were him, where would you strike next?’

  Before anyone could answer, Sergeant Tollman appeared at the door with a newspaper folded under his arm.

  ‘Begging your pardon, sir, but I thought you’d like to see the Evening Post.’ He placed it on the desk and left.

  The murder was the headline, of course. But the reporter had done his homework. He noted that it was the culmination of a series of attacks against the women candidates. He’d joined the dots and concluded that someone was trying to force them to abandon the race.

  There should have been outrage on the page. But instead of fury at the intimidation, the writer felt that the female candidates should put the welfare of their fellow Leodiensians first and cede the ground to the men, to let them battle it out at the polls.

  ‘Christ,’ he said and tossed it down again. ‘Just what we need. He’d better hope no one decides to imitate the killer in order to scare off the women candidates. I’ll tear him apart if that happens.’

  ‘Maybe it’ll bring in a few tips,’ Walsh suggested.

  ‘Don’t hold your breath. There’s not even a description in there. Where’s Fowler?’

  ‘He said he might have a lead, sir.’ Ash shrugged. The sergeant had quickly developed his network of informants, and they’d given him solid information in the past.

  ‘Right. Back to where we were before this rubbish turned up. If you were the killer, where would you strike next?’

  ‘I’d lie low for a few days,’ Walsh said as he lit a cigarette. ‘He has every copper in Leeds looking for him. A little while and they won’t be paying quite as much attention.’

  ‘Or he could change his appearance a little,’ Ash said thoughtfully. ‘I don’t know. I’m just guessing.’

  ‘That doesn’t answer my question,’ Harper told them. ‘What’s he likely to do next?’

  The silence grew around them. It had been a hopeful question, he decided. If they really knew, they’d have stopped this bastard already.

  ‘What?’ Annabelle exploded, exactly the way he knew she would. ‘No, Tom, I’m not having it. Simple as that.’