Walter asked, ‘Has tha got thee universal door key, Barry?’
Barry exposed a mightily muscled arm. ‘Does tha mean this one?’
‘That’s it,’ said Walter.
The weightlifting plasterer took hold of the handles of the narrow double doors. He leaned back slightly, and then shouldered them in with ease. Grinning, he bowed and ushered Billy inside.
Walter stood back. ‘You don’t need me for this, Billy. Me and Barry'll wait out here, in case the coppers come.’
Clarissa raised her head and sneered as Billy, followed by Yvonne and Kick, entered her consulting room. She lounged inelegantly at her desk, a glass and a bottle of whisky in front of her. She refilled the glass, clearly not for the first time that evening. Yvonne and Kick hung back nervously as Billy approached her.
‘I suppose you’re feeling pretty pleased with yourselves,’ she said her speech slurred, her gestures clumsy. ‘I thought it wouldn’t be long before some idiot came through that door. I expected that fool Hadfield, but it’s you. Huh, The Three Stooges.’ She laughed, almost choking as she took a swig of scotch.
‘I’m sorry about Doctor Longden,’ said Billy, assuming she knew the police were looking for him, and why.
‘Why? He's a fool. A weak fool. Clearly, he never cared about me. He was a liar. I was in love with him, but he lied all the time. Treated me worse than … All he thought about was money – gambling. That’s all I ever was to him. A money supply.’ She topped up her glass again and drained it noisily. ‘He'll never know what I gave up for him. What I did for him.’
‘You mean killing Mary Scott, to stop her blabbing.’ Billy watched her closely.
‘Don’t be silly,' Clarissa sneered. 'I didn’t kill her.’
‘Somebody did. You were there. It must have been you,’ insisted Billy. ‘You buried her in that tunnel and left her to rot. When they found her body, a week later, you and Longden fixed the death certificate to make it look like just another bomb casualty.’
Clarissa blinked a tear from her eye. It spilled down her stony face like an ice crystal. 'It wasn’t murder, you silly child,’ she said. ‘It was an accident. She ran off into the dark and fell. I never touched her. I didn't want her to die.'
A disturbance at the back of the room made Billy turn round to look. Mister Roberts, the police superintendent, had arrived. He paused in the doorway and glanced around, quickly assessing the situation. John Needham followed him in, frantically miming that Billy should shut up, underlining his concern by drawing a finger across his throat and nodding crazily.
The superintendent took a step forward, 'That's enough, young man,' he said sternly. 'Doctor Fulton-Howard is not a murder suspect. We have the killers safely locked up.'
Billy stretched up and looked the officer in the eye. 'Well you've missed one – er - Sir. She's a murderer, and I can prove it.'
The officer smiled and lowered his gaze, before quietly addressing Billy full faced. 'Billy, isn’t it?' he enquired pleasantly. 'Billy Perks. I've heard a lot about you. I know you've been very helpful to us in the past, and frankly, I don't think we've always treated you with the respect you deserve. You're a bright lad. Your parents should be proud, but you've got it wrong this time, I'm afraid.'
'I haven't, sir,' said Billy, squaring his shoulders. 'She's a killer, and if you let her go, you'll be making a big mistake.' Silence fell on the group, as the man and the boy faced each other. A tear slid down Yvonne's cheek. Kick clenched his fists, ready to tackle anybody who went near Billy. Doctor Hadfield arrived with Sarah Becket and Harry Clegg. They pressed through the gathering crush of police officers and curious members of the public. Hadfield nodded and gave Billy an encouraging smile.
'But, Billy, we've got them all,' Roberts said softly. 'We know the whole story.' He glanced around bringing Yvonne and Kick into the discussion. 'Professor Darnley drowned poor Mister Hepburn, because he'd found out about the theft from one of the safety deposit boxes. I'm certain we can show that Stan Daniels killed the professor, and I'm satisfied that Doctor Longden and the professor probably killed Mary Scott.' He patted Billy on the shoulder, and smiled at him. 'It's all over, son; just the loose ends to tie up. You've done a very good job.' He turned to face his officers crowding in the doorway. 'Now come on everybody, clear the room. Constable, get everybody out, and see that these children are safely taken home. Their parents must be worried sick.'
