The Head is Dead

by Tanya Landman

  An echo of what Pearl had said drifted through my head. “He’s always off somewhere or other. I don’t know how Joyce affords it, really I don’t.” Mum had said something about the cost of those trips the very first day we went up to the school. But maybe Mrs Plumtree couldn’t afford it. Suppose Davy hadn’t really gone anywhere?

  “Graham,” I said slowly. “Could you fake photos like Davy’s ones?”

  “Easily.” He shrugged, then went on for a bit about which computer programmes you’d use and how you’d alter the images. “But why would you want to?” he said.

  Just then, Mum rolled over, focused on me, smiled and looked at her bandaged arm. “I don’t suppose I’ll be able to dig for a while,” she said. “This project does seem a bit doomed, doesn’t it? I wonder if the environmental area will ever get started?” She took a sip of water and then her eyes closed again. She looked completely done in.

  Whereas I felt like I might explode. In that one sentence, she’d handed over the final piece of the puzzle.

  “The environmental area!” I gasped. “That’s it!”

  Graham blinked, startled by my sudden enthusiasm. “What?”

  “It all started there, didn’t it? The spring fayre was organized to raise money for it.”

  “I know that,” he said. “I was present at that meeting, remember?”

  “Yes, but we thought this whole plan was about killing Mrs King. We thought she’d made an enemy of whoever wanted to get rid of her. What if it wasn’t personal?”

  “How can murder not be personal?” Graham was baffled. “You can’t get more personal than taking someone’s life, can you? Why do it?”

  “To stop the environmental area being built! Think about it, Graham. Mrs King comes up with the idea and she dies. Then Mr Piper says it’s going ahead anyway, and the money goes missing. Then Mr King comes up with more money – and the day work is due to begin, it all stops because Mum has an accident! An accident with a dodgy workman, wearing an unnecessary mask, who looks like Davy Plumtree!”

  “It makes sense,” Graham acknowledged. “Sort of. But you’d have to be a fanatical anti-conservationist to object to a wildlife area.”

  “True,” I agreed. “And I can’t see why anyone would have it in for a bunch of butterflies. There must be something else…” I thought for a bit. “The car park,” I said at last. “It’s got to be something to do with the car park. The answer has to be there. Now, let’s see. It was built two years ago.”

  “Two years ago,” Graham mused. “When Davy went travelling.”

  “It keeps coming back to him and Ricky, doesn’t it? And Ricky changed the day his brother left.”

  “He wasn’t the same again,” muttered Graham.

  The words hung in the air while we both concentrated so hard you could hear the grinding of our brains.

  But eventually I said tentatively, “Suppose he really wasn’t the same? I mean literally. Suppose that’s not him?”

  “Who else could it be?” frowned Graham.

  “They’re twins, aren’t they?”

  “Well, yes,” agreed Graham. “But no one could muddle them up. Ricky has special needs. It’s obvious which one is which.”

  “What do you notice about Ricky?” I asked. “The fact that he’s sweet and dreamy and always staring into space? If his hair was spiked up and he behaved differently, he’d be the dead spit of his brother.” I was startled by the thought that occurred to me. “Could Davy be pretending to be Ricky?” It sounded stupid even to me.

  Graham’s mouth dropped open. “Why on earth would he want to do that?” he asked incredulously.

  “No idea,” I admitted. “But it fits. And Mrs Plumtree’s neighbour died the day she told us how much Ricky had changed. If that is Davy, and he heard what she said, he must have thought she knew who he really was. Or he was scared she would work it out eventually.”

  “But Mrs Plumtree would know too,” objected Graham. “Why would she agree to something like that?”

  “Money,” I replied. “You said yourself that it’s fifth on the list of motives for murder. And Mum said something about her retiring early. So did her neighbour. Davy’s twenty-one soon, isn’t he? Suppose there’s a rich relative around somewhere. Maybe there’s some sort of will or something. Do you think they might be going to inherit some cash?”

