Brass Lives

by Chris Nickson

  ‘What are you thinking, Tom?’

  ‘Trying to imagine what I’d do if I were in Jones’s shoes.’

  ‘Run like hell?’ Parker laughed. But it turned into a harsh cough. ‘Sorry. Too many damned cigars today. Have you seen the Evening Post?’

  ‘No, sir.’ He’d been too busy to buy a copy.

  ‘They’re tearing the prison governor apart. For once, no criticism of us. Just the hope we capture Jones quickly.’

  By tomorrow it would have changed, and the papers would wonder why the police didn’t have him back in custody yet, and they both knew it. They couldn’t win.

  ‘We’ll keep pounding away, sir. Are you staying at Armley?’

  ‘Back to the town hall, then a dinner tonight. The Lord Mayor’s charity. Let me know if anything breaks.’

  ‘I will, sir.’

  The men were out, working every contact they knew, tramping the pavements with frustration rising. He remembered it all too clearly.

  Harper was staring at the map once again, willing it to give him some inspiration, when Sergeant Mason knocked at the door.

  ‘Begging your pardon, sir, but a boy just came and left this.’

  An envelope, his name written on the front in a neat hand. He ripped it open and pulled out a single sheet of paper.

  You’ve been on the Bank asking about Bert Jones. Come up and talk to me. I can help you. The lad who tried to stop you was out of order.

  Dempster

  ‘Take a look.’ He passed the note to Ash.

  He raised his eyebrows as he read. ‘Quite something, eh, sir?’

  ‘Come up and talk to me. It’s like an imperial summons.’ Harper shook his head and smiled. ‘Maybe Dempster really does believe his Erin Boys run things up there.’

  ‘Are you going to do it?’

  Harper shrugged. ‘Why not? We need information on Jones. He seems to think he has some.’

  ‘I’d be asking myself why he’s doing this, sir. I wouldn’t trust him an inch.’

  ‘I don’t. And if he has something up his sleeve, I’ll cut off his bloody arm.’ He picked up his hat.

  ‘If you wait until the men return, we’ll come up with you, sir.’

  ‘No. I’ll be fine on my own.’ He smiled, tapped the letter and put it in his pocket. ‘After all, the king appears to have given me a safe conduct pass.’

  The late afternoon heat clung close to the ground as he walked. Plenty of people around, none of them paying him the slightest bit of attention. But Harper knew that eyes were watching him. Marsh Lane to Mill Street, climbing up the hill. A man was lounging at the corner of Upper Cross Street, a straw hat tipped back jauntily on his head. Smoke rose from the cigarette in the corner of his mouth.

  ‘Down along there.’ He pointed over his shoulder with his thumb. ‘Number five, at the far end. He’s waiting for you.’

  A long row of terraced houses, the bricks black from soot. The street was deserted. People who lived around here knew when it was best to stay inside. As soon as this business was over, he’d organize a force to come up here and clean out the Erin Boys once and for all. They’d let it go too long; the locals deserved better than this.

  The door opened as he reached it, a big man standing aside for him. Through to the kitchen, of course. It was always the way. Life was lived in the kitchen.

  Dempster was sitting at the table. He wore a pinstripe lounge suit, a light, summer weight, elegantly tailored. Fold-over collar on the shirt, a neat knot on the silk tie, a matching square tucked in the breast pocket of the jacket. He looked as fresh as if he’d just stepped out of the bath.

  The man was young, still in his twenties, no more than a few years older than Mary. Short, pudgy fingers, a signet ring on one finger. He wasn’t handsome, but his face had something that caught the attention. Confidence? Power? It took him a second to realize it was arrogance. Dempster was a man who expected obedience.

  Harper pulled out a chair and sat across from him. ‘You wanted to talk to me.’

  TWENTY-FOUR

  ‘You’re looking for Bert Jones.’

  ‘That’s hardly a secret—’

  ‘I know where he is.’ Dempster hadn’t moved, hands on the table in front of him.

  Harper stiffened. ‘Where?’

  ‘In a moment.’

  ‘Now.’ Harper leaned forward. ‘He’s killed someone and escaped from Armley Gaol.’

