The Broken Token by Chris Nickson

Author:Chris Nickson
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
ISBN: 9780956056610
Publisher: Creative Content Ltd
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

18

“So you’ve murdered someone?” the Constable asked sceptically.

“Not someone.” Harwood relished the word, emphasising the last syllable. “Four people.”

“Oh?” Nottingham pushed himself off the sill, eyeing the man more closely. He was perhaps thirty, his face streaked with dirt and stubble. “Four people in Leeds?” he asked in slight disbelief.

“I think you know who I mean.” The man looked smug, even proud, the long fingers of his hands interlaced and pulling against each other.

“Maybe you’d better tell me.” It was impossible to keep a touch of amusement from his tone. Just yesterday morning they’d had no one for the crime, and now there were two killers, one who claimed not to remember, the other falling over himself to confess. Quite the pretty pair, the Constable thought wryly. But if this one was telling the truth… He looked at the man more closely. “So? Mr…?”

“Harwood,” the younger man reminded him with a defiant stare. “It was two men and two prostitutes.”

“And why did you do it?”

“Because they wouldn’t give me money,” Harwood explained simply. He swept a hand over his clothes. “I used to have plenty. But I’m a disinherited son. I live on the charity of others.”

“You could work,” the Constable pointed out tartly. “There are jobs for those who look. You’re not from around here.”

“I grew up in York,” Harwood answered with a casual, gentleman’s manner. “My father grew tired of my gambling debts and put me out three months ago.”

Nottingham sat in his chair and pushed the wet fringe back from his forehead.

“How long have you been in Leeds?”

“A week. I did come looking for work, or at least some Christian men who might help me.” There was a weariness in his voice that seemed almost plausible, the Constable admitted.

“And where have you been staying?”

“I had a room on the Calls for the first three nights. Since my money ran out I’ve been sleeping outside.” Harwood indicated the other chair. “Might I sit?”

Nottingham nodded and the other man eased himself gratefully on to the seat. Nottingham was willing to believe he’d told the truth about sleeping rough, and being from a good family. Beyond that…

“So you killed these people because they wouldn’t give you money?” he inquired.

The man hung his head slightly. “Yes.”

“But you didn’t rob them.” The Constable threw the words out carefully, like a fishing line, watching for a reaction.

“After I’d killed them, my conscience took hold of me.”

He was quick, Nottingham acknowledged, allowing himself to relax slightly. Harwood hadn’t been quite fast enough, though. There’d been a flicker of hesitation in his eyes before he answered, wondering what to say.

“On both occasions?” The Constable raised his eyebrows. “You obviously don’t learn your lessons easily.”

“Anger, sir… then remorse.”

“And the prostitutes?”

Harwood shrugged.

“They were witnesses. They could have identified me.” He shook his head. “And no one will count one or two more dead whores.”

Nottingham smiled grimly, tilted his chair back slightly and put his hands behind his head.

“One of those prostitutes used to be a servant of mine,” he said with slow relish.

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