The Tin God

by Chris Nickson

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘And, Walsh,’ Harper added as the men rose to leave, ‘if any of those men bear even the smallest resemblance to that drawing, I want them down here before they can say a word. Understood?’

  ‘Done, sir.’ He smiled. ‘My pleasure.’

  The office was quiet as Harper began to plough through his paperwork. Sometimes bad hearing could be a blessing; it kept the world at bay and let him concentrate. But he’d barely been at it for ten minutes when he was disturbed by a tap on the door.

  ‘Mind if I come in, Tom?’

  Superintendent Davidson, the head of C Division, with a tentative look on his face.

  ‘I’m not disturbing anything, am I?’

  ‘Just the usual.’ He waved a hand at the pile of folders on the desk.

  ‘I won’t feel too guilty, then.’ He sat down and reached into his jacket for a cigarette.

  ‘Come to take over the bomber case, Peter?’

  ‘No, no. You’ve heard that rumour, too?’

  ‘The chief said he’d give me a while before he brought someone else in.’ Harper shrugged. ‘Someone told me it was going to be you.’

  ‘If it is, I’ve heard nothing official. That’s why I stopped in. I wanted to let you know. As far as I’m aware, Crossley hasn’t talked to anyone about it yet.’

  He felt a surge of relief, as if someone had removed a noose from his neck. It was still no more than a thought in the chief constable’s mind.

  ‘I appreciate that.’

  ‘Starting to feel the pressure?’

  ‘Yes. Even more with my wife involved.’

  Davidson nodded. ‘Can’t be easy. I won’t say that I think women in politics is a good thing. But the law’s the law. And it looks like this killer of yours doesn’t care who gets hurt. Is that him?’ He nodded at the sketch.

  ‘Done by someone he tried to kill last night.’

  He let out a low whistle. ‘He drew that straight after? I’m impressed.’

  ‘I came within a few yards of him myself a few evenings ago.’

  ‘I heard about that. A bomb at your pub. Horrible. Cowardly. I just wanted to tell you that all of us are behind you on this, Tom. None of us are looking to supplant you. We’ll do everything we can to help you.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  ‘If one of us arrests him, we’re happy to arrange for him to disappear for a few hours so you can talk in private.’

  Harper grinned. ‘Thank you.’

  ‘You’d do the same for us.’ He stood. ‘Anyway, it was just a quick visit to put your mind at rest.’ He glanced at the sketch again. ‘Nasty looking sod. We don’t need characters like him around.’

  The Evening Post appeared around noon, the paperboys crying out the headlines as they tried to hawk copies on the street. Harper counted out tuppence and glanced at the headlines on his way to dinner. More celebrations in Australia and New Zealand for the Queen’s Diamond Jubilee. All the fuss and parties felt like a lifetime ago. Had it really only been four months since they’d been waving flags and cheering?

  At the George on Briggate he sat down to cottage pie, feeling the building rattle as trains passed on the viaduct. He leafed through the newspaper, glancing at a paragraph here, a headline there. Very little to interest him. He didn’t care about tittle-tattle of grandees from the empire and he wasn’t much bothered by whatever they were debating in Parliament.

  He turned to the editorials. An amusing one about a London taxi driver convicted for drink driving. And then one to make him push the paper away before his blood began to boil. More about the fitness of men for elected office and how women were too delicate to become involved in politics, in case they should become nervous and hysterical.

  Harper looked at the author’s name, expecting Hotchkiss, but it was simply credited to the editorial board. He tried to finish his meal, but suddenly it had become tasteless.

  He hoped some of the women would win on polling day, if only to give a black eye to men like this. It would do them the world of good.

  And it would show their killer that he didn’t have a chance of stopping history.

  TWENTY-TWO

  ‘What do you have for me this morning, Sergeant?’ Reed asked as he entered the police station on Spring Hill. The morning had been sharp as he walked down, but not bitter yet. When he first arrived in Whitby, one of the neighbours had said the place seemed to have its own weather. It made no sense at the time, but now he was beginning to understand. He’d been over in Sleights the day before, no more than four miles away, and found the morning frost still white on the ground, most of the plants died back for winter. On the coast the earth was still green and alive.

