There was only one way this could end. White would have to die.

  NINE

  By the time he reached the Post Office on Duncan Street, the boy looked casual and careless. Cocky. Outside the building he seemed to bump into a young man loitering there.

  Jane saw it happen, far enough away not to be spotted. She smiled. It was exactly the way the pickpocket gangs worked. Hand off the loot in case you were caught. The new lad set off at a trot, down Kirkgate, and she stayed behind him. Halfway along the street he stopped and looked back.

  By then she’d taken the shawl off her head and gathered it around her shoulders. If he saw her at all, she’d look like a completely different girl. Invisible. Then he was moving again, satisfied. Beyond the parish church, taking Timble Bridge across Sheepscar Beck, left on to Duke Street and another right to Off Street.

  She needed to be careful. There were fewer people around here. The houses were brick, not too old, pushed and cramped together in long terraces, every one identical to its neighbour.

  At the corner, Jane squatted, then moved her head just enough to see the street ahead. People rarely saw what they didn’t expect; she’d learned that. The young man gave a glance around, knocked on a door and disappeared inside.

  This was as far as she could go. The road was empty. Anyone watching would notice if she went by.

  White had been careful, Simon thought as he listened to Jane’s account. First, having someone snatch the bag with the money, then the switch later. But Off Street wasn’t where this story was going to end. Hannah Milner wasn’t there. It would be impossible to hold a girl in a place like that. Too many neighbours.

  Still, he had somewhere to start.

  ‘You did very well.’

  Jane shrugged. ‘It wasn’t hard. What are we going to do now?’

  ‘I’m going over there.’

  ‘Where do you want me?’

  ‘At my side,’ he told her. Simon turned to Rosie. ‘Keep the boys inside and the doors barred. When we’re out would be a perfect time for White to try and pay a visit.’

  The day had turned warmer and Simon was hot in the overcoat. But he needed it to hide the rifle he’d borrowed from Charley Press at the Wellington. The landlord has been dubious when he asked.

  ‘You don’t even know how to use it, Simon.’

  ‘Then show me.’

  Finally he’d given in. A quick lesson and now it was primed and loaded, covered from sight as he marched through the streets.

  ‘I don’t see what good something like that will be,’ Jane said.

  ‘It’s mostly to scare them. But I’ll fire if I have to.’ He’d do whatever was necessary.

  ‘Do you think this White will let her go?’

  Around them, people strode along Kirkgate. No one was following them. Hardly a soul even seemed to give them a second glance.

  ‘No,’ he told her. ‘He’s going to milk Milner for money. And when he’s done, he’ll kill her.’

  ‘I couldn’t be certain which house it was,’ Jane said. ‘Has to be this one or next door, though.’

  ‘It doesn’t matter.’

  He was already planning. These houses were back to back, only one way in or out. Small passageways led to a courtyard at the rear. The street was only five years old, built after the French war, all for the workers crowding into Leeds. But that was like trying to dam a flood with twigs. All these had been rented before they even had roofs. No matter how many they put up, it would never be enough.

  Already the bricks were turning black as death, rough and pitted.

  His choice, a green door or a blue one. Blue, he decided, hammering on the wood, then standing back and to the side, one hand on the rifle under his coat. Simon heard footsteps and the drawing back of a bolt. A young woman with a baby resting on her hip.

  ‘Whatever you want, we can’t afford it.’ Her voice sounded too old for her body, weary as a woman ready for the grave. He tipped his hat.

  ‘I’m sorry to have bothered you. I must be looking for your neighbour.’

  ‘Them?’ She almost spat the word. ‘Been here two months and there’s always someone coming or going.’

  ‘Any women?’

  ‘Not that I saw.’

  ‘What about a lad, fair hair, looks like he might have lived rough?’ Jane asked.

  The woman eyed her sharply. ‘Aye, I’ve seen one like that. Why, what’s he done?’

  ‘You should go back inside and lock the door,’ Simon told her. ‘For safety.’

  She was gone before he’d finished the sentence.

  He took a deep breath and knocked on the green door. As soon as someone turned the key he barged it open, bringing up the rifle. A young man lay sprawled on the floor.

