The Broken Token (20 page)

Worthy eyed him with no expression for a long time, then turned on his heel and left.

The Constable had no doubt that Worthy would be hunting the killer. He wasn’t a man ever to back down from his words, and once he started, he’d be relentless. Nottingham was limited
in what he could do, but the pimp’s men would have no compunction about beating information out of people. He’d heard that Worthy himself had once tried to roast a widow over a fire
when he suspected her of sheltering one of his runaway girls. The woman had refused to press charges, insisting it had never happened.

Worthy would also try to bribe information from men who worked for the Constable. He could trust John, he was certain of that, but beyond that, nobody. They’d have to be careful.

Of course, it might not even matter. If Kenion had been persuasive or forceful enough, Leeds might already have a new Constable. He glanced out of the window, hoping to spot Tom Williamson
returning with a grin on his face, but all he saw were the heads of people going about their business, some grim, some happy.

It was impossible not to brood and worry. There were places he needed to go, but Nottingham couldn’t stir until he heard the decision. Instead he tried to busy himself with small things,
tasks he could finish easily and quickly, without too much concentration. He looked up, starting at every sound, in the end fidgeting between jobs, unable to concentrate on any of them.

Williamson returned when he was finally engrossed in a report. By the time he raised his head, Tom was already standing by the desk, hat in his hand. Nottingham tried to read the expression on
his face.

“Well?” he asked. The word came out in a dry, nervous croak. He realised he didn’t want to leave this job.

Williamson smiled broadly. “We won.”

The Constable drew in a long breath and exhaled slowly. “Thank you.”

“No need to thank me,” Tom said merrily. “It was an embarrassment, really. The Mayor tabled his motion to dismiss you, and asked for the ayes. His was the only vote.” He
slapped his thigh and laughed. “He was almost purple with fury after the nays had been recorded. I don’t believe I’ve ever seen anyone so humiliated. It was glorious, Richard. I
wish you could have seen it.”

“So do I,” Nottingham agreed with conviction. He could imagine the colour rising from Kenion’s neck, and his frustration at being thwarted. But from here the Mayor would be
keeping a close watch on everything the Constable did, though, and trying to apply a tight rein. Still, there were ways around that, and after so many years he knew them all.

“The aldermen all believe in you, Richard,” Williamson continued. “If ever a man had a vote of confidence, I’d say this was it.”

“Please give the gentlemen my gratitude,” Nottingham said formally, lost for words to express the relief and joy inside.

“I’ll do that.” The merchant grinned. “Now you can go on and find your killer.”

“Oh, I will.” He was really beginning to believe it. Things were moving. They’d find this bastard.

“What do you think?” Sedgwick asked in the White Swan, washing down the last of his stew with a long swig of ale. There was still the heel of a loaf on the table
and he eyed it hungrily.

Nottingham filled their cups from the jug and leaned back against the wall. He’d related everything to his deputy.

“I think we’re going to have to keep looking over our shoulders for Worthy’s lot.”

“Worried, boss?”

He shrugged. He was still feeling a surge of confidence after the decision of the aldermen. “Just be careful, and don’t tell anyone anything.”

“There’s not a lot to tell,” Sedgwick pointed out. He reached for the bread and took a large bite.

“We’ll get there,” the Constable reassured him, “and we’ll do it first.”

“Right, so what do you want me to do now?” Sedgwick asked, his mouth full.

“Question the whores again, see if they’ve seen anyone strange,” Nottingham told him. “I doubt you’ll get anything from Worthy’s girls, but there are plenty
more out there. Tell them what you remember about him and see if it rings any bells. Maybe someone’s seen him.”

“It sounds like a long shot, boss.”

“Long shots have to pay off sometimes, John.” He poured a little more ale and drank.

Sedgwick cradled his left hand around the mug, staring into the liquid.

“Why?” Nottingham wondered aloud suddenly, gazing intently at the deputy. “Why did he start this week? Why’s he killing prostitutes and their men?”

“Does it really matter? The fact is that’s what he’s doing.”

“Yes, but…” The Constable’s words tailed off. Ultimately, he supposed, Sedgwick was right. The reasons were irrelevant. It was the act that mattered, the taking of
lives, and trying to prevent him taking more. “So what do you suggest?” he asked.

