they’ll find me in time, Nottingham thought, if Wyatt has his way. He lowered Rushworth again.
‘Anything by the body?’
‘There was a set of scuffed footprints down from the bridge,’ Sedgwick answered with a shrug. ‘For what that’s worth. No blood, nothing else.’
‘Just one set? No sign he’d dragged Rushworth?’
‘Only one,’ the deputy confirmed. ‘I’d just left home when a lad came and grabbed me. They’d gone down there for a snowball fight and seen him.’
‘None of the night men saw anything?’
‘Nothing out of the ordinary. Sorry, boss.’
Nottingham turned to look at the deputy.
‘Two corpses in one night,’ he said sardonically. ‘Spring must be here.’
‘Isaac. . any idea who killed him yet?’ Sedgwick asked.
‘Two of them, by the sound of it. He was up on Lands Lane, by the orchard. They ransacked his room, too.’
‘So they’d been watching him.’
‘Seems like it.’
And we failed him. We failed both of them, he thought. We can’t keep people alive. If the weather doesn’t claim them, sickness does. If not that, then it’s a knife or a blow. They all die, and we can’t stop it. He felt as if the cold was seeping through his flesh and deep into his heart.
‘We can’t do anything more here. Let’s go into the warmth.’
He put more coal on the fire, thinking as the blaze began to take hold.
‘Get the men out and question people as they cross the bridge later. Someone will remember one man carrying another in this weather.’
‘I’ve already got two of them asking around,’ Sedgwick told him.
Nottingham smiled. ‘I’m sorry. You know what to do. But get down there yourself. You’re smarter than they are. You know what to ask, and how to listen. Even a good description of Wyatt would be something.’ The Constable continued, ‘Josh is looking into Isaac’s murder.’
‘We’ll get Wyatt, boss.’
‘Will we get him in time, though?’ He sat down and ran a hand through his hair. ‘You’d better put a closer watch on the judge, too.’
‘And what about you? Who’s going to watch you?’
Nottingham smiled slightly.
‘You tried that with Josh. We don’t have the men for it. I’m ready for Wyatt if he comes.’ He paused and corrected himself. ‘When he comes.’
‘Boss.’
He looked up and saw the anguish on Sedgwick’s face. The deputy began to pace.
‘I’ve never gone against you, have I?’
‘No, John, you haven’t,’ the Constable said mildly.
‘Do you want to get yourself killed?’
‘No.’ Even as he answered, he considered the question. A month ago, even a week ago, he might not have cared. Now that he’d felt Mary’s touch again, seen Emily smile, life had the possibility of becoming liveable again. ‘No, believe me, I want to stay alive.’
‘Then why won’t you let me put a couple of the men on you? It could make all the difference.’
‘Because. .’ Nottingham began. If he was going to be abruptly honest, there was little reason beyond his pride. He needed to show he was better than a murderer, however wily the killer might be. ‘Who do we have who wouldn’t be spotted in a minute by Wyatt? Apart from Josh.’
‘No one,’ the deputy admitted reluctantly.
‘We’ve got men on the judge, we have men looking for Wyatt, Josh is out hunting for Isaac’s killer. We just don’t have enough people. Certainly not enough good people.’
‘I know.’
‘Go back to the bridge. See if the men have heard anything, and start asking some questions. If we can learn something, if we can take Wyatt soon, none of this will matter.’
Sedgwick nodded briefly, an agreement and an admission of defeat.
Alone, Nottingham penned a brief new report about the two murders. He knew that the Mayor would only be concerned with one of them, and then only for the murderer, not the victim.
He gathered up the paper and went out into the thin, angry cold to deliver it. As he passed the White Swan a figure emerged from the shadow of the door. His coat collar was turned up high, the hat pulled down to protect him from the weather.
As he passed the Constable he stumbled and slid on the ice, arms flailing for support, then grabbing Nottingham’s coat. The Constable felt panic soar through his body. He’d let his guard fall. He couldn’t react, couldn’t reach his knives. Christ, this was Wyatt.
Sixteen
The man hissed two words — ‘For Isaac’ — righted himself and strode on quickly. For all the world it was an incident of the weather.
Nottingham turned back to the jail, bile rising in his throat. His hands were shaking, his back coated with a clammy sheen of sweat. He steadied himself against the wall for a moment, glad of the crude, real feel of the stone against his palm.
Inside, away from eyes that might see too much, he reached into his pocket and removed the scrap of paper that Hawthorn the Peacher had put there.
‘The Henderson brothers’ were the only words.
He breathed slowly, feeling his heartbeat slowly calm as he paced the floor. God save me, he thought. How could he have been so stupid? A moment was all it ever took. Any stranger, any man, could be Wyatt. He drank some ale from the mug on the desk, gulping at it greedily, waiting until the fear had all drained out of him. Then he looked at the paper again.
The Henderson brothers. Peter and Paul. It made sense, he thought, terrible, awful sense. For the last three years they’d felt themselves above the law of ordinary men. They’d swaggered around the city as if they felt it owed them everything, that it was theirs to claim.
He’d had them in the jail at least a dozen times, accused of theft, beatings, even rape on two occasions. But their longest stay had been overnight. The accusations had always been withdrawn. It was all a mistake, he’d be told; the wrong men identified, no crime really committed. Then he’d been forced to release them, impotent as he watched them leave the jail with the smirks wide on their privileged faces.
Their father was Alderman Henderson, a wool merchant who’d been on the Corporation for more years than Nottingham could recall. A man of influence, a man with money, who’d spend it to keep legal stains from the family name.
Nottingham was sure the man knew the truth about his sons. But to admit it would mean admitting his failure with them. So each time they were arrested the family lawyer came scurrying. He jingled money in his purse, the walls of power were quickly thrown up, and the law was turned away empty-handed. It was the cobweb justice that prevailed throughout the land. The small were caught fast, helpless. Those who were bigger simply broke their way through.
Murder, though, was something else. If he could find the proof, Peter and Paul might yet dance on the gibbet. And he’d make an enemy for life on the Corporation.
It wasn’t what he’d expected from Peacher Hawthorn, but he was glad to have the names. Now Nottingham had to do his job and find evidence strong enough to convict. At least there’d be plenty willing to talk against them; Isaac had been well-respected in Leeds. The Hendersons’ ways might have bought them sycophants, fearful of their arrogance, but they had precious few friends.
