Mersey Dark Read online

  As they moved to re-enter the pub Tanner slipped from his hiding place and stepped behind the open door, grabbing a short stave of wood from the back of the cart as he passed. Just as he did the second pair of thieves came out carrying a bundle of timber on their shoulders.

  Tanner waited until the brother at the back passed him, then slipped inside the pub pulling both doors behind him. Mickey and his brother Bobby were bending to gather up some lead sheet when Tanner slipped the stave of wood through the door handles, effectively locking it.

  “Evening Mickey,” Tanner said, in a calm and measured voice.

  Both Flynn brothers spun and stared at the detective, eyes wide with surprise. It might have been comical in other circumstances, but right now Tanner needed to keep his wits about him.

  “Evening Mister Tanner,” Mickey said, with a smile on his face that tried valiantly to hide his shock at being discovered. His eyes darted to the door, seeing the crude lock.

  “You boys are working late today Mickey. Come to think of it, when I heard you boys were working in the building trade I wasn’t sure I believed it. I mean, I knew you could lay your hands on materials from time to time but manual labour really doesn’t seem your sort of thing at all.” Tanner moved away from the door as he heard it being rattled from the outside. He was sure the wood securing it would hold but it paid not to take chances. The two brothers who were locked out in the rain began to shout.

  “Just helping out a friend, you know detective. There was all these supplies left over from this job and it needed moving so we thought we could lend a hand.” As he spoke Mickey and Bobby were slowly separating, trying to flank Tanner. He wouldn’t have been concerned with taking either of them in a straight fight, the Flynn brothers were not the biggest of lads, but two together might mean trouble if he allowed himself to be caught between them.

  “Very civic minded of you, Mickey. In fact, I hear you’ve been pretty civic minded all over Liverpool just recently. The word is that you’ve been helping out on a lot of building sites. Now what can you tell me about that?”

  Out of the corner of his eye Tanner saw Bobby, the slightly bigger brother, roll up the sleeves of his wet linen shirt. Tanner squeezed his fist, testing the fit of his knuckleduster.

  “No idea what you’re talking about, Mister Tanner,” Mickey replied while moving opposite his brother.

  “I don’t suppose you’d mind coming down to Prescott Street to answer a few questions, would you?”

  “Well I would but, you see this here job needs doing tonight. If I was to come with your good self I would have to leave my brothers to finish the job. That wouldn’t be very sporting of me, now would it?” As he spoke, Mickeys Irish accent became thicker until Tanner had to concentrate just to understand what was being said to him.

  He had heard enough however, he slipped the hand wearing the knuckleduster out of his pocket and stepped toward Bobby Flynn. Despite the fact the bothers had been trying to corner him, Tanner seemed to take the Irishman by surprise. The blow he landed on his chin was glancing but sufficient to send him tumbling back over a stack of timber.

  As Bobby fell, Tanner felt Mickey’s weight land on his back. The man was small but scrappy and Tanner found himself fighting to stop his eyes from being gouged. He drove his elbow back into the ribs of the younger brother, feeling it connect but without much force.

  Blinded by the probing fingers of Mickey, Tanner did not see the punch that landed in his stomach, driving the breath from his lungs. He gasped for air and took three backward steps, inadvertently driving Mickey into the partially dismantled bar. The hands that were still trying to find his eyes let go and Tanner stepped back into the middle of the room, gasping for air.

  Mickey lay on the floor behind him as Bobby lunged in for another punch. It was clumsy and crude, leaving Tanner ample time to sidestep and drop his elbow onto the back of the man’s neck. As he was driven downward by the force of Tanner’s blow the detective raised his knee into the Irishman’s face. He dropped to the wooden floor with a thump and didn’t attempt to raise himself.

  The shouts from outside the door were getting frantic as the two brothers who were trapped outside heard the fighting. Tanner turned to Mickey just in time to avoid being knocked out by the wild swing of short length of timber. He stepped backward, careful to avoid the scattered obstacles on the floor.

