'He'll be here in a minute. He's up with the boss.'
'What's going on?' Frank Perks asked.
Handley raised his eyes and tried to think of a simple explanation. Unable to come up with one he gave up and excused himself, claiming the call of important duties.
'I think they've found a bullet. I bet it's the same as the one that killed Stan,' Billy said.
'Shut up, Billy,' chorused his parents.
Ten minutes later Sergeant Burke entered the office. He smiled thinly, sat at his desk and blew a long whistling sigh. 'Thank you for coming.'
'Did we have a choice?' Billy's dad said querulously.
'Oh I know, Frank. I'm sorry, it's a pain in the neck, but there's been a development. It's something you need to know about.' He glanced shiftily at Billy as he mulled over how best to proceed. 'Billy, if you wouldn't mind, please go and ask the desk sergeant to give you a long stand.'
Billy jumped up cheerfully and went to carry out his errand. Sergeant Burke leaned across his desk confidentially. His visitors leaned in closer. 'While he's gone,' he said softly. 'I have to tell you something. We might possibly have a serious situation coming up, and I want to make sure it doesn't affect Billy. You see, it's these enquiries he's been making, well – err – they might have placed him in danger. I don't think it's too serious, but I believe you should be aware of the possible risk – err - however remote that might be.'
'What risk?'
'Well, as I say, we don't think there is a serious risk, not much of one anyway, but it's my duty to point out any sort of risk, no matter how unlikely and ...'
'If there isn't a risk, how can you point it out?' Mrs Perks said, unnerved by the sergeant's obfuscation.
'Look, don't be alarmed, but if there was a murderer and he finds out that Billy is … It'll never come to that. I don't think there's any risk at all.'
'You think there really is a killer, just like our Billy's been saying all along? You think he might try to harm our Billy?' said Mrs Perks, her clenched fists pressing into her cheeks. 'Oh my God! There is a killer, isn't there? Our Billy was right, and now he's in danger.'
'I don't - I mean, I think it's not very likely. Let's just be sensible and take sensible precautions. That's all I'm saying. Keep him at home. Stop him doing this damned investigating. If he stops it, he'll be safe enough. '
The office door opened slowly admitting the desk sergeant. He looked pale and sick. Billy was bobbing about behind him trying to see round him into the office. 'I've just had a call from central,' said the desk sergeant. He leaned in close to Sergeant Burke's ear and whispered something. Sergeant Burke went pale, nodded his head, and stood up, gaping at his colleague. He straightened his tunic and sat down again, blowing a long thoughtful sigh.
He looked across his desk at Billy's parents. 'West Bar Central took an emergency call five minutes ago. Arnold Pearce is dead. He's been found shot at the back of his shop.'
………
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Arnold Pearce's death was front page news in the Sheffield Telegraph and The Star newspapers. The following day the nationals also carried the story of the war hero and prospective Tory party candidate, killed in his pharmacy.
Friends and neighbours were said to be stunned and saddened by the death. Sheffielders fear a gunman is prowling the steel city as the killing comes so soon after the still unsolved murder of seventeen year old Stan Sutcliffe, an unemployed labourer, shot in a Sheffield church. A Police spokesman could not confirm rumours that they are anxious to interview Mr Sutcliffe's father in connection with both killings.
Old man Sutcliffe was last seen happily drinking in the Rose House pub before word of Pearce's death. As the news broke, he vanished and had not been seen since.
A grave silence hung over Hammerton Road Police Station, like a chapel of rest. The city's C.I.D, had taken over the case. Sergeant Burke was suspended from duty, and now sat at home, his reputation and retirement plans in shreds.
The Ballistics Report confirmed that the same gun had been used to shoot both Stan Sutcliffe and Arnold Pearce, though it did not mention the bullet found inside the old Tilt mill.
There was deep gloom too in the greenhouse. Yvonne, Kick and Billy sat at various corners gazing out at the sky through the white wash flaking off its window panes. For a long time nobody spoke. Kick endlessly rolled a football down his legs, toed it back up to his chest and let it roll down his legs again.
'At least they can't blame Frenchie. He's in jail.'
