'Builders' stone. What do you mean?'
'Well, it goes back to when they were building the Post Office, back in 1910. The builders accidentally broke through into the tunnel. Some of their stone fell through. They just left it there and covered the tunnel over again.'
Billy’s eyes widened. 'That means Mary Scott couldn't possibly have been underneath it thirty years later, unless ...'
'You've gorrit - unless it were deliberately piled on top of her.'
Billy ballooned his cheeks. 'Chuffin eck! They killed her, didn't they?'
'That fireman told me, him and the bloke he was working with that day both guessed straight away that she'd been killed. Murdered! They told the authorities so, an’ all. But all they got was a blank stare. They were instructed to say nowt. The authorities wanted it hushed up because of public morale.'
'Public morale?'
'Yes, they said that because of the blitz and the Marples and everything, people were very upset. The Government wanted to keep bad news to a minimum. It made everybody feel helpless, thar sees. They thought it would be better for - you know - for public morale if they kept it quiet.'
'But it was murder, you can't sweep that away.' Billy stood up, paced around, then sat down again. 'Somebody killed her, why? What had she done?'
Walter sighed and smiled at him. 'I can't tell thee that, lad. Even after all these years, I still don't know. But think of this, Billy, somebody robbed the bank that night. Was it them? If so, was it all of 'em, or was it just one of 'em? Did Mary Scott see something criminal and refuse to be part of it? Is that why she was killed? One person alone could easily have robbed that bank. That same person could also have killed Mary Scott.' He paused letting his words sink into Billy's thoughts, then went on, 'I heard that they split up into two groups to find their way out. Maybe one group never knew anything about it. Maybe the other group did. And now, all these years later, somebody is killing 'em off. Is someone still trying to hide the same wicked secret?'
'If they all robbed the bank, that might explain why they never came forward after they escaped,' said Billy.
'Smart lad, you've gorrit in one. That's why I went to Darnley's funeral. I wanted them – whoever they are – to know that I've not forgotten Mary Scott. I'm still around and I still want to find out who killed her. And I want 'em brought to justice.'
'Who did you say Darnley was with that night?'
'I heard him say Longden. He was a posh sounding bloke too, like Darnley.' Walter rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands and smoothed wisps of silvery hair back over his baldhead. 'I've never found out who he is. He's nowt to do with the museum, not like Darnley was. So they weren't colleagues.'
'But it's weird that none of them came forward to say they'd escaped,' Billy said. 'That definitely makes it look like they were all in on the robbery, or the murder, or both.'
Walter eyed Billy steadily. 'No no, you can't be totally sure about that, Billy. You have to be careful. Those people had all been enjoying a night out in a pub. Maybe some of 'em had wives or families that didn't know about it. They might simply have wanted to keep it quiet for no better reason than that. Don't assume they're all murderers. For all we know they could have just had a secret bit of fluff with 'em.' He rubbed his knees and blew a sigh of exasperation. 'But I've often thought that when Mary's body was found a week later, if you had nowt to do with it, surely that would have started you thinking. You'd have been worried sick that your little secret affair was about to be exposed. My guess is they would have deliberately decided to keep out of it. The trouble is, Billy, you can't sweep evil under the carpet. It sticks to everything. And from the moment they decided to turn a blind eye, they all took a share in the murder.'
'What about the other man, Mister Hepburn? Was he in Marples cellar?'
'I can't say for sure, Billy. I never heard him mentioned, and never saw him.'
'Do you know owt about the dance floor at the swimming baths? I mean how do they get it over the water?'
'I don't know. I suppose it slides out somehow, burra don't know. Why?'
'I was wondering how you'd drown somebody if the dance floor was already in place?'
'Oh, thaz got me wi that one, lad. I've no idea, and to be frank, one murder is plenty for me to worrit me sen abaht.'
*
Yvonne scooped the last shards of the shattered plant pots into a seed box. 'It must've been a cat, or a fox, or sommat that knocked 'em over,' she grumbled. 'The whole stack was toppled. We need a padlock on the door.'
Kick glanced around gloomily. 'Even if we had a padlock there's still a million places cats can gerrin.'