  ‘Absolutely nothing, sir,’ Brown answered with relish. ‘Things went well with the chief constable, did they?’

  ‘He seemed happy enough when I saw him on to the train.’

  ‘I heard there were some smugglers in court yesterday. Mr Pepper must have been happy.’

  ‘I daresay he was. Do you know them?’

  ‘Charlie Dennison is my cousin’s sister’s husband. Good sailor, but none too bright.’ The sergeant gave a sour grin. ‘That chap from Leeds got off, though.’

  ‘So I heard,’ Reed said. He still wasn’t sure how far he trusted Brown in all this. The web of family was heavy here. Some things were better kept to himself. Terrier John would certainly be out and gloating today, demonstrating that the law couldn’t hold him.

  Towards dinnertime he strolled into town. Along Pier Road and past the moorings the smell of fish persisted; it probably never vanished completely. The gulls paraded and flew, hoping for something to scavenge.

  Men worked on their vessels, cleaning and starting on their winter repairs, while others stood and talked with them. Reed stood at the end of the pier staring at the waves. The tide was out, sand packed hard; not a single footstep disturbed the surface. On the other side of the river, women searched for limpets in the tide pools, gathering them in wicker baskets, calling to each other and laughing.

  Strolling back, he saw the Terrier chatting with a group of fishermen. He looked happy, like the cock-o’-the-walk with his tale to tell. Time to prick that balloon, he decided.

  ‘Good morning, Mr Millgate,’ he called, and the man turned expectantly at the sound of his name. ‘A good decision for you in court yesterday.’ Reed raised his hat. ‘My congratulations.’

  ‘Thank you, Sergeant. Sorry. Inspector.’ John’s eyes were suspicious. His companions stared at him.

  ‘You must have been pleased to be believed.’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘Relieved, too, after all those sentences you’ve served in Leeds in the past.’

  If looks could have killed, the gaze would have felled him on the spot. But Terrier composed himself.

  ‘A new life, a new man.’

  ‘A rich one, too.’

  ‘Comfortable,’ Millgate replied.

  ‘Exactly,’ Reed agreed with a smile. He started to walk away, then said. ‘That matter we were discussing the other day … I’ll find you when you’re not so busy so we can continue. Good day.’

  He strode off briskly. With luck, that might raise a few suspicions. Drop a stone in the pond and see how far the ripples travelled.

  ‘I’m flummoxed, sir,’ Walsh said. ‘I saw those other men in Hyde Park, but there’s not one of them who’s our killer. And none of them were at that meeting in Hunslet. I’m positive about that.’

  ‘Then he must be one the beat bobbies don’t know,’ Harper said. ‘It happens.’

  Invisible in his respectability. Damn. And the assistants at the Irish linen shop hadn’t been able to help. All they had was the drawing. Good as that was, it remained vague and incomplete.

  ‘I should have brought him in when I saw him.’

  Yes, the superintendent thought. But Walsh had stuck to the law, and there was no point in regrets.

  ‘You said he went down Victoria Road?’

&nb
sp; ‘Yes, sir. I’m positive of that.’

  ‘Then be there early tomorrow morning. Keep watching the men on their way to work. He may well be among them. And you know what to do if you see him.’

  ‘No hesitation this time, sir.’ Walsh smiled and left.

  Ash stretched out his legs and let out a long sigh.

  ‘That sounds a bit desperate, if you don’t mind me saying so, sir. Like going fishing and not taking any bait.’

  ‘We are desperate.’ Harper grimaced. ‘Unless you’ve had any sudden ideas.’

  ‘I wish I did. I was talking to my Nancy about it last night. I thought she might spot something we’ve missed.’

  ‘Did she?’

  He shook his head. ‘She doesn’t see what else we could do.’ He glanced at the sketched pinned on the wall. ‘If that was better, we could ask the newspapers to run it. As it is …’

  As it was, they were still nowhere. They knew plenty about their man, just not enough to identify him.

