At the Dying of the Year (3 page)

Gazing around the three of them, at the bodies where the ribs showed clear against the skin, the arms and thighs so scrawny he could close his hands around them, he began to understand. He realized who they'd once been and why no one had reported them gone. He closed his eyes and said a short prayer for their souls.

‘Boss?'

He hadn't even heard the deputy enter. Nottingham turned slowly to face him.

‘Rob told you?'

Sedgwick nodded, his eyes wide. His son James was six, recently started at the charity school, and he had another young baby at home. For a long time he stood silently and the Constable saw a tear begin to trickle down his cheek. He wiped it away in a swift movement. ‘How?' he asked.

‘Because they're the ones no one cares about.'

‘Were they . . .?

‘Yes,' he answered simply.

‘The boys too?'

‘Yes,' he repeated, scared of what might come out if he said more. He knew the signs and they'd been there on all three of the children. Nottingham returned to the office and sat at the desk, steepling his hands under his chin. He closed his eyes but the faces with their empty, lost eyes remained in his mind.

‘Fuck,' the deputy said.

‘I doubt it mattered to him what sex they were. He probably just wanted to hurt and use and kill.'

Sedgwick kept gazing at the battered faces. ‘I'm sure I've seen one of them before.'

‘Scavenging at the market?'

‘Aye,' he agreed with a nod. ‘The bigger lad. He was trying to steal some meat, or something like that. Ran off when I came around. Just another little vagabond.'

‘That's what they all were, John,' the Constable said with a long sigh. ‘No families, no homes. That's why no one ever noticed they were gone.'

T
he Constable drained the cup and went back in to study the bodies in the cells. He'd been like them once, in a life he'd long put away; he understood what their existence had been like. When he was eight his father had discovered that his wife had a lover. He'd thrown her and his son from the house, leaving them with nothing.

With no money and no skills, Nottingham's mother had become a whore, the lady who'd fallen all the way to earth. The boy had been forced to forage, learned to steal, to survive in a new, hard life. After his mother died he'd been alone, with no one in the world. Living meant simply surviving until the next day.

He'd known other children who lived off their wits and their hope. Some would go to sleep at night with empty bellies, and never wake. Others would just vanish, never heard from or seen again. It was the way things were, they all understood that. Time on earth was brief and it was dangerous.

But murder . . .

Why? he wondered. Why would anyone want to do that? And why
three
children?

The deputy was still standing there, unable to avert his eyes.

‘All we can do for them now is find their killer,' Nottingham said.

‘When we do you'd better keep me away from him,' Sedgwick told him, teeth clenched.

‘You can watch him hang, John,' he promised. He sighed and shook his head. ‘Go and see the undertaker. We'll get these poor souls in the ground.'

The deputy walked along Vicar Lane, barely noticing anything. His hands were pushed firmly into the pockets of his greatcoat, flexing into hard fists. Inside, anger rose. He wanted to hit something, someone, anything to douse the fire within.

He thought about James, learning so quickly at school, and Isabell, safe at home with Lizzie. What would happen to them if he died? There'd be nothing for them. No house, no food, and any charity would be precious scarce. There was so little that kept them from falling away.

The sign over the door read Thomas Cooper, Undertaker. Inside, the shop was dark and sober, a full, reverent silence pressed between its walls. The owner came out from behind his desk. He was dressed neatly in a freshly sponged black coat, his face shaved that morning by the barber. He relaxed as he recognized the deputy.

‘Someone for us, John?' he asked, then as he saw the other man's face his voice became serious. ‘What is it?'

‘Three,' Sedgwick told him, feeling the word choke in his throat. ‘They're all children.'

‘Dear God.' Cooper closed his eyes for a moment. ‘Where were they?'

‘In one of those bell pits by the Cloth Hall.'

‘How long?' the undertaker asked thoughtfully.

‘Long enough. A week, mebbe a bit more,' the deputy said. ‘Make it tonight when there's no one around, Tom. We don't need folk seeing them.' He raised his eyes. ‘Please.'

‘I promise.'