“So far it’s been every other night, right?” Sedgwick pointed out, and Nottingham nodded.

“Then tomorrow night we flood the streets,” he continued eagerly. “Get twenty or thirty men out there. Stop everyone who looks suspicious.”

The Constable listened carefully. “Go on,” he said. “You’ve obviously been thinking about this.”

“It puts the odds in our favour,” Sedgwick said fervently, his eyes bright. “If he’s out there, and we have twenty people around, then we have a much better chance of
catching him. And even if we don’t, it should scare him and stop him killing.”

“For one night,” Nottingham pointed out.

“Then we do it every night!”

The Constable smiled briefly, watching Sedgwick carried away by his enthusiasm.

“I think it could work,” he agreed, before asking, “but where do we get the money to pay everyone?”

“Go to the Mayor and ask!” Sedgwick said heatedly. “It’s his city. He doesn’t want people killed.”

“I can tell you right now that his Worship won’t give me another penny,” Nottingham said flatly. “After what happened with the aldermen this morning, he’ll want
nothing more than for me to fail. It would prove his point. So he’s not going to do a bloody thing to help me succeed.”

“Even at the cost of more lives?” the deputy asked in disbelief.

Nottingham ran a hand through his hair. “It’s politics, John. Right now I think the Mayor would spend lives to make me look a fool.”

Sedgwick spat on the floor in disgust. “So we’re stuck?”

“Not necessarily,” the Constable answered slowly. The kernel of an idea was growing in his mind. “How many people do you think owe us favours?”

Sedgwick glanced at him quizzically, uncertain of his meaning.

“People we’ve let off when we could have arrested them, little things we’ve let go,” Nottingham explained.

“I don’t know,” the deputy assessed. “There must be quite a few.”

“I think this might be a good time to start calling in some of those debts, don’t you?” He grinned wickedly.

“They won’t like it.”

“I don’t give a toss if they scream and cry like babies.” The Constable’s voice was firm and hard, the thought fixed in his mind now. “It won’t hurt them to
show a little public spirit for once.”

“You think it can work, boss?” Sedgwick asked doubtfully. “Bringing in people like this?”

The Constable shrugged. “I don’t know. But I’m certain it’s the only way we’ll be able to get anything like this done. We’re not going to get the money to pay
them, I know that.” He grinned. “So we’ll be creative instead.”

“Maybe the Mayor will be impressed,” Sedgwick laughed.

“I doubt it,” Nottingham said. “I hope not. I’d much rather he was upset.”

He could hear laughter as he approached the house, and picked out the voices of Mary, Rose and David, the young man who’d been courting Rose for months. As he opened the
door, he was greeted by a wave of warmth. The fire glowed welcomingly, and the faces were happy. Nottingham could see Rose basking in the attention David was giving her. He wasn’t a bad lad,
a draper’s apprentice who’d almost completed his time. Unlike most of the apprentices he didn’t run wild, but was sober and serious with plans for the future. And Nottingham knew
his daughter liked him.

“Richard,” Mary said merrily, “come and sit down.” She patted a space on the settle. “Have you eaten?”

He nodded, making himself comfortable as Rose went to fetch him a cup of ale. He sensed anticipation in the room and wondered what had happened before he arrived. Once he was comfortable,
sipping his drink, he saw Mary nod at David.

“Sir,” the young man began hesitantly, “I’d like… that is…” Nottingham could sense him struggling for words and began to understand, although he kept
his silence. He’d suffered this once himself, and now the boy could do the same.

“I’d like your permission to marry Rose,” the youth blurted out.

He put the cup down and rubbed his thighs slowly, turning to Mary, who was beaming. His daughter was blushing, her face flushed deep red as she held the boy’s hand tightly.

“Then you’d better do right by the lass when she’s your wife,” he announced.

Suddenly Mary was hugging him, her eyes brimming with tears, as the young couple embraced tentatively. He pulled his wife close, savouring her smell and feeling her joy.

Rose was no longer his girl. Looking at her, seeing the adoration she had in her eyes for the man who’d be her husband, he knew that in the last few minutes she’d slipped away and
given her allegiance to someone else. To his surprise, he found he didn’t mind. It was the way of women to move from one home to another. He leaned across and shook David’s hand, the
lad grasping his firmly and looking him in the eye. He was reminded of himself at that age, when he’d wanted to marry Mary but had taken weeks to find the courage to ask her father.

