Mullen glared and slowly shook his head. He’d hate to be dragged to court for any reason. It went deep against the grain for him.
‘There’s only one thing left. Who killed Barney Thorpe? Or would you like to tell me?’ Mullen’s face could have been carved from granite. Harper had never expected an answer. But it was always worth a try. ‘The only thing waiting for you when you get out of here is a visit to your father’s grave. Then you can be on the boat back to America.’
He turned and left. Maybe it had been nothing, but it felt satisfying.
Finally, the ride home. Leeds was still dirty and grim, but for one day of the week, at least, most of the chimneys weren’t billowing smoke.
‘Get some fresh clothes on and sit down,’ Annabelle said after she’d taken a long look at him. ‘Those are only fit for the bin.’
‘I want to see Dempster,’ Harper said.
On Sunday evening he’d taken a long soak in a hot bath with Epsom salts, then Annabelle had wound the bandage as tight as she could. It all helped. He’d slept well, woken without too many aches, and hardly any pain when he breathed. A small, dull throb in his head, but he’d taken more aspirin powder.
‘I’ll have him brought up, sir,’ Ash said. ‘We found several stolen items at Chantrell Place. They help us tie up several burglaries. Quite a few papers, too. Sissons has started going through them. These caught my eye; you might like to take a look before you sit down with Dempster.’
A small wad of transatlantic cablegrams. Harper read through them, flipping from one to the next, then raised his eyes. ‘Well, well, well.’
‘We’re going to be closing every bank account associated with the Boys of Erin or their leaders.’
‘I’m sure they’ll prove illuminating.’
Dempster looked haggard, far older than his years. A night in the cells could do that to a man. His hair was unruly, his clothes wrinkled, the collar of his shirt filthy with grime.
‘You nearly managed it.’
‘Bloody dog did for me.’
‘If we hadn’t caught you then, we’d have done it later,’ Harper told him. ‘Truth is you never really had much of a chance.’
Dempster shrugged. ‘If that’s what you want to think.’
‘I know it. You and your lads are going to have a good range of charges against you: breaking into a barracks, stealing weapons, possession of a stolen gun, selling stolen pistols. And that’s just a start.’
‘Prove it.’ Dempster sat back and folded his arms.
‘We will. I told you, Barney Thorpe kept some surprisingly complete records. He even listed the serial numbers of those Webleys you sold him to pay off your debt.’
‘I had nothing to do with that. And if you found a gun, it wasn’t in my house.’
Harper sighed. ‘Do you really think we’re fools, Johnny? I’ve got some very good interrogators going at your boys right now. They’ll be singing their hearts out to get a lighter sentence. Think about it. You know full well they will.’
All lies, but Dempster wasn’t to know that. It sounded good, convincing. And once Walsh started questioning the gang members, it would be true; he’d turn them into a choir in no time at all.
‘I don’t believe you.’
‘If that’s what you want, then you can wait and see. We also have the proceeds of several burglaries found at your property on Chantrell Place—’
‘That building has nothing to do with me. We were just hiding there.’
‘Of course you were.’ Harper leaned forward, elbows on the table. ‘Take a look at me. Go on. Here, you see that smooth baby skin on my face? You must. After all, you seem to think I was born yesterday. We also have these.’ He brought the cablegrams from his pocket. ‘Must have cost you a fortune, telegrams back and forth to this gang in New York. They really did want to make sure Davey Mullen never went back there, didn’t they? They certainly paid you enough to make sure you took care of him. When all your plans had failed, did you enjoy watching his beating?’
‘I’ve got nothing to say. I want to see my lawyer.’
‘You will, and you’ll have your day in court.’ He paused for a moment, then smiled. ‘And when that’s done, quite a few years in prison to think about it all. Whatever little power you had is over and done. The Boys of Erin are finished.’
Harper unpinned the list from the wall and studied it. Then he took out his fountain pen and scored through more lines.