  ‘That’s him,’ Jane said.

  ‘Who else is here?’ He held the gun with the barrel trained on the boy’s head. No chance of missing at this range. ‘Who?’

  The lad was close to tears. ‘Just me. I swear.’

  ‘Go and look,’ Simon told Jane. ‘And be careful.’ He turned back to the boy. ‘Where are the others?’

  ‘Gone.’ He tried to squirm away on his back. A jerk of the rifle stopped him. ‘I brought the money like he told me, then he left.’

  ‘He?’ Simon asked. He needed to hear the name ring like iron.

  ‘Mr White, sir. Please don’t shoot me, please, mister.’ He began to cry. ‘Told me to stay here and he’d come back tonight. He said I’d be safe.’

  ‘He lied. What did he do with the girl?’

  ‘What girl?’ Confusion filled his face. ‘There’s never been no girl here. All I knew is we was snatching a bag and bringing it to Mr White. He paid us.’ His hand scrambled in the pocket of his trousers and brought out a few coins. ‘Look.’

  ‘Did White say where he was going?’

  ‘No, sir. Just that he’d be back later.’

  Jane came down the stairs. ‘No sign she’s ever been here.’

  The boy was sobbing softly.

  ‘Do you know what was in the bag you stole?’ Simon felt his temper fraying. They were wasting their time here. White had outfoxed them.

  ‘No.’ He hung his head. ‘What are you going to do to me, mister?’

  ‘What about the other lad?’ Jane asked.

  ‘He took his money and went. Said there’d only be trouble if we waited.’

  ‘Your friend was right.’ Simon kept the gun aimed at the boy. Fear was a good way to spark honest answers. ‘I want to know where to find White.’

  ‘I don’t know, mister. Honest, I swear I don’t.’

  A short nod from Jane; she believed him.

  ‘Get up,’ Simon told him. Clumsily, the boy rose to his feet, trying to hide the dampness on his trousers where he’d pissed himself. ‘Now get out.’

  He left the door hanging open as he went, the sound of running feet turning to silence as he turned the corner.

  ‘Did you find anything at all?’

  ‘It looks like the boys shared one bedroom.’

  Simon raised his eyes to the ceiling. ‘What about the other one?’

  ‘Must have been White’s. But there’s nothing in it.’

  He sighed. ‘We might as well go home. I’m sure Mr Milner will be wanting a few words with me.’

  ‘What do you think will happen to Hannah?’ Jane asked.

  He stared at her. ‘I’m beginning to wonder if we’ll ever find her alive.’

  A stop to return Charley Press’s rifle and they walked towards Swinegate.

  ‘Someone’s following us,’ Jane whispered.

  There were people bunched around them as they crossed Briggate.

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Just one man, I think.’

  He couldn’t sense anyone, but Simon didn’t doubt her. He’d never met anyone with her ability.

  ‘Slip around and get behind him. Find out where he goes.’

  She was gone, as if she’d simply vanished into the air. Simon walked on, straight home.

  An hour passed, marked by the steady, relentless ticking of the longclock in the hall. He paced around the house, head jerking at any loud noise out on the street. Still no information from Wade.

  Rosie stayed in the kitchen, preparing food, making bread, anything to fill the minutes.

  Where was Jane? Was she safe?

  And finally, the knock. Two raps, then three, then one. He pulled the door open, then locked it again behind her.

  ‘Well?’ Simon asked as he followed her through the house.

  She poured herself beer and drank. ‘He followed you all the way here. Fair hair, thin, looks like he hasn’t had too many good meals. He stayed for a minute or two, then left.’

  ‘Where did he go?’

  ‘The Bull and Mouth. He went in and started talking to Thomas Calverley. I couldn’t get too close. Calverley knows my face.’

  Calverley knew both of them. Many of the goods stolen in Leeds went through his hands. Some he sold on. Others found their way back to the owners through the thief-takers, in exchange for a cut of the fee.

  Simon did business with him often enough. Everyone in the trade did. He was as inevitable as tomorrow.

  ‘Where did he go after that?’