'Yep - anyway I know who did it,' Billy said quietly.
'You don't,' gasped Yvonne, eager to be convinced.
'I do, and I know how to prove it an' all.'
'Chuffin eck! Straight up?'
'Straight up.'
'Who is it? Is it Sutcliffe?'
'I need to see Sergeant Burke. I shall tell him who did it, but first I have to make sure.' He struggled out of his sagging deck chair and headed for the door. 'Kick, find Doctor Hadfield and tell him what I'm doing? Yvonne, I need you to come with me.'
They ran down to the police station where they learned that the sergeant was taking a holiday at his home. Yvonne said she knew where he lived, so they set off, jogging the mile back up the hill to his house.
'What if he won't talk to us?'
'Why wouldn't he?' panted Billy, as they pushed onward up the steep hill. 'Anyway if he won't, we'll have to get the Reverend, or the Doctor.' Billy scowled crossly. 'The cops won't believe me. It'll have to come from an adult.'
The sergeant's house was one of a fine terrace of Victorian villas, behind a screen of lilac and rhododendron shrubs. A glossy bay window, with leaded glass, pushed out from stout ashlars. Beside an ornate glazed door, a large brass bell push sparkled from a circular carved stone surround. Billy rang the bell. Somewhere deep inside the house a small dog barked, but nobody quieted it, or came to the door.
They tried again, and imagined the little dog going crazy, alone in some distant room. Again, there was no response. Billy moved glumly from the door and walked back into the street. 'I wonder if Kick's found the doctor.'
'Let's not wait,' said Yvonne. 'Let's go to the vicarage.'
*
Mrs Corbert answered the vicarage door. She was grave faced and edgy. 'Oh Billy, it's you. The Reverend's not here. He's taking a walk - for his head. Something is wrong, I can tell. He's really not himself. He's been lost somewhere ever since he came back from Nottingham. I don't know what to do for the best.'
'Drink lots of water, my granny says. Water cures a head full of worries.'
Mrs Corbert looked at him doubtfully. 'He could be back around five but I don't know. I finish at five on Saturdays. If he's remembered, he might try to be back before I go.'
'Will you tell him I have to speak to him – life or death. I'll come round first thing in the morning.'
'Not tomorrow you won't - it's Sunday. He'll be busy all day, and dog tired in the evening. You'll have to wait until Monday,' she said sternly. 'The poor man works like a slave. I'll not have him bothered when he's so tired.'
'OK Monday then - I'll come before I go to school. Will he be up?'
Mrs Corbert looked shocked. 'Of course he'll be up. He's always been up a couple of hours by the time I get here at eight.'
'Eight then,' Billy told her.
*
On Sunday morning as Billy was looking for Kick, the Doctor's old Austin Ruby pulled up beside him.
'Hey, get in, I need to talk to you.'
'Did Kick find you yesterday?' Billy asked him.
The doctor looked puzzled. 'No. Come on quick. Get in.'
'What's up?'
Rummaging in his jacket pocket he pulled out the blue sugar paper envelope Billy had seen at his house. 'You and Yvonne cleared the old lady's house, didn't you?'
'Well it was Mr Leaper, but we helped.'
'What did you do with her things?'
'Furniture was sold off: pots and pans, an
d most of her bedding and towels. She didn't have much. The rest was burned, or put in the dust bin.'
'What about medicines? Did you find any pills, or bottles?'
'Loads of 'em - mostly really old stuff. Mr Leaper said they'd be no good. We emptied full ones down the sink, then put 'em in the dustbin. Why? Was that wrong?'
'Did you see anything like these?' the doctor held out a cupped hand and shook a few greenish-brown pills into it from the sugar paper packet.
'Green mouse droppings,' laughed Billy, recognising them instantly. 'Yeah we saw some of them. There were only a few. We emptied 'em out so I could have the jar for – err – something else.'
'You're positive you saw pills exactly like these?'
'Yes,' he said firmly, 'We laughed because they looked like mouse droppings.'
'Can you remember what it said on the jar?'
