Tuppenny Hat Detective Read online

  Sergeant Burke turned his attention to his young constable who was squaring up to shoulder in the Star Woman's front door. A voice from the crowd pointed out that the door was seldom locked, and that he only needed "the nail" to gain access.

  'Nail, what nail?' Burke queried.

  'The sneck nail. It's a six inch nail she uses to lift the latch,' chorused his audience.

  'Where are we going to get a six inch nail in a hurry?'

  'Off'n her windowsill,' they told him.

  The sergeant searched, making much of his efforts, but eventually found the nail, which he handed to his subordinate. The constable stuck it into the latch, no doubt pondering the contorted logic of having a nail for a key and then hiding it where everyone knew it was.

  Billy however, was distracted by quite another question that had popped into his head. Why was the sneck nail not already in the latch? The old woman was at home, so surely she would have used it to let herself in. When he had opened the door from the inside to let himself out, he had simply lifted the latch. There had been no nail sticking through from the outside. The mystery had not occurred to him then, but now, he realised, the nail should only be in its hiding place on the windowsill when she was away from her house. Whenever she was at home it should be in the door during the day, or taken inside at night where perhaps she kept it on her sideboard until morning.

  Two ambulance men and the sergeant were now inside the house. The crowd speculated wildly as to what they would find. 'She weren't right in her head,' one said. 'I always knew sommat like this would happen.'

  'She's got gold tha knows,' another said, 'sovereigns, lots of 'em in a mucky sock.'

  The young constable joined Billy beside the police car and took out his notebook. Billy leaned proudly against the shining vehicle, enjoying the celebrity that permitted such familiarity with expensive civic equipment. It was not long however, before he began to feel that some of the constable's questions were misguided, even irrelevant. He decided that the young man must be new to his job, and patiently tried to explain to him the point of the sneck nail clue. The officer was not interested. Instead, he insisted on giving Billy a telling off for climbing over the backyard wall in the first place. The sneck nail clue went unrecorded. Billy regretted that it was not Sergeant Burke asking him the questions. He knew the old sergeant would not need important clues explaining to him - as if he was an idiot. He decided to seek him out later.

  As the crowd waited for the ambulance men to re-emerge, speculation ran wild. The Star Woman's so-called life story, wild inventions of the fancy free, ranged from tales of an escaped Russian aristocrat, to a deranged ex-suffragette with a house full of gold coins – in a mucky sock. Wild stories flitted like moths, gathering nonsense at each telling.

  'I want to talk to you, grandson,' said Mrs Smeggs, nailing Billy with her pale blue eyes. 'Have you done with him, young man?'

  'Yes thank you, Ma'am,' replied the constable. 'Any road up, if we need him we know where to come.'

  Granny dropped an arm around Billy's shoulders and started to move away. 'Come on love, let's go indoors. This wind is cold enough to break tripe.' She paused, distracted by the sedate arrival of a gleaming Rover Six saloon car. It drew up behind the ambulance, bringing a hush to the crowd's excited burble. It was old Doctor Greenhow's car. Beside him, in the passenger seat, sat Doctor Hadfield, his new locum, a young man said to be a heart breaker. When Billy had heard this, he had failed to see why being a heart breaker was such a good thing for a doctor. Surely, a heart fixer is what is called for?

  A respectful silence fell on the gathering. People nodded and smiled deferentially as the two men alighted and strode through their midst to the door of the old woman's house. Billy watched the older man raise up an ebony walking stick, richly handled with a silver horse's head, and wield it like a sabre, carving a path through the throng.

  Sergeant Burke, who had been called to speak on the police car's radiotelephone, was unable to greet the pair in person. He glared at them from his car, seeming stressed and annoyed by their arrival. With a series of nods, ticks and facial gestures, he mimed instructions to his constable to escort them inside, while he dealt with the radio.

  Doctor Greenhow entered, posting his nervous assistant at the door to fend off intruders. Mrs Seaton, the Star Woman's next-door neighbour, seeing the young doctor trapped and defenceless, evidently saw this as an opportunity not to be missed. With a rancid glance at Billy, no doubt recalling the commode episode, she set off to consult the young doctor. The stricken locum gazed about helplessly as Mrs Seaton rolled down a thick, tobacco coloured stocking and showed him a battered, blue and white, lumpy shin. Billy cringed, feeling sick at the sight of it, and mentally added physician to his list of rejected professions.

