The Broken Token (26 page)

“It gives me a start, anyway.”

“Oh?” Bartlett asked, raising his eyebrows.

“We can ask around and look for people who might have arrived in Leeds from this area,” Nottingham explained. “We’ll find some, talk to them. Even if one of them’s
not the murderer, they might be able to offer some ideas.”

“Do you think that can work?” Sir Robert asked sceptically.

“It’s the best we’ve got for now,” the Constable replied with a small, helpless shrug. “ To tell you the truth, it’s the best we’ve had at
all.”

He finished the wine and placed the glass on the delicate, elegant table at the side of the chair.

“You’ve been very helpful, and very gracious, Sir Robert,” Nottingham said, bowing courteously. “I’d better get back and start my men on this.”

Bartlett rose and offered his hand.

“It’s been an education, Constable. I’m just sorry your girl suffered so much.”

“Thank you,” Nottingham told him sincerely. He liked the man. Unlike so many gentlemen he’d met, this one didn’t affect airs and demand respect. He wore his title and his
power quite casually. Escorting him to the waiting horse, Bartlett offered,

“I’ll keep asking. If I learn anything more I’ll send you a note.”

“I’d appreciate that.”

The Constable mounted in his clumsy fashion, aware of his awkwardness on display, and leaned down to make his farewell.

“I hope you solve this soon, Mr Nottingham,” Bartlett said sincerely. “I’m sure it’ll be in the
Mercury
when you do.”

The journey back to the city seemed to go faster, but his mind was racing, paying little attention to the road. It wasn’t much, not what he’d hoped, but he knew a
little more than he had this morning, and now he could push the attention of his men in the right direction.

People moved into Leeds all the time. Some arrived from local villages like Chapel Allerton, others from much farther afield, settlements and hamlets across Yorkshire, up into the Pennines and
the Dales. To all of them, it was a large city, beckoning with its chance to become rich – or at least not as poor. It drew workers and beggars, the hopeful and the hopeless, and from them
his men could find names.

But time was crucial. They had to work fast, and find this man before he killed again. Nottingham hoped Sunday night had made the murderer wary, but it wasn’t something that would last
forever.

And once they’d caught him, when he was finally sitting in the cells, the Constable would be able to discover just why Pamela and the others had to die. Because, for the life of him, he
didn’t understand it.

It was late afternoon when he reached the jail, to find Sedgwick at his desk, a preoccupied look on his face. As Nottingham walked in, he started, as if surprised at having his
thoughts interrupted.

“What did you do with the lad?”

“I sent him back to his lodgings for a while. I thought I’d take him out tonight, so I told him to get his head down for a few hours.”

Nottingham nodded. “Good. I’m going to want everyone out this evening.” He outlined what he’d learned in Chapel Allerton.

“So what do you want us to do, boss?”

“Talk to people. He’s here, he has to be. Ask around, find out who’s moved to Leeds in the last fortnight or so.”

“That’s going take a long time,” Sedgwick demurred.

“For Christ’s sake, John, I know that.” Nottingham had expected enthusiasm, not reluctance, and a note of exasperation crept into his voice. “Why do you think I want all
the men on it immediately? I need the information as fast as you can.”

“I’ll get them working.” Sedgwick stood slowly, pushing himself out of the chair with his good arm. As he opened the door of the jail, the Constable asked, “How’s
the boy working out?”

“Josh’ll be fine. He’s smart and he doesn’t mind grafting.”

“Push people hard,” Nottingham instructed. “Leeds isn’t that big. Follow up on the names you find. Come back later and tell me how you’re getting on.”

The deputy gave a curt nod and left, and Nottingham stared after him for a few seconds. Maybe the injury had left Sedgwick exhausted. Normally he was so eager to work, willing to put in every
hour God made if need be. Here they finally had something definite to pursue and he seemed like he’d rather sit on his arse and do nothing. But at least he knew that Sedgwick would follow
orders, and once he started he’d do his best.

Now he could only wait and hope they discovered something. They needed some luck on their side, and a fast result. For the moment they had the edge on Worthy’s men, but he knew that
couldn’t last. It wouldn’t be long before people began talking, so they had to make use of their advantage.