'Yes, it was different to the rest. It didn't look like a proper label. You know, there was no proper printing on it, no chemist's name or anything. It just said three times a day. Nothing else.'
'How many were in the jar?'
'Hardly any; that's why I chose that jar – three, maybe four.'
Doctor Hadfield released a miserable sigh and stared at the steering wheel. 'Don't say a word about this, not even to Yvonne, or your parents. I mean it, Billy. You really must keep this to yourself.'
The Ruby revved up and pulled away from the kerb. Billy stared though the window as they drove. The doctor was belting along like a Wicker tram. The doctor swung the little car into Highton Street and plunged down its precipitous hill. The little Austin Ruby offering scant promise that it would be able to stop, but the doctor seemed unconcerned.
Outside his house, Billy thanked Doctor Hadfield for the lift and clambered out, surprised and relieved to still be alive.
His mother dismissively handed him a note as soon as he walked into his house. 'Here, I found this pinned on the door. It's terrible writing and spelling, it must be from Michael Morley.'
The note was unsigned and scribbled on the inside face of a cigarette packet. It read, Meet me now wear you fellen. ERGENT!
It was from old Sutcliffe, Billy guessed. He was the only one who knew exactly where he had fallen. It wouldn't be Mr Simmons, because he didn't know his address, and Kick would have signed it with the special new signature he had been practicing for giving out autographs when he achieves his ambition of playing for Sheffield United.
He volunteered to take the dog for a walk, so that he could get out of the house without raising his mother's suspicions. Preoccupied with her endless chores, she barely noticed his departure. Ten minutes later, he was in the old tilt mill looking for his one time enemy, old man Sutcliffe.
'Did tha get rid of my note?' the old man croaked, materialising from the gloom.
Ruff barked and snarled fiercely from behind Billy's legs. 'Well I didn't eat it if that's what you mean,' cracked Billy, fishing the note from his pocket and offering it.
Sutcliffe took it and tore it up before dropping it into a sump hole. 'I hear they've sacked Burke. Good riddance.'
'What do you want? I've not got much time. It's Sunday and we're going to Bradfield on my dad's motor bike and sidecar this afternoon.'
'Huh – all right for some int it? I've got to stay in this shit hole until the stupid coppers trip over the killer. It's the only way they'll ever find him. He's too clever to get caught.'
'Do you know who it is?'
'I'm not saying nowt about it.'
'Do you think Pearce knew who it was? Is that why he was killed?'
'I don't know or care neither. I just want him caught so they'll stop blaming me. It's always the same. If sommat happens they always blame me.'
'Why did you send me the note?'
'Thars got to prove it. Thars to get me off. There's nobody else that'll help me.'
'Tell me what you know and I'll do my best.'
Old Mr Sutcliffe breathed a sigh of relief and squatted down on an old wooden stillage.
*
In the little octagonal gatehouse Doctor Hadfield answered the telephone. The voice on the line belonged to an old university friend, now working for the City of Bath Police forensics department.
'Loafer! Great, thanks for getting back to me. What did you find out?'
'Where did you get these monsters from?' his friend asked.
'I can't say too much, Loafer old man, but I found them in rather suspicious circumstances. If they're what I think they are, I'll be taking them to the police, so if you don't mind, I'd better not say too much about it at this stage.'
'Well your suspicions are quite correct,' Loafer said. 'They're a particularly nasty herbal concoction. If a pregnant woman took these, as you suspect, they could certainly have caused her to miscarry. But that's not all, she would be playing Russian roulette with her life and certainly with her kidneys and liver. Some of the nasties we found in them are, pennyroyal, savin and wild celery seed, but there's also a toxic cocktail of other stuff too. Your joke about mouse droppings wouldn't apply. Any mouse nibbling one of these monsters would be dead in a squeak. Anyway, I'll write it all up and send you the report. I'll have to make it official of course. I'm sure you understand. At this level of concentration these are dangerous toxins - much too nasty to keep quiet about.'
'Of course, I quite understand, and thanks for your help, Loafer,' Hadfeld said, 'and give my love to baby Mark.'
