It was midday. His stomach was rumbling and the memory of Hadfield’s eggy-bread still preyed on his mind. The smell of hot food wafted down one of the corridors. He was about to explore it when a hand landed heavily on his shoulder. He spun round to find himself looking up at the biggest man he had ever seen. He was wearing a brown overall, and carried a bucket.
'Are you lost, boy?' The huge man had not moved his lips. The voice had boomed from behind him. It took a second or two for Billy to realise it was not ventriloquism. He leaned sideways and found himself looking up into Doctor Longden’s outraged glare. A memory of the pompous pathologist with his willy hanging out through his Turkish bathrobe flashed into his mind, but Longden’s cold unflinching gaze quickly banished it.
'No! No - er yes - yes I am,' Billy said, rapidly readjusting his response as a possible ruse took shape in his mind. 'I'm looking for – for – er - my cousin.'
'Your cousin?' Longden nodded slowly, eyeing him with undisguised disbelief. ‘I know you don’t I, boy?’ he said. ‘I’ve seen you somewhere. Where have I seen you?’
‘I come here to see my cousin sometimes. Perhaps you saw me then?’ Billy saw that Longden was not convinced.
‘And your cousin is …?’
‘Cousin Sarah,' Billy said, feeling as if the ground beneath him was turning into quick sand. 'Sarah Becket.'
Longden leaned forward, bringing his purple veined nose close to Billy’s spectacles. ‘So, Doctor Becket is your cousin - eh?'
'Yes, she's a pathologist.'
'When was the last time you saw her?'
'Err – Sunday,' said Billy. 'She came for tea.'
'Was it very dark? I mean, presumably you could you see her quite clearly when you took tea with her?'
Billy sensed a trap, but couldn't quite nail it. 'Yes, of course I could see her.'
'Well then, why can't you see her now?’ Longden asked triumphantly. ‘She’s right there under your nose.' He made a grab for Billy and pointed to a group of several young women standing at the hospital’s reception desk.
Billy weaved out of his reach so that Longden scooped up only fresh air and narrowly avoided falling over. 'Ah yes, thank you,' Billy said cheekily. 'I never spotted her there.' The trouble was he still had no idea which young woman was Sarah Becket, and though he racked his brains, he could not think of a single distinguishing feature that might identify someone as being a pathologist.
'You’re a fraud, boy,’ Longden declared. ‘Point her out to me if you’re not. Which one is she?' Longden’s fierce, accusing eyes burned into Billy's.
Billy knew it was a fair cop. Longden had lured and landed him like a tickled trout. Any second he expected to be booted outside. The brown coated giant was already gleefully warming up. Billy gazed around forlornly, blew a sigh and waited for whatever would happen next, but suddenly, he was inspired to seize upon his own salvation. 'Sarah!' he cried at the top of his voice.
One face, one beautiful face, instantly responded and turned towards him.
*
Sarah Becket was gorgeous. Billy gazed at her adoringly as she nibbled on the thinnest, daintiest, salad sandwich he believed he had ever seen. Her perfect pearly fingernails shimmered softly against the white fluffy bread. Her pillowy pink lips parted just enough to allow the bread to pass between her perfect teeth.
'How long was he dead before he was shoved under the dance floor?' Billy asked her, squinting in the bright sunlight.
After shedding the giant porter, and imploring her to save him from Longden, he had accompanied her to a city park close to the hospital. They were sat on a bench watching randy ducks clatter about on the river Sheaf. From the willow covered bank opposite, a precipitous woody hillside rose up to a cloudless sky. At their backs lay a broad grassy field dotted with people enjoying the sun. Distant tramcars raced noisily between the city and the terminus at Millhouses Park.
Sarah pouted slightly, and tilted her head, giving Billy a concerned look. 'Are you sure Doctor Hadfield wants you to ask me these questions? You seem rather young to be involved with such nasty things.'
Billy's heart almost flipped out of his ribcage and did a somersault. 'The doc's a man of his word,' he said, trying to appear calm as he swallowed his innards and coaxed them back into place. 'He won't tell me owt, unless you say he can.' He showed his palms in a gesture of hopelessness. 'I'm investigating a murder – two, no three actually, and all I get from him is that he promised you he wouldn't say owt about what you told him. That gives me only one alternative.'
