The Tin God

by Chris Nickson

  ‘That’s good news.’

  ‘Aye.’ Without hesitation, he laid down a double two and smiled with satisfaction. ‘Weather like this will keep the smugglers indoors.’

  ‘Including the man I asked about?’

  ‘He’s a strange ’un. Seems to know everybody, but don’t none of them ken too much about him. A foreigner.’

  ‘From Leeds.’ He rapped his knuckles on the table: no move he could make.

  ‘What I said. Folk listen to him, and some of them are people who’d rather talk than hear someone else.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘They respect him.’

  ‘Is he involved in smuggling?’

  ‘Don’t know that yet. Can’t just come out and ask, can I?’ With a flourish, he slapped his last tile on the table and grinned. ‘Don’t have a chance of beating me at this, do you?’

  ‘No,’ Reed agreed. He didn’t care about dominoes. Only about Terrier John. There was something going on. He could feel it. All he needed was some proof. He counted out a florin in change and pushed it across to the man.

  ‘I’ll let you know when I have something.’

  ‘You look worn out,’ Elizabeth said when she saw him.

  ‘Long day. And I’m off to Ruswarp and Sleights tomorrow. I hope the rain holds off.’

  ‘Maybe you’ll be all right. Someone told me this afternoon that this will blow itself out tonight. I’m blessed if I know how they can tell.’

  ‘Fisherman’s knowledge.’ He felt the teapot; it was still warm.

  ‘That’s been mashing for ages. I’ll brew some fresh if you want.’

  ‘This will do. Where are the children?’

  ‘Upstairs, writing to their friends in Leeds.’

  A pen and a sheet of paper lay on the table. A list, some items crossed out. He looked questioningly at her.

  ‘Plans for the tea room?’ Reed asked.

  ‘All the things I still need to do before I open. I no sooner think of one and write it down than two more pop into my head.’

  ‘No rush, is there?’ he asked, looking through what she’d written. It seemed thorough enough.

  ‘No,’ Elizabeth agreed. ‘I want it all to be just right. Oh,’ she said, ‘I found a place where Annabelle and Tom can stay, Billy love. It’s over on Crescent Avenue. Very nice. I took a look at it this afternoon. So you’d better write your own letter to Leeds and let Tom know. I asked: they have vacancies over Christmas, and they’ll do a full dinner.’

  Well, he thought, she’d given him his orders. But he needed to let Harper know what he’d learned about Terrier John. For whatever it was worth.

  ‘Two other bombs?’ Harper said in disbelief.

  ‘The soldiers found and defused them both,’ Ash said. He looked haggard, all his heartiness gone, his skin pale and almost yellow in the light from the gas mantles. ‘No damage done. They were easy to spot, too. It’s as if he wanted them to be found.’

  ‘Three in one evening. What the hell is he doing?’ He ran a hand through his hair.

  ‘If he’s trying to run us ragged,’ Fowler suggested, ‘he’s doing a fine job of it.’

  One bomb in Woodhouse, another in Cross Green, and the third Harper had seen for himself. Their man had been busy. He must have spent the afternoon wandering blithely around the city. Probably smirking at his own invisibility.

  ‘They were small bombs, if that really matters. They couldn’t have done much damage,’ Ash told him.

  ‘It was the same where I was.’

  ‘Sounds as if it’s more for show than anything else,’ Walsh said. ‘To let us know he can do it and keep us on our toes.’

  ‘Taunting us,’ Fowler agreed, pushing his spectacles up his nose.

  ‘Bits of paper,’ Harper said. ‘Did he leave any?’

  ‘On your desk, sir.’

  ‘Go home,’ he ordered. ‘There’s nothing more we can do tonight. Let’s come at it with fresh eyes tomorrow.’

  The same handwriting. By now it felt almost as familiar as his own.

  I broke a stake out of the fence

  And beat this fair maid down

  That was one. The other seemed to continue from it:

  Oh, Willie dear, don’t murder me here

  I’m not prepared to die

  He took the copy of Kidson’s Traditional Tunes from his drawer and started leafing through the pages. But he couldn’t find a song like this. He wondered what he’d discover at the Union building. Harper ran his palms down his face. He felt too tired to think clearly. It was time to follow his own advice and go back to the Victoria.