He paced the floor, feeling a terrible mixture of fear and anticipation. They were getting closer, almost breathing over the killer’s shoulder. He could feel it now. Nottingham rarely used
one, but it was an occasion when he wished he had a pipe and some tobacco to calm his nerves. He wouldn’t be going home for a few hours yet, until it was certain they’d have no name
tonight.

Instead he decided to write the reports for the Mayor that he’d deliberately neglected, and work on the other papers that littered his desk. He’d begun reading desultorily when the
door opened and Williamson walked in.

“Am I disturbing your work, Richard?” he asked with a friendly smile.

“Nothing I wouldn’t rather put off until later,” Nottingham admitted with a rueful grin.

“I was wondering about your progress,” Williamson said, sitting cautiously on the hard wooden chair.

“Did your friends ask you to find out?” He held up his hands to stop the merchant’s protest. “It’s fine, Tom, I don’t mind. They supported me, so they have a
right to ask.”

Williamson reddened with embarrassment. “It’s not that we don’t trust you, Richard, it’s just that…”

“You want to check on your investment.”

“That’s a very crude way of putting it,” Williamson said.

“But true,” Nottingham told him with a smile. “And I have a little good news.” He recounted his visit to Bartlett. As he finished, the merchant sat with pursed lips.
“What’s wrong, Tom? You’re not convinced.”

“No, no, it’s not that,” Williamson replied slowly. “It seems to me I remember hearing about someone coming from there recently. I was trying to think who it might
be.” He shook his head. “For the life of me I can’t bring it to mind.”

“Try, please,” the Constable said desperately. He was clenching his fists, nails digging into his palms. He’d sent his men out into the taverns and inns, believing the criminal
was probably a labourer. But what if it was someone of a higher class? “Can you ask? It’s vital.”

“Of course,” Williamson agreed and stood up. “I’ll go to Garroway’s. Someone’s bound to remember. I’ll send a boy down with a note as soon as I
know.”

“Thank you,” Nottingham said gratefully.

What if it was a gentleman or a merchant of some sort, he wondered when he was alone? It made sense, the pieces fell into place. A man like that would probably have learned to fence; he’d
know how to handle a knife. He might even have been a soldier. And his station in life could put him above immediate suspicion. But to charge someone like that he’d need very strong
proof.

He rubbed the rough bristles on his chin. And what proof did he have? He could search a man’s rooms and pray to find a bloody knife, just as he had at Carver’s, and maybe a cloak and
hat. But no man who could afford a good lawyer would worry about things as trivial as that. They could be convincingly explained away in the blink of an eye and at the cost of a large purse.

Think, he told himself, think.

The truth was, there was nothing. With vigorous denials, a well-connected killer could walk away from his crimes. But he’d face that possibility after an arrest; at least he’d have
that satisfaction first. He sat, drumming his fingers anxiously, hoping that Williamson might send word soon. Outside, evening had come, the long twilight of autumn when the city began to close its
doors.

He listened as the sound of traffic slowed and the voices outside lowered to a muted buzz. The colour of the sky deepened, casting thick shadows in the room. And he waited.

But when it arrived, the note wasn’t one he’d expected.

The boy wasn’t one of the town lads who earned money delivering messages. Nottingham recognised him as one from his own street, clutching the paper tightly in his fist as
he entered nervously. The jail always had that effect on them.

He snatched at the offered coin, and the door had closed behind him before the Constable could unfold the paper.

Richard – Emily hasn’t returned from school. I sent Rose to look for her, and the teacher said she never arrived this morning. For God’s sake, please bring her home.

He could hear the desperation and fear in Mary’s words. Fuck, he thought. The stupid bloody girl. She’d done it yet again, run off to be with the boy and damn the consequences. This
time he really would give her a leathering she’d never forget. But first he had to find her. And he knew he couldn’t. Not now. There wasn’t a single person he could spare to
search for her.

He pressed the back of his knuckles against his eyes. His throat was dry and his heart was knocking hard inside his chest. God damn the girl and her imagination.