'Alternative?'
'Yes. I have to charm it out of you.'
Sarah turned away, hiding her amusement. She pretended to watch an elderly couple playing cricket with several small children, as she recovered her composure. She was not entirely sure why she had saved Billy from Doctor Longden's wrath. She knew a little about him from Doctor Hadfield, and on seeing him in the flesh for the first time, had decided he looked pretty harmless. 'First, you tell me why you think I should tell you.'
Billy leaned closer, his demeanour conspiratorial. 'A long time ago, during the war, a woman was killed. A nice, ordinary woman who hadn't done no harm, nor nicked owt, nor hurt nobody. She was just looking forward to Christmas and to being with her family. But, she didn't live to Christmas. Somebody bashed her head in and buried her under some rocks. They found her body about a week later. For some reason the cops didn't investigate her death. They never even said it worra crime. If a fireman hadn't found her body she would have been left all alone in a stinking old tunnel where Spring Heeled Jack roams. Nobody would ever have known about her.' He looked at Sarah and held her gaze for a second. 'But now, me and my friends know about her. We've seen her grave. It says Mary Scott, born 8th December 1895 - died 12th December 1940. "Brutally murdered in the Marple's Massacre.".'
Sarah Becket looked away, dabbed her nose and resealed the small tin lunch box resting on her knee. 'You really care about this, don't you, Billy?'
'I never knew her. She was dead even before I was born. But two more people have died since – both violently, and I think they're all connected.'
'I'm sure there would have been an autopsy in a case like that. It's the law, there has to be for a death certificate to be issued, unless she was declared a victim of the bombing. But either way, the death has to be recorded. The process is perfectly transparent. I'll check the records for 1940.' She wrapped her fingers together nervously and looked down at them. 'As for the murders, Billy, if I were to tell you anything, I would be breaking the law …'
'What, because I'm only a kid?'
'No, it's not that. You're a very sensible and mature young man. I'm sure you could handle it. It's because these are matters of the law. What we pathologists do is try to uncover the facts to help the coroner determine the proper cause and nature of a person's death; such as was it an accident, or suicide, or what was it? I can't share that information with you or anybody else until the coroner has ruled on it. I was quite wrong to tell Reggie. And I would certainly be wrong to tell you.'
'Reggie?' Billy giggled at the unexpected discovery that his friend was called Reggie.
'Doctor Hadfield. I'm afraid he caught me on a bad day. I'd blubbed it all out to him before I had time to think.'
'But how am I going to find out then?'
'I can't help you, Billy; though I must say you're a very charming young man.' She eyed him coyly, a tear glistening on her eyelashes. She turned her head aside and dropped her gaze in a slightly coquettish manner. 'I guess it's common knowledge,' she said softly, 'that Mister Hepburn was knocked unconscious and drowned without struggling.'
Agog, Billy pricked up his ears and leaned closer to her.
'Lots of people know that,' she went on. 'It's not a secret so I can hardly deny it. And, as you probably know, we always check for bruising and signs of a struggle in such cases. We do other things too, Billy. For example, in the case of a drowning there will be water in the lungs. We analyse this to confirm, amo
ngst other things, that it's the same as the water at the death site. If it isn't then we'd know that the victim was drowned elsewhere. Sometimes we can even determine where the water came from, and direct police attention to the actual death site. It's not uncommon for a victim to be drowned in their bathtub at home and have their body turn up in the sea or some lake or river.'
'Where was Mister Hepburn drowned?' Billy asked.
'Billy you know I can't tell you. I've said enough already'
'There weren’t any water under the dance floor when he was shoved in there - not enough to drown him anyway. I think they probably drowned him in the little plunge pool in the Turkish baths. It was closed to the public, because they were repairing some tiles, but there was water in it. There are two doors to that room; one from the main hot room, and another for the maintenance staff. It leads to a big storage area and a flight of service stairs. From there you can get to the boiler room. There’s also a service lift – sort of hoist - up to the big pool where they lay the dance floor.'
Sarah studied her polished fingernails as if utterly unconcerned. 'It's time I made my way back to work. The corpses will be wondering where I am.' She grinned at him and giggled, but his sullen expression saddened her, and she reached out and stroked his ginger hair. 'Oh Billy, I'm sorry I can't be more helpful. Unfortunately, they took me off the case before I finished the tests, officially anyway. And if someone had done an unofficial test and it proved that Mister Hepburn was drowned in that little pool, they wouldn’t be able to use it in court.'