*
Oliver Stark OBE, the Chief Constable of Sheffield was not pleased to be missing his Sunday afternoon golf, even for an old fishing pal like Sergeant Terrence Burke.
He'd sent for him as soon as he'd heard of his suspension from duty. He would have liked to talk as they played a round together, but Burke didn't have his clubs and appeared far too jumpy and sullen for golf. The two had known each other for years, and often went on fishing trips, away from the city; Scotland and Ireland were their favourite escapes. Another senior officer often joined them. As young men the three had joined the Royal Horse Artillery on the same day and served together between the wars. They still wore identical regimental rings. After their demob, it was Burke who had persuaded the other two to join the police. Theirs was a deep-rooted friendship. It had even survived their widening social differences, as Burke had stuck as a sergeant, and the others had progressed to ever higher levels of seniority in the police force.
'Well what did you expect, Terry?' cried Oliver Stark, swinging a putter on his back garden lawn. 'You should have brought C.I.D in from the start.'
Sergeant Burke blew a sigh. 'There was no case to start with. It was down as accidental death. The Coroner called it just like the doctor had said. Then this young lad started poking about and making a fuss. I was just trying to handle it. The last thing I wanted was the newspapers getting hold of it and saying we didn't care about little old ladies.'
'But what do I do now? Bob Simpson is one of the few of our graduate intake that we dared to promote. You know what a big song and dance I made about it when we made him Chief Superintendent. If I overrule him now and the newspapers get hold of it, what will that make me look like?'
'I'm not asking you for any favours. I know I messed up, but you know you can rely on me to give C.I.D all the help I can to make up for it. The thing is, I can't do anything if I'm sat at home listening to Mrs Dale's Diary.'
'And what do I say to Bob Simpson? Oh Bob that old pal of mine you've suspended for behaving like a plonker, I've overruled you – d'yer mind?'
Sergeant Burke's shoulders sagged.
When the two old friends parted, Oliver Stark reached for the telephone and called Bob Simpson. 'Hello, Bob. Sorry to disturb you on a Sunday afternoon - I hope it's not too inconvenient.'
'Not at all, sir - how can I help?'
'I just saw Terry Burke. He's pretty down as you can guess.'
'Oh yes – err- I expect he is …'
'I just wanted to say that I think you did the right thing in suspending him, B
ob. I bet it was a hard decision too, him being such a close friend of mine, but I want you to know that I support you a hundred percent. Terry and me go back a long way. We were in the Royal Horse Artillery together. There's a lot I would put up with from an old comrade like that. Especially such an experienced officer, but I have to say, I think you got it exactly right.'
'Oh, well - err - thank you, Sir. I'm glad you think so – err - but as a matter of fact, I was intending to call him back in on Monday. Yes – err - men of his experience are in short supply, and frankly, he would be more use to me at work right now rather than on suspension. I hope you think that's the right move.'
'Oh, it's not for me to comment, Bob, me being such a close personal friend of his. God, he was best-man at my wedding. What would it look like if I interfered? You must do what you think is best, Bob – best for all of us.'
*
Glancing warily around, Doctor Hadfield knocked on Mrs Smeggs' cottage door, wondering why he felt so shifty and conspicuous. Noticing a small bead of blood that had formed on his finger end, he sucked it, making a mental note to be more careful in future of the vicious spring on her garden gate.
'Doctor!' Mrs Smeggs cried, surprised to see him. 'I didn't send for you. Is it the Mester next door again?'
'Oh no, I'm sorry to disturb you, Mrs Smeggs. If you don't mind, I really would appreciate a moment of your time. Is it convenient? I can come back another time.'
'No, come in, come in.'
Granny Smeggs ushered in the young man and fussed and dithered until he was safely ensconced in the armchair facing her rocker. 'My word this is a surprise. Would you like tea, or I've got a bottle of Camp? I like to make it with hot milk.'
'You're very kind, but no thank you. I don't want to take up your time.' He coughed and scanned the room nervously. 'I – err – it's a delicate matter, Mrs Smeggs,' he said awkwardly. 'And one I fear you may prefer not to discuss at all. But I can tell you that it is a matter of the very gravest importance.'