Tuppenny Hat Detective

by Brian Sellars

  Mrs Smeggs peered at him over her spectacles, her eyebrows almost hitting the ceiling. 'Good gracious. What ever can it be?'

  'I believe you knew Mrs Loveday quite well, and helped her from time to time.'

  Granny Smeggs chewed her bottom lip for a second and considered where he might be leading. 'Yes, I knew her. We were neighbours,' she admitted cautiously. 'My garden wall adjoins her backyard.'

  'I'm sorry to press you, Mrs Smeggs, but I believe it went further than that.' He paused, studying her reaction. When she did not add to her admission, he probed tentatively. 'Before the war, I believe you sometimes laid out the dead for people.'

  'Yes, I helped those who didn't have the money for an undertaker.'

  'And you delivered many a baby round here too, I believe.'

  She eyed him suspiciously and pushed her glasses up her nose. 'Ordinary folk couldn't afford midwives and doctors until Mr Bevan gave us the National Health Service. But babies have been coming since Cain and Able, doctor, without hospitals and doctors. I just helped along what comes naturally.'

  'Would I be right in saying that you nursed Annabel Loveday during her pregnancy?'

  Mrs Smeggs bristled and shook her shoulders stiffly. 'I don't want to talk about it. The poor woman's dead, God rest her. Nothing can be served by it now.'

  Hadfield persisted. 'Have you ever seen anything like these before?' He fished in his jacket pocket, took out the blue sugar paper packet he had shown Billy and shook out a few of the little green tablets into his cupped hand.

  The old lady squirmed in her rocking chair, her eyes sparkling with unshed tears. 'I told her not to take 'em. She'd got the crazy idea they would help form the child's bones. Her sister had rickets you see, and died young. A lot did in them days. She believed them things would be good for the child. I told her good food and exercise would do as much. I told her not to take them. I told her to drink milk stout, and eat eggs and fruit. She never had no herbal pills for her Tommy, and he was a lovely baby.'

  'Do you know what they are?'

  'Some old wives tonic I think - vitamins, or something I suppose.'

  'Do you know where she got them?'

  Mrs Smeggs gripped the arms of her chair. Her lips trembled, her eyes blazing with fury. 'Not from me!' she cried angrily, spitting her words at the doctor. 'I brought children into this world without witch's brews. Like I just told you: good food, milk and eggs, and don't drink strong liquor, but for a glass of stout now and again. That's what I always told my ladies.'

  'I agree, and I am entirely sure you didn't give these to her.' He settled in his seat and tried to relax. 'Was she looking forward to the birth?'

  'She was sick most of the time, but she was strong and didn't complain much. It was the old doctor, Doctor Howard, who took her into Jessop's hospital. You probably won't have heard of him. Anyway, it was a good job he saw her and got her to hospital. Even so, she still lost the child, but she nearly lost her life too.'

  'I believe you fetched the doctor personally.'

  She nodded.

  'Did you always do that?'

  'If need be, I did. Why?'

  'No, I mean do you go to the doctor's house yourself instead of sending a boy with a note.'

  'Sometimes, I can't say really. Sometimes it was different.'

  'Would I be right in thinking that you particularly wanted it to be Doctor Howard that came to see her on that occasion, and not any other doctor?'

  She avoided his eyes. 'I don't know what you mean.'

  'Forgive me, but I think you do. What I mean is, I think you wanted to make sure it was not Doctor Greenhow. I think you had your suspicions about those pills, didn't you? I think that's why you tried to stop her taking them.' He watched her closely reading her reactions. 'You knew, didn't you? You knew what he was doing. Why did you keep quiet?'

  Mrs Smeggs took a deep breath and sighed, staring into the embers in her fireplace, her lips trembling as she recalled things she had not wanted to think about for thirty years. 'She had nothing left, but her Tommy,' she told him softly. 'Her Noah was dead - she'd lost everything. For a time he was a comfort to her, Doctor Greenhow. Why should I add to her misery by dragging it out for everybody to snuffle through like foraging pigs? She promised me she would stop taking the pills, if I agreed to keep quiet about it. So I did.'