  “Make it easy on yourself, Mickey,” he said with a grin. The Irishman said nothing but kept coming with the wood held high over his shoulder. Tanner kept slowly moving backward waiting for his chance to disarm the smaller man.

  “Come down to the station, answer a few questions and I’m sure we can sort it all out,” Tanner said, not taking his eyes off Mickey. “You wouldn’t want to end up like your brother outside or Bobby here, now would you?” As he asked he pointed to the unconscious figure of the bigger Flynn brother who was sprawled on the floor slightly behind Mickey. As Tanner had hoped he would, Mickey glanced down and backward in order to follow Tanner’s outstretched finger.

  The detective stepped forward and took hold of the man’s wrist with one hand. The struggle was brief and completely one-sided, Mickey tried to swing his makeshift weapon but succeeded in nothing more than ineffectually wafting it around in the air. With the other hand Tanner grabbed hold of Mickey’s shoulder then drove his forehead into the thief’s nose. Mickey let out a muffled grunt and went limp. Tanner lowered the Irishman to the floor and turned to survey the scene.

  The two brothers outside were still hammering on the door, shouting to be let in. Tanner’s blood was up and he considered giving them exactly what they wanted. He was fairly sure that opening the door and taking them by surprise would be all the advantage he needed in taking all five Flynn brothers down to the bridewell on Argyle Street, using their own cart to transport them.

  As it was he guessed he might have ridden his luck for today and he looked for a way out of the situation without further violence. He reached into his coat pocket and produced a pair of iron cuffs which he used on one of Mickey’s wrists. He then dragged the unfortunate man over to an upright post near the bar and secured him with his hands behind his back.

  Bobby wasn’t so straightforward as Tanner only carried one set of cuffs. He found a length of twine among the building supplies and a length of wood that was about three feet across. With knots that his father had taught him, he tied the second Flynn brother so that each hand was at opposite ends of the wood. By the time he had finished, Bobby looked like the victim of a drunken crucifixion. Both of the Irishmen remained unconscious.

  Outside the door the shouting and banging suddenly stopped. Tanner cocked an ear and listened, sure enough the familiar sound of police whistles could be heard coming toward the Baltic Fleet.

  He rushed to the door and opened it to see two uniformed officers chasing the last two Flynn brothers down Hurst Street. A third officer, a man Tanner knew by sight but not by name stopped as he saw the door open. Lit from behind by the lamp Tanner realised he might not be so easy to recognise so he introduced himself.

  “DC Tanner, Argyle Street,” he said to the bobby as came to a halt with a splash. Rain ran off his top hat and Tanner backed away from the door to allow the man to enter the pub.

  “Evening, detective. PC Jones,” the constable said holding out a hand which Tanner shook. “Looks like you’ve had a busy night. Two of the Flynn brothers in one go? That’s impressive. We had a report of a disturbance, we assumed it was a fight next door so we came heavy handed, looks like you were doing quite well by yourself.” PC Jones surveyed the room as he spoke.

  “There might be a third one outside, near the cart unless his brothers found him,” Tanner said with a grin. As he spoke a second officer joined PC Jones in the pub.

  “Bastard got away I’m afraid, moved like a whippet with his tail on fire. Do you know there’s one of them lying in a puddle out there?” The newcomer asked.

  “Excellent,” said Tanner. “I assume I can rel
y on you boys to get these lowlifes back to Argyle Street for me? I feel like I’ve earned myself a drink. Make sure to bring the stuff in off the cart before you do though.”

  The two constables looked at each and grinned. Tanner knew what was going through their minds. The chance to bring in three of the Flynn brothers, caught red handed, would be enough of a story to drink on for a month. Jones leaned forward and offered Tanner a warm hand which the detective shook before leaving the Baltic Fleet.

  He followed his feet down toward the Albert dock, the rain finally abating and leaving a clear sky full of stars in its wake. He loved this town and her streets, she was his family and his life. He looked out toward the ships that were anchored, waiting for the Mersey Flats to off-load their cargo. Their skeletal rigging casting moon shadows on the dark water. Looking at them always reminded him of his father.