  ‘I know what’s he’s done.’

  ‘Then you’d better tell me where he is.’ He paused for a fraction of a second. ‘If you really do know, that is.’

  Dempster wasn’t about to rise to such easy bait. He sat back. ‘I could have kept quiet, had my lads take care of things.’

  ‘Then why didn’t you?’ That was one thing he’d been wondering on the walk here.

  ‘He has someone with him.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘A woman. Someone he used to know. She’s not sheltering him. He forced his way in and he’s holding her.’

  ‘Who is she?’

  ‘My cousin.’

  Now it made sense. If anything happened to her, Dempster could blame the police.

  ‘Will you remember who gave you the information?’ the man asked.

  It was a curious turn of phrase. Harper studied Dempster’s face. The man wanted to avoid responsibility, yet also claim the credit; very slick. His expression gave nothing away.

  ‘Of course. I’m always grateful when someone helps us.’

  But it didn’t mean he’d owe a damned thing.

  ‘He’s on East Water Lane.’

  ‘I know where that is. What number?’

  ‘Four.’

  ‘How can you be sure?’

  ‘We have eyes all over the Bank.’ It wasn’t a boast, nothing more than a statement of fact. ‘And like I said, the woman is a cousin of mine. She and Jones used to be close.’

  Close covered plenty of sins. ‘If we arrest him, I’ll make sure she’s not taken into custody.’

  He could go that far. Maybe there was more to the story. He didn’t know, and right now he didn’t care. Recapturing Jones was what mattered.

  ‘That’s fair. You won’t have any problems up here.’

  For a second, Harper was ready to bristle. The police didn’t need permission to go anywhere in Leeds. But he tamped it down and said nothing. As he stood to leave they didn’t exchange handshakes. Outside, the street was quiet and warm. A dog snuffled along, picked something out of the gutter and began to chew.

  ‘Get the men together,’ he told Ash. ‘We’re going to need six uniforms too.’

  ‘Very well, sir.’ He gave a weary smile. ‘Some good information?’

  ‘It had better be. Jones is in a house on East Water Lane.’

  ‘Dempster told you?’

  Harper nodded. ‘I think it’s the truth.’

  ‘What does he want in return?’ Ash asked.

  ‘We don’t bring in the woman who lives there. His cousin.’ He pressed his lips together. ‘There’ll be more to come later. You can bet on it.’

  Harper stood by the front door of the house. The paint had weathered, all the gloss gone from the black. Rogers stood to the side, out of sight. There were coppers everywhere; Jones wasn’t going to get away again.

  He brought his fist down on the door, once, then a second time. No answer. No sound of anyone approaching inside. He hoped to Christ Dempster hadn’t been lying. No. He couldn’t be that stupid.

  ‘Kick it in,’ he ordered.

  As soon as the door swung wide, crashing back against the wall, he blew his whistle and went through, keeping the cosh in his hand.

  ‘Upstairs,’ he said. There was a crash of boots as Rogers and a pair of constables thundered up to the bedrooms.

  Harper wanted the kitchen, pushing through the living room then shouldering the door aside. He came to a sharp halt. Jones was standing in the corner. He had a woman by the hair, his other hand pressing a knife against her throat. Her
eyes kept rolling up into her head and silent tears were running down her cheeks.

  He heard someone working the back door.

  ‘This is Harper,’ he yelled. ‘Stand down. Stay alert.’

  Then there was silence, as if the world was holding its breath.

  ‘You can let her go now, Bert.’

  Jones shook his head. ‘You’ll take me back there.’

  ‘I’ll make sure you get a proper trial. A fair trial. I promise.’

  ‘No.’ His gaze was wandering round the room. He looked dishevelled, not quite focused, as if something had gone wrong in his mind.

  ‘Why don’t you release her?’ Harper kept his voice calm, trying to put the man at ease. ‘It’ll just be you and me. We’ll sit down and have a natter—’

  Jones’s grip on her hair tightened. She whimpered. Harper realized he didn’t even know the woman’s name. As long as he had her, there was nothing the police could do. They couldn’t risk Jones killing her. All it would take was a single swipe of the blade across her neck.

