The Tin God

by Chris Nickson

  ‘Everything’s safe? You’re certain of it?’ Harper asked.

  ‘Absolutely.’

  They were standing on the other side of the road, staring at the Victoria. The exact spot he’d occupied when he’d seen the man. The soldier and Harper, Annabelle with them. She’d left Mary and Ellen with the Parsons and returned. At first he’d wanted to send her away again, to keep her safe, but this was her pub. Her livelihood. Her life, in so many ways.

  ‘I have to say, sir, he gave me a couple of hairy moments,’ Buckley said. ‘Our friend has changed the wiring a little, and I had to work it out. But I’ll pass that on to the boys for the future.’

  Let’s hope there weren’t any more bombs, Harper thought.

  ‘How close was it to going off?’ Annabelle asked in a dry, cracked voice.

  Buckley pushed his lips together, then said: ‘It was set for the middle of the night.’

  ‘And how much damage would it have done?’ She stared at him. She wanted the truth.

  ‘Enough,’ Buckley answered finally.

  ‘Come on in and have a drink,’ Annabelle told him. ‘I think you’ve earned it.’ She reached out and took Harper’s hand. ‘I think we all need one.’

  ‘I wouldn’t say no to a drop of brandy, ma’am.’

  While Annabelle and the soldier sat and talked inside, Harper trimmed a lamp and went out into the yard. He stared at the place where the bomb had been, breathing slowly and feeling the cold clamminess on his skin. If there was a bomb, there would be a piece of paper.

  He finally found it folded and wedged into a window frame. The same writing, of course.

  There was blood all in the parlour

  Where my lady she did fall

  Harper leaned his back against the brick wall. Luck, he thought. Sheer bloody luck. That was what had saved them. If he hadn’t come home at just that time. If he hadn’t caught a glimpse of the man leaving the yard. If …

  They would all have been blown to Kingdom Come.

  Harper had come so close to catching him. As it was, he hadn’t even managed a decent sight of the man’s face. No more than a hint of a feature.

  ‘What are you thinking?’ Annabelle put her arms around his waist.

  ‘How we’d been lucky. Where’s Buckley?’

  ‘Gone back to the barracks. Where was it?’

  ‘Over there.’ He pointed.

  ‘If it had gone off …’ He held her as she began to shake, out in the darkness. Already he was working out how to make sure it didn’t happen again, to stop anyone getting into the yard. A layer on concrete on the top of the wall with broken glass embedded in it. It would look more like a prison than a damn pub. It was extreme. But these had become extreme times.

  Annabelle began to sob quietly. He kept his arms tight around her, not saying a word, letting her tears come. Sometimes even the strongest person needed a rock to crash against. He waited until it all subsided, until each jerk of her body became no more than a gentle hiccough. Slowly, he wiped the tears from her cheeks with his finger, and kissed her skin.

  ‘For God’s sake, Tom. I’m running for Poor Law Guardian, not Prime Minister. It’s important to me, but it’s just a tinpot election. Why is he doing this?’

  ‘Fear?’ he said and sighed. ‘Maybe he thinks if women can stand now, soon you’ll all be MPs. I don’t know. I wish I did.’

  So close, he thought again. So bloody close. Perhaps almost being caught would scare the man away. But he knew he was just hoping.

  ‘Come on,’ he whispered. ‘Let’s go to bed.’

  Ash’s frown deepened as the superintendent told him about the night.

  ‘He’s after your wife more than all the others. I said so the other day, sir.’

  ‘I know.’ He’d been worrying at the thought all night, try to come up with a reason he’d target her in particular. ‘But he’s hardly limiting himself to Annabelle, is he?’

  ‘How is Mrs Harper, sir?’ Walsh asked.

  ‘Scared out of her wits but determined not to let anyone see it. She’d no sooner dropped off last night than she was awake again.’

  ‘When you chased him, sir, were you able to see his face at all?’ Fowler said.

  ‘Not enough to register. He looked over his shoulder a couple of times, but it was there and gone. Middle height, quite agile. That’s about it.’ He shook his head and smiled wryly. ‘Goes to show. They say coppers make the worst eye witnesses.’

  ‘I think you were more concerned with bringing him down.’