'No, wait! She is a killer,' Billy cried. 'I can prove it!'
Clarissa stood up sharply, reeling unsteadily. She backed into shelves behind her, scattering pill bottles, medical equipment and books. 'I didn't kill her,' she cried. 'I was angry with her, but I didn't kill her.' She turned to the superintendent, and pointed to Billy. 'He's right about Darnley. He was a cheat and a thief. Mary Scott saw him steal from the safety deposit boxes. She was going to tell the police. I couldn't allow that. They would have arrested Amos too – Doctor Longden. I tried to persuade her to keep quiet. I said we could make them give it back later, but no, she wouldn’t budge.' She wiped her face and tried to straighten herself up. 'I didn’t kill her. She ran away into the darkness. I didn't have a torch, just a cigarette lighter, but I chased after her. I found her eventually. She'd fallen, tripped over some rubble. I tried to stop the bleeding. It was her head. The cranial fossa. The meningeal artery was severed. I couldn’t see in the dark. I couldn't stop it. I didn't kill her. I didn't. It was all Darnley's fault. He's poisonous. He killed everything. He killed my life … my heart.'
Mister Roberts laid a hand gently on Billy's shoulder. 'You see, Billy. I believe her. She's not a killer.'
Clarissa was glaring drunkenly at Billy. 'Don't you see, you silly child?' she yelled, slurring her words.
'You may not have killed Mary Scott, but you're still a killer,' Billy said flatly. 'You killed Darnley.'
Clarissa bristled combatively. 'Don't be so stupid. How could I have done?'
'You were following Longden in your car. You saw him drive Darnley to the Rivelin Hotel, but instead of parking there, like they did, you parked up on the lane by Goody Fields, where they couldn't see you.'
'Don't be ridiculous …Stop this foolish child now.'
John Needham reached for Billy’s shoulder, to take him away as Mister Roberts had instructed, but the superintendent raised a staying hand, his curiosity evidently aroused. He stood back watching the exchange between Billy and the doctor.
Billy looked around, suddenly feeling sick. He realised he was in the spotlight. The seriousness of the situation weighed on him as he tried to speak. His voice would not work, his knees felt weak and panic was welling up in his stomach. Luckily, Humphrey Bogart was not put off by the tension crackling in the room. Inside Billy’s head, he took over, though his accent sounded a bit more Sheffield than Chicago. 'You scratched your car up there, your Rover 75. The paint mark's still on the wall.'
Mister Roberts immediately sent a junior to alert the forensics team. Billy – or -Humphrey, went on relentlessly. 'You crossed the sheep field. I guess you wanted to look down on Longden's car from the crag. You'd be able to see 'em leave without them spotting you. My guess is you were gonna follow 'em again.'
'Why would I?' she snapped.
'To have a go at 'em about fixing – ort – ort – autopsies.'
'This is ridiculous.' She turned angrily on Superintendent Roberts. 'You're supposed to be in charge, here. How much longer are you going to permit this farce to continue?'
'You put on your walking shoes,' Billy went on, 'because the field was muddy and slippery. They're still in your car. The mud on 'em will prove you were there.'
'I – I –I often walk there. It's – it's one of my favourite spots. Of course there's mud on my shoes. It's always muddy in those fields.'
Billy was relentless. 'You watched old Longden leave and drive away, but professor Darnley stayed in the pub for about another ten minutes. But you waited. When he came out you watched him walk up to the Man's head Rock.'
'What nonsense! How much longer are you going to allow this foolish child to…'
'There he was,' said Billy dramatically, adjusting an imaginary trilby hat.
Roberts lifted an eyebrow, noticing that Billy seemed to have acquired a slight American accent.
'It was Darnley, the guy who'd messed up your life,' he said eyeing her steadily. 'He'd spoiled everything for you. He'd spoiled Longden, hadn't he? He'd turned him into a crook and a cheat. You might have married him, but for Darnley. And, he might never have fallen into Flood's clutches, with all his dirty tricks and swindles.’ Billy glanced at the faces gathered at his shoulders. ‘There he was, all alone. You saw your chance. You climbed down the rocky path at the side of the crag, crept up behind him and belted him.'