  ‘Then we’ll keep on with what we’ve been doing. All those failures must be tearing at him. That’s when mistakes happen.’

  ‘We’d better be ready to pounce.’ Fowler looked up as he spoke. ‘Not give him a chance.’

  ‘We will be,’ Harper told him. ‘Ready and willing.’

  ‘Did you see it?’ Annabelle asked as soon as he walked through the door. Her voice bubbled with pleasure.

  ‘See what?’

  ‘In the paper.’ She picked it up from the table and held it out. ‘Right there.’

  The letters page. From the Suffrage Society in support of their six women candidates. Signed by Isabella Ford, it was sensible and compassionate, laying out the values and qualities they represented. The compassion, the fairness.

  Eloquent, but would it really sway any minds, Harper wondered? Still, everything helped.

  ‘She writes well,’ he said.

  ‘I thought it would make a good poster. We need something new. People don’t even notice the old one any more.’ She was bustling around the room, not settling at anything for more than a few seconds. ‘Mary’s having her tea at Maisie’s house. I said you’d go over for her at seven.’

  ‘Busy day?’

  ‘The usual. Leaflets and door-knocking.’ She shrugged. ‘I think the people round here must be sick of the sight of me by now.’ She shook her head in wonder. ‘I’m certainly sick of hearing my own voice.’ She gave him a pointed look. ‘And if you’re thinking of saying a word about that, don’t.’

  He laughed. ‘My lips are sealed.’

  ‘Good. I need to prepare for the hustings tomorrow.’ The second debate between the candidates. With the election looming, it should draw a large crowd. If the bomber was targeting Annabelle more than the other women, maybe he’d show his face there. ‘The rumour is that the Tories have given up on Wilkinson. They know he doesn’t have a chance here,’ she said. ‘Oldroyd doesn’t seem to be gaining much support, either. People think he’s too young.’

  There was some truth in that, Harper thought. The man looked like he was barely old enough to shave; how could he expect to be taken seriously as a candidate?

  ‘It’s between you and Moody, then.’

  ‘The old system and the new ideas.’ She raised an eyebrow. ‘That draws the lines clearly, doesn’t it?’ She flitted from table to sideboard to mantelpiece.

  ‘What’s wrong?’

  ‘I’m nervous about it.’ Annabelle hesitated. ‘And scared by everything.’ She sat down for a moment, on the edge of a chair, as if she was immediately ready to rise again. ‘There are two women who have a real chance of winning in this election: me and Mrs Pease. I’m not being hopeful or boasting, Tom. That’s what people reckon. If this man can stop the two of us, he’ll achieve what he wanted. I just have this horrible feeling that someone else is going to end up dead before it’s all over.’

  ‘We’re going to make certain that doesn’t happen.’

  ‘Can you?’ She stared at him. ‘Honestly? No flannel, can you do that?’

  ‘No,’ he admitted. ‘But we’ll do everything we can.’

  The statement seemed to satisfy her. Annabelle’s mouth moved into a dark smile.

  ‘Go downstairs. Have a drink or something. Give me a little time to do my work.’

  He bypassed the bar and went out to the back yard, checking quickly behind the crates and barrels. Everything safe, nothing worse than a rat that scurried away. He let himself out through the gate. With luck he’d reach the doctor’s surgery before it closed.

  He had to insist on using their telephone. The doctor had left for the day and the young woman at the desk was reluctant to give permission. Finally, Harper leaned on his rank. Police business. He asked the operator for Millgarth Police Station.

  It was strange to hear Ash’s voice without seeing his face.

  ‘You caught me right as I was leaving, sir. Off to one of the meetings.’

  ‘I want more men on Mrs Pease.’

  He noticed the hesitation.

  ‘I’ll arrange it, sir. Do you have a tip?’

  ‘Supposedly she and Annabelle are the two who might win their elections. If you were our man and wanted to stop everything, who would you go after?’

  ‘Point taken, sir. But what about your wife?’

  ‘I’m here, and there’s Martinson during the day.’

  Ash coughed gently. ‘I wonder if it might be worth having someone keep watch on the pub at night, sir. Especially after what happened.’