The deputy offered a small, weak smile. ‘Thank you.'

‘Leave it with me, John,' Cooper assured him. ‘I'll look after them properly.'

The Constable was still thinking when Sedgwick returned. He cocked his head.

‘He'll be here after dark.'

‘People are going to know about this, John,' Nottingham said thoughtfully. ‘Those workers at the pits won't keep quiet.'

‘The mayor won't, either.' Sedgwick noted wryly. ‘Happen he'll trust you more than me, boss.'

‘No, he won't.' He paused. ‘All he'll want is someone on the gallows for this. We'd better find whoever did it quickly.'

‘How, boss?'

‘We need to talk to the children who are out there.' He waved beyond the window. ‘They're the ones who might know.' He paused. ‘Jesus.' He slammed his fist down on the desk.

‘It's a market day tomorrow, there'll be children all over looking for scraps.'

The Constable was silent for a long time. ‘I'll go and talk to them,' he said finally. ‘I've been away for months, half of them won't even know my face.' He gave a sour grin. ‘And like this, walking with a stick, I'm not going to scare them.'

The deputy nodded. He knew how Nottingham had lived when he was young. The boss understood, he'd be able to talk to the children who hovered like spectres around Leeds, the ones who kept their own counsel and their own company. Perhaps he'd be able to gain their trust, to draw out the words from them and learn what they needed.

‘We'll find him, boss.'

‘I hope so,' he replied with a sigh. ‘It's too late for those in there, though.' He let the words hang for a moment. ‘And any before them. Have they looked in the other bell pits?'

‘I don't know.'

‘Find the workmen who were at the Cloth Hall and ask them,' Nottingham ordered briskly. ‘I want to know why they were working on this pit. Anything you can find out. And have them check the other pits. If there are more children we need to find them.'

‘I will.'

‘I'm going back to tell the mayor before he hears it from anyone else.'

After an hour Lister gave up on sleep. From the start he'd known it would be pointless, a fight against fate. Every single one of the faces burned fiercely in his mind. As soon as he closed his eyes he was back in the bell pit, seeing the legs and the darkness, the smell pressing against his face as if it would suffocate him.

He pushed off the blanket. There were still hours before he could meet Emily at the dame school where she taught. If he couldn't rest he might as well do something worthwhile.

The Constable had just returned to the jail, easing himself down into the chair behind the desk as Rob arrived.

‘I thought you'd be back, lad,' he said. ‘Couldn't sleep?'

‘No.'

‘Keep seeing them, don't you?'

‘Yes,' Rob answered simply, and poured some of the ale. ‘What can I do, boss?'

Nottingham sat back and thought. ‘Mr Sedgwick's gone to the Cloth Hall to see if there's anyone in the other pits. Go and join him, then I want the pair of you out asking questions. Talk to all your sources,' he said, his voice dark and weary. ‘I daresay the whole city knows about this by now. We find the killer quickly.' He raised an eyebrow. ‘The mayor's orders, as if we bloody needed them.'

The workmen were lowering ladders into two more of the pits. The deputy stood with his hands on his hips, waiting as the first of the labourers climbed down, candles in their hands.

‘Nothing yet?' Lister asked.

‘No,' he answered without turning his head. ‘Better hope there isn't, either.' They stood in silence until the first man emerged. Rob felt his body tense until the man shook his head, then realized he'd been holding his breath.

The other pit was empty, too. Sedgwick worked his jaw slowly and started to walk away.

‘What are you thinking?' Lister asked as he caught up to him.

‘Nothing. Everything,' he replied in frustration. ‘I was scared we'd find more of them.' He turned and Rob could see the fear in his eyes. ‘All I could think was it could have been James down there.' His face hardened. ‘I'm going to make that bastard scream when we find him.'

‘He'll have a trial.'

Sedgwick spat. ‘Why waste the money?'

‘But—'

‘But what?' he said angrily. ‘You really believe we're going to be the only ones out there looking? People hate child killers. Even if they don't care about the children themselves. And if they find him . . .' He let the thought twist in the air. Rob understood; he knew how dangerous a mob could be.