Fess murder
Arson
Metropole shooting
Barrack robbery
Francis Mullen
Barney Thorpe
Missing pistol
Davey Mullen
One item left. He sighed. He knew full well who’d done it, just as he knew Thorpe’s killer would walk free and go home to the other side of the ocean.
The squad were busy. Walsh and Galt were still questioning gang members. Sissons had a mountain of paper on his desk, looking as happy as a pig in a mud puddle. Rogers was writing up a report.
‘You’ve done well,’ Harper said to Ash.
‘Thank you, sir. But you were right in the thick of it.’
He shook his head. ‘It was all of us.’ Harper pursed his mouth. ‘Have we found out why they dumped Davey Mullen in the park? For the life of me, I haven’t been able to work that one out.’
Ash snorted. ‘Simple, really. They’d beaten him badly, they were absolutely sure he was going to die. Dempster and the others were driving out into the country. They intended to leave him there. But he was bleeding so much, all over the upholstery. Dempster told them to stop and get rid of him before there were stains everywhere. As simple as that.’
He’d imagined a twisted plot to throw the police off the scent. Instead, the truth was so ordinary. So bloody vain. Dempster cared more about a car seat than a human life.
‘At least we know,’ he said with a sigh.
Half past five. Harper sat upstairs in the Kardomah. Still thirty minutes until they closed. He kept glancing towards the stairs. Two minutes and they appeared. Mary, with Len beside her. As they sat, Len tried to hide his hands with the dirt and grease ingrained in his skin. He shouldn’t, Harper thought; it was good, honest grime.
A cup of tea, a slice of cake. He stared at them both.
‘I don’t know what ideas you’ve had about your wedding,’ he began. Mary looked up in surprise. Len pulled back on his chair. ‘Maybe you haven’t considered it yet.’
‘We’ve decided to wait,’ Len told him. ‘I’m almost done with my apprenticeship, but I’d like to get settled in the company and start my university course.’ Mary beamed at him with pride. ‘A year or more.’
‘There’s no rush, Da,’ Mary agreed.
‘True,’ Harper said. ‘But make sure you give us good warning and we’ll give a proper do. Push the boat out.’ Len looked as if he was about to speak. ‘Parents of the bride. Our prerogative.’
‘Thank you.’ Len seemed to fall over the words.
‘Are you going to be putting money away to save for a house?’
Most people never owned anywhere of their own. Certainly not a young couple. That was for the wealthy. But Mary’s business was doing well, and they were ambitious.
‘We’ve been saving for a while now,’ Mary told him.
‘Then I tell you what. Before the wedding, I’ll sit down with you, see what you have and give you the rest to buy a house. Just small, nothing fancy. Don’t set your sights on a mansion. But you’ll need a place of your own.’
A stunned silence, Then Mary narrowed her eyes as she stared at him. ‘I don’t know what to say, Da.’
‘No need to say anything,’ he said.
‘Thank you, Mr Harper.’ Poor Len looked to be in shock.
‘My mam doesn’t know about this, does she?’ Mary asked.
He shook his head. ‘No, and don’t you go telling her yet. We have money. And my rank pays well. What’s the point of it if I can’t spoil my daughter and son-in-la
w?’ He raised his teacup in a toast.
THIRTY-TWO
‘Makes me wish I’d stayed with it,’ Annabelle said as she closed her copy of Common Cause. Page after page about the suffragist gathering in Hyde Park. All the thousands of women who travelled from every part of the country to show their feelings, to be a part of it. ‘It must have been something to see, Tom. To be a part of that.’
He looked at her. He’d taken to watching her. Not all the time, just hidden little glances now and then, making sure she was all right. She’d shown no more signs of any lapses. Her mind was as sharp as it had always been.