'What nonsense. What am I supposed to have hit him with?'
Roberts turned to Billy, enquiry written all over his face. 'Well?'
Kick stepped up, taking defensive stance beside his pal. He hadn't a clue what the answer to the question was and feared that Billy might be running out of steam. 'Go on, Billy, tell 'em.'
Billy looked at the faces in the room. He saw Doc Hadfield smiling, willing him on. No one moved. No one spoke. He turned back to Clarissa. 'A croquet mallet,' he said. 'From the back of your car. I guess you took it with you, because it was slippery in that muddy field. You were using it upside down as a walking stick.' He turned to Roberts. 'It's still there, in the car boot. My guess is you'll find Darnley's blood on it.'
Clarissa lunged at him but missed. ‘You vile little boy,’ she shouted, spittle glossing her sneering lips.
Yvonne quickly stepped in close at Billy’s side and squeezed his forearm encouragingly. He looked back into her large brown eyes and smiled gratefully. ‘Yeah, and “Here’s looking at you, kid.” ’
THE END
Epilogue
They charged Doctor Clarissa Fulton-Howard with Darnley's murder, concealing a crime and perverting the course of justice. The list of charges against Chief Superintendent Flood filled several pages, and included, conspiracy to murder, attempted murder, abduction of a minor, blackmail, concealing a crime, and innumerable counts of perverting the course of justice.
A coroner's enquiry concluded that James Hepburn, had been murdered, by drowning, by a person, or persons unknown. Popular opinion agreed with Billy’s analysis that Professor Darnley had done it, which is how Harry Clegg reported it. The court did not attempt to explain the post mortem damage, or injuries, to Darnley's corpse. The police sought Stan Daniels to help them with their enquiries, but quickly lost interest when he could not be found.
Sally Snape received the keys to Stan’s cottage. A handwritten note in the blank rent book for it, suggested that if she should feel like paying a rent, she should instead donate to Walter's Gym at the relish factory. Sally and her Tommy soon began growing ever more children and a lush variety of vegetables in their large garden.
Polly Harrison continued her determined resistance to the public's rising demands for pub food and "frenchified" drinks. She also told Harry Clegg, “Not everyone who fails to return their empty glasses, is a killer.”.’
For a week or so Billy and Kick pondered over the Pagez Cypher with its hints at buried treasure. Their outrageous ramblings kept Yvonne amused for hours until their interest faded and the football season got fully into its stride.
A week after Christmas, Billy received a postcard, from Man’s Head Rock in Montana, USA. It said simply, “Scotch mist - Will o' the Whizz.” It was signed, Roy Lenfield. Kick wanted to know who Roy Lenfield was. Yvonne reminded him, disdainfully, that Stan Daniels’s motorbike had been a Royal Enfield. Kick shrugged bemused, until the penny dropped.
Glossary of Sheffield – eeze
Alreight :-….. (pron. as in eight) All right, very well, okay.
An'all :-….. Also, as well, and all.
Andrew :-….. “The Andrew” sailor’s slang for the Royal Navy.
Aypenny duck :-….. Savoury meat ball or faggot, the size of a
small apple.
Ayup mi owd :-….. Hello my old friend.
Back-naks :-….. Back gardens.
Beeyart :-….. Without, not having, minus.
Bob :-….. Shilling. A twentieth of an old pound sterling.
Bobbies :-….. Police officers.
Chabby :-….. Toddler (also pron. chavvy)
Clemmed :-….. Feeling cold.
Crozzled :-….. Crisped, scorched, (from crucible slag in steel making).
Dee-ad :-….. Dead.
Dee-in :-….. Dying.
Dint :-….. Did not.
Donkey-stoned :-….. White chalk drawn edge to steps, as used in
the wartime blackout.
Dunt :-….. Does not.
Gen :-….. Given.
Googly :-….. A sneaky, crafty and often highly effective style of
bowling in cricket.
