Chapter Five — The City of Clues

Over the next three days Salters walked Leeds almost continuously.

He walked because he believed that cities revealed themselves differently to pedestrians. From a car, Leeds was a collection of roads. From a bus, it became a sequence of windows. But on foot the city became something else entirely: a maze of distances, smells, overheard conversations, locked doors, service entrances, alleys, railway arches and buildings whose backs told a different story from their fronts.

He began at Leeds Station.

From there he crossed City Square and walked towards Briggate, studying the route Mercer was believed to have taken. He stood beneath the dark bulk of the Town Hall while rainwater streamed along the kerb. He passed the arcades, where the polished windows reflected an empty street, and continued towards the market.

At Kirkgate Market he found the first genuine clue.

A stallholder remembered Mercer.

Not because he had spoken to him.

Because Mercer had been standing outside in the rain looking at the market clock.

"Was he waiting for someone?" Salters asked.

"I thought so."

"Did anyone join him?"

The stallholder thought.

"Yes."

"Who?"

"I don't know."

"What did he look like?"

The stallholder frowned.

"Older man. Dark coat."

"Anything else?"

"Hat."

Salters sighed.

"Half of Leeds owns a dark coat."

The stallholder laughed.

Salters didn't.

Because he had noticed something.

The market clock was eight minutes slow.