  ‘She can’t hurt you, Bert. She’s terrified.’

  ‘I don’t care.’

  ‘She’s never done anything to you. Let her go.’

  Harper felt sweat trickling down his back and slick on his palms. The mood in the room wavered. The air seemed to shimmer in front of his eyes. He felt as if he hardly dared breathe. The smallest thing could tip Jones over the edge.

  ‘Put down the knife,’ he continued. ‘It’ll look better in court if you give yourself up. You’ve been around long enough to know that.’

  For a moment he thought he saw a glimmer of something in the man’s eyes. Doubt? Compassion? Hope? No more than a flicker, then it was gone.

  ‘Come on, Bert, let her go. Please. Put the knife down and come out with me.’

  Now there was only emptiness on his face. How could he get through to the man? How could he persuade him to surrender?

  The silence pressed down, but Jones barely seemed aware of it. He raised his head and peered about the room, but whatever he was seeing didn’t come from this world.

  ‘Bert.’ Harper bellowed the name at the top of his voice. For a second, the sound filled the kitchen. Jones turned his head, as if he’d only just realized someone was there.

  ‘What do you want?’

  ‘Let her go.’ He was speaking normally again, his voice calm, making a perfectly ordinary suggestion.

  ‘Yes.’ For just a moment he stared at the woman, shocked to discover he was still holding her. With one quick movement, he pushed her away.

  Harper caught her before she collapsed on the floor. His eyes never left Jones; he was ready to spring if he attacked. But the man made no move. The knife was still in his hand, but it hung down at his side; he probably didn’t realize he was still armed.

  Harper backed away, holding the woman. She’d passed out, a dead, awkward weight in his arms.

  Rogers was waiting in the hall.

  ‘Take her,’ Harper ordered. ‘There must be a neighbour who’ll look after her. Stay with her. I don’t think she’s injured but she’s definitely in shock. Get a doctor to take a look at her.’

  ‘Very good, sir. What about Jones?’

  Harper took a breath. ‘We’ll winkle him out in a minute. Tell the men to stand by.’

  The room was airless and stifling as he walked back in. Jones didn’t even follow with his eyes. He was somewhere far removed from here.

  It was time to end this.

  One step and then another, narrowing the distance between them. He noticed that the tap was slowly dripping into the stone sink. He let it give the rhythm to his footsteps. Jones didn’t even see him. Finally he was close enough to smell the sourness of the man’s breath. He began to reach for the knife, to take it away.

  Suddenly, Jones let out a snarl, and slashed with the blade. Harper jumped back and brought the cosh down on the man’s shoulder. One blow was enough. The knife clattered to the floor.

  ‘Take him away.’ It seemed to have lasted an eternity, but he knew it had taken no time at all. Jones was still in pain from the blow. It was easy to the coppers to push him down and lock on the handcuffs.

  Harper looked around the room before he left. No damage done. Just the soft drip of the tap as he closed the door.

  ‘Many problems, sir?’ Ash asked as they strolled back to Millgarth.

  ‘We’d better get a doctor to look at Jones. I don’t know what’s happened to him, but he’s not right.’

  ‘Putting it on, do you reckon?’

  ‘No, it’s real.’ He had no doubt about that. ‘It could keep him from hanging. Not of sound mind.’ But he wasn’t the one to make that judgement. ‘Who was the woman?’

  ‘Her name’s Catherine Taylor, sir. Don’t know much more than that.’

  ‘Let’s find out, shall we? It might tell us more about Dempster.’

  He felt deflated. All the tension, the heightened senses, they were draining away. Jones was back in custody, but somehow it felt like a hollow victory. All they were bringing back was the shell of a man. The rest … who knew what had happened?

  ‘That’s excellent news, Tom.’ Parker was jubilant. ‘Nobody injured?’

  ‘No, sir.’

  He sat in the large office at the town hall, a cup of tea in front of him. But he didn’t want to eat or drink. All he craved was to go home, to disappear for a few hours and leave all this behind. To see Annabelle and make sure his own small world was still intact.