Laikin :-….. Playing.
Mardy :-….. Grouch, sulking, whining.
Marlarkying :-….. Oops! Sorry, I may have invented this word. I
meant it to be larking about. Sure I’ve heard it somewhere?
Little Mester :-…..Self-employed cutler or metal smith.
Mester :-….. Master, or man in authority.
Moant :-…..Must not.
Mun :-….. Must.
Nay :-….. No.
Neet :-….. Night.
Netty :-….. Outside toilet, a privy.
Nithered :-….. Feeling cold
Nowt :-….. Nothing.
Nowty :-….. Poor quality, small, shabby.
Owt :-….. Anything
One-n-tuppence :-….. A shilling and two pennies (old money).
Pog :-….. Personal space, place in a queue, usual seat.
Racked :-….. Plodding of packhorses. Rivelin Street follows the line
of the 4000 year-old Racker Way, a packhorse track.
Rantied :-….. Rocked, wobbled, unsteady
Ranty :-….. Children's see-saw
Reight :-….. Right, intensely, very
Reight badly :-….. Seriously ill, very sick.
Scroamin :-….. Climbing, scrambling.
Scutch :-….. Smack, slap.
Sen :-….. Self.
Shurrup :-….. Be quiet.
Sin' :-….. Since.
Sithee :-….. See you, pay attention, observe.
Skoyl :-….. School.
Snek :-….. Latch.
Sprottling :-….. Reclining.
Tanner :-….. Silver six pence coin.
Th'art :-….. You are.
The Blades :-….. Name of the best or second best football team in
Sheffield. (This will be energetically disputed.)
The Owls :-….. Name of the best or second best football team in
Sheffield. (This will be energetically disputed.)
Thee sen :-….. Alone, your self.
Threpenz :-….. Three pence.
Tup :-….. A ram.
Tuppenz :-….. Two pence.
Tommy Ward’s elephant :-….. Lifted and hauled scrap iron during WW1 because
of the shortage of horses.
T'owd :-….. The old.
Tranklements :-….. Bits and pieces, odds and ends, thingamabobs.
Watta :-….. (pron. As in hatter) Water.
Waynt :-….. Will not.
Wellows :-….. Wellington s, never wellies back in the fifties.
Weshin :-….. Laundry.
Wunt :-….. Would not.
A Sheffield-eeze Ditty (Speech exercise)
Oh weer reight dahn in coyl oyl,
Weer muck splarts on t'winders.
We've used all us coyl up,
An' weer reight dahn to cinders.
When bum-bailiff cooms eel never fint us,
Cos weer reight dahn in coyl oyl,
Weer muck splarts on t'winders.
(bum-bailiff, so called because they always
came round the back.)
Translation
Oh, we are right down in the basement,
Where the dirt accumulates on the casement.
We have used all our anthracite,
And are right down to the residue.
When the landlord's representative calls,
He will not discover us,
Because we are right down in the basement,
Where the dirt accumulates on the casement. Anon.
Spring Heeled Jack o’ Sheffield
Prowls Spring Heeled Jack on nights of black;
The steel city's leaping ghoul.
In filth he scroams Satan’s foul domes,
Hunting the unwary fool.
One face time weather'd, spring heels unleather'd,
He watches with baleful gaze.
In dark his other, self-same not brother,
Drags liars to his maze.
Jack leaps o'er spires, sucks life from liars,
Garners proud talking fools.
From dungeons deep on them he'll leap,
Those keenest of Satan's tools.
From lost stone ways, or oak beamed his gaze,
Sees all and waits to leap.
Proud liars beware the night's dark air,
Spring Heeled Jack will never sleep. © 2013 Brian Sellars
Acknowledgements
Many thanks to all those who helped me, especially my wife Jeannie, who patiently tracked down my many typos, despairing when I changed anything without telling her, for all the new ones she knew I’d have introduced.
Thanks also for:
JR Wrigley’s book, A Walkley Camera, Pickard Publishing, Sheffield.
Walkley Through the Ages by Albert Staley, DS Publishing.
Dance Floor Drowning Page 28