‘Is there anything more on those children, boss?’ He paused a moment. ‘They keep coming back to me.’
The Constable placed a hand on his shoulder. ‘That shows you take it seriously. Makes you human. Don’t ever lose that. If you do, it’s time to get out of this type of work.’ He gave a sigh. ‘I might have more later. We’ll see.’
The deputy’s face was strained when he arrived, flesh taut over his bones, eyes sunken in dark smudges of skin. He just shook his head in answer to Nottingham’s unspoken query.
‘Could be another day or more yet.’ He poured himself a mug of ale, drank and slammed the mug down on the desk. ‘All we can do is keep bathing her.’
‘How’s Lizzie?’
‘Dead on her feet. Torn apart.’ It was all he could bring himself to say of her desperation and the screams in her eyes.
‘How many do you have left on that list of names?’ the Constable asked.
Sedgwick pulled a folded piece of grubby paper from his pocket. ‘Ten,’ he answered. ‘They’ll all be pointless, you know that.’
‘Give it to me, I’ll look after it. Go home.’
‘Are you sure, boss?’
‘You did more than enough when I was gone. Come back when Isabell’s fever has broken.’
‘If.’ He knew enough to understand that the worst could happen. It so often did.
‘It will,’ Nottingham told him with confidence. ‘Go.’
The Constable was careful to reach the cloth market on Briggate just before the bell rang for the start of selling. The merchants were already there, waiting and gossiping in the middle of the street while the weavers made their last minute preparations, arranging and draping their cloth to best advantage.
Solomon Howard was off by himself, gazing down the street at all the lengths on display. They’d never met; none of the hedgerow scandals that flared up and died down around Leeds had ever mentioned him.
‘Mr Howard.’
The man turned, taken by surprise. ‘Good morning, Constable. A pleasure, sir.’ He had a deep, rich voice that was a contrast to his delicate features. His wig was black and carefully curled, falling artfully on to his shoulders and he wore a thick woollen greatcoat that hung open to display an exquisitely cut coat and breeches of wool dyed deep burgundy. The gold buckles on his shoes gleamed and his linen was spotless white. He stood taller than Nottingham, looking down his nose at him, wearing a smile like a worn fist. ‘How can I help you?’
‘I was hoping for a word with you.’
Howard raised his eyebrows. ‘Me?’
Nottingham smiled. ‘Perhaps you could come to the jail when the market’s finished. It’ll only a take a few minutes.’
Worry flickered briefly over the man’s face. ‘I’m very busy. I have appointments. I’ll need to pay the clothiers.’
‘I’m sure your clerks can do that, sir. And it won’t take long, I promise.’
‘Very well, then,’ Howard agreed with a sigh.
‘Thank you.’ He walked away just as the bell began to peal, and didn’t look back. The factor would spend the next hour wondering and sweating, distracted from his work. Others would be crowding round, asking their own questions, and the man would have no answers for them.
On the way to the jail he stopped at the Talbot. Bell was clearing the mugs and plates where the clothiers had breakfasted on their Brigg End shots of beef and ale.
‘Constable,’ the landlord greeted him warily.
‘Do you know Mr Howard?’
‘Solomon?’ Bell’s face broke into a grin. ‘Course I do. He’s been coming to the cockfights for years. Lost a pretty penny on them, too. Can’t gamble to save his soul, that one.’ He paused. ‘You’ve reminded me now. That time you were asking about. .’
‘Yes?’ he asked, although he knew what the man was going to say.
‘I recall he brought Mr Darden with him. Does that help you?’ he asked with a smirk.
‘Thank you.’
It was no more than he’d expected. A few coins had changed hands and something that never happened was suddenly remembered. And that was the end of that tale.
He was sitting at his desk by the time the cloth market ended. All the papers sat in neat piles, the jug filled with ale. Five minutes later Howard arrived, glancing round the room with curiosity.
‘Sit down.’ The Constable smiled. ‘Thank you for coming.’
‘What is it you want, Mr Nottingham? I told you, I’m a busy man.’ The factor sounded affronted, a bluff of anger.
‘Do you go to the cockfights, Mr Howard?’
‘The cockfights?’ Whatever he’d been expecting, that wasn’t it, Nottingham thought. ‘Yes, I do. Why?’
‘Have you ever taken your employer with you?’
‘Once.’ Confidence returned to the man’s face. ‘Just two weeks ago. He didn’t care for it. Ended up with blood on his coat. It’s ruined, it’ll never come out properly.’
‘At the Talbot?’
‘Yes. Ask Bell the landlord. He knows me, he’ll have seen us.’
The Constable smiled at the smoothness of the lie.
‘What do you think about Gabriel?’
‘Gabriel?’
‘The man who killed those children,’ Nottingham said. ‘That’s what he calls himself.’
The factor looked down. ‘Terrible. Awful.’
‘Why do you think a man does something like that?’
‘What?’ Howard glanced up sharply and Nottingham saw the tiniest glimmer of fear. ‘How would I know? What are you trying to say, Constable? Are you accusing me?’
Nottingham held up his hands, palms outwards. ‘I’m not accusing anyone, Mr Howard,’ he answered calmly. ‘I simply want to know your thoughts, that’s all.’
‘Then I can’t help you. I wouldn’t know what to say.’ He stood. ‘Was there anything more?’
‘I appreciate your time. And I’m sure you’ll tell me if you believe you know who Gabriel could be.’
Howard slammed the door behind him. Nottingham listened as a cart rumbled slowly up Kirkgate and heard the low sound of voices passing outside the window. He’d been as obvious as he could without an outright accusation. Now he’d have to wait and see what happened with Darden and his factor. But there were other ways to move things along. .
He stopped at the pie seller, choosing one that almost burned his hand as he carried it. He slipped through the market crowds at the top of Briggate, eyes alert for any sign of Caleb or the other children but seeing nothing. He wandered for a few minutes, quickly caught up in the shouts and bustle, then slipped down the passageway into the empty court.
He pushed away the corpse of a dog, its body already bloating, and sat down. All he could do was wait and hope that Caleb would appear, a ghost seen in the daylight. He closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the cold stone of a building.
‘You still don’t look like a Constable.’
The boy was standing close. There was a fresh rip in his breeches and his face was grubbier than it had been on Tuesday, his hair a rat’s nest of tangles. Nottingham looked into the deep shadows and saw a shape again, highlighted just enough for him to be certain it was a girl. He blinked and she’d gone.
‘I am, though,’ He held out the pie. ‘Something for you and the others.’
Caleb darted forward and took it from him. ‘And have you found that Gabriel yet?’ There was a note of disbelief in his voice.
‘I think I have.’ He paused, giving time for the words to sink in and watching the expression on the lad’s face. ‘But I’m going to need your help to be sure.’
‘Oh aye?’ The boy sounded doubtful. ‘And what can I do?’
‘I want you to see him and identify him. Don’t worry,’ he added swiftly, ‘he won’t see you.’
‘I don’t give a bugger if he sees me or not.’ Caleb turned his head and spat in defiance. Nottingham smiled. ‘Who is it? Rich man, is he?’
‘Yes.’
The boy nodded as if that made absolute sense. ‘What will you do to him?’
‘If he’s Gabriel I’ll see him hang.’
‘Even if he has money?’