'This was no cat,' Billy said helping to clear up the last few bits. 'It was a chuffin rat.'
The three flopped gloomily into their usual places. Billy began to update them, starting with Constable Needham's unofficial visit to his home.
'Well then, we'd better step up the action,' said Yvonne when he had finished. 'If they're going to play rough with us, we'd better stop messing about and prove 'em wrong - fast.'
'Who's messing about? Not me.' Kick's frown was condemning. He dragged the MOM board out and set it up ready for use.
Billy searched round for the stick of chalk and took stance next to the board. 'We've got two murders – three if you count Mary Scott. We don't know why any of 'em was killed, but there is a something that links 'em all –'
'The Marples' bombing,' Kick suggested.
Yvonne looked doubtful. 'No we don't,' she said. 'We know Mister Darnley was there and Mary Scott, but what about Mister Hepburn? What's his connection?'
'Hepburn the floater? No we can't connect him to owt, can we?' Kick said.
Billy was staring at the MOM board. 'We should talk to Missis Hepburn,' he said. 'She could tell us.'
Kick liked this idea. 'Yeah, she could tell us all sorts,' he said eagerly.
'Yeah, liquorice allsorts,' quipped Yvonne dismissively. 'Why would a poor widow woman talk to us? Especially with her husband hardly cold in his grave yet.'
Billy looked at her critically. 'She might do,' he said lamely. 'She might be glad that we're on the same side.'
'What do you mean, "same side"?'
'Well we're looking for her husband's killer. That puts us on the same side. She'll be glad to tell us whatever she knows. The only trouble is, we don't know where she lives.'
Yvonne sniffed. 'Well, you're supposed to be a detective. You'll just have to find out. And this time, I'm coming an' all. I'm not letting you spoil a breakthrough.'
'Huh breakthrough,' Kick said sourly. 'We'll never even find her address. Sheffield's a big place, tha knows.'
Yvonne tossed her head and flounced to the door. 'You're pathetic, you two. Have yer never heard of a telephone book?'
Kick jumped up from his seat. 'Wharrif she's not on t'chuffin phone? Big eeyad!'
'Then look in the voting - wotsit - register.' She stormed out, slamming the door.
*
'Why didn't they examine Mary Scott's body. Worrit because of the war?'
Doctor Hadfield looked up from under the bonnet of his Austin Ruby, his face smeared with auto grease. Billy had tracked him down to the stately coach house behind the large Victorian villa where the doctor's surgery was located. 'Didn't they? Surely they did.'
'This old bloke I know told me about it. He said they found her body in a tunnel about a week after the Marples' bombing. It was more than a hundred yards from the bombsite, and the rubble on top of her wasn't from the bomb blast. It came from when they built the Post Office on top of the tunnel in 1910. That proves it had nowt to do wi' the Marples bombing. It also proves that somebody had to bury her there deliberately.'
'Crikey Moses! Are you sure about that, old bean?'
'Well tha can ask him thee sen if tha don't believe me.'
'No, of course I believe you. It's just a bit of a shocker to hear it like that.' He wiped his hands on a rag, carefully lowered the old car's bonnet, and secured it
. 'There most certainly should have been an autopsy whether it was wartime or not. I'll ask Sarah. Maybe she can shine some light onto it for us.'
'Ooooh, Sarah,' said Billy, a soppy smirk on his face.
Hadfield flashed a scowl. 'You really are a ninny at times, Billy. Have I mentioned that?'
Billy shrugged off the reproof. 'Have you told Marlene that you've dumped her?'
'I haven't dumped her. Sarah and I are just friends, Billy. One is allowed to have friends. I don't need to tell Marlene anything, and I certainly don't have to explain myself to you.'
'Anyway, Yvonne's told her.'
Hadfield looked panic stricken. 'Crickey! She hasn't, has she?'
'Well they are sisters. What d'yer expect?'
He shrugged and wiped oily fingerprints from his car's hood. 'Well, no harm done really, I suppose. To tell the truth we haven't seen much of each other for a while. Actually, maybe I'm the dumpee in this scenario. It's difficult to tell with women. You'll find that out for yourself when you're older. One can tell most things about the heart with a jolly good examination and a stethoscope, but the old courtship business is all smoke and mirrors for a chap. Nothing is ever what it seems.'