  “Mrs Plumtree…” Graham sighed. “She can’t be involved in all of this: she was there in the office when Mrs King was murdered. We both heard her.”

  “We did. But hang on, Graham,” I added as the seed of an idea began to sprout. “She was definitely in there, because everyone saw her – but was he? All we heard was someone crying. We assumed it was him. But maybe Mrs Plumtree was doing both voices and he wasn’t in the office when we thought he was. They must be in on it together! It was a perfect alibi!”

  “She made me take a cup of tea to Mrs King.” Graham started to talk very fast. “Once I’d gone back to the field, he could have sneaked out and killed her. He’d have been safely in the office again by the time Mrs Plumtree handed you the biscuits. They could have been watching our every move from there. They’d have seen everything we did.”

  “Maybe Mrs Plumtree did all the other stuff too. Maybe Craig really didn’t swear at her. If Mrs Plumtree told Mrs King he had, no one would believe Craig’s word against hers. And yet it was a really good way of throwing suspicion onto Mr Walters. She could have made up that stuff about Mrs King wanting to sack the teachers too. Maybe it was her who started all those staff room stories about who wanted what and when for the murder trail. She’s the sheepdog! It would only take a whisper here and there to get a rumour going.”

  “And the orange squash!” exclaimed Graham. “No wonder we had to run to the toilet so often. I suspect she put something in it so we had to keep going in and out of the building. We reinforced her alibi.”

  “She must have nicked Mr Edwards’ phone and made the phone call to Mr Walters.”

  “And swapped Mrs King’s pills while we were in the hall – she could have sneaked in at the back and done it before we noticed she’d arrived.”

  “I bet she got Mr Edwards to sign that cheque. He must have to sign things all the time, he probably didn’t even look at what it was for. She did it all!”

  We stared at each other, astounded. It worked. Each piece fitted. We were through the maze.

  “But why would they want to stop the environmental area from being built?” asked Graham. “Has Mrs Plumtree got a phobia of invertebrates? Surely no one could be that scared of spiders?”

  The realization hit me between the eyes like a sledgehammer. “It means tearing up the car park,” I said flatly. “If that’s really Davy, and he’s impersonating his brother, it must mean Ricky’s not around any more. What have they done with him, Graham?”

  Graham paled. “You don’t think…?”

  I nodded, and swallowed hard before answering. “I do. And I reckon he’s buried under the car park.”

  doctor death

  Graham and I were so horrified about what we’d just worked out that we barely registered two medical staff entering the room. The doctor leant over Mum to examine her. The nurse stood to the side of me and Graham. Neither of us even looked up. It was only when I noticed a uniform out of the corner of my eye – stretched too tightly over an ample bosom – and caught a whiff of a familiar perfume that I reacted. Mrs Plumtree!

  My instincts took over. My arm shot out and slapped the doctor’s hand away from Mum. Which was just as well. He was holding a syringe, and I very much doubted that whatever was in there would make Mum better. It flew across the room and thudded into the wall like a dart.

  Mrs Plumtree reached out for it, but Graham shoved the chair he’d been sitting on at her legs and she stumbled. He grabbed the syringe and pushed in the plunger so that the liquid – whatever it was – squirted harmlessly on the floor.

  The two of us together could probably have defended ourselves against Mrs
Plumtree. But when we looked at the doctor, we both panicked. It was Ricky. Hair spiked up, blue eyes sharply focused. Which meant it was really Davy, large as life and twice as lethal.

  “Well, well, well,” he said calmly, looking from me to Graham and back again. “My mother said you two were bright.”

  “Oh, they are,” said Mrs Plumtree eagerly, blinking back the tears that had begun to well in the corners of her eyes. “It does seem a terrible pity. Are you quite sure you have to, dear?”

  Davy looked at his mother, and she seemed to shrink a few centimetres. “Have I ever been wrong?”

  “But they’re children,” she said in a whisper.

  “Are you questioning my judgement?” Davy’s voice was icy. “They’ll tell the police. You don’t want to see me in prison, do you?”