  The old man had been an able seaman aboard the HMS Britannia and had fought at Trafalgar. A few years later he had insisted on calling his only son Nelson. He had dreamed of seeing his boy set sail for a life at sea, only to find that he couldn’t even cross the Mersey on the ferry without being sick. He had never said so, but Tanner knew he had died with a heart full of broken dreams and disappointment. Tanner’s mother had followed his father into the ground less than a year later

  They had never seen Tanner join the Liverpool Constabulary and had been long in their graves by the time their son had become DC Tanner. Since then the town had become his home and her people his family.

  Like all families they had their ups and downs. There were times when he was filled with love and others when he hated everything about the place. She was a place of wealth and poverty, haves and have-nots. The very rich lived side by side with families who could not afford to put food in their children’s mouths.

  The town had grown up on slavery, but those days were gone. The men and women who passed through the docks these days were free. Coming and going from The Americas, Africa and Ireland, the town was rich with different cultures and strangled by crime. She was a place like no other in the British Empire and Nelson Tanner loved her for it.

  Chapter Two

  “Oh Timothy, wasn’t it wonderful?” Elizabeth Whitchurch asked excitedly.

  Her voice was almost lost under the thunder of iron-rimmed wheels on cobblestones but her fiancé, Timothy Hitchins turned and pasted a weary smile to his lips as a reply. She knew he had little in the way of imagination and had been surprised when he had agreed to accompany her to the Theatre Royal to see the comedy, “An Act in the Life of Garrick.”

  “Yes dearest, it was quite wonderful. Very amusing,” he answered distractedly as he turned to the carriage window once more. He watched the gas-lit buildings of Liverpool flash past, causing her to laugh in mock exasperation.

  The play had been quite dull in Elizabeth’s opinion, it was a comedy that had been originally written in German. She wasn’t sure but had a feeling that a lot had been lost in the translation. The theatre itself was a different matter. She loved the pomp and spectacle of men in their finest suits and the women at their most beautiful. What was happening on stage was almost of no consequence to her in comparison to the display on the balconies and in the boxes.

  “Did you really think it was good?” she asked, trying to pry Timothy’s attention from the flotsam and jetsam of the Liverpool night.

  “Not really, if I’m honest. I found it dull but it was delightful to spend an evening with the most beautiful woman in town,” he said, covering nicely for his lack of attention, in Elizabeth’s opinion.

  She understood he worked very hard and calling on him to muster the energy for a night out was sometimes more than she had a right to expect. His job, in his father’s law firm, was very demanding but also financially rewarding. However, far from allowing him an easy ride, Timothy’s father demanded more from his son than any of the other lawyers.

  Few were the days on which Elizabeth didn’t count her blessings for the opportunity to marry him. She knew it was a case of hypergamy, a word her late father had taught her. He had not been a particularly well educated man but had been fond of long words.

  She remembered the day when she was twelve years old, when she had gone to him and told him that he was a sesquipedalian. She had learned the word from her teacher and had delighted in telling her father about it. He had laughed and twirled her around like a dancer at the ballet.

  “You flatterer me, Timothy,” she giggled.

  “Hardly my dear,” he said with a rye smile. “I was the proudest man in Liverpool tonight, with you on my arm.”

  She smiled once more, Timothy was on his finest form this evening, meaning only one thing. They had been engaged for almost a year now and while not the most traditional of couples, Elizabeth did worry what people might be saying about them.

  “Timothy,” she began, “I’m not sure you should be staying the night at my house again, so soon after the last time.” She said it with just the right amount of sternness. Wanting him to understand that she was serious but not wanting to come across as nagging.

  “And what difference should it make when I stayed last? It’s your home, it’s not like your father can object.” Timothy said, rising to anger. Elizabeth had been right about his intentions, and he was not one to have his urges quelled. Mention of her late father in such a crude fashion brought tears to her eyes that she tried to suppress. Timothy must have seen them, however.