  The re-emergence of his boss saved the locum. Angrily, the old man disposed of Mrs Seaton. 'You know where my surgery is, madam,' he boomed. 'If you need treatment - visit it!' Gathering his sheepish assistant, he strode back towards his car.

  Sergeant Burke finished his radio call and intercepted him. For several minutes the two whispered in a huddle, the sergeant, scribbling in his notebook all the while. Billy watched them, thinking how sour and resentful the doctor seemed towards the Sergeant's questioning. Surely, he cannot have been surprised. He must have expected it.

  When the Sergeant had what he wanted, he abruptly turned from the doctor and strode off. Billy suspected they might have had harsh words, though he could not tell why.

  Doctor Greenhow headed for his car, but paused, evidently held on an afterthought. 'Oh Sergeant, before your man locks up I need to go back in there. I left something inside.'

  Sergeant Burke called to his young constable, who was now attempting to screw a padlock hasp to the cottage door. 'Let the doctor back inside, Handley. And don't forget the back door too. I've got to go. That was the Super on the radio. Can you finish up here?'

  Pink and sweating from his exertions, the constable nodded, and stood aside for Doctor Greenhow to re-enter the house. After a moment or two, the doctor gloomily re-appeared. He buttonholed the sergeant before he could drive away in the police car. As Billy watched all this, standing beside his grandmother, he was surprised to see the sergeant point him out and call him over. 'Billy my lad, come here a minute. The doctor would like to speak to you.'

  Meanwhile, Mrs Seaton had by no means given up on getting some attention for her gruesome limb. She was hopping after young doctor Hadfield, her skirt hem held above her cauliflower knees, like a demented dancer.

  Spotting this, Greenhow turned on her suddenly, and with surprising fury. 'Damn it woman, are you stupid?' he bellowed. 'Did you not hear what I said? This is not the time, nor the place. Come to the surgery at the proper hour. Now go away!'

  Shocked and cowering, Mrs Seaton scuttled into her house, badgered at every step by the old doctor waving his walking stick and shouting at her. After seeing this, it was with some trepidation that Billy approached him.

  Dabbing his brow with a Paisley handkerchief, Doctor Greenhow turned suddenly to Billy. His anger fell away like water and he smiled genially. 'Well done, young man,' he cried, grabbing Billy's hand and shaking it firmly. 'You handled this nasty business like a true champion. Now tell me, Old Stick, how d'you feel?' he asked, steering Billy slowly through the open yard and away from the crowd. 'Will you be frightened, do you think? Will you have nightmares?'

  'No sir. I don't think so. I wasn't scared.'

  'Good lad. Good lad. So you don't feel the need of a magic potion from my bag eh?' he joked. Billy shook his head. 'Now tell me, did you move anything in there? I mean when you found Annab – err - Mrs Loveday, did you touch anything?'

  'I took her pulse,' said Billy, then, remembering added, 'Oh, I had a cup of water because I felt sick.'

  'Yes well I'm sure, Old Stick. Bit of a shock, eh? I mean to say - dead body and all. But you didn't touch any anything?'

  'No sir, nothing.'

&nbs
p; 'Now think hard, Billy. This is very important for my report. Was the room disturbed? I mean such as - were the cupboards open or closed?'

  Billy thought for a moment, remembering the old lady's eyes gazing at him from the floor and from the photograph on the wall. 'Everything was - err - orderly,' he said, the word popping unexpectedly into his head. 'Her eyes were open, but the cupboards were shut.'

  'Orderly hum, orderly you say. Very well, thank you. If I may, I shall shake your hand again. You did an excellent job, very well done indeed.'

  Billy's hand was stinging from the doctor's firm grip when he finally released it, and he wondered casually when the pain of congratulation might fade. He watched the old man join his colleague in the Rover. Both men waved as they drove off.

  Billy waved back half heartedl, shuddering as he wondered how his father would react when he heard about his adventure. Should he even tell him, or just keep quiet? Billy knew he would not be as generous with his praise as the old doctor had been. At times, it seemed that nothing he could do pleased him.