‘It would,’ he agreed. It was true. ‘But you know—’
‘Yes.’ She cut him off with a small, sad smile. ‘Staying in Leeds was the right thing to do. But even so …’
‘There’ll be other chances, Mam,’ Mary said. She was sitting at the table, checking figures and writing them in a ledger. A responsible business owner. Just the day before she’d picked up another new client, handling all the correspondence for a small clothing company on Camp Road run by a man named Burton. Her business was growing week by week. ‘I tell you what, when we get the vote, you and me will go down to London and celebrate. Drink champagne outside Downing Street.’
‘I’ll be happy enough if that’s next year,’ Annabelle told her. She stood, using her hands to push herself up from the seat; old bones. ‘I’ll make us a cup of tea, shall I?’
‘Is Mr Mullen still in hospital?’ Mary asked. What had prompted that out of the blue? Harper wondered.
‘Yes,’ he replied. ‘I don’t know what he imagined his homecoming would be like, but it turned into something very different.’
It felt strange to spend the entire day in his own office at the town hall. Miss Sharp had kept things ticking over sweetly while he’d been working at Millgarth. No mountains of documents and reports awaited him. Only a small stack of paper he’d worked through by eleven o’clock.
Harper sat back in his chair and stared out of the window. The good weather continued. Probably the farmers were clamouring for rain, but no one else was complaining.
The telephone rang and he reached for it.
‘It’s Sergeant Roberts from Morley, sir. My inspector thought I should give you a ring.’
Very curious, he thought. ‘What is it?’
‘A woman came in a few minutes ago. She swears she’s seen Lilian Lenton, that suffragette who did a runner.’
‘Where? How did she know it was Miss Lenton?’
‘It was on Queen Street, sir. She was just strolling along, apparently. And her picture was all over the papers when she vanished. You must remember that.’
That was true. He took a deep breath. ‘I want your men to keep their eyes peeled. And you did right to let me know.’
Should he wait, he wondered after the sergeant hung up? No, better not. After all, the inspector from the Branch had asked him to ring if he had information about Miss Lenton. It was probably no more than someone’s imagination, but he’d be doing his duty.
‘Scotland Yard in London, please,’ Harper said as the operator came on the line.
Harper turned his head as he heard a tap on the door. Chief Constable Parker, and behind him a tall, dour man in a suit and glasses.
‘Tom, do you have a few minutes?’ he asked. His voice was dark and serious. ‘There’s someone I’d like you to meet. This is Mr Quinn from the Home Office. I think we both need to listen to him. He wants to talk about war.’
War. The very last word he wanted to hear. He remembered the last one in South Africa, back at the turn of the century. He hoped to God there wouldn’t be another. No mention in the papers, no articles beating the drums. It seemed unlikely. But Quinn had sounded convincing. He had facts and figures to back up his ideas.
Conflict was no more than a faint possibility, he admitted, but the country needed to prepare. The chief seemed to be taking it seriously. A year, maybe two, and young men might be going off to fight the Germans.
‘The country isn’t looking for it,’ Quinn said. ‘I don’t believe the Germans are, either. The important thing is that we’re prepared in case it happens.’
He was going around England, talking to police forces. It made sense. Dozens of coppers in Leeds were in the army reserve. They’d be called up if something happened and the police would be desperately short-handed.
‘We’re urging everyone to begin recruiting special constables,’ Quinn said. ‘At the very least, to have a recruiting programme in place. Just in case.’ He placed a hard emphasis on the last three words. ‘And of course, we’ll hope that none of this is necessary.’
Hands in his pockets, Harper walked slowly home in the evening sun. They’d discuss it in the morning, Parker had said. Go home and think about what they needed.
One more thing, another dark cloud gathering on the horizon. A boy ran by, pushing an empty cart. He had a smile plastered across his face. Done for the day, no responsibilities, no troubles.
‘War,’ Annabelle said. ‘Do you think he’s right?’
‘I don’t know,’ Harper told her. ‘I hope to God he’s not. If it happened, Len would join the army.’
She reached for his hand across the table. ‘Do you really think so?’
‘Yes.’ Of course he would. All the young men would be lining up to fight for King and country, to prove themselves and show how patriotic they were. It would spread like a madness.