'Humm, a bit like these murders.'
'Oh come on now. You seem to be making good progress, surely.' He began washing his hands in a chipped enamel washbowl.
'We haven't really,' Billy said miserably. 'We don't know why they were killed, or if they knew each other. We need to question the floater's wife.'
'Missis Hepburn? Oooh no, Billy. One needs to be careful about that sort of thing, old bean. That's a most delicate matter, talking to the bereaved. One never quite gets the hang of it.'
'She might be glad to have us on her side.'
Hadfield looked doubtful. 'No disrespect, Billy, but you're – well - you're children. Missis Hepburn will be finding this a very difficult time. She'll have lots on her mind, quite apart from feeling pretty miserable about – you know …'
'Yes but when we tell her that we're looking for her husband's killer, she'll be glad that we are. She'll be on our side then. That'll make her one of us.'
'I shouldn't count on it, old bean.' The doctor chewed his lip and frowned. 'I really don't think you should disturb her, Billy. It's absolutely not the thing to do.' He shook his head frowning. 'Forgive me for being frank, old lad, but it'd be dashed bad form. Think of it this way, Billy, it would be extremely - er - unkind at this time. Perhaps in a few weeks you could drop her a polite little note - to test the water, but seeing her and asking questions is really not cricket.'
'But we can't wait. We've got to get moving. The cops are after me. I've told you about the Sviggy-mamooter.'
'Humm, sviggy-mamooter,' repeated the doctor. 'You're such an accomplished neologist, Billy. That's a far better name for it, but look here, I'm trying to give you some serious advice. You simply can't burst in on old ladies and trample all over their grief. That's my advice, Billy, and frankly, if you don't take it, it'll be a pretty poor show. Now look here, about that ruddy sphygmomanometer, you'd better sneak it to me at the house. I'll make sure it reappears in my dreaded leader's surgery. But don't let anyone see you with it.'
Doctor Clarissa Fulton-Howard appeared suddenly at the open doors of the coach house. Hadfield blushed and straightened up in panic, overturning the washbowl and spilling its contents on to his shoes. 'Will you be joining us any time today, Doctor, or have you become a motor mechanic now?'
Hadfield shuffled with embarrassment. 'It's my lunch break.'
'Luncheon breaks are for shop girls, Doctor Hadfield. The sick make no distinction between breakfast, luncheon or dinner.' She turned to Billy. 'What's this boy doing here?'
'This is Billy Perks, he’s a friend of …'
'Ah yes, of course, Billy Perks. I've heard you're a very clever boy. Perhaps you're just what we need to solve the mystery of my missing medical equipment. Has Doctor Hadfield told you that we had a burglary here? They stole a sphygmomanometer. The police say they have a lead, but I don’t think they have. You’ll help us, won’t you?'
'I don't think so, ma'am. I mean, the police don't like me butting in on their cases.' Billy shrugged apologetically.
'Surely Billy, you could do a bit of sleuthing for Doctor Fulton-Howard?' Hadfield said, recovering composure. 'We won't tell anyone, will we profes – er - doctor?'
Dr Fulton-Howard forced a smile. ‘Of course not. Mum's the word’ she said peering suspiciously at the pair.
'Right then, Billy,' Hadfield said. 'Run along now, there's a good lad. Don't forget that little job we discussed. I'll expect you after six.'
0o0o0
Chapter Sixteen
Billy's mam was waiting for him. He found her perched on the arm of the settee like an eagle eyeing its prey. At first she gave him the silent treatment – the worst. Her eyes followed him around the room. He could feel them burning into his skull. What had he done wrong? Panic swelled in his chest. Desperately, he reviewed the day's events, trying to work out what he'd done that might account for her threatening demeanour. Why was he getting the silent treatment? He had seen her look more fondly at dog poop on the carpet. Oh lor, this was serious.
At last she spoke. Her voice was flat and calm – the worst. 'Where have you been?'