  Better to say nothing, he decided.

  ………

  CHAPTER TWO

  Billy loved trams. He thought of them as friendly and as comforting as old gloves. How the rickety old double-deckers could climb up and down the city's switchback of mountainous streets astonished him. Even just to see one careering past down the steep cobbles thrilled him.

  He attended a Catholic school a mile or so from his neighbourhood, and might have envied Yvonne and Kick who went to the local "Proddy", but for his tram rides on the top deck, on bad weather days.

  The day after he had discovered the Star Woman's body, he was riding the tram home from school when Stan Sutcliffe jumped aboard. Billy's heart sank. Stan had been after him for weeks, boasting that he would "get him". Billy knew this was no idle threat.

  Stan Sutcliffe was seventeen, almost a man. Constantly in trouble with the police, he was a notorious thug and bully. Stupidity magnified his violence; he seemed incapable of understanding its possible consequences. In happier days with his dad, Billy remembered him joking that all the Sutcliffes were as "thick as dubbin". One of his father's pet jokes was that the Army had tested old Mr Sutcliffe and rejected him. "They gave him a shovel with which he felled ten oak trees before somebody explained its proper use."

  Stan sat across the aisle from Billy, glaring and mouthing threats. He was neither subtle, nor lacking persistence. He was after him because Billy had spotted him and his father stealing tools on the garden allotments. Old Sutcliffe had amassed a shed full of them. The pair would clean them up with a wire brush, paint them with red lead and sell them back to the very gardeners they had stolen them from. Some dim-sighted old gents had bought their own spades and rakes several times over. Billy had told his uncle Bert Smeggs about their caper. Uncle Bert had gone straight round to old Sutcliffe's shed, forced the door, gathered up all the stolen tools, and returned them to their rightful owners.

  Stan was still sporting a black eye, though now faded to a pale, yellowish colour. Billy knew it would not have been his Uncle Bert's handy work. Uncle Bert read the Observer, and in Billy's estimation could bewilder even a crazed bull with logic and rational argument. Billy had heard that you could tell about people by the newspapers they read. Uncle Bert did not need to punch people, and Billy suspected his own father could be the author of Stan's facial decoration; he read only the sports pages.

  Huddled in his seat Billy planned his escape. To get off the tram and avoid a beating, he would have to bail out suddenly and run like crazy. He would need to jump off, well before the tramcar stopped, and hope to catch Stan napping. He knew the route very well. Walkley tramcars invariably built up speed as they clattered down past the Yorkshire Penny Bank and on to a straight, level run along the main shopping street. Being so close to the end of the line, there were seldom people waiting to board at the tram stops, and providing there were none on the rear platform waiting to alight, drivers would open up the throttle and enjoy themselves. They would lurch along past Saint Mary's church, banging and swinging. Billy wanted to be a tram driver when he grew up. They had so much fun.

  His was the last stop before the terminus, past Binks' the barbershop and the Ebenezer Chapel. Of course, Stan Sutcliffe knew this too. He was grinning and brandishing his fist. Billy tried not to look at it, but as big as a tin loaf, and as knobbly as a sack of clog irons, it was hard to ignore.

  The conductor rang the bell for Billy's stop. It was just before the cinema. Billy pretended not to notice; he sat coiled and ready to spring off as soon as the driver began cranking down on the power. When the moment arrived, he sprinted down the aisle, clattered down the narrow stairs and leapt off the rear platform, hitting the ground running. He did not look back to see if Sutcliffe was following him - he knew he was.

  Highton Street is a very steep climb from the tram stop. Only the fit could climb it, let alone run up it. Billy had noticed that few people could run up Highton Street without wearing shorts. A third of the way up, a right turn into Orchard Road offered a merciful respite to the winded. They would lean, puffing and gasping against a low wall, as they pretend to be enjoying the view over the Don Valley, an unlovely vista choked with steel mills, smoke and factories.

  Billy's granny lived on Orchard Road. Hers was the end cottage of a pretty, stone terrace of three, standing in neat gardens, behind a wall. Billy's mother would still be at work, so his own house, though closer, would be locked and empty. Granny's therefore, offered his only refuge. If he could get there before Sutcliffe mangled his bones, he would be safe for another day.

