Watling nodded, and held out his hand. “May I see those papers, Mr Masters. For my own satisfaction, that is. It seems that in Lincoln we’re a little behind in our current knowledge.”
Masters handed them over. “Keep them, Doctor. I’ll get more photocopies from the RSM.”
“Thanks.”
“Now what?” asked Green.
“I’ve talked enough for the moment,” said Masters. “You carry on, please.”
“Fair enough,” replied Green. “You’ve heard about the means used for killing Belton and Herberden. The motive, which we don’t have to show, but which helps in court, was Happy’s certainty that Melada had been killed by Belton. You’ve heard how she came to that conclusion and, indeed, how she proved it to her own satisfaction. We shall contend that revenge for Melada’s death caused her to plan Belton’s murder and then Heberden’s. We have not questioned her on these points yet, but we believe that though she had asked Belton to help her to stop Melada buying the church, she did not want her man stopped quite as finally as he was. We think that the shock of Melada’s death and her intention to revenge herself on Belton caused her to regard Heberden, who was an unwitting partner to the cause of the tragedy, as equally guilty with or as an accomplice of Belton. To a mind sufficiently deranged to plan a murder, the fact that Heberden had put up five thousand quid to help do Melada down was sufficient to brand him as second murderer. Have I made myself clear, so far?”
Everybody present agreed Green had made his point.
“Good. Now carrying on from there, we reckon that Happy, being a clever little thing, had to think of where to dispose of Belton’s body. Now we don’t know whether she guessed Melada’s body was in the vicinity of the church or not, but we do know that on the first occasion on which she visited St John’s she was left alone in the churchyard for some considerable time while Melada went with the vicar to collect the key. We also know that she looked round the churchyard and while doing that she couldn’t fail to see the well, just as we did when we went there first. So, wondering where to hide the body, she thinks of the well.”
“That’s all very well,” said Webb, “but how did she get Belton to go there?”
“We’ll have to see what she says about that, but I reckon if you’d buried the body of a man you’d killed in a churchyard, and that man’s wife rings up and says: ‘Will you meet me at the church, there’s something I want to say to you or show you?’ What would be your reaction? You’re not to know she’s chosen that place because it’s got a well in which to hide your body. You think she’s discovered something else—something you’d rather not have uncovered.”
“Melada’s body?”
“Of course. The one thing uppermost in your mind is that body, so when somebody asks you to meet them where you’ve buried it, you’re bound to fear the worst. Certainly you can’t refuse to go. You’ve got to go. Just in case there’s something that’s given you away.”
“Even, I suppose,” said Berger, “you might have to be prepared to kill again.”
“Right, lad. Belton may have thought he’d have to silence Happy. But when he arrives, she asks him to look at the well because there’s something funny about it. Full of relief that she hasn’t found the grave, he’s a bit off guard, and goes to the well. She’s close by and does her stuff with her etorphine needle or bit of twig or whatever she used. He doesn’t know what’s hit him. In no time at all he’s dead, and all she has to do is tumble him down the shaft. He’s walked there on his own two feet, remember, and so she just pulls or nudges him over until gravity and his own weight do the rest. Exit Belton.
“She’s gone to the church on her Chopper bike. Now she puts this in the back of the car and drives to Lincoln. She takes the Chopper out in some quiet place where she can leave it, handy, and drives the car to a spot where it is certain to cause an immediate obstruction in the road and so gets towed away by the police. She gets out, locks the car, and walks back to the Chopper. She may even have gone to her house, The Shack, to offload the Chopper and gone back by bus after leaving the car.”
“It all sounds right,” said Watling. “If it is, the SCO should be able to support your theory with dust samples, fingerprints and so on.”
“But,” said Reed, “there’s a snag when it comes to Heberden, isn’t there?”
“In what way?”
“It took two of us dirty great coppers to lift him out of that tomb. How would a slip of a girl get him in?”
“Easy, laddie,” said Green. “We’ll prove it this afternoon, using a policewoman. But being small for that job is an advantage. Young Happy could line up the body end on to the tomb, then she could literally get through those arches and stand in the hole itself. Then all she had to do was get hold of the ankles and heave. A body as thin as Heberden’s would go through the end arch easily enough. She’d have him half in in no time. The only difficult bit would be the last pull to get him right in. But there again, where you couldn’t easily get your shoulders through the arch, she could. And once she gave the last heave . . . well, his shoulders and head would fall in, wouldn’t they?”