  ‘Did he leave words from another song, sir?’ Walsh said.

  Harper produced the paper from his waistcoat. ‘Right here. I looked in Kidson’s book, but I didn’t see it. I’ll go out there and ask him.’ He looked at the men. ‘I’m sure Inspector Ash has told you: if we don’t catch him soon, the chief might bring in another officer to head up the chase. I don’t want that. I don’t think you do, either. So let’s find him before any of that can happen. Understood?’

  ‘I’m sorry, Superintendent, but my uncle’s not here.’ Miss Kidson sat primly on the edge of her chair, balancing a saucer in one hand, holding a cup with the other. ‘He’s out researching some pottery.’

  ‘Pottery?’ He wondered what that had to do with folk songs.

  ‘It’s a passion of his. He and my father wrote a book about the old pottery in Hunslet. Anyway,’ she said as she replaced the cup, ‘what can I do for you? Did the information we gave you help at all?’

  ‘Unfortunately, none of those men was the one we were after. But I have another note. Like the last set of words, they don’t seem to be from your uncle’s book.’

  ‘I’m sure I know this,’ Ethel Kidson said as she read them. ‘Give me a moment.’

  She moved to one of the bookcases and took down a volume, going through the index, replacing it and selecting another.

  ‘Here it is. The song’s called Lamkin or Long Lankin.’ She looked at him. ‘It’s in Professor Child’s book.’ Miss Kidson thought for a moment. ‘I’m certain my uncle wrote about it in his column a year or two ago.’

  Confirmation that their man read all Kidson’s work, and saved it. But how did someone who loved old songs square with a man who could kill quite blithely, without conscience, who didn’t baulk at destruction, who feared and hated women?

  ‘You’re very quiet, Superintendent,’ Ethel Kidson said.

  ‘I’m sorry. Too many questions in my mind.’

  ‘If you have words from another song, does that mean he’s struck again?’ she asked. ‘I didn’t see anything in the newspaper.’

  ‘He tried. Luckily no damage was done, no one hurt.’

  ‘Good. As my uncle said, we feel that in some sense it’s our fault, the way he’s using these songs.’

  ‘Don’t,’ he told her. ‘You can’t be responsible for a madman.’

  ‘I’ve had men out searching the ginnels around the pub, sir. More doing a house-to-house, in case anyone happened to spot our friend.’

  ‘Any luck?’

  Ash smiled, the grin vanishing into his heavy moustache.

  ‘As a matter of fact, I think we might have something.’ He opened the drawer of his desk and pulled out a handkerchief. ‘That’s the very best lawn, sir, quite expensive. I think you’ll agree it’s not something most people in Sheepscar are going to own.’

  ‘No.’ If any of them possessed something of this quality, it would be in the pawnshop every Monday to put food on the table. It was a luxury, an extravagance. The material was plain, no initial embroidered on the fabric: any help like that would be too much to hope for. But it brought them one step closer to him.

  ‘There can’t many places in Leeds selling anything this good,’ the inspector continued. ‘Fowler and Walsh are out checking. If we’re lucky …’

  If. A tiny word, but very big. If. He wasn’t going to hold his breath and hope. It was too slim, no more than a thread. And threads had a habit of breaking.

  ‘Let me know as soo
n as they find anything.’

  Before he went upstairs at the pub, he checked the yard. Pointless, he knew; the man wouldn’t be stupid enough to try the same thing again. But he needed to assure himself, to stop his heart racing.

  In the parlour, Mary was curled up on the rug, fast asleep in front of the warm fire. Annabelle was sitting at the table, writing. She put a finger to her lips and tilted her head towards the kitchen.

  ‘What’s wrong?’ he whispered. The only time Mary did that was when she was poorly.

  ‘The headmaster brought her home during the morning.’ Annabelle took a breath. ‘She started crying in the middle of the class and couldn’t stop. Didn’t matter what they tried. I gave her some warm milk and cuddled her until she was done. We did a jigsaw puzzle, then she settled down there. She’s been like that for the last two hours.’

  ‘It’s all coming out,’ he said quietly. ‘Last night, the snatching. Everything.’

  She nodded. ‘What am I doing to her, Tom? For God’s sake, I never dreamed it would be anything like this. It all seemed so simple. Straightforward. I’ve been sitting there trying to put together a letter withdrawing from the election.’