Billy felt a cold shiver run over his body. He watched Doctor Becket rise from the bench and carefully pack her lunch box into her shoulder bag.
'There, that was pleasant wasn't it? I often come here to eat my sandwiches.' She flicked her long blonde hair from her face. 'Well, as charming as you are, Billy, I managed not to tell anything you didn't already know. You and your friends are very clever. You'd already worked out that James Hepburn suffered an injury to the back his head, probably from falling, and drowned in the cold plunge pool in the Turkish baths. But if you ask me one more question, I'll have to report you to the police. You do understand, don’t you? I hope we'll meet again. Please give Reggie my love.'
Billy watched her walk away across the grass, her hair swinging in the sunlight. She was lovely. Far too good for "flippin Reggie" he told himself.
0o0o0
Chapter Twenty
'We’re stuck,’ Yvonne said exasperated. ‘We can’t prove owt. We don’t even have any suspects, except one and he’s dead.’
‘It’s not my fault,’ Billy said lamely. ‘At least I’ve worked out how Darnley could’ve drowned Hepburn.’
‘So what? Even if you're right, it still doesn't tie it all up properly.' Yvonne's large brown eyes challenged Billy's faltering, defensive stare and won. The three pals were sitting, swinging their feet, on a low wall beside the Ebenezer Chapel, a Victorian building of rather ostentatious design and proportions, considering the puritanical values of its congregation. Billy was chewing on a woody stalk of liquorice root. He’d been at it for a while and the resultant cud now resembled an orange paint brush.
‘Well it’s more than tha’s come up with. All tha does is write daft notes in your book that never lead us anywhere. At least I could go to t’cops with my – er – my theory.’
'Go on then! Just go and see what happens,’ she said. ‘They’ll laugh at you. You’ve got no proof. They'll just say there's no case because we’ve no witnesses and no evidence.'
'We have! What about the paint mark on the jacket?'
'Oh, big deal,' she sneered. 'You mean the mark that’s the same as the one on your pullover? If you call that evidence, it could mean it was you who bumped him off.'
Kick laughed, almost falling backwards off the wall.
Billy dropped his gaze, feeling miserable and frustrated. Yvonne had torpedoed every notion and theory he had suggested. And annoyingly, she was right. He could not prove anything. All he had were ideas and fancies.
Yvonne gave him a sideways glance, feeling sorry for him. She gently patted his forearm. There was no satisfaction in knocking down his ideas, but it was a good way of testing them. 'Remember the MOM board,’ she said. ‘You told us we must fill its columns with nowt but facts before we can find the truth.'
'That were my idea,' said Kick. ‘He never thought of it. It were me.’
Yvonne did not react. She had spotted Doctor Hadfield and a large, snooty looking woman approaching from the high street. Hadfield was carrying a shopping bag and an onion-net bulging with groceries. ‘Blimey! Is that his mother?’ she asked from behind her hand.
Billy sniggered, accidently spurting yellow liquorice root juice down his chin. ‘Nah, that’s his boss. She’s the one who took over after old Doctor Greenhough.’
‘She looks a reight misery guts,’ Kick observed gravely.
Seeing them, Doctor Clarissa Fulton-Howard crossed the road to them; her approach was measured, sedate and threatening. Billy dropped down from the wall and tried to palm his tasty cud of liquorice root as decorously as possible. Yvonne and Kick slithered down to stand either side of him. The trio waited with some trepidation for whatever was about to pass.
‘How nice to see you, Billy,’ Doctor Fulton-Howard said, through an invisible cloud smelling of lavender, surgical spirit, and mothballs. ‘I’m so glad I’ve seen you. Are these your little friends?’
Kick groaned. As Bole Hill Juniors’ ace centre forward, he was not fond of being referred to as somebody’s little friend.
Billy laughed nervously and tried to distract her from Kick’s rancorous glare with an animated introduction. ‘Yeah, this’s Kick – er - Michael Morley and …’
‘I’m Yvonne Sparkes. My dad knows you.’