“I suppose you’re going to tell us she phoned Heberden and got him to the church on some pretext?”
“That’s right. She repeated her method. What would be easier than to tell Heberden she’d lost a bit of jewellery in the church? Would he mind bringing the key so that she could look for it? A gentlemanly old boy like Heberden would agree like a shot if a woman’s in distress. He was probably on his hands and knees near the altar helping her look for her ring when she administered the etorphine. Knowing the way Happy planned this, I’d gamble she got him to die within feet of where she wanted him.”
“She sounds a fiend incarnate,” said Watling.
“You’d think she was quite a sweet lass, actually.”
“Would I?”
“I reckon so. We all did. And now, to finish up. I personally found the ironmonger who remembers serving a young lady with glasses with a hell of a lot of resin glue.”
“You did?” asked Berger. “When?”
“Yesterday, son, while you were busy with other chores. Somebody had to do something positive.”
“Has she been identified?”
“Not yet, lad, but she will be, tomorrow.”
*
Almost twenty-four hours later, Masters and Green were with Webb in the local man’s office.
“She’s denying everything,” said Green.
“Did you expect her to confess?” asked Webb.
“Not really. She’s holding out because she doesn’t know how much we’ve got.”
“The ironmonger’s positive identification, the wheel-prints of her Chopper in both cars; no fingerprints because she wiped them off; and only a possibility that the SCO can prove any sort of dust transference.”
“The sergeants are still searching the house, remember. They may find something.”
“Agreed,” said Webb, “but I wish Watling had been able to prove the etorphine theory. It would have made it so much more solid.”
There was a knock at the door.
“Come in.”
The station sergeant put his head round the door. “Dr Watling to see Superintendent Masters, sir.”
“Talk of the devil. Show him in, please.”
Watling came in looking well pleased with himself. “Morning, gentlemen.”
“Good morning, Doctor. We weren’t expecting to see you, but it’s a pleasant surprise.”
“It’s almost time for a drink. Will you join us at The Chestnut Tree.”
“I’m always willing to take a drink off anybody. Can I talk as we go?”
“Come on.” As they reached the pavement Watling said, “Those papers, Mr Masters. Wonderful. I studied them very carefully after you left me yesterday.”
“And?”
“One paragraph interested me greatly. You may remember the bit I’m referring to. The one which starts by saying there are no human metabolic s
tudies of etorphine.”
“I remember. I recall thinking that if there are no metabolic reports I couldn’t very well blame you for producing a nil return.”
“Nice of you. But later on it goes on to say that the TLC analyses were first performed after acid hydrolosis of the urine since this is the most commonly used method. And that’s what I did. But those researchers did a sort of control test with uncontaminated urine. They added etorphine to the urine after hydrolosis and got a result. Then they added it to uncontaminated urine before hydrolosis, and the result was barely discernible. So they came to the conclusion that the severe conditions of the acid hydrolosis procedure destroy about ninety-five per cent of the etorphine.”
They had reached The Chestnut Tree. As they went in at the door, Green said: “And ninety-five per cent of nothing leaves you with nothing to work on, doc?”
“Exactly. But they went on to say that the gentle procedure of glucuronidase hydrolosis was found not to alter the sensitivity of detection by TLC.”
“So what have you done, doctor?”
“Repeated the TLC analyses.”
“And?”
“Bingo. A trace! A spot! Nothing more! But enough. My colleague and I can both go into the witness box and state on oath that we have found traces of etorphine in both bodies.”
Masters smiled happily. “That, Dr Watling, earns you the double of your choice.”
“I thought it might. Malt whisky, please.”
It was while they were sitting round the table in the bar that Reed and Berger arrived.
“Anything?” asked Green.
“What would you like?” asked Reed.
“Mine’s a pint.”
“In the way of evidence?”
Masters got to his feet. “Don’t tell me she failed to throw away the keys of those two cars?”
Reed stared after him, open-mouthed, as he went to the bar to order drinks for the newcomers.
“How the hell did he know that?” asked Berger, as though unable to believe what he had heard.
“He’s jammy,” retorted Green. “Jammy. I’ve always said so, and you two should know that by now.”
Masters came back carrying two pints.
“The key to the church wasn’t with them by any chance?”
Slowly Reed drew two envelopes out of his pocket and put them on the table. They both sounded as though they contained hard, metallic objects.
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Heberden's Seat Page 19