  Annabelle stirred as he climbed into bed. Harper had spent a minute standing in the doorway of Mary’s room, staring down at his daughter as she slept. Only the top of her head showed above the blankets, a thick, wild tangle of dark hair. For a moment he almost believed he could hear her soft breathing. But it was a trick of the night; it was a long time since his ears had been that sharp.

  ‘What was it?’ Annabelle asked sleepily.

  ‘Nothing,’ he told her softly. ‘No one hurt, no damage done. Go back to sleep, everything’s fine.’ She grunted as rest took hold of her again.

  He was late, dashing through his washing and shaving, gulping a cup of tea for breakfast as she quizzed him on what had happened. At least the answers seemed to satisfy her, Harper thought.

  Martinson was waiting outside the Victoria, offering a hasty salute as the superintendent hurried past.

  The caretaker was unlocking the union building as Harper arrived.

  ‘That politics is nobbut trouble,’ he complained as he searched out the right key. ‘There. It was in the middle of the floor. Don’t know what this world is coming to. Bombs.’

  ‘I just need to search in here,’ Harper told him, staring until the man shuffled away.

  It sat in plain view.

  But he beat her all the more

  Till all the ground for yards around

  Was it the same song?

  The Wexford Girl. Kidson had recognized it immediately. Not from his book, but he’d written about it in his column for the Mercury. A deep, dark murder ballad. But at least the killer died at the end.

  ‘Let’s hope the outcome is the same here,’ the Superintendent said as he left the Kidsons’ parlour.

  ‘I’m sure you’ll catch him,’ the man said.

  ‘They all happened on the same night, so he used quotes from the same song,’ Fowler said and shrugged. ‘It seems quite obvious to me.’

  ‘It’s like we said, he’s leaving his calling card,’ Ash agreed. ‘So we know it’s him.’

  ‘As if there could be any doubt about it.’ Harper sipped his tea. It was almost cold, but he barely noticed. ‘I’d rather he left us his name and address. How’s he getting into all the places? Are they unlocked?’

  ‘Probably,’ Walsh said. ‘But there’s not much point asking the caretakers. They’ll just swear they turn the key every time they leave a room.’

  ‘Where are the meetings tonight?’

  Ash checked through a file. ‘There’s one in Holbeck, round the corner from Marshall’s Mill, and another in a church hall on South Accommodation Road. There should have been a third in Meanwood, but Mrs Cain has withdrawn.’

  The mention of the name was enough to make them all pause for a second and think of the murder.

  ‘Walsh, I want you on that church hall. Fowler, you can go to Holbeck. Spend the day watching in case he shows up to plant a bomb. Keep your eyes peeled around you, too. The way this character operates, he could be watching you and waiting for his chance.’

  ‘Where do you want me, sir?’ Ash asked after they’d left.

  ‘I don’t know. I do owe you an apology, though. All this should have been your case and I took it away from you.’

  ‘I don’t mind, sir.’ He smiled. The colour had returned to his face after a good night’s sleep. ‘After all, you want to look after Mrs Harper.’

  ‘I
do. But it makes me wonder if I’m too close to see it all properly. If you want to do something, review what we have so far. See if we missed anything. Maybe I’ve made some mistakes.’

  The thought had come to him as he sat on the tram into town. Maybe he’d missed something. Maybe the answer was right there, staring him in the face if he cared to look.

  ‘We can get someone in if you like, sir,’ Ash answered. ‘But honestly, I don’t think they could do it better. I trust you. We all do. Seems to me that this one’s leading us quite a dance.’

  ‘Then what’s going to happen when the music stops?’

  The papers on his desk had grown from a molehill to a mountain. He couldn’t put it off any longer. By dinnertime he’d made a dent in it all, but little enough to feel discouraged.

  ‘Come on,’ he told the inspector. ‘I’ll buy you something to eat.’

  ‘I won’t say no, sir, but I’m going to wonder what price I’ll be paying for it.’

  White’s Chop House on Boar Lane. He was hungry, the food was decent, and on a superintendent’s pay he could afford to splash out every once in a while.