Before he could answer, she stood up and peered down at him, her gaze dulled with disappointment. 'Why have I had the police? Why did I have to see what you did? Why did I have to hear all about your wicked behaviour?' She walked into the kitchen and banged pots around, noisily filling the kettle and lighting the gas ring. 'Don't deny it. They showed me what you did, you wicked boy.'
This was getting really confusing. His defences bristled. What could she mean? He'd already found the police trap and sprung it, what else could it be? Suddenly, he felt sick and whoozy. The fear that the police may have hidden something else in the greenhouse, as well as the sphygmomanometer, struck him. He had thought he had been clever and foiled their set up, but no – it looked as if they had beaten him after all. They must have hidden something else to incriminate him. What else could make his mother so upset? 'What is it, mam? I haven't done nowt,' he said miserably.
'I saw them. I saw what you did. All them plant pots ... Do you know what them things cost? Who's going to pay for 'em? That greenhouse belongs to poor old Mister Eadon. It's only his bad legs that stop him using it. Them plant pots were his property. That policeman called it criminal damage, Billy. Do you hear that? Criminal damage!'
Faced with such confusing and accusatory questioning, experience had taught Billy that the most obscure answer would always be the most usefully distracting. 'The new "old doctor" wants me to help her find the biscuit barrel burglar. I was talking to her while I helped Doctor Hadfield to repair his car.'
'Don't try to get out of it. What were you thinking - breaking all them plant pots, for God's sakes?'
'It weren't on purpose, mam. It was an accident. And it weren't me, any road, it were Mister Clegg. He did it - him from The Star. He did it when he found the sviggymamooter. They'd hidden it there, just like Constable Needham warned us they would. They're trying to make it look like I'm the biscuit barrel burglar. They can't now, can they? Especially now that the new "old doctor" wants me to help her to find it.' Feeling immensely pleased with himself, he began setting the table for tea. Ruff followed him around, sniffing his every step, trying to work out where he'd been all day without him.
'You needn't think I'm feeding you, Billy Perks. You'll get no more food in this house. If you can't be bothered to come home for your dinner, or even tell me where you're going, you'll never eat a meal here again. This is not a hotel, you know. You walked out of here at half past seven this morning. Look at that clock. Look at it!' she pointed to the mantel clock, her finger wagging with fury. 'What time is it?'
'I'm sorry, mam. I didn't …'
'What time does it say?'
'Ten past six, mam.'
'Yes, ten past flippi
ng six and this is the first I've seen of you all day. I've had errands that wanted doing. That dog's been an absolute pain because you left him behind. Your father's on lates. And what are you? What are you, young man?'
On such occasions, Billy was never sure quite what he was. Whenever he did manage to bowl her a googly, and force her onto the back foot, she would become incredibly cryptic. There was nothing to do then but hang his head remorsefully and wait. Eventually she would tell him precisely "what he was" and what she thought about it.
'You are scotch mist, young man. Scotch-flipping-mist.'
There it was, a Caledonian meteorological phenomenon, as Doctor Hadfield had once referred to it. 'I'm sorry, mam.' He had no firm yardstick for assessing the likely punishment for being Scotch mist, but saw clearly that it agitated his mother. So, whatever it was to be, it would not be good.
*
The following day, after washing the cellar steps, filling the coalscuttle, chopping kindling, and carrying two bags of groceries for her, Billy mounted his bike and set out to find PC Needham. He pedalled round the usual places that the local beat coppers slipped into when they wanted to disappear for a while. He started with the Bole Hills with its breezy sports fields, playgrounds, and rugged terraces, beloved of dog walkers and courting couples. Next, he visited the several football and cricket pitches up there. Coppers often hung out on the goal lines to watch the games. The crown green bowling club's rustic timber pavilion was one of their most favoured spots. In there they could mash tea, play cribbage or dominoes, and in bad weather, dry their capes and tunics around a blazing stove.
He eventually found John Needham dozing peacefully, a newspaper over his face, in the police box at the top of Compton Street. Perched precariously on steep cobbles the cream and green painted kiosk was a favourite haunt of cat napping coppers.
'Oh blimey, it's you,' PC Needham groaned, struggling to wake up without falling off the standard police issue high-stool. 'Whaddayer want? Are you going to follow me everywhere?'
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