‘What were the workmen doing at the pits, anyway?'

‘They're filling them in. It's going to be a big bloody job and all. But that new mayor thinks the city should look better, especially around the Cloth Hall. We're so important that we have to impress visitors these days,' he said in disgust. ‘Those pits have been open since Adam was a lad. You know people still go down there looking for coal in the winter? When it's bitter out there'll be folk scavenging in the pits.' He paused, but before he could say more, the sharp clatter of a drum made him turn his head.

‘What's that?' Rob asked.

‘I don't know.' They began to walk briskly along the Calls in the direction of the sound. A small, curious crowd had gathered close to the bridge, drawn in by the crisp, urgent beats, eager for any brief excitement in their day.

‘Gather round, lads,' boomed a deep voice. ‘Aye, and you lasses, too, we like a pretty face.'

Sedgwick relaxed and started to laugh. ‘You know who that is?'

‘No.'

‘It's the recruiting sergeant.' He winked and nudged Lister in the ribs. ‘If you've an urge to escape that Emily, now's your chance, lad. Plenty of adventure. You can come back with a fortune, if you believe what they say.'

Rob snorted. ‘I think I'll stay here. More chance of staying alive.'

‘There'll be some who'll fall for it,' the deputy told him. ‘He'll march off in a day or two with a few in tow, you can wager on that. There's no shortage of fools in the world. I was halfway tempted myself once till I came to my senses.'

The audience had quickly thinned. He looked at the soldier with his worn, smiling face, scarlet coat neatly sponged clean and bright, breeches mostly white, boots worn and travel dusty. Next to him the drummer boy, a lad maybe ten years old, had put up his sticks and was glancing idly around. ‘Come on,' the deputy continued, ‘we're right by the Old King's Head. I don't know about you, but I need to drink the taste of this morning away.'

The Constable watched Tom and his apprentice wrap the bodies in their winding sheets. They'd carry them away once the streets were quiet and few would see, and take them to the pauper's grave out beyond Sheepscar Beck. The children would lie as forgotten in death as they'd been in life.

The murderer had taken his time with them. He'd relished every pain he'd inflicted, drawn it out to make them hurt even more. And they'd be no match for a grown man.

All over Leeds, people would know that three children had been killed. Now he just had to hope no details came out about the way the bodies had been broken, battered and used. If that happened there'd be fury all over the city. That had been the mayor's fear, Leeds out of control. Not that he'd needed to say anything. The Constable had already seen the resolve and the hatred on Sedgwick's face, the hurt in Rob's eyes, and he knew what was in his own heart. They all wanted this man.

He'd hoped for time to ease back into the job, not working so hard or so long at first, but it wasn't going to be that way.

R
ob leaned against the wall vainly trying to rub the weariness from his eyes. Evening was drawing in, the weather turning colder. He pulled up his collar, wishing he'd worn his greatcoat. The bell rang exactly on the half hour and the girls trooped meekly out of the dame school, each in her blue dress, carrying a bag. Mrs Rains stood in the doorway, making sure they behaved as they walked down the street.

Five more minutes passed before Emily emerged, the old cloak fastened at the neck, her cap slightly askew, letting a few strands of hair fall to her cheek. He smiled and moved forward as he saw her, reaching out to take the basket she was holding.

‘How were they?' he asked.

‘The same as ever.' She laughed. ‘Lovely. Tiring. Frustrating.' Her hand lingered on his, her eyes merry until she noticed his expression. ‘What's wrong?' she asked quickly, panic flashing across her face. ‘Has something happened to Papa?'

‘No, it's nothing like that,' he assured her swiftly. ‘It's what we found this morning.'

‘What? What was it?'

He explained as they walked, seeing the horror grow on her face. She clutched at his arm, glancing up at him when he went silent, lost in the dark country of his thoughts. ‘They were so helpless,' he said finally, seeing them once again in his mind. ‘So small.'

‘You'll find whoever did it,' Emily averred. ‘I know you will. You and Papa and Mr Sedgwick.'