  Harper opened his mouth to speak, then closed it again. The idea made sense. He’d promised Annabelle the police would do everything they could.

  ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘You’d better assign someone.’ He chuckled. ‘The chief will go through the roof at the budget.’

  ‘He’ll do worse if anything happens.’

  On the way home he stopped to collect Mary. The Taylors lived at the top end of Manor Street in a terraced house that always smelled of soap, as if everything had been freshly washed. Arthur Taylor had started at the brick works in Burmantofts when he was nine. Twenty years later he was still there, a foreman now, a man who took his delight in sensational novelettes and the racing pigeons he kept in his yard. Every time he visited, the constant cooing of the birds felt like a gentle lullaby at the edge of Harper’s hearing.

  He wasn’t allowed to leave until he’d had a cup of tea, while Mary packed her satchel. Then the walk home, hand in hand. He searched her eyes for any hint of fear or pain, but found nothing. Instead, she told him every detail of her day, all the things she’d learned. Full sentences, not stumbling over words, either. It was hard to believe she’d barely started at school.

  The copper was at the end of the ginnel, a heavy cape over his uniform. He rocked from one foot to the other, smiling and saluting as he spotted the superintendent.

  ‘Had the duty all night, Bryant?’ Harper asked.

  ‘I have that, sir. Shift over soon as the day man arrives. I’ve hardly seen a soul, and definitely no troublemakers. We can’t have anything happening to your missus, can we?’

  ‘No. We certainly can’t have that.’

  ‘My wife reckons we need more like her.’

  ‘Speaking for myself, Constable, I think one Annabelle Harper is quite enough.’

  ‘How’s the protection on Mrs Pease?’ Harper asked.

  ‘Up to snuff, sir. She’s been back in her own house for a little while and I’ve made sure someone’s watching the property while she’s out. No trouble last night. And there’s one on yours, too.’

  ‘Bryant. I saw him this morning. We have hustings tonight. I don’t believe our friend will be able to keep away. Walsh, you think you’ve seen him, so I want you at Mrs Pease’s event. Fowler, you go with him. If there’s anyone you suspect at all, haul them out and question them.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘Where do you want me?’ Ash asked.

  ‘Here, in case there’s trouble anywhere else.’ He could see how
the long, fruitless days were wearing on them all. ‘It can’t be much longer now. He needs something decisive well before election day. And if there’s one small consolation, gentlemen, it appears that Chief Constable Crossley doesn’t intend to replace me on the investigation after all. At least not yet. So you’re stuck with me.’

  ‘I daresay we’ll manage, sir,’ Ash told him with a grin. ‘Hard as it might be. What do you want us doing before tonight?’

  TWENTY-THREE

  ‘Can you carry these, Tom?’ She handed him a bundle of paper tied with string. ‘The new leaflets. I had them printed up today, and I thought this would be a perfect time to put them out.’

  Annabelle didn’t seem nervous. Instead she looked perfectly calm as they walked through the back streets. She wasn’t wearing her best dress, he noticed, but one that was two years old. Just enough out of fashion to look past its prime. And not silk, but fine wool, long enough to sweep at the ground, and with a hint of a bustle at the back. The cape that kept her warm was one she’d owned as long as he’d known her, one she still wore every winter. But not for best.

  She’d picked her clothes very precisely, Harper decided. Well-dressed, but without overdoing anything. She greeted people, asking after families, talking to wives about their husbands who were customers at the Victoria.

  By the time they reached the hall she stood a little taller and appeared more confident. Her supporters were already there, a knot of them clustering around her. The soldier from the Engineers had left after giving the place the all-clear. Harper busied himself by putting a leaflet on every chair, glancing up to watch each new arrival. The constable on duty was attentive and alert.

  Moody appeared with a large, boisterous group trailing behind him. Harper assessed their faces, searching for his man, but no sign of him. Oldroyd turned up with a gaggle of Labour supporters. But his face was careworn, as if he already realized he didn’t have a chance in this election. Finally, not even five minutes before the start, Wilkinson came through the door, only three others beside him.