  ‘Are you going to send it?’ It had to be her decision. But he could only imagine the guilt and the fear that was surging through her.

  ‘I’m not sure. Maybe.’ She stopped talking, staring down at the ground. ‘You know what Mary’s like. Most of the time she’s so sharp, so full of questions that I forget she’s still a little girl. I don’t want her hurt any more by all this.’

  ‘I know.’ He squeezed her hand.

  ‘Then I think, if I don’t fight for all this, how can I expect anyone else to do it? I want to win the battles now so Mary doesn’t have to do it when she’s older. I don’t think I’ve been more petrified by anything in my life. But I’m a grown-up. I can see what he’s trying to do. I can grit my teeth and keep going. Mary can’t. Right now she’s suffering for what I want to do, and she’s not old enough to understand. How can I do this to her? The same as Mr Harkness, the caretaker at St Clement’s. What did he have to do with any of this?’

  ‘You’re not the cause,’ Harper told her. ‘Don’t go telling yourself that you are. That’s what he wants you to think. It’s him. No one else. Just him.’

  ‘Oh, I know. I know it in my head. And you can repeat it till you’re blue in the face. But I’m still trying to convince myself here.’ She put a hand over her heart.

  He could see the strain on her face and hear it in her voice. It had been building since the campaign began. Last night had come close to sweeping her over the edge. And now this, with Mary … but he understood his wife too well. Down at the core of her there was iron. She would never break. Yet she was the only one who could decide how much this was worth fighting for.

  ‘You have to do what you feel is right.’ He stroked her cheek.

  ‘That’s the trouble,’ Annabelle said bleakly. ‘I don’t know. I can’t think straight.’

  Harper looked through the doorway at the little girl lying on the hearth rug. ‘What are we going to do about her?’

  ‘Whatever we can. Make sure she knows we love her and that we’ll do everything to look after her. How much can anyone do?’

  Nobody lived without their scars and pain. There were no guarantees of anything, they all knew that. In this world, it was impossible to become an adult without a litany of the dead trailing behind. Many of those he’d grown up with were already gone, and in twenty years it would be the same for Mary. That was reality. But that didn’t stop him wanting to protect her, to keep her safe. But yes, how much could anyone do? Annabelle was right.

  Mary woke quiet and a little dazed. After tea they listened to her read, and drew with her on a sheet of brown paper Annabelle had begged from the butcher. Harper told her a story once she was in bed, carrying on until her eyes were firmly closed and her breathing even.

  She was different, he thought, muted, as if she’d put a little distance between herself and the world. But everyone coped in different ways. Everyone.

  In the parlour, Annabelle sat and gazed into the flames.

  ‘Thought any more about it?’ he asked, and she nodded. ‘Decided what you’re going to do?’

  TWENTY

  For a portly man, Harry Pepper could walk quickly. As they followed the rough path along the cliffs towards Sandsend, Reed was hard pressed to keep pace.

  ‘Watch yourself near the edge,’ Pepper warned. ‘This stuff can crumble right under your feet. And it’s not a pleasant drop on to the rocks.’

  They kept an eye on the boat. Its sail was raised, and it stood a good quarter of a mile out to sea.

  ‘Do you notice where we are?’ Pepper asked.

  ‘Isn’t this close to where you arrested those smugglers?’ Reed asked.

  ‘The same spot, as near dammit.’ His voice was thoughtful.

  ‘What do you think they’re doing?’

  ‘Well, I doubt it’s a pleasure cruise. No other craft close by.’ He raised the spyglass to his eyes and looked over the water. ‘They’re moving out. Going where it’s deeper.’

  ‘What do we do now?’

  ‘Wait,’ Pepper said. ‘And hope they don’t decide to go round that point to the north or we’ll lose them.’

  ‘It looks like they’ve stopped again.’

  ‘Yes.’ He took up the glass once more and remained silent for a long time. ‘I think they’re hauling something on board. Maybe the Coast Guard missed something. Most of them aren’t worth the cost of their uniforms.’ He stood for a minute longer. ‘Come on, let’s get back to Whitby. I want to search that boat when it docks.’

