Today's Reading
CHAPTER ONE
Leeds, 18 February, 1941
Cathy Marsden glanced up, startled to see it was dark. It seemed no time since dusk had started to gather as she entered the rooming house deep in Hunslet. But she'd only had one thing on her mind as she darted through the streets: hurrying back to the office to pass on what she'd discovered.
Across Leeds bridge, then up Briggate, the canvas gas mask case bumping against her hip. Under the old railway arch, with its dirty, torn poster of Mr Churchill, and the newspaper seller shouting for people to read about the Allies defeating the Italians in Libya. A relief to have some good news, she thought, but her battle wasn't in Africa. It was here in Leeds. She pushed herself to go faster, face set, feet pounding against the pavement.
Cathy willed people out of her way, making a hurried apology as she brushed past an old couple who dawdled along the street. Almost six o'clock, according to the clock above Dyson's jewellers. No time to waste. After a frustrating week of following hints that had taken them absolutely nowhere, she finally had a solid lead on the man they'd been seeking.
She waited as the traffic passed on Boar Lane, impatient to be moving.
Less than a minute and she'd be there. She was breathing fast, heart thumping in her chest.
The scream came and she jerked her head round.
The little girl had strayed into the road. Three or four years old, wearing a brown coat with a pixie hood, grubby socks bunched around her ankles, clutching her teddy bear against her body, and paralysed with terror as the tram came towards her.
Cathy heard the screech of metal as the driver jammed on the brake.
Sparks flew up from the tracks. Not a hope of stopping in time.
Six years as a policewoman had taught her well. Calmly, Cathy stepped out, clutched the girl's arm and dragged her back to the kerb as the tram rumbled past.
A fleshy, raw-faced woman was crying, caught in shock, squatting down and holding the child, shouting at her then pulling her close and hugging her.
Cathy spotted the bear in the gutter, picked it up and tucked it under the girl's arm.
'You don't want to lose him, do you?'
With a solemn stare, the girl shook her head.
'I—' the woman began, but Cathy saw a gap in the traffic, waving as she darted across the street and hurried away.
Only a moment, instantly forgotten. She had bigger things on her mind. The building stood fifty yards up Briggate. It was completely anonymous, no sign, just a solid brick front and a thick metal door. She slipped inside just as the first cold drops of February rain began to fall, showed her pass to the guard, and took the stairs at a run.
All this had been planned as the grand new Marks and Spencer store where the Rialto cinema had once stood. Almost ready to open when war was declared and the Ministry of Works requisitioned the place. Counters and clothing racks were hauled away, replaced with row after row of desks. Only the signs on the walls offered a reminder of what it had almost become: Ladies' Clothing. Childrenswear. First Floor, Menswear.
Cathy stopped at the door with Special Investigation Branch printed in small dark letters on a board, taking a breath before she turned the handle. Derek Smith and Terry Davis looked up as she entered.
She beamed. 'I've found out where Rob Dobson has been hiding himself.'
'What? Where?' Derek said. He pushed a pair of glasses up his nose.
'How? We've been hunting all over—' Davis began, but she cut him off.
'He's calling himself Roger Leeson now. Less than an hour ago he was
tucked away in that dosshouse down from Braime's on Hunslet Road. No doubt it's him. I've checked.' She exhaled and grinned. 'Is the boss around?'
...