  She blew her nose and dabbed her eyes. 'They started out with high hopes, her and her Noah,' she told him, a thin smile coming to her trembling lips. 'He was a good boy, Noah, a saw-smith. They should have had a good life too, never too much nor too little – just right. He would have set up as a little mester. Things would have been good for them. But the war stopped all that. It broke her, though she was still young - and very comely too, believe it or not. Those dark eyes of hers could fell men like a scythe through barley. But inside, it was different.' She paused and looked at the young doctor, studying his face for a moment. 'When people look at each other, doctor, do you know what they see?'

  He shrugged, sombrely.

  'They see skin, and that's all they see. Anything else is put there by their own imaginations. In other words, they see what they want to see. Nothing more nor less.'

  'You know that you probably saved her life?'

  'Only just. You'd have thought she was a ninety year old to look at her. She was younger than me, barely sixty. She's been sallow and sick all her life since them pills.' She gestured to the packet in Hadfield's hand. 'Greenhow kept her alive afterwards. He made sure he was the only one who treated her.'

  Hadfield put the pills away in his jacket pocket. 'I don't know what to do about this,' he told her. 'Of course, you know it's a criminal offence to terminate a pregnancy. I've been thinking about it.' He looked up at her. 'It will have to come out – all of it. You do understand, don't you?'

  'You must do what's right. But I just ask you to think of that poor woman when you decide what that is.'

  ………

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  Monday morning was grey and damp. Trees dripped after overnight rain and puddles floated May blossom. A chill mist clung to everything as Yvonne and Billy walked to the vicarage for their meeting with Reverend Hinchcliffe.

  From the bottom of the vicarage drive, they saw Mrs Corbert on the front door step. She appeared to have just arrived for work and seemed to be having some difficulty unlocking the door. Stooped in concentration she did not notice them as finally, she opened the door and started inside. Billy hurried up the drive to try to catch her before she went inside. Yvonne yawned and slouched along behind him.

  As he reached the front door, it suddenly swung open again. Mrs Corbert stood on the threshold, ashen faced, eyes wide with horror, her body hunched and trembling. She fell into Billy's arms wailing and gibbering. He struggled to hold her as she wept and shook. Yvonne ran past them into the house, returning almost immediately, looking grim faced and frightened. 'He's dead,' she cried. 'He's on the floor - there's blood ...'

  Billy steered Mrs Corbert to a garden seat nearby and sat her down. Yvonne sat beside her, holding her. Gently relinquishing his hold on her Billy stepped cautiously into the house. He found the Reverend Hinchcliffe lying face down in a pool of blood in the entrance hall near to his study door. There was a bloodstain on the back of the dark green cardigan covering his clerical black shirt and white collar.

  Gasping for breath, Billy stood over the body. He found he was unable to stop repeatedly wiping his palms on his trousers. He told himself he must calm down and ring the police. There was a telephone on a hall table. He dialled three nines and was soon explaining what he had found.

  'Stay where you are. Officers are on the way.'

  Police Headquarters passed the call details to Hammerton Road Police Station, barely a five-minute car drive from the vicarage.

  Sergeant Burke was in his office, keeping his head down, after having his suspension unexpectedly lifted by the chief superintendent late on Sunday afternoon. So far, his colleagues at the
ir desks had been unable to catch his eye and were itching to know his situation. There had been no formal announcement. Some were even wondering if he had any right to be on duty at all. Whispered speculation persisted.

  Heads turned in unison from Burke's door to the door opposite, as the inspector was heard running down the stairs from his office on the upper floor. They watched as he burst in and dashed across into Burke's office. What on earth was going on? Was the inspector about to throw the sergeant out? The next moment Burke and the Inspector rushed out of the station together. They left in the Inspector's car, bells down, tyres screeching.

  At the vicarage, Billy heard the distant sounds of police car bells. He went out into the front garden to join Mrs Corbert and Yvonne to wait for the police to arrive.

  Tears stained Yvonne's face, but she bravely tried to console the poor woman whose wailing echoed round the garden like wolf howls. 'She says it was Alexander,' sobbed Yvonne.

  'What?'

  'She said he was still alive. She asked him who did it and he told her, "Alexander," then he died.'

  'I don't know who he meant,' wailed Mrs Corbert. 'I don't know Alexander.'

  At the bottom of the drive the wooden gates of the vicarage scraped noisily on gravel as PC Handley pushed them back against wet, overhanging shrubs. He stood back and waved in a waiting police car. Another followed, and in the distance others could be heard approaching.