  ‘Still with Thomas when I left.’

  ‘I think we’d better pay Mr Calverley a visit, don’t you?’

  But before he could move, there was a sharp, businesslike knock on the door. Milner’s servant; he’d wager a guinea on it.

  Still no expression on his face, and the grave tone in his voice.

  ‘My master wants to see you. Now.’

  ‘Where?’

  ‘Drony Laith again.’

  ‘Tell him I’ll be there in a quarter of an hour.’

  ‘Wait here,’ he told Jane, then turned to Rosie. ‘I’ll be back once I’ve had my skin flayed.’

  Milner was waiting in the middle of the field. He was standing by one of the tenter poles, digging the tip of his cane into the ground.

  ‘Well?’ he said as Simon approached. ‘Where is she?’

  ‘I don’t know. I’m sorry.’

  ‘Sorry?’ The man’s face darkened. ‘You took the job and said you’d bring her home. Did you see what happened on the bridge?’

  ‘I know all about it. The boy who took the money handed it off to someone else. I found him at a house off Marsh Lane.’

  ‘Then where is he? Where’s my thousand pounds? Where’s my bloody daughter?’

  He was shouting, his voice echoing back from the hills across the river.

  ‘The boy’s gone,’ Simon said calmly. ‘I’m searching for the man who has your money and your daughter.’

  ‘Gone?’ His eyes bulged. ‘What in the name of Christ were you doing? He should have been arrested and sent off to hang.’

  ‘I let him go because there’s nothing more to learn from him.’ Milner wanted the truth; he’d give it to him. ‘The man who took Hannah is called Julius White. He’s spent the last nine years in Australia for theft. I was the one who caught him. He’s clever. And he’s deadly. He’s killed before.’

  ‘I don’t care what he’s done before, Westow.’ His voice was tight, the anger barely tamped down. ‘It’s what he’s doing now that’s my concern. When I employ a man, I expect him to do his job. This White still has my daughter and now he’s got my money. He’s making me look like a fool.’

  Simon wasn’t going to offer excuses; the man wouldn’t accept them.

  ‘It’s not over yet.’

  ‘You’re damned right it’s not. It won’t be until my lass is back at home and this man is hanging from the gibbet.’

  If she ever comes home, Simon thought. If it’s not too late.

  ‘Now I know who he is, I can go after him.’

  ‘You’ve put up a piss-poor show so far.’

  No need to reply. He wasn’t likely to change Milner’s mind.

  ‘He’ll send you a letter. Maybe today, maybe tomorrow. Demanding more money.’

  ‘He can do what he bloody well likes. He won’t see another penny until my daughter’s back with me.’ Milner raised a hand and pointed. ‘And don’t you be telling me otherwise.’

  ‘I need to see that letter when you receive it.’

  ‘Tell me why I should trust you? You’ve managed to fail me once.’

  ‘Because there’s nobody else who can help you. Where else are you going to go? The constable? He’s a joke; you know that as well as I do. He’s nothing more than a title. And you’ll be lucky if you can find the Watch sober or awake. I’m what’s here, and I’ll tell you this: I’m good at what I do.’

  The man set his jaw. Rage burned behind his eyes. When was the last time anyone had talked to him like this? Simon wondered.

  ‘Then you’d better prove you are. I warned you before that I’d destroy you. Fail again and I’ll do it.’

  Milner walked off with his shoulders pulled back, determined. A man fighting the world.

  Simon had given him a dose of the truth. He was the only one who could help now. Yet Milner was right, too: he’d failed. He’d been stupid. He’d thought this job would be like finding any other piece of stolen property. And he’d underestimated the kidnapper.

  But now he knew.

  A few drops of rain began to fall. He turned up the collar of his coat and started for home.

  TEN

  Calverley wasn’t in the Bull and Mouth, or any of the other inns along Briggate. A steady drizzle began as they trudged from place to place, turning the greasy cobbles slick.

  ‘Maybe he’s gone home,’ Jane said.

  Simon shook his head. ‘Not before midnight. He spends as little time there as possible. Can’t stand his wife. He’ll be in one of these places.’