  ‘What do you make of Walsh?’ Harper asked as they ate.

  Ash cut the last piece of lamb from the bone and considered the question.

  ‘It’s early days yet, but so far he seems very good. Bright, and he fits in well with us. I can probably tell you more once he’s found his feet. I think he’ll work out well, though.’

  ‘What’s Fowler’s opinion?’

  ‘He’s impressed, too. I think we have a keeper, sir.’

  ‘Good. I thought he had the look about him.’

  ‘Reminded you of yourself, sir?’

  Harper chuckled. ‘Maybe a little. But I wasn’t ever as cocky as that.’

  ‘If you say so, sir.’ Ash wiped up the gravy with a slice of bread and chewed slowly. ‘This investigation,’ he began when he was done.

  ‘Is turning up nothing,’ the superintendent said. ‘I know.’

  ‘It’s not that. We’re doing everything right. There are just limits on what we can do. We don’t have enough men to look after everything.’

  ‘And we haven’t had any luck second-guessing him,’ Harper pointed out. ‘Go on.’

  ‘Last night he proved he could go anywhere and do what he wanted.’

  ‘Agreed.’

  ‘He was playing with us. Small bombs. A bit of a taunt, if you like. The next time is going to be far more serious.’

  ‘Please tell me you know what he’s going to do next.’

  ‘I wish I did, sir.’ Ash frowned. ‘No crystal ball. But I think he’ll go after Mrs Harper.’

  The superintendent looked up quickly. ‘Why?’

  Ash settled his large hands on the tablecloth and stared at them before answering.

  ‘She was his first target. He’s gone for her twice now, three times if you include last night’s little exercise. With all the others it’s only been once.’

  Harper nodded. He hadn’t looked at it that way; he was too close to everything to see it clearly. Why Annabelle, though? Could the man be someone she knew, someone who’d taken against her in particular?

  ‘Do you know when I’d do it, if I were him?’ Ash continued. ‘The night before Guy Fawkes. Mischief Night. It’s always bedlam then.’

  ‘No.’ The superintendent shook his head. ‘That’s too close to the election. They vote the day after. The ballot papers would already be printed. He wants to make sure no women are on there at all. It needs to be sooner.’

  When, though? And how?

  Annabelle didn’t have a meeting that night, a small lull before a full week of them. Harper was looking forward to a quiet evening at home as he sat on the tram. He wriggled his fingers; they still ached from signing and initialling all the reports on his desk. Still, everything was clear, at least until morning. More would be waiting for his attention then, appearing overnight as if the fairies had magicked them there.

  But when he climbed the stairs from the Victoria and opened the door to the parlour, she was dressed to the nines. A new lilac frock with broad, leg-of-mutton sleeves and a purple bodice. A tiny bustle at the back, and brilliant white lace at the cuffs.

  ‘I thought you had a free night,’ he said, confused.

  ‘I do.’ She was looking into the mirror, adjusting the hat on her head before securing it in place with a pin. ‘The hackney’s picking us up at half-past, so you’ve just time for a wash and to change into your best suit.’

  ‘Why? Has something happened?’

  ‘I thought we deserved to go out. All three of us. Mary’s putting on her sailor outfit. Now all we need is for you to get a move on.’

  As he buttoned on a fresh collar and fastened his tie, he could hear Mary chattering away merrily. He really wanted to be at home, to stretch out and do nothing. But she deserved this. So did their daughter. Since the election campaign began, she’d spent most of her time with Ellen. And her behaviour since the attempted snatch had been almost too normal.

  Yes, he decided, Annabelle was right. A meal out together might do them all some good.

  Mary slept between them as the cab bounced and jolted its way back to Sheepscar. Her eyes had closed almost as soon as the horse began to move.

  The meal had been tasty, Beef Wellington in a heavy gravy. They’d talked about the little things, everything remotely connected with the election carefully ignored for a night. He’d relished seeing his wife and daughter laugh together. Like a family.

  He loosened his tie and collar stud and turned to look at Annabelle. She wore a dreamy look, hands clasped lightly in her lap.