  Billy was relieved to see Sergeant Burke, though the inspector with him glared around, grim faced and hostile. The sergeant adjusted his helmet and headed purposefully towards the vicarage's still open door. The inspector spun around, and pointing at PC Handley, stomped towards him. 'You – what's your name?'

  'Handley boss ...'

  'Cover the gate Henley. The press'll soon get wind of this. Oh, and keep your eyes peeled for the C.I.D. They'll be the ones that look like criminals.'

  Handley saluted half-heartedly, muttering under his breath.

  The activity around her had quietened Mrs Corbert. She was now sobbing, staring about, and dabbing her nose with a headscarf. Billy and Yvonne sat either side of her. Yvonne cuddled her, watching patiently as the garden filled with police. At the gate, PC Handley began fighting off reporters and sightseers. A crowd was gathering. Traffic honked in the street as it slowed and wound its way past parked police cars, an ambulance, and several reporters' cars. A traffic cop appeared and started waving his arms. The traffic chaos eased miraculously. Another policeman booked the reporters' cars for traffic obstruction.

  Two young men in dark suits hurried up the drive. The C.I.D had opened for business.

  'Are you Billy Perks?' asked one of the young plain clothes men.

  'Yes, but I want to talk to Sergeant Burke.'

  The young man looked surprised. 'Look, I'm Detective Sergeant Wooffitt. I'm in charge of this investigation - at the moment. I need you to come with me.' DS Wooffitt clearly believed his tenure of the case would be short lived, but to be dismissed quite so soon, and by a schoolboy, was unacceptable. For Billy, it was simply a matter of common sense. The sergeant knew the history of the case. He could see no sensible reason why he should have to deal with someone who would need everything explained to him, and probably more than once.

  'No, I want to see Sergeant Burke,' he insisted.

  'Look sonny, come with me, or you'll be in deep bother.'

  'I don't care. I want to talk to the sergeant. He knows what's going on. Me and him have solved this case together.'

  'And me,' cried Yvonne, digging Billy in the ribs.

  The detective sergeant stomped off to the doorstep where Sergeant Burke and the Inspector were in earnest conversation.

  'Excuse me, Inspector, we're ready to interview the witnesses and we …'

  'I'm talking – wait.'

  Detective sergeant Wooffitt swallowed, set his jaw and tried to smile politely, resisting the impulse to batter his superior officer. 'I need to talk to them now, sir, and would like the sergeant to join me. He knows the young lad and we feel it'll be helpful if he sees him there.'

  'Baby sitting?' queried the inspector, turning to smile sarcastically at his sergeant. 'They want you to baby sit them, Sergeant Burke. How do you feel about that?'

  Sergeant Burke looked at both men in turn. 'That man in there was my friend,' he said quietly, nodding towards the open door. 'The folks round here loved him. I think we should do whatever it takes to find out who killed him'

  Between shuddering sobs, Mrs Corbert told her story to a detective. A young constable gave her a cup of tea, which she did not drink. The sergeant, Billy and Yvonne waited for their turn to come.

  A slight commotion at the bottom of the drive sent a ripple of change through the proceedings. The two C.I.D officers looked at each other, concern showing on their eager young faces. They turned to Sergeant Burke as if to see how he was reacting to this new situation.

  'It'll be the Chief Superintendent,' Burke suggested calmly. 'The vicar was a much loved public figure, and we've had more than our fair share of murders just recently. The public will expect to see at least one Chief Super., on the case. Just carry on as though nothing special is going on. That's what he wants to see, not a pair of his officers standing to attention like tailors' dummies.'

  Chief Superintendent Bob Simpson, strode up the drive ahead of a small posse of uniforms and civilians. He touched his hat with his baton and nodded in turn to every officer and civilian in sight, coming to the sergeant last. 'Ah, Sergeant Burke, good to see you. Nasty business this,' he said. Only a few hours earlier he had been yelling down the telephone, threatening the sergeant with the sack. 'A very good man, Reverend Hinchcliffe. He'll be missed.'

  'Yes sir, very much so.'

  'Right, so what do we have so far?'

  Detective Sergeant Wooffitt swallowed hard and stood to attention. 'White male aged fifty-eight …'

  'And you are?' interrupted Simpson.

