Chris Nickson - The Broken Token

“You asked to see me, Constable?” His voice was deep, resonating from his chest.

“Thank you for coming.”

Worthy’s two bodyguards stayed unmoving in the doorway, their faces deliberately impassive.

“Something must be urgent.”

“Do you still have men following my family?” Nottingham asked quietly, feeling defeated inside.

“What makes you think I ever did?” he wondered with a sly smirk. “You mean when my man brought your lass home?”

“Yes.” He knew Worthy was toying with him, relishing his advantage, and that he’d press it for all he could.

“That was sheer luck, Mr Nottingham. He recognised her and he didn’t think a girl like that should be out so late.”

“I’m grateful.”

The pimp gave a short nod.

“I’ll tell him. But what’s the problem now?” He paused and cocked his head. “Not gone again, has she?”

He already knows, Nottingham thought as he leaned back in his chair. The bastard knows exactly where she is. He knew he should be furious, but instead he felt only relief. Worthy was going to make him sweat and pay, he was sure of that. He stood and stared at the man.

“Yes, she has,” he was forced to admit. “And I need her found.”

“What makes you think I can help you?” Worthy asked bluntly. “Or why I should?”

Nottingham lifted his head. “You can probably find her in minutes if you want.”

“Ah.” Worthy smiled wolfishly, showing a mouth of rotted teeth and gaps. “But you made it quite clear in the past that you didn’t want my help, Constable. What about your own lads?”

“Working.” He knew he wasn’t giving any information the pimp wouldn’t already have.

“A little bird told me you were looking for someone from Chapel Allerton.” Worthy’s tone hardened a little. “That would be our murderer, I take it?”

“It might be.”

“And what else do you know about him?”

This was where he’d tighten the hold, Nottingham knew. He prayed no one came with information while the pimp was still here.

“Do you think I’d be casting my net so wide if I knew anything more?” he asked.

Worthy considered the idea for a moment. “No, I suppose you wouldn’t,” he agreed reluctantly. “What do I get if I find your Emily?”

Directly to the nub, Nottingham thought. “My gratitude.”

The pimp spat on the flagstones. “That doesn’t buy me anything.”

“You want money? I’ll pay you,” Nottingham offered. It was part of the game; he knew he’d be refused, and then Worthy would reveal the real price.

“I’ve already got money, more than you’ll see in your life,” Worthy said flatly. “I want the one who killed my girl.”

He’d expected nothing less. The Constable took a deep breath. “So do I. And we can’t both have him.”

Worthy held the Constable’s gaze and waited a long time before speaking.

“Then maybe you’d better consider the value of things, Constable.” He held out his hands like scales on a beam. “Your lass.” One hand went down. “The murderer.” The balance returned to even. “It’s your decision.”

From the moment he sent Worthy the note he’d known it would come to this. He’d been waiting for it. He closed his eyes. “You can have him,” he said softly.

“I know where the courting girl is. I’ll have her here in half an hour,” Worthy promised with a grim smile. “Unhappy, but unspoilt.”

Nottingham nodded his agreement, keeping a blank face. As soon as he discovered the identity of the killer, he’d arrest him and damn his promises. But for now he needed Worthy. Once he’d left the Constable sent a boy to bring Mary to the jail. She could take Emily home.

Time ticked away too slowly. He kept expecting something to happen — word from Tom, Sedgwick with information, even his wife — but there was nothing.

It was Emily who arrived first, escorted by a man of Worthy’s that Nottingham had never seen before. He was tall and heavy, but surprisingly well-dressed, wearing a deep brown wig that appeared almost new. His big hand gripped the girl’s arm tightly and there was a sly, vicious smile on his face. Less than twenty minutes had passed since Worthy had left.

“Sit down,” Nottingham commanded his daughter in a hard voice that dared her to disobedience or hesitation. “Now.” He turned to the man. “Who was she with?”

“I don’t know,” he answered with a careless shrug. “They just told me to bring her here.” He began to leave, then turned back in the doorway. “Oh, Mr Worthy said to tell you something. Look at her neck.” The door slammed closed behind him.

He gazed down at Emily, shut in on herself on the chair. With slow tenderness he put a finger under her chin and tilted her head back. Her eyes were wide with fear, and tracks of grimy tears ran down her cheeks, but he only noticed them in passing.

Instead, his eyes fastened on her throat.

“Oh Christ,” he whispered, the bile rising suddenly. “Christ.”

The broken token that had belonged to his mother, that he’d given to Pamela, lay against Emily’s skin, held in place by a new blue ribbon.

For a long moment he stared at it in horror.

Then, before she could react, before he could even stop himself, he grasped it in his fingers and in a single violent motion tore it off her. She gasped with pain as he held it in front of her face, the half-token swaying gently.

“Who gave it to you?” Nottingham asked with deceptive softness. The tears were welling over in her wide eyes, hands clutched so tightly together in her lap that her knuckles were white. She wouldn’t look at him. He tried to keep his voice steady and hide the urgency of the question. “Who gave it to you, Emily? I need his name.”

Emily shook her head mutely. He breathed slowly, trying to calm himself. The token was the key, and Worthy already knew what it meant. Emily knew the answer. He had to find out, and quickly.

He looked down at his daughter. She was bent over, sobbing silently into her hands. There was a vivid red mark on the back of her neck where he’d ripped off the ribbon. He’d always tried to keep his family safe from his work, but now, here, it all came together. He loved the girl so much, he ached to protect her from everything bad, but he needed her answers.

“You see this, Emily?” Nottingham asked, hoping she’d raise her head, but she kept still, curled away from him. For a moment he wanted to grab her by the hair and pull her up so she couldn’t hide from him. “I need to know who gave you this,” he insisted. “It belonged to your grandmother. I gave it to Pamela. Whoever gave it to you murdered her.”

“No!” In one quick, furious movement she sat up straight, mouth firm, her eyes alive with anger. “He couldn’t have!” She stared at him defiantly, then lowered her gaze. “He wouldn’t,” she added softly.

“Then where did he get it?” Nottingham asked in exasperation. His patience was raw, on a knife-edge. He could feel himself shaking. “Come on, you want to be treated like an adult. You say he hasn’t killed anyone. Tell me who he is. I’ll talk to him. If he’s innocent he’ll be able to tell me the truth.”

“You’re already calling him a killer,” she hissed. “Why would you believe anything he says?”

He gazed into her eyes, trying to quell the bitterness he saw there. “Because it’s my job to find the truth and separate the guilty from the innocent.” He sighed. “Emily, you know what I do, what I am.” He held up the ribbon, seeing his hand tremble a little and feeling the chill of cooling sweat on his face. “I need you to help me. Please.”

She hesitated before answering and he could hear the first sign of weakening in her voice.