  “Really? Tears? Do have a little backbone, Elizabeth,” he said, unkindly.

  “Timothy, we were having such a wonderful evening, why spoil it now?” she asked with a hitch in her voice that betrayed her emotions.

  He turned back toward the window and took a deep breath. After a moment he sighed and turned back to her.

  “Elizabeth, you know I love you. The thing is my mother is insisting on such a long engagement and a man has...needs. Especially when he has such a beautiful woman to look at every day. It’s a wonder I haven’t gone mad with desire.”

  Mention of the long engagement was a bone of contention between them. Elizabeth knew that the old woman had only insisted on it because she was sure her son would grow bored and find someone more of his station. It had been the reason she had agreed to sleep with him in the first place and the reason her resolve faltered now.

  “Well,” she said, “we must be careful not to be seen and it must be the last time for a while.”

  Timothy smiled and made an attempt at a bow, a difficult thing to do while sitting, “As you wish, my lady.” The pair of them sat back and lapsed into a silence that while not comfortable, was at least familiar. Timothy was a strong man and could be quick to anger but this served to make Elizabeth feel secure that he was the kind of man she could rely on to protect her.

  They finally pulled to a row of town houses that had their frontages on the pavement and the pair of them were in the door almost as soon as they were out of the carriage.

  The house was silent. This was unusual because Wilson, Elizabeth’s servant, would normally bustle about when she first came in, making sure she was well. Maybe, she thought, he had retired for the night. He was old and the grandfather clock in the hall said it was almost midnight. It certainly wasn’t unheard of for him to be asleep by this time of night.

  Timothy moved into the parlour, taking off his Crombie and throwing it over the back of an armchair. Elizabeth smiled at his slovenliness, picking the coat up and hanging it on the coat stand in the hallway. By the time she came back into the parlour he was pouring himself a drink from the cabinet in the corner. She had never been a drinker before she met Timothy, in fact it had been his idea to get the drinks cabinet in the first place. He held up his scotch to the lamp light before taking a drink.

  “Anything for you my dear? Sherry?” he asked over his shoulder.

  “Whatever you think,” she said distractedly as something thumped in the room above them. She looked at the ceiling as if that might give her a clue as to what was moving ar
ound up there. The main bedroom was in the front of the house and she wondered if Wilson was not yet in bed , after all. He often pottered in and out of her room, tidying and tending to her clothes.

  Timothy passed her a glass of sherry which she sipped before sitting on the couch. He joined her, sitting knee to knee and placing a hand on her leg.

  “Don’t be so eager, Timothy,” she said, smiling. Her fiancé was not a man used to waiting for things. He was driven and demanding, both qualities that she found attractive in a man. However the look on his face at this moment gave her cause to stop, he was hungry for her and it made him a little ugly.

  “Oh, don’t be precious, Elizabeth. It’s not like we haven’t done this before. Let’s take our drinks up to the bedroom.”

  Timothy stood up and took her hand, pulling her gently from the couch, as he did there was a flourish of noise from the room above, as if someone had dropped something heavy and it had rolled across the floor.

  “What on earth was that?” Timothy asked, turning toward the staircase. He looked back to Elizabeth and seeing no answer on her face began toward the door.

  “Timothy, be careful,” she said, all thought of Wilson driven from her mind. A sense of trepidation was settling on her, she was suddenly sure there was a burglar in the house.

  He took another step toward the door and then seemed to think twice about it and moved to the fireplace, taking up a heavy iron poker from the companion. Testing its weight, he motioned for her to sit down and opened the door.

  She did as he bid and sat on the couch. She heard him walk up the stairs, his footsteps deadened by the carpet. What followed felt like the longest few moments of her life. Time seemed to stretch and almost stop. She strained her ears to hear what was happening above her, looking up at the ceiling as if she might somehow see.

  After she felt like she had waited for a life time, she got up off the sofa and opened the parlour door. There was silence from upstairs, she could hear nothing moving at all. She tried to say Timothy’s name but nothing escaped her except a weak rush of air. She made a second attempt.