  'DS Wooffitt, sir'

  'Carry on DS Wooffitt.'

  'Erm – a white male aged fifty-eight …'

  'Sorry Wooffitt, but isn't it the Reverend Hinchcliffe?' Simpson interrupted again.

  'Yes sir,' answered Wooffitt, terrified.

  'Then why not say so?'

  Wooffitt shuffled his feet and grabbed a sheaf of papers from the garden seat where Mrs Corbert sat, still sobbing quietly. He leafed through them as if they would somehow help him to cope. 'The reverend is dead sir; gunshot wound in the back. He was still alive at – err ...' He shuffled through the papers.

  'Eight,' his quaking partner prompted.

  'Eight this morning, when this lady, err - Mrs Corbert, the housekeeper, arrived and discovered the body - err - the reverend – he was not the body then - he was still alive.'

  'And time of death?'

  'Eight oh five, sir.'

  'Is that it? Thank you Sergeant. Well done. Err, the reverend was a popular man, very well liked, so please be careful Sergeant Wooffitt. I know you will be, but you know what the press are like.'

  DS Wooffitt smiled, looking relieved. His little ordeal was over and seemed to have gone quite well. He watched, relaxing slightly, as Simpson turned to Sergeant Burke. 'So Sergeant, what do you make of all this?'

  Sergeant Burke cleared his throat. 'I haven't spoken to DS Wooffitt yet sir. I was about to tell him that there was a call from the Reverend on Friday afternoon. The duty sergeant took it, because at the time - you see - I wasn't able to be there.'

  'Yes - yes we know all about that sergeant. Get on with it please,' said Simpson annoyed.

  'He wanted to come in to the station. Err – specifically, he asked if he could come to see me. The duty officer recorded the message, and I found it this morning when I – finally - got to my desk.'

  'Any idea what he wanted?'

  'It would only be a guess sir, no more than that,' replied the sergeant.

  'I do,' Billy interjected, stepping forward.

  Chief Superintendent Simp
son peered past Sergeant Burke. 'Is this the lad?' he asked, not taking his eyes off Billy.

  'It is sir. Billy Perks.'

  'Bring him over. Let's have a word.'

  A young constable eased into the circle of faces in front of the vicarage's front door. 'Forensics are here, sir,' he announced. 'And a doctor's arrived.'

  Simpson nodded to DS Wooffitt and his colleague, releasing them to attend to the forensics team. 'Give me the headlines Wooffitt, as soon as you have them. Oh - and ask the doctor to hang on when he's finished.'

  Billy was ushered forward. 'I've heard a lot about you,' said Simpson warmly. 'You did a good job getting that case reopened – the man in the water mill, very interesting that. Do you want to be a policeman when you grow up?'

  'No sir, I want to be a tram driver.'

  Simpson nodded, seeming to understand completely. 'Right. So, what can you tell us about this sad business, Billy?'

  'He was going to give you some evidence,' Billy told him. 'It's about old Annabel – err, Mrs Loveday and her son, and Pearce and the lot. He'd found out who did it, but he was scared.'

  'Scared of the killer?' asked Chief Superintendent Simpson.

  'No sir, scared he'd have to give up his job because – because of something he had to do to get the evidence. I told him it didn't matter, but he was very upset about it.'

  Sergeant Burke leaned in closer. He was more interested in the actual evidence than how the reverend had come by it, and wanted to hear more. 'What evidence Billy?' he asked.

  'I don't know Mr Burke. I never saw anything, but he said it would change everything and prove what I'd been saying about the murder.'

  'Do you think he knew who killed Mrs Loveday?' asked the Chief Superintendent.

  'Yes, I do, and her Tommy too.'

  'But you don't know?' Sergeant Burke queried.

  'Well not exactly, but I know who killed Pearce for certain. And because of that I think I could soon prove that the same person killed Tommy and Mrs Loveday. And when you get the bullet out of the reverend, I bet that's from the same gun that killed Stan Sutcliffe, and Mr Pearce - just like I said.' He looked into the faces of the sergeant and the chief superintendent. 'That bullet will tie it all up.'

  'OK, young man - so tell us, who do you think killed Mr Pearce?' asked Bob Simpson.