  He hurried off, arms pumping, and Reed followed.

  ‘Contraband?’ Reed asked.

  ‘I wouldn’t be at all surprised.’

  ‘In broad daylight?’

  ‘Why not? That’s a fishing boat, out there, pulling something out of the water. Most people aren’t going to give it a second glance. It’s like hiding a tree in a forest. Come along, I need to get my men out, and alert the Coast Guard. See if they can do something right this time.’

  They were waiting fifty yards away, hidden in the shadows, as the boat shipped oars and moored a few yards from the harbour office. Reed had spent the last five minutes watching Terrier anxiously pace up and down, watching the entrance to the harbour. As the fishing boat approached, he stood by a capstan, hands on his hips.

  Pepper led the way, his men fanning out behind him. He placed a hand on Terrier John’s shoulder and spoke a warning into his ear. Then he hurried down the wooden steps, another Excise officer right behind him. The Coast Guard drifted alongside in a small vessel.

  Reed hung back. This wasn’t his business; the police had no role here. He kept well away, smoking a cigarette. The two men from the boat were escorted on to dry land to stand with Terrier as Pepper searched the vessel. Finally he clambered back up, carrying a case of brandy.

  ‘You haven’t been too clever,’ he told the captain. ‘There’s another one on board, too.’

  The man said nothing, simply shrugged and spat. With a sigh, Pepper put the liquor on the ground and straightened his back. Then, in a swift, hard movement, he grabbed the captain by his jacket, lifting him until his feet barely touched the ground.

  ‘Thought no one would notice another boat on the water, eh? You were wrong, Charlie Dennison, and you’ll have some jail time to think about it. I’ll have to see about impounding that boat of yours, too.’

  ‘You can’t do that.’ That threat made the man explode with anger, pulling free and glaring, his hands curling into fists. ‘That’s my bloody livelihood.’

  ‘You’ll have a chance to think about it when you’re behind bars, Charlie. There’s always a price to pay.’ He pushed the man away and nodded to other Excise men. ‘Take him.’ Pepper glanced at the others from the boat. ‘Sam Carpenter, too. But maybe we’ll hold Mr Millgate back for a quiet word.’ To the Coast Guard he
yelled: ‘Tow the boat up to Whitehall Dockyard.’ With a malicious grin, he looked at Dennison. ‘Tell them it’s government property for the moment. Evidence in a crime.’

  ‘Why have you brought me here?’ Terrier John asked once they were in the Excise office. He looked at the faces around him, all of them except Reed.

  Harry Pepper took his time, filling his pipe from a pouch then tamping down the tobacco, before striking a match and puffing until his head was wreathed in smoke.

  ‘You were there when a crime was committed, Mr Millgate. You seemed eager for their return and you were talking to them right before they left. That makes you as guilty as they are in my book. But you’re an outsider here. You’re certainly not a fisherman. I have to wonder about your involvement.’

  ‘And you have a past,’ Reed said.

  The words made Millgate turn his head sharply.

  ‘Sergeant Reed?’ Terrier asked, as if he’d never noticed him before.

  ‘Inspector Reed now,’ Pepper corrected him. ‘And you’re a bloody awful actor, so don’t even try. Now, Mr Millgate, why don’t you tell us your story.’ He puffed on the pipe again. ‘I’ll warn you, though, we already know a few parts, so we’ll be able to tell when you’re lying.’

  ‘Well, what did you think of that?’ Terrier John had been taken off to jail by one of the Excise men. Tomorrow morning he’d be up in court.

  Reed lit a cigarette. ‘I didn’t believe a word. Just having a friendly chat and he’d promised to buy them a drink when they returned? He has too long a history for that.’

  ‘What matters is if he can convince the magistrate,’ Pepper said with a sigh. ‘The trouble is, he probably can. He’s an upstanding citizen here, remember, not a blot on his character in Whitby.’ He puffed thoughtfully on his pipe. ‘There’s something else about this that worries me: why go out in the middle of the day to collect two cases of brandy? Especially right after Tom Barker’s death. Seems to me that someone’s trying to send us haring off in the wrong direction, and also portray your friend Millgate as quite the innocent.’ He stared at Reed. ‘Why, though? That’s the question.’