Nottingham stood looking out of the window, but saw nothing of the street and people beyond the filthy glass. Instead, the images in his head were of Emily, when she was young and fragile, still
needing his care. Now she thought she was too old for that, old enough to blithely go her own way while her parents grew frantic. He could feel the anger and the fear welling up inside him, filling
his mind and pounding in his blood. He wanted to go and search for his little girl, but he couldn’t move. The name he was waiting to learn was too important. He was as trapped and helpless as
if he’d been locked in a cell. He could serve the city or he could help his family. And he knew what he’d chosen damned him.

Nottingham walked out into Kirkgate, and signalled for one of the urchins lurking outside the White Swan.

“Do you know Mr Worthy on Swinegate?” he asked, and gave quick directions when the boy shook his head. “Tell him the Constable asks if he could come to the jail as soon as
possible.”

He hated himself for doing it. It was an admission that he couldn’t control his own daughter and couldn’t find her in his own city. But it was necessary – and for Emily
he’d even dance with the devil to his own tune. The Constable went back into the jail to sit and brood. He didn’t have long to wait. Within twenty minutes Worthy had thrown open the
door, his back straight, eyes glowing, to stand menacingly by the desk.

“You asked to see me, Constable?” His voice was deep, resonating from his chest.

“Thank you for coming.”

Worthy’s two bodyguards stayed unmoving in the doorway, their faces deliberately impassive.

“Something must be urgent.”

“Do you still have men following my family?” Nottingham asked quietly, feeling defeated inside.

“What makes you think I ever did?” he wondered with a sly smirk. “You mean when my man brought your lass home?”

“Yes.” He knew Worthy was toying with him, relishing his advantage, and that he’d press it for all he could.

“That was sheer luck, Mr Nottingham. He recognised her and he didn’t think a girl like that should be out so late.”

“I’m grateful.”

The pimp gave a short nod.

“I’ll tell him. But what’s the problem now?” He paused and cocked his head. “Not gone again, has she?”

He already knows, Nottingham thought as he leaned back in his chair. The bastard knows exactly where she is. He knew he should be furious, but instead he felt only relief. Worthy was going to
make him sweat and pay, he was sure of that. He stood and stared at the man.

“Yes, she has,” he was forced to admit. “And I need her found.”

“What makes you think I can help you?” Worthy asked bluntly. “Or why I should?”

Nottingham lifted his head. “You can probably find her in minutes if you want.”

“Ah.” Worthy smiled wolfishly, showing a mouth of rotted teeth and gaps. “But you made it quite clear in the past that you didn’t want my help, Constable. What about your
own lads?”

“Working.” He knew he wasn’t giving any information the pimp wouldn’t already have.

“A little bird told me you were looking for someone from Chapel Allerton.” Worthy’s tone hardened a little. “That would be our murderer, I take it?”

“It might be.”

“And what else do you know about him?”

This was where he’d tighten the hold, Nottingham knew. He prayed no one came with information while the pimp was still here.

“Do you think I’d be casting my net so wide if I knew anything more?” he asked.

Worthy considered the idea for a moment. “No, I suppose you wouldn’t,” he agreed reluctantly. “What do I get if I find your Emily?”

Directly to the nub, Nottingham thought. “My gratitude.”

The pimp spat on the flagstones. “That doesn’t buy me anything.”

“You want money? I’ll pay you,” Nottingham offered. It was part of the game; he knew he’d be refused, and then Worthy would reveal the real price.

“I’ve already got money, more than you’ll see in your life,” Worthy said flatly. “I want the one who killed my girl.”

He’d expected nothing less. The Constable took a deep breath. “So do I. And we can’t both have him.”

Worthy held the Constable’s gaze and waited a long time before speaking.

“Then maybe you’d better consider the value of things, Constable.” He held out his hands like scales on a beam. “Your lass.” One hand went down. “The
murderer.” The balance returned to even. “It’s your decision.”

From the moment he sent Worthy the note he’d known it would come to this. He’d been waiting for it. He closed his eyes. “You can have him,” he said softly.

“I know where the courting girl is. I’ll have her here in half an hour,” Worthy promised with a grim smile. “Unhappy, but unspoilt.”

Nottingham nodded his agreement, keeping a blank face. As soon as he discovered the identity of the killer, he’d arrest him and damn his promises. But for now he needed Worthy. Once
he’d left the Constable sent a boy to bring Mary to the jail. She could take Emily home.