Chris Nickson - Come the Fear

At the Talbot he asked for Walton, and a potboy was sent scrambling up the stairs to fetch him. The Constable sat at a bench, a stoup of ale and two beakers in front of him. When the thief taker arrived he motioned him to a seat and poured him a drink. The man was dressed in his grey suit, sponged clean now, his stock and the cuffs of his shirt rimed with dirt.

‘Your business is off to a good start, I hear.’ Nottingham raised his mug in a small toast. Walton smiled, showing the gaps in his teeth dark as the devil’s word.

‘I’ll not say it is, since they say pride’s a sin. But God willing, it’ll prosper, Constable.’

‘Only if you deal with criminals, Mr Walton.’

‘I return items that have gone missing,’ the man said carefully, his gaze straight and direct. ‘I don’t ask how they vanished.’

‘Or how someone else now has them?’

‘That’s not my business,’ the thief taker answered slowly. ‘If someone’s stolen them, it’s for God to judge him, not me.’

‘No doubt He will,’ the Constable agreed. ‘And it’s a pious enough turn of phrase. But I’m concerned with the here and now, not what might happen at the gates of heaven.’

‘That’s your job,’ Walton conceded. ‘When a man pays me for the return of his property, that’s all that matters to me. Not the criminal or the crime.’

‘And my job is catching those criminals and seeing they’re punished. I told you I’d let you work here if it didn’t interfere with the law.’

‘And has it, Constable?’ Walton spread his hands on the table, the nails bitten short, the tips of his fingers dark with grime. ‘Has anyone lodged a complaint?’ he asked. ‘Has anyone reported a crime I’m preventing you from solving?’

‘Someone has withdrawn his report of a robbery.’

‘So there’s nothing outstanding?’ The thief taker grinned. ‘No cause for you to worry at me this way?’

Nottingham drank and slowly put down the cup. He stared at the other man.

‘There’s plenty of reason, Mr Walton. You’re treading very close to the edge of my patience. Sooner or later you’ll cross the line.’

‘If that happens I might have some powerful people here in my debt. Have you thought of that?’

The Constable ignored the question. When the time was right, no friends would save the thief taker.

‘The law is the law. Break it and you pay the consequences.’

‘I’ve lived long enough to know that money can speak louder than law sometimes, Constable. I’ve found it to be a fact well worth remembering.’ He stood. ‘Good day to you.’

Nottingham finished his ale and left. Returning to the jail he decided it would be a good idea to have someone follow Walton. The man was going to cause trouble. With some care they might be able to stop it early.

‘John,’ he said, ‘our thief taker’s staying at the Talbot. I want a man following him day and night.’

Sedgwick stared thoughtfully into space for a few moments.

‘We can rearrange the men,’ he suggested.

‘Who’s best at blending into a crowd?’

‘Probably Tom Holden. You can look at him and forget he was ever there.’

‘Good. And among the night men?’

‘There’s no one, really,’ the deputy admitted. ‘Best to let Rob pick someone, they’re his men.’

‘True. I suspect we’re going to see a few burglaries. Have everyone keep their eyes open.’

‘This thief taker’s involved?’

‘If he’s not yet, he will be soon enough,’ Nottingham said with certainty. ‘And once that starts, we’ll have him.’

‘Yes, boss.’ He paused. ‘What about the Cates men? What are we going to do about them?’

‘I know what that servant girl told you, but they can deny it easily enough,’ the Constable said in frustration. ‘Who do you think most people will believe?’

‘I’d believe the girl,’ the deputy told him without hesitation.

‘So would I, for all it matters. One of the men could have left Lucy with a baby and killed her.’ He sighed. ‘Trying to prove it will be close to impossible, though.’

‘We still need to talk to them,’ Sedgwick countered. ‘I’ll do it.’

‘Are you sure?’ Nottingham wasn’t certain how wise that was. The deputy could be subtle with his questions, but he was at his best with the ordinary folk.

‘Positive,’ he answered with relish. ‘I’ll enjoy every moment of it.’

Finally the Constable nodded his agreement. It might not be a bad thing to shake them up a little.

‘Start with Robert,’ he advised. ‘If he has religion the way everyone says he should be quick enough to admit his sins.’

‘What about the father?’ Sedgwick asked.

‘Leave him for last. You’ll need to be very careful with him. The same with Will. He’s a smart lad, by all accounts. But if he’s expecting anyone, it’ll be Rob, not someone he doesn’t know. You’ll be able to press him harder.’

‘When should I go?’

Nottingham considered.

‘Tomorrow morning, I think. Start down at the warehouse. At least one of them should be there. If they’re not, go up to the house. I doubt you’ll get a confession but there might be something. And it could scare them enough to keep their hands off the girls for a while,’ he added.

‘Why not today?’ Sedgwick asked.

‘Do it when you’re fresh.’ He put on his coat and the tricorn hat. ‘I’m going over to talk to Joe Buck and find out what he’s heard about our thief taker. I think he’ll have a few things to say.’

‘If it’s taking business from his purse I’m sure he will,’ the deputy laughed. ‘Tight as a squeaky farthing, is Joe.’

‘And he’ll probably hear about some of the burglaries that won’t reach our ears. It could be a good way to catch our man.’

‘So you’d be willing to work with him?’

Nottingham smiled.

‘I’ll use a very long spoon to sup with that devil, but yes, if needs must, I will. It’s in his interest, too.’

‘You know Joe, he’s not going to do anything that doesn’t help him.’

The bell at the parish church tolled midday, the sound dying softly.

‘Come on, boss,’ Sedgwick said, ‘let’s go to the White Swan first. I don’t know about you, but my stomach thinks someone’s slit my throat.’

Joe Buck lived on the south side of the Aire, among the tangle of small, ugly streets that were tucked out of sight behind of grand merchant palaces of Meadow Lane. Most of the houses were poor and faded, run down, a few even gutted, everything useful taken. There was rubbish against the walls, left where it had been thrown, and the stink of piss and shit. Packs of stray dogs roamed and growled and bony feral cats slunk quietly into the dark ginnels. But Buck’s house was spotless on the outside, the windows clean and shining, blue paint fresh and sparkling on the door. Nottingham knocked and waited.

The servant arrived quickly, a large man with a small, powdered periwig on top of his head and sleeves rolled up to show muscled forearms. His skin was so dark it seemed to glow, his wide smile showing white teeth. Few would have believed he was Buck’s molly boy.

‘Constable,’ he said, giving a brief bow. Only when he opened his mouth did the sense of the exotic drop away; his accent was broad Yorkshire. ‘’Ant seen thee in a while. Tha’s here to see the master?’

‘Yes, Henry, I am.’

‘He’s in t’ back, same as he always is. Tha’ knows where to go.’ The servant stepped aside, his bulk almost filling the cramped hallway.

The parlour was immaculate, everything lovingly dusted, the way it always was when Nottingham visited. Buck was sitting at a rosewood desk and stood as soon as he saw the Constable. He was dressed in a suit that showed the tailor’s art, the cut of the coat and waistcoat hiding his thickening belly, the breeches tight enough to display a strong pair of thighs. The hose, shirt and stock were all dazzling white, the shoes well-buffed, and a full-bottomed auburn wig was combed out to lie flatteringly on his shoulders. The business of selling stolen property paid well, Nottingham thought. Never mind that the Constable knew what Buck did, in ten years he’d never been able to connect the man with anything, not to the point of arrest.