  Mrs Plumtree hung her head. She said nothing, but her bosom heaved with emotion.

  Davy took a step forward, fixing his cold, blue eyes on me. “I thought you might have worked it out. So I listened at the door. We heard your entire conversation. And now you have to die.”

  “Don’t worry, dears.” Mrs Plumtree’s lower lip was wobbling as she spoke. “He won’t hurt you. A few pills, that’s all. It’ll be just like going to sleep.”

  “But what will you do with our bodies?” Graham asked as if he was genuinely interested in the answer.

  “We’re in a hospital,” said Davy, smiling a smile that chilled me to the core. “There’s an incinerator in the basement. It’ll take no time at all to dispose of you. And then I can live the life I deserve to. I’ve waited long enough for it.”

  “Why did you kill Ricky?” I demanded, staring at Mrs Plumtree and desperately trying to delay things.

  Mrs Plumtree’s mouth fell open, her head tipped back and for a few moments she looked as though she was letting out a silent scream. When she spoke, there was no doubting the pain in her words. “I didn’t! He was my baby. How could you even think a mother could do such a thing?” Tears started to flow freely down her face and she made no attempt to wipe them away. “He had a weak heart, poor love. One night it just stopped. There was nothing I could do. I miss him so badly!”

  “So what happened?” I turned to Davy. “Why did you start pretending to be him? Was it to do with money?”

  “Well, of course it was to do with money,” he said as if I’d asked the stupidest question in the world. “My wretched grandmother left everything to Ricky when she died. What did she expect me to do?”

  Mrs Plumtree’s voice was faint but she suddenly seemed determined to explain. “My mother was terribly fond of Ricky. She worried so much about what would happen to him when he grew up. He wasn’t capable of looking after himself, you see. She left all her money in trust so that he could be properly cared for. Her will said that when he was twenty-one, Ricky would come into a small fortune. And if he died before then, it was to go to the local dogs’ home. I don’t understand why she did it. It was just so unfair on poor Davy.”

  Graham and I exchanged a swift glance and I knew he was thinking the same as me. Davy’s grandmother had seen his true nature. It was a pity his mother wasn’t quite so clear-sighted.

  “She left you with no choice, didn’t she, dear?” Mrs Plumtree continued. “When Ricky died, Davy told me exactly what had to be done.”

  “So you buried Ricky beneath the car park.”

  “Yes. The builders had cut right into the hill. There was a deep hole ready and waiting. It was good timing, really. So you can see why we had to stop Mrs King’s project.” She looked at her son proudly, as if they’d just announced in assembly how many house points he’d got that week. “Davy worked everything out. And it wasn’t like he just had one idea – there were so many! Contingency plans, he called them, in case the first one failed.”

  “Contingency plans?” said Graham. “Like framing Mr Edwards? I suppose you made him sign a blank cheque weeks ago, didn’t you, just in case it was required?”

  Mrs Plumtree nodded.

  “Is that why you spread those rumours about the teachers being sacked, too? And about Mr Piper struggling to keep his house? It was you who told Pearl that, wasn’t it?” I asked.

  “Well, yes, dear.” She looked at us earnestly, pleading for our understanding and sympathy. “We have to get the project stopped. If Mr Piper still wants to go ahead, Davy plans to get him blamed for your mother’s murder.” Her eyes had grown wide and her voice shot up an octave. “I’m so lucky to have such a clever son! I did exactly what he told me to.” She counted on her fingers as she spoke. “Suggested the trail. Steered it in the right direction. Got Mr Edwards to sign the cheque. Swapped the pills. Called Mr Walters.” Her face clouded for a moment. “But I made a mistake, didn’t I, dear?” She looked at Davy apologetically. “I used Mr Edwards’ phone when I should have used Mrs King’s. It confused the police for a while. But it all worked out in the end, didn’t it?” She paused to draw breath and then said, “Poor Davy has had to live a double life for the past two years. But as soon as we have the money safely in the bank, all that will change.” She beamed at her son, her eyes full of insanely desperate optimism that somehow – if she had enough faith in him – he’d make everything turn out all right.

