He should kill the man right here, slice his throat open, just the way Wyatt had done with Graves and Rushworth. Kill him and send him down the river. Wyatt had to be erased from history, as surely as if he’d never come back to Leeds.
The man extended his arm as if he was going to pull himself along, fingers curling to prepare for the effort. Wyatt’s eyes flashed with pain, then his arm whipped out towards Nottingham’s leg.
The Constable stepped back neatly, leaving Wyatt clutching at air.
‘Get up,’ he said again.
‘Not going to kill me?’ Wyatt’s voice was a sly taunt. ‘Maybe your shoulder still hurts too much? Or do you want the trophy?’
‘You’ll die. I can guarantee that.’
The man looked up with the furtive gaze of an animal. ‘I’m used to it. I was dead inside from the time the ship left until it returned. Then I came alive again. A resurrected man, Constable.’ He gave a short, sharp bark of a laugh. ‘Dying again doesn’t scare me. I could slide out of here and into the river.’
‘Then why don’t you?’
‘Because I’d rather make you kill me.’ He moved slightly and twisted his mouth at the pain. ‘But you won’t. Not in cold blood.’
Nottingham said nothing. The man was right. He relished the idea, but he couldn’t do it. Not like this. He heard a noise and half-turned, watching Wyatt from the corner of his eye.
Sedgwick and Worthy stood in the doorway. The pimp’s thigh was coarsely bandaged, an old piece of grimy cloth wound tightly around it. He was limping heavily, using his stick and dragging his boot as he hobbled. He seemed aged, suddenly vulnerable, his large body bent and deflated. The creases and folds of his face were deeper and rougher, showing the old man he usually hid so well.
At least Sedgwick looked unhurt. His eyes were fixed on Wyatt, burning with hatred.
‘So you got the bastard,’ Worthy said. He might have looked smaller but his voice still had power, and the anger flowed in his words.
‘He’s too scared to kill me,’ Wyatt taunted. ‘He’s a man of principle, is Mr Nottingham.’
‘But I’m not, laddie.’ Worthy pronounced the words flatly, as if it was a perfectly understood fact of life. He reached under his greatcoat and pulled a long knife from its sheath on his belt. ‘You stabbed me. I’m not going to let anyone do that and get away with it.’
‘There’s always a price, isn’t there?’ Wyatt sounded fatalistic, almost content at having been given a final sentence.
‘Aye, there is.’ Worthy spoke softly. ‘And it has to be paid in full.’
Nottingham stood and watched. He knew Worthy too well. The man had announced he’d kill, so Wyatt would die. And Nottingham would do nothing to prevent it. All he felt now was relief that he wouldn’t have to complete the task himself.
‘Do you know who I am?’ Worthy asked.
‘No.’ Wyatt shook his head, eyes moving between the three men standing above him. Sedgwick hung back, uneasy, but the Constable ignored the glances he gave.
‘You’re not with them, that’s for certain.’ Wyatt moved his leg and gritted his teeth.
‘A man ought to know who’s killing him,’ the pimp told him. ‘I’m Amos Worthy. That name mean anything?’
‘Nothing. Should it?’
‘Sam Graves was a friend of mine. I admired him.’
‘You never worked for him, then.’
‘That’s as mebbe.’ Worthy cut off the interruption. ‘But he helped me when none of the other sods in this place would.’
‘Good for you.’ Wyatt raised his head then hawked and spat. ‘He destroyed my life.’
‘The way I’ve heard it, you were caught stealing from him. So don’t tell me you didn’t have it coming. And you didn’t just kill him, laddie, you desecrated him.’
Wyatt didn’t respond.
‘A real man wouldn’t need to do that,’ Worthy said with venom. As the anger rose in him he stood more erect and seemed to grow younger, chest jutting out menacingly.
‘Boss. .’ Sedgwick said, but Nottingham waved him to silence.
Wyatt looked up at the Constable. ‘Charlotte?’ he asked.
Nottingham shook his head. She’d disappear too, so there was no lingering vestige of what had happened. The Mayor would have a discreet word with Graves’s widow, and there was no one to care about Rushworth.
‘You’d better kill me, then,’ Wyatt said with finality.
‘Think you deserve a quick, easy death, do you, laddie?’
‘Does what I think matter to you, old man?’ It was a goad, and Worthy reacted.
He was swift with the blade, slicing across Wyatt’s neck. The blood gushed up in a shining arc. As his breath gurgled, Wyatt turned to the Constable. There was no fear in his stare, just triumph.
Nottingham held the murderer’s eyes until the life had gone from them. It was over in a moment but it seemed to last forever.
Worthy wiped the blade on his coat and returned it to its sheath.
‘We’d better get him out of here.’
The words roused the Constable. It made sense. Even in this village of the dead a bloody corpse would raise questions. He turned to glance at Worthy.
‘Put him in the river, laddie,’ the pimp said, emphasizing each word slowly as if addressing someone simple.
Nottingham took the corpse by the collar, dragging it slowly over the ground. Outside the rain continued, but the air smelt clean and fresh, of life.
‘Let him drop,’ Worthy ordered, and the Constable released his hold. Putting his weight on the stick, the procurer limped over. He raised his leg and pushed at Wyatt, grunting with effort and pain.
The body began to roll and tumble down the slick, muddy surface towards the river. The water flowed violently as Wyatt slid inexorably towards it.
The river took him quickly, the current pulling him down like a lover and dragging him under. Nottingham waited, wondering, half-hoping he’d surface, but there was nothing, just the flow surging downstream.
‘Looks like your murderer drowned, Constable,’ Worthy said finally before sliding the knife into its sheath and limping away slowly.
Nottingham didn’t move. He just stood and looked at the river, barely even noticing the rain. He didn’t stir until Sedgwick reached out and touched his arm.
‘Let’s go back to the jail, boss.’
‘I suppose we should, John.’ He sighed. ‘There’s nothing more here.’
Thirty-Five
He was surprised to see people moving on the streets, the bustle of a crowd, of horses and humans, none of them knowing what had happened. Nottingham felt as if he’d walked out of a dream. Or perhaps a nightmare.
Sedgwick was at his side, hunched against the weather, his face dark with concern. They turned on to Kirkgate then into the sanctuary of the jail. Nottingham sat, not even taking off his coat.
The deputy tended the fire, poking the coal until the flames danced and warmth began to fill the room. Without a word, the Constable stood and walked through to the cells. Charlotte was sitting on the floor, knees pulled to her chest, her gown grubby and gathered around her legs.
‘Is he dead?’ she asked.
‘Yes,’ he told her. ‘He drowned.’ How easy it was to lie, he thought.
She nodded, unsurprised by the news. Her hair was lank, its black colour heavily streaked with grey in the morning light. ‘And what about me? How are you going to kill me?’