  ‘Good police work. Inspector Ash said you faced Jones down by yourself when he had a hostage.’

  It hadn’t felt that way. He’d wanted to make sure Bert didn’t hurt the woman. Nothing more than that. He’d never felt in real danger.

  ‘I wouldn’t call it that, sir—’

  He might as well have saved his breath. ‘I’m going to put you in for a commendation. You brought the whole business to an end in an admirable fashion.’

  ‘Thank you, sir.’ There was nothing else he could say.

  Mary and Annabelle had finished their meal, each sitting with a currant slice. Harper took his plate from the oven and slid off the cover. Two minutes and he was caught up in the beautiful banality of family life. The typist in Mary’s office who changed men the way some people changed their shirts. The woman at the bakery up Roundhay Road who insisted on telling everyone all about her husband’s hernia.

  He heard it all without really listening, letting the words soak through his skin. When the talk slowed, Annabelle looked at him, wondering if he wanted to say anything. He gave a quick shake of his head. After so many years, she knew. She picked some other topic from the air and began to speak.

  He needed her to keep him sane. What would happen as she drifted away?

  For the umpteenth time, Harper thought about Jones’s face as the constables led him down to Millgarth. He had no idea where he was. He probably didn’t even understand what he’d done. Just a few days before he’d been so different. What had happened in between? How had the gears disengaged in his head? Too many dark questions for the middle of the night. Not that he was ever likely to find any answers.

  TWENTY-FIVE

  ‘Stop at Millgarth,’ Harper ordered the driver. ‘I’ll walk up to the town hall from there.’

  Clouds seemed to hang on the horizon to the west, with a faint, teasing threat of rain. They needed something to damp down all the dust and clean the streets; it felt as if Leeds had been dry since the dawn of time. All the farmers would be looking to the skies and praying.

  There was a buoyant mood in the detectives’ room; the men sat back, laughing and talking, still riding the wave of bringing in Jones. Only Ash looked unhappy.

  ‘Has Jones seen a doctor yet?’ Harper asked.

  ‘Last night, sir.’ He frowned. ‘He’s not fit to stand trial. They’ll have him in court this morning and send him to High Royds for assessment. The doctor thinks they’ll keep him there.’

  High Royds. The West Riding
Lunatic Asylum. Maybe it was the best place for him. He sighed. ‘At least he’s off the streets.’

  ‘He is that, sir.’ Ash hesitated for a second and gave a quick cough. ‘But I do wonder about Dempster giving us information like that. I’d have expected him to make sure his gang took care of the problem themselves.’

  ‘Letting us handle it meant if anything went wrong his hands were clean. But he’s up to something. I don’t know what it is yet.’

  ‘I’m not sure if it’s for him personally, or the Boys of Erin. He’s ambitious.’

  Harper thought about the man he’d met, sitting at the table as if he was the ruler of the Bank. Brimming with confidence and arrogance. ‘Both, maybe. But he’s the type to put himself first.’

  ‘Maybe he’s trying to get on our good side. You know, if he gives us the tip about Jones, we won’t look too closely at him.’

  Harper shook his head. ‘I don’t see it. Too obvious. It wouldn’t work, anyway.’

  ‘I wouldn’t credit him with that much intelligence, sir. He’s sly; it doesn’t mean he’s clever.’

  ‘He has something going on. Let’s take another look at him and the gang. There’s trouble brewing. I can feel it.’

  ‘You know we have a file on them.’

  ‘It’s been around since before I was a detective constable here.’

  ‘I’ll set Sissons on it. We’re moving along with the outstanding cases …’

  ‘No,’ Harper said, ‘we’re not.’ He listed them on his fingers. ‘One: who gave Davey Mullen that beating? Two: we don’t have anyone to take to court for killing Barney Thorpe. Three: what about the arson in Mary’s building? And four: there’s still a gun from the robbery that we haven’t found. We’re a long way from having everything wrapped up.’

  Harper took down his list. Another line through an item.

  Fess murder

  Arson

  Metropole shooting

  Barracks robbery

  Francis Mullen

  Barney Thorpe