They heard the footsteps on the stairs, then Mary burst through the door, bright and smiling. Annabelle flashed him a warning with her eyes: not a word. There was no need; he wasn’t about to mention it to her.
An hour passed, a warm weather supper of brown bread with cheese and apples. Annabelle disappeared into the kitchen with the plates. He opened up the Evening Post and began to read. Mary vanished into her room.
For now, at least, they had peace.
August, 1913
Harper stood on the platform at Leeds station. His ribs had almost healed, the bones knitting together by themselves. Hardly any pain at all now. Davey Mullen watched as the porter wheeled his trunk back to the luggage van. A small leather suitcase sat by his feet.
He’d recovered well, with a few more scars to add to all the others on his body. He’d been discharged from the hospital the day before, and bought himself a haircut and a good, close shave to get rid of his beard before taking a hackney to Harehills cemetery. Mullen had spent an hour there, walking around and viewing the ground where his father was buried. He was pale from being indoors for so long, but his eyes sparkled and he still had that light, mocking smile.
‘We took your revenge for you,’ Harper said. ‘They’ll all be in prison for a long time.’
Dempster had been given seven years, the others five or less. At least the Bank would be quiet for a while.
Mullen shrugged. ‘That’s fine. Saves me the effort.’
‘I’m sorry about your father.’ The man who’d killed him had swung from the scaffold.
‘Me, too. But I don’t think I’ll be coming back to Leeds. There’s nothing here for me now.’
That was good news. His visit had brought too many deaths, too much trouble.
Harper studied the man’s face before asking his question. ‘I’ve got no evidence at all. But I want to know, just for myself: did you kill Barney Thorpe?’
Mullen gave a soft chuckle. ‘How many times have you asked me that? Do you really think I’d admit anything to a cop? I’m not saying more than that.’
Was it a confession? He’d hoped for more. But this was as far as he could go.
‘Do you know who ordered all the things that happened?’ Harper asked. ‘Fess’s killing, those shots at the Metropole, the arson, your beating?’
‘I figured it out. I had plenty of time to think in the hospital. It had to be the Hudson Dusters working with that gang here. I’d taken care of the ones who shot me. They believed they could finish me off over here.’
‘That ma
kes sense,’ Harper agreed. He took the sheaf of transatlantic cablegrams from his pocket. ‘Read those. The Boys of Erin had them.’
Mullen raised a questioning eyebrow. As he glanced from one to the next, his mouth tightened and his eyes grew darker. He finished and handed them back.
‘The Gophers,’ Harper said. ‘Your own gang. They wanted you out of the way.’
‘They’re going to get a shock when I show up. Especially Jacky goddamned Nolan. He’s the one who sent those telegrams. Those are his initials on each one.’
‘He thought you’d go home and try to take over the gang. Easier to have you hung or in prison here.’ Harper waved the papers. ‘We’ve told the New York police about it all, and that you’re on your way.’
‘You really think they can do a thing?’ The whistle sounded and Mullen climbed on board. ‘I wish you well, Mr Harper. No need to worry. I told you, you won’t be seeing me again.’
Harper watched until the train began to pull away from the platform. Mullen stood at the carriage door, staring back. As they moved away, he made a stabbing motion with his arm and smiled. Then he was gone.
Admission or taunt? He’d never know. Not now.
Summer was starting to wane. The first cool days of September. He’d eaten his lunch sitting on a bench in Park Square, glancing up at the leaves just beginning to turn on the trees.
Back to the office. The telephone rang as he put his hat on the rack.
‘Harper.’
‘Walsh here, sir.’
‘Yes, Inspector, what can I do for you?
‘We’ve just received a cable from the New York police. Someone called Nolan was shot dead on the street last night. He’s—’
‘Mullen told me who he was.’
‘They took our friend into custody. He has a solid alibi.’
‘No big surprise, is it?’
‘Not at all, sir. I thought you’d like to know.’
But it was New York’s problem, not his.
Brass Lives Page 25
