Come the Fear by Chris Nickson Page A

him.
    â€˜You ran off fast enough yesterday,’ Caroline said. ‘Did your fancy woman see you?’
    â€˜I’m safe, she’s only around Thursdays and Fridays,’ Sedgwick answered with a wink to make her giggle, the years falling from her face for a moment. ‘Did you find out a name for me?’
    â€˜I did,’ she said proudly. ‘It’s going to cost you, though.’
    â€˜I expected that. Nowt’s free in this life. Nor in the next one, probably.’ He took a coin from his pocket and gave it to her. ‘What’s his name?’
    â€˜Joshua Davidson. Strange man with a limp. He has two lasses. Says they’re his sisters, but I don’t know.’
    â€˜How do you mean?’
    She looked up at him with eyes full of hurt. ‘Mr Sedgwick, what kind of man would turn his sisters out for whores?’
    â€˜More than you’d imagine. You look after yourself,’ he told her.
    â€˜And you look after your Lizzie and that little girl, Mr Sedgwick.’
    He took the name back to the jail. The Constable raised his eyebrows when he heard it.
    â€˜I’d better go and have another talk with Mr Davidson.’
    â€˜You want me to come with you, boss?’
    â€˜No,’ Nottingham answered slowly. ‘I might have misjudged him once, but I won’t do it again.’
    Although morning had passed the shutters were still closed at the small house by Shaw Pool. He hammered heavily on the door and waited, then knocked again, rattling the wood in its warped frame. Finally he heard footsteps and Davidson appeared, barely dressed in shirt and breeches, blinking and yawning.
    â€˜Constable,’ he said in sleepy surprise. ‘What brings you back here? Nowt wrong, is there?’
    â€˜You’d better let me in,’ Nottingham said stonily. ‘I’ve some questions to ask.’
    Davidson limped heavily away and the Constable followed him to the kitchen. There was coal in a bucket but no fire burned in the room and he felt the chill in the air. An old table had been scrubbed clean, three chairs pulled up close to it. The floor was beaten earth, worn down by generations of feet.
    â€˜Sit thisen down,’ Davidson said with a smile. ‘There’s some ale if you like.’
    Nottingham remained standing and shook his head. ‘You’ve been lying to me.’
    The man cocked his head and gave a gentle, bemused smile. ‘Me?’ he asked.
    â€˜You.’
    â€˜What have I lied about?’ Davidson scratched his head.
    â€˜You said you only run two girls.’
    â€˜Aye, that’s right enough. Me sisters, like I told you.’ He poured himself a mug of ale from a tall old jug that stood by the window.
    â€˜What about Lucy Wendell?’ the Constable asked.
    The man chuckled. ‘Is that what this is about, then? Little Lucy?’
    â€˜It is, Mr Davidson. She’s missing, and the last time she was seen was when she was whoring for you.’
    â€˜That were all of one night,’ Davidson said, shaking his head sadly. ‘She didn’t bring in any money, anyway. The way she looked and all, and her getting heavy round the belly, I told her it wasn’t the life for her.’
    â€˜So you beat her when she didn’t earn anything.’
    â€˜I bloody well did not.’ The man crashed the mug down hard on the table, eyes blazing. ‘I’ll not have it said I hit lasses.’
    â€˜No?’ Nottingham asked, his eyes cold, watching the pimp’s face carefully. ‘Who did, then?’
    â€˜Someone who had her and didn’t pay.’
    â€˜And why should I believe you?’
    â€˜Ask me sisters if you like. They’ll tell you.’
    â€˜Where are they?’
    â€˜Out earning, I expect. They were both gone when I woke up.’
    He’d find them later and ask his questions.
    â€˜Why did Lucy come to you?’
    The man wiped the back of his hand across his mouth.