‘Really, good. Humm that’s nice.’ Clarissa cast around awkwardly, wondering briefly if Billy was quite right in the head. He seemed to be eating a handful of wood and turning himself yellow. ‘I need a word, Billy,’ she said edging him away from his friends. ‘I wanted to ask you how your – er - enquiries are going? I understand you went to the morgue - why on earth would you do that?’
Billy was astonished to discover that she knew of his visit to Sarah Becket. He pulled himself up straight. ‘The morgue – what makes you say that? I went to the hospital, that’s all. I never went in the morgue. I was visiting somebody – a friend. I never went near the morgue. That’d be too spooky.’
The doctor flapped a hand before her face as if swatting flies. ‘Oh never mind, I may have misunderstood. She studied him closely for a second as if counting his freckles. ‘Were you there alone? I mean at the hospital.’
Across the street, Doctor Hadfield was juggling clumsily with croquet mallets and canvas chairs, as he tried to make room in the boot of Clarissa's shiny black Rover 75 for her grocery bags. He finished loading them, dusted his palms triumphantly, and crossed the road to join them. Clarissa shrugged with annoyance at his approach. ‘Never mind. Perhaps we’ll talk again,’ she said. ‘I would like to hear more about your - er - detective work.’ She turned to face Hadfield, her expression cold and business-like. ‘Is everything in?’
‘Yes, I put the eggs on the back seat, as you said. The rest is in the boot.’
‘You don’t need a lift back, do you, Hadfield?’ It was more of an instruction than a question. ‘I’m in rather a hurry. I have a private patient in a few minutes …’
Hadfield blew out his cheeks. ‘No, thank you. I have a call of my own to make. I would hate to take you out of your way.’
Clarissa plucked the ignition keys from Hadfield’s fingers and marched to her car. Hadfield and the trio watched in silence as she started the engine and sped away, spinning the wheels on the tarmac. Kick grinned and pretended to waft exhaust smoke from his eyes. ‘Chuffin eck! She could give Fangio a run for his money.’
Hadfield puffed out his cheeks. ‘I don’t know who she’ll wear out first, me, or that poor Rover.’ Turning to the ch
ildren, he found them all staring at him expectantly. ‘What’s up?’
‘You’re stopping us getting anywhere,’ Billy grumbled. ‘That’s what’s up. We’re pretty sure Darnley killed the bloke at the baths, but we can’t prove it. The other thing is …’
‘We don’t have a clue who killed Darnley at Man’s Head Rock,’ Yvonne chipped in. ‘We can’t even say how he got there. And why wasn’t he wearing his jacket?’
Hadfield appeared not to have heard her and sidled closer to Billy. ‘Did I hear my dreaded leader mention that you were at the morgue?’
Billy blushed and stuffed his cud of liquorice root back into his mouth. He chewed steadily, avoiding Hadfield’s gaze. ‘I was just having a look round and I accidentally bumped into your new girlfriend.’
Yvonne pricked up her ears. ‘New girlfriend! What new girlfriend?’
Hadfield’s cheeks reddened. He turned, hiding his face. Quickly composing himself, he flashed Billy a rancorous look and turned to face Yvonne, smiling broadly. ‘He’s talking nonsense, Yvonne. Don’t pay him any attention. Luckily for our enquiries, I have a friend in the pathology department. She’s been helping us – secretly – so not a word to anyone. Her name is Doctor Sarah Becket. Billy is being rather childish about it, but one day, maybe, he’ll grow up and be less of a ninny.’
‘I shouldn’t count on it,’ Yvonne growled distrusting them equally.
‘Did you really see Sarah?’ Hadfield said drawing Billy aside.
‘I told thee I would.’
Hadfield pinched his lips thoughtfully. ‘Well, I don’t expect you learned anything. Sarah is very careful. She has to be. Most of her work ends up in the coroner’s court.’
‘I learned plenty. I know that Hepburn died without a struggle. The water in his lungs came from the little cold pool in the Turkish bath.’
Hadfield stared astonished. ‘Good Lord! She told you that?’
*
Later on, Kick and Billy lounged in hay in the loft above Mister Leaper’s stables. Below them, Beattie stood quietly in her stall, eating her evening meal of oats, and occasionally stamping as if demanding a bit of personal attention from the lads.
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