  ‘What are you thinking?’ he asked quietly.

  ‘What it’ll be like after November the fifth?’

  ‘You’ll be a Poor Law Guardian. You’ll be busy with meetings and God knows what.’

  ‘I might not. Everything could be back to the way it was.’ She gave a small laugh. ‘Mind you, I’m not even sure I can remember how they were before this madness started.’

  ‘You had more time to yourself. Apart from looking after the pub, the Suffragist meetings and all the other things.’

  She laughed softly. ‘You’ve made your point, Tom Harper. You know I can’t just sit at home with my feet up.’

  ‘I do, and I’m glad.’

  The hackney pulled up in front of the Victoria. Lights blazed through the window. Someone was playing the piano, banging out the chords to The Cat Came Back as a few voices joined in. Annabelle listened for a moment, then said, ‘I wouldn’t give this up for the world. Never.’ Mary was still deep asleep, her body limp. ‘Can you carry her? She’s too heavy for me these days.’

  He’d wanted an evening at home, Harper reflected as he drifted off to sleep. But as nights out went, this had been wonderful.

  EIGHTEEN

  ‘Progress, gentleman?’ Harper asked as he looked around the faces. Walsh stared at the ground. Fowler’s mouth tightened. Ash sighed. ‘Come on, there must be something.’

  ‘Nothing more than we had yesterday, sir.’

  ‘We’re policemen,’ the superintendent said. ‘We should be able to come up with clues.’

  ‘Some of the campaigns are faltering, I can tell you that,’ Fowler said. ‘Mrs Bolland only drew twenty to hers last night. And I heard Mrs Pease could only manage ten.’

  ‘Almost fifty at the last one for Mrs Morgan, though,’ Walsh added.

  ‘They’re not all going to win,’ Harper said. ‘No one ever believed they would. But they’ll give the men a run for their money. That was the point. And our job is to make sure they have the proper chance. As long as the killer’s still out there, that can’t happen.’

  ‘Where do you want us today, sir?’ Fowler asked.

  Six of the women were holding meetings tonight. Assigning the men anywhere was going to be a lucky dip. And no guarantee that anything would happen at all.

  ‘I’ll let Inspector Ash give out the assignments.’ If nothing e
lse, he could pass along the responsibility. He glanced at his pocket watch. ‘That’s all.’

  Paper and dead leaves, sweet wrappers and cigarette ends caught in the wind and swirled along the gutter on the Headrow. But Leeds needed a good breeze to clean it up. Not that anything could leave it looking like a new penny. That chance was long gone. The Town Hall clock boomed quarter to the hour. He was in plenty of time for his meeting with the chief constable.

  After the discovery of three bombs in one evening, he’d known he’d receive a summons. At least the chief was a fair man. Very fair, he hoped, since he had no suspects to offer.

  ‘I’m going to get straight to the point, Tom,’ Crossley said. ‘Where are you on this case?’

  There was nothing to be gained by lying or exaggerating. Not when lives were at stake.

  ‘We’ve made some progress,’ Harper said. ‘But not enough. We don’t have the faintest idea who’s behind it.’

  ‘We already have two people dead,’ the chief constable reminded him.

  ‘I’m very aware of that, sir. Believe me, I am.’

  ‘That’s not to mention the other incidents, sending uniforms out with the female candidates every day, and soldiers checking venues for bombs before a meeting.’

  Stated baldly, it sounded like a long list. A damning one, too, as if every one of them was his failing.

  ‘I know.’ He nodded and accepted it.

  ‘We’re looking worse with every new thing that happens. Three bombs in one day? For God’s sake, is he mad?’

  ‘I think he probably is. Certainly when it comes to women in politics.’

  ‘Be honest. Do you think you’re too close to it all, since your wife’s running for office?’

  The big question. Exactly the one he’d asked Ash the day before. He thought about the inspector’s answer before he replied.

  ‘I don’t believe so, sir. I think I can still do a fair job. And I have very good men working for me.’

  ‘I’m not doubting any of that, Tom.’ The chief leaned back in his chair. ‘I know you and your people are some of the very best. But we need to close this case long before the election. I’m sure you can see that.’