  They found him in a dram shop on Guildford Street. Calverley sat with his back to the wall, a glass in his hand. He was a large man, with a prizefighter’s body that had run to ruin, a broken nose, and a web of scars around his eyes.

  He was a very small cog in the machine. Vital, but one that could slip through the fingers and be lost on the floor. For this short moment, though, he was the most important man in Leeds.

  ‘You’re a hard man to track down, Tom,’ Simon said as he shook the rain from his coat and sat down at the table. Jane stood close, one hand in the pocket of her dress, silently stroking the handle of her knife.

  ‘You found me.’

  ‘I hear you were in the Bull and Mouth earlier.’

  ‘What about it? I’m there every bloody day.’ There was a dangerous edge to his voice. Calverley had reached the point in his drinking where anything could tip him into violence. Time to tread carefully.

  ‘You were talking to someone there.’

  ‘Probably to half the people in the place.’

  Simon turned to Jane.

  ‘Long fair hair, looks like he could use a lifetime of good meals,’ she said.

  ‘You mean the little weasel.’ He hawked and spat on the floorboards.

  ‘Who?’

  Calverley shrugged. ‘That’s what I call him. Don’t know his real name. He wanted to sell me a watch.’ He snorted. ‘Said he’d found it earlier.’

  ‘He was following me around today.’

  ‘Yours, is it?’ He reached into his waistcoat and tossed a pocket watch on the table. ‘You can have it back for a tanner. Same as I paid.’

  ‘Where will I find him?’

  ‘How would I know?’ He stared and began to bunch his left hand into a fist. ‘You want the watch or not?’

  ‘It’s not mine, Tom,’ Simon said calmly. ‘What’s his proper name?’

  ‘Who bloody cares?’ The words exploded out of him and he stood, heavy and bulking. The room was instantly silent.

  Jane took a step back and drew her knife. Simon made a small gesture. Don’t do anything.

  ‘Sit down, Tom. We’re just talking, nothing more.’

  ‘Don’t you bloody tell me what to do.’

  ‘Sit down, Tom.’ He raised his voice slightly, sitting back and trying to hide his fear. He’d seen Tom Calverley on the rampage. The man could destroy a place like this in minutes. But he could be calmed just as quickly, too. ‘Sit down and have another drink.’ Simon waved for the potman.

  Very slowly, the man lowered himself to his chair. The moment had passed. No more trouble for a little while.

  ‘Now,’ he continued. ‘This man. What do you know about him?’

  ‘He’s a little bastard. He’d fleece his own mother for three farthings.’

  ‘I need to find him.’

  ‘Try the old blacking factory, down by the river.’ His voice had softened, the fury softening from his eyes.

  ‘The one that burned down last year?’

  ‘I heard he sleeps there.’

  ‘Do you remember Julius White?’

  The man turned his head, eyes slowly focusing. ‘I do.’

  ‘People are saying he’s back in Leeds.’

  ‘Can’t be him.’ Calverley shook his head as if it could never happen. ‘He was sent to Australia.’

  ‘Say what you like, Tom, but I think they’re right. Better keep your eyes open.’

  Only the shell of the factory remained. Jane remembered the blaze, burning bright and loud, the stink of boot black that hung over the town for days. Now there was just burned brick, twisted iron and charred, sodden wood. A ghost of a building. Soon enough someone would knock it down and put up something new; land was too valuable to leave as a ruin.

  Rats skittered across the floor. Over in the far corner a piece of the roof hung down; it gave some sort of shelter. A small fire glowed.

  By the time she came close, Jane was able to pick out the children. Twenty or more. The younger ones were huddled together, some already asleep, others staring with fearful eyes.

  The adults sat around the blaze. Some looked more ghost than human, insubstantial, drained of life. Others were weary, but on their guard, staring at the stranger and ready to fight or flee.

  Simon had stayed outside. Jane moved quietly among the men and women. She was a creature of the night now, just like them.

  ‘I’m looking for a lad with fair hair. Someone said he looks like a weasel.’

  ‘What’s it worth?’ a woman called out, and began to cackle. Jane came closer.