“Where’s Emily?” he asked his wife quietly.

“I sent her next door,” she explained. “I didn’t think Rose should have to share this with her sister.”

“And how did you know I’d be home?” Nottingham wondered. She raised her eyebrow.

“If you hadn’t come soon I was going to send a boy with a message. Some things are more important than work.” She gave him a sly, womanly smile. “Rose and I have been
trying to get him to do this for weeks. Neither of you stood a chance, Richard.”

“What did you think, I’d have said no?” He gestured at the young couple. “Look at them. They think the moon’s risen just for them.”

“It has.” Mary paused as the happy pair left for a walk. “You didn’t come and tell me what you’d said to Emily,” she resumed when they were alone.

“I had to get back to work. She has a young man too, it seems.”

“What?” She raised her head quickly. “Who?”

“I don’t know yet,” Nottingham told her calmly, putting his hand on her wrist. “Don’t worry, I’ll find out. I didn’t want to push her too much when she
was willing to talk.”

She looked up at him worriedly. “Promise me you will.”

“I promise,” he assured her.

“She’s sixteen, Richard. She can’t be going out at night on her own. I know she thinks she’s clever, but she’s still only a girl.” Concern flickered in
Mary’s eyes.

“I know, and I’ve told her what can happen to girls,” he answered. “I’ll go and get her now and we’ll talk more. I’ll find out about this boy and have
her bring him here so we can meet him.”

He rose wearily, feeling his tired muscles protest as he walked out into the darkness. There was light showing through the shutters next door and he tapped on the door.

Norman Earnshaw was a bluff man with a warm face. His weaving business kept his family busy, and Nottingham knew he employed others, too, working in their own cottages to turn out cloth.
He’d come down to Leeds fifteen years before from a village outside Bradford and worked hard to build a fair, honest living. He and the Constable had been friends of a sort for over a decade
now; their wives went to market together, and Rose often looked after Earnshaw’s younger children.

“Eh up, Richard,” he greeted him broadly, the smell of ale rising off his breath. “What can I do for tha?”

“I’ve come round for Emily,” Nottingham replied easily. Sudden worry arrived when a frown creased the weaver’s forehead.

“Isn’t she back at your house? She left half an hour since, mebbe a bit less.”

“Left? What do you mean?” He spun his head, looking up and down the empty street and feeling sharp pricks of fear on the back of his neck.

“Said she’d only popped round for a visit, and that she had to go home. What’s wrong?”

“Probably nothing,” Nottingham said reflexively, immediately thinking too many things at once as he walked away: she’d done it again, gone off without a word while someone out
there was killing girls; wondering what he could tell Mary; and most of all how he was going to find her.

He could feel the fear rising up his spine and a cold, panicked sweat on his forehead. His hands were shaking. Where could he begin to look for her? Unless he called out his men, he realised, he
had as much chance as a cow in the Shambles. There were so many places she could have gone – in the city, into the country – that it was hopeless. He’d go and look, scouring the
usual dark haunts of young lovers, but he wasn’t hopeful. She had imagination, and a desire not to be found.

For a brief moment he considered going home and telling Mary, but stopped after a couple of paces. She’d be terrified, out of her mind with fear, and tonight, of all nights, she deserved
her joy. He’d tell her later if he had to, and face the consequences then. But he prayed to God it wouldn’t be necessary.

Nottingham had just crossed Timble Bridge, his mind racing as images came unbidden, when he spotted a pair of figures coming the other way. He paid them no real attention, just forms in the
night. His thoughts were focused on finding Emily; where should he look first? How long before he called out the men to search for her?

It wasn’t until the couple were upon him that he could make out his daughter, a sullen, bitter expression on her face. One of Worthy’s guards was urging her along, a hand placed
possessively against the small of her back. Emily moved reluctantly, almost staggering, but she was unable to resist the force propelling her.

“Mr Nottingham,” the man said with a dip of his head that was acknowledgement rather than deference. “Mr Worthy’s compliments. He didn’t think you wanted your lass
wandering round alone at night. I was ordered to return her to your house.”