“Oh aye?” The deputy smiled even as he stretched and yawned, his joints aching from lack of sleep. “Taken you on, has he?”
“Yes, sir.”
Sedgwick eyed him with sudden respect. Nottingham rarely hired anyone new; he must have spotted something in Forester.
“Did he tell you what to do here?”
Forester shook his head.
“Probably wants me to train you, then. I tell you what, let’s see if we can find you a coat. You must be perishing like that.”
Inside the jail he rummaged in an old chest filled with tattered clothes taken from dead bodies. Some had mildewed, others had been eaten by moths, but he eventually found a heavy coat that was only a few sizes too big.
“Put that on,” he ordered. “You’re going to be doing a lot of walking and it’s bloody parky out there.”
Forester did as he was told, astonished at first by the weight of the cloth. Sedgwick walked around him.
“That’ll do,” he said approvingly. “Now, what do they call you? Joshua? Josh?”
“Josh.”
“Then we’d better get you earning your pay, Josh.”
They’d been criss-crossing the streets and courts for a full thirty minutes, the boy struggling to keep pace with the deputy’s long legs, before Sedgwick casually asked, “How did the boss come to take you on?”
“He caught me,” Forester answered slowly.
“Caught you?” His eyebrows rose slightly.
The boy wriggled with embarrassment in the coat.
“I tried to steal his purse.”
Sedgwick began to laugh until tears trickled down his cheeks.
“Dear God,” he said finally, gulping in breaths, his cheeks red. “Are you joking? You’re the cutpurse? The one we’ve been after for weeks?”
“I was,” Forester exclaimed in exasperation and with offended pride. “I was a cutpurse, I really was.”
“And he hired you? That’s rich. Still, it means you should do a good job.”
“I’ll try,” Josh promised.
“Aye, I’m sure you will.” He put an arm on the boy’s shoulder. “Sorry, I wasn’t laughing at you, lad. What alternative did he give you?”
“Prison, maybe transportation.”
“That’d make a Constable’s man of anyone pretty quick,” Sedgwick agreed with a sharp nod.
“Is it true he was once a cutpurse himself?” Forester asked with a kind of wonder.
“Did he tell you that?”
“Yes.”
“Well, maybe he was,” Sedgwick told him. He had no idea if it was true, and realised he didn’t really want to know. Instead he changed the subject. “You’ve heard about the murders?”
“Of the whores, you mean?”
“That’s right. The bastard’s got six people now — seven if you count Adam Suttler who got killed the other night.” His face darkened. “Came close to eight.” He indicated the sling.
“What does he look like?” Forester asked curiously.
“It was too dark to see properly. I know he had a hat and a cloak.” The bell tolled the hour. “Come on, we’d better check the cloth market’s under way properly.”
Lower Briggate was filled with merchants and sellers, their cloth laid on trestles on either side of the street. There were perhaps two hundred people, but by tradition the market was conducted in near-silence. Only the whisper of transactions and muttered comments filled the street. Sedgwick and Forester stood at the top, staring down on the scene.
“That’s Leeds for you,” the deputy told him, waving a hand at the display. “That’s what makes the money around here, and you’d better not forget it. You see him over there?” He pointed at a foppish merchant ambling from table to table.
“Yes.”
“He made thousands last year exporting cloth. Spent a lot at the gaming tables and on whores, too. Probably only got a couple of coppers to rub together right now, but he walks about like he owns the place.”
“You think he could have killed those girls?” Josh asked innocently.
“Him? No.” Sedgwick dismissed the idea. “Not unless there was a profit in it for him. He’s mercenary, that one.”
“You said the killer had a cloak and hat?” the lad asked thoughtfully.
“Yes,” the deputy said.
“What night was it?” Forester persisted.
“Friday.”
“Where?” There was a sudden, alarmed urgency in his tone.
“Lamb’s Yard, just after midnight.” Sedgwick cocked his head. “Why?”
“I saw someone with a hat and cloak near there.”
The deputy stopped walking.
“Go on,” he ordered.
Forester shook his head. “But it was a woman.”
He pushed hard on the door and it flew open. Nottingham started up from his desk as a worried Sedgwick rushed in, nursing his arm, with the boy running breathlessly to keep pace.
“Boss, you’d better hear this,” he said urgently. “Tell him, Josh.”
“Mr Sedgwick said he almost caught the murderer on Friday,” Forester began, glancing nervously between the two men as he spoke hurriedly. “I was out then and I saw someone who looked like that near Lamb’s Yard. But I’m sure it was a woman, sir.”
“A woman?” Nottingham asked in astonishment.
“Yes, sir,” the lad nodded his certainty. “I wasn’t close enough to see her face or anything, but I could hear the swish of her skirts. And I saw them when she passed near a torch.”
The Constable glanced anxiously at Sedgwick.
“What do you think, John? It could have been a different person.”
“But she had a cloak and hat on,” Forester insisted.
“A lot of people wear those at night,” Nottingham answered evenly as his mind pushed through the things he knew about the case and the killer.
“No, you’re right,” the deputy declared flatly after some thought. He turned to Forester “I’m sorry, lad. I got carried away by what you said. But it wasn’t a lass knifed me. And no woman could have killed like that.”
“Are you sure?” the Constable wondered.
“As much as I can be, boss,” Sedgwick said earnestly. “Whoever it was, they weren’t as tall as me, but taller than a woman.”
“I’ve seen tall women,” Forester interrupted, but Nottingham shook his head softly.
“A woman doesn’t cut like that,” the deputy continued.
Nottingham ran a hand through his hair.
“Let’s weigh what we’ve got,” he told them, trying to piece reason from it all. “The boy saw a woman in a cloak and hat in the area. Do you remember how tall she was?”
Forester shook his head.
“And John — you said the murderer wore a cloak and hat.”
“That’s right.”
“There was no shortage of people in cloaks and hats. It was a wet night.” He paused and thought deeply. He didn’t want to take away from the lad’s intelligence, or his initiative in saying what he had, but it seemed impossible. A woman? “I’m inclined to agree with John,” Nottingham announced finally. “It must have been a coincidence. I’ve never known a woman go out and stab in cold blood like this killer.”
Forester looked crestfallen.