  A narrow gate, taller than Billy, served all three cottages. A recycled industrial spring, strong enough to fend off a battleship, kept it firmly shut. Sutcliffe was gaining as Billy reached the gate; barely a yard separated them. He threw his weight against the spring and forced through to safety. Like a mousetrap, the gate snapped shut behind him, whacking Stan hard enough to make him yelp. He doubled up, hopping around with his hands between his legs, as if he had hit his thumb with a hammer.

  Breathless, Billy clattered into Granny's house and ran to the window to goad and grimace at Stan. He stuck out his tongue and vigorously wagged the two-fingered vee-sign at him with both hands; completely forgetting that behind him his granny would be sitting, gently rocking in her old chair.

  'And where did we learn that, pray tell?' she asked, with stiff disapproval.

  Billy blushed with shame, staring at his offensive fingers as if they had suddenly sprouted from his hands and tricked him into such vulgarity.

  'Do you know where that gesture originates?'

  Billy knew she was about to tell him. She seemed to know everything, and he loved her endlessly fascinating stories. She was the perfect granny, in his opinion, and looked exactly as a granny should: neat silver hair fastened with a shiny nacre comb, delicate, gold sleeper rings in her lobes, and round tortoiseshell spectacles sitting on faint blue marks on the bridge of her nose. She played the viola: baked bread, made jam from incongruous combinations of fruit, and sewed all her own clothes on an ancient, Singer treadle sewing machine.

  As usual, he found her wrapped in her thick brown cardigan. A lace trimmed handkerchief peeked from one pocket, a large iron key on a weary loop of string from another. The handkerchief was for show, the key was for the lavatory up the yard at the back.

  Billy's chores at Granny's house included breaking the coal in the cellar beneath her cottage, polishing her copper coalscuttle with Brasso, and keeping it filled with coal. As he watched at her window and waited for Stan to lose patience, the chink of china cups announced apple cake and tea. Stan finally gave up and left. Billy relaxed, safe for another day. Granny began her story of the two-fingered V-sign and English longbow-men after the battle of Agincourt.

  *

  Easter at last, Billy's spirits were soaring; no school for two weeks. On Maundy Thursday his mother sent him to collect the family's bread order from
Mr Bradshaw's bakery. As usual, she threatened him with worse than death if he nibbled the corners off the loaves, but this time she also said that he should ask the baker if he had anything for him.

  'You'd better look in the window, m'lad,' the baker told him later.

  Being Easter, the shop window displayed a tableau of hot cross buns arranged in pyramids, surrounded by mobs of raisin eyed, gingerbread rabbits. The centrepiece was a display of chocolate Easter eggs arranged in furrows of crumpled, blue sugar paper. Candy flowers decorated some: others had sugar footballs, cricket bats, pianos, and marzipan violins. Billy particularly admired one with a blue and white striped image of Sheffield Wednesday's star footballer, Redfern Froggatt. He was so taken by the sugary detail of his hero that he failed to notice his own name piped across it. The baker had to bang on the window and point it out. 'It's for thee – tha wassock!'

  Billy realised that the chocolate bars his mother had mysteriously been depositing with Mr Bradshaw for weeks, had become a sumptuous confection, an Easter football fantasy.

  Nibbling bread corners held no interest now. For once, the warm crusty loaves would reach the Perks' bread bin, intact. Billy skipped home, admiring his Easter egg and nibbling the boots off Redfern Froggatt. He had never seen so much chocolate all at once, and had certainly never possessed as much. The sweet-ration was only four ounces a week, an amount soon eaten, and ration points were better spent on pear drops, or Mintos which outlasted chocolate by many hours.

  As he passed the Star Woman's house, he saw that an official notice the police had pinned to her door had fallen off and was now blowing about the skittle yard. He chased after it. It was a brief instruction to anyone seeking the old woman on business to contact them, or the firm of solicitors, whose address appeared at the bottom of the notice.

  He caught the note, trapping it beneath his foot, and bent to pick it up. Pain exploded in his head and beat him down like a torrent of boulders. Blows fell on him, crashing into him like a relentless cataract, an avalanche of kicks and punches that continued unabated until he passed out.