  “You killed Pearl, didn’t you?” I asked Davy.

  “Of course. She always liked a stroll in the park before sunset. It was the easiest thing in the world to fake a mugging. I really couldn’t have her telling anyone else how much Ricky had changed.” He smiled his chilling smile again. “But that’s enough talking.”

  He looked at his mother. When he requested the bottle of pills, she handed them to him and watched while he carefully unscrewed the cap. But she dropped her eyes when Davy advanced towards us, and her tears splashed on the floor.

  Graham and I were standing right by the bed. There were two of them and two of us. We probably could have put up an effective fight if Davy hadn’t suddenly pulled the pillow out from beneath Mum’s head and dangled it over her face. He held the pills in one hand, the pillow in the other.

  “It wouldn’t take much to finish her,” he said calmly. “It would be as easy as killing Mrs King. A little messier than the injection I’d planned, but the end result will be the same. I suggest you take your medicine nicely, like good children.”

  I couldn’t stand there and watch him suffocate Mum – I just couldn’t. And though I knew that he’d kill her once he’d finished with us, I accepted the pills he shook out into my hand. So did Graham.

  “Remember what DCI Swan said about us being hamsters?” I muttered to Graham.

  “I do,” he whispered, flashing one of his blink-and-you-miss-it grins.

  We understood each other.

  “Get on with it,” said Davy menacingly.

  We each put the first pill in our mouths. Swallowed. A second. Swallowed again. A third. A fourth. A fifth. I staggered a little and crossed my eyes.

  “They’re beginning to work,” said Davy. “Mum, go and fetch a trolley. We can put them both on one of those and take them down to the incinerator. We’ll finish the mother off later.”

  Mrs Plumtree stepped towards the door.

  But before she could open it, the door was kicked open so violently that it came off its hinges, crashing into Mrs Plumtree and throwing her down hard on her back. Two armed police officers burst into the room, training their weapons on Davy and his flattened mother. And DCI Swan stood framed in the doorway, her mouth twisted into a reluctant smile.

  For a moment I was impressed. I thought she’d worked it all out and sprung into action. But it turned out that Mum hadn’t been quite as unconscious as she’d seemed. She’d come to when I’d smacked the syringe out of Davy’s hand. Immobilized on the bed, she’d done the only thing she could before she passed out again – pressed DCI Swan’s number on her mobile. The policewoman had heard the whole conversation and come straight away.

  After Mrs Plumtree and her son were arrested, DCI Swan’s hand landed on my shoulder. �
�We’d better get your stomachs pumped,” she told me, and I couldn’t help noticing that she seemed to find the prospect immensely cheering. “They’ll have to shove a length of hosepipe down your throats to wash out all those pills. Unpleasant but necessary, I’m afraid.”

  “No need for that.” I spat into my hand and held up the pills.

  Graham did the same.

  “We’re not stupid,” I said. “We stashed them in our cheeks and just pretended to swallow. Being like hamsters can be quite useful sometimes.”

  There’s not much to add, really. Mr Walters and Mr Edwards both got released from custody immediately and without any charges, Craig was allowed back into school, and Mr Piper eventually got appointed as the new head teacher of St Andrew’s.

  When Davy’s case finally came to court, he got the maximum sentence for the murders of Mrs King and Pearl and the attempted murders of me, Graham and Mum, not to mention the concealment of his brother’s body and the framing of two innocent men. Mrs Plumtree got pretty much the same, because even though she hadn’t actually killed anyone, she’d helped Davy every step of the way.

  When the car park got dug up, poor Ricky was given a proper burial at last.

  The environmental area was brilliant when it was finally finished. It was based on Mum’s design, although her arm was too mashed up for her to actually do it herself. The kids at St Andrew’s worked on it together and it became a sort of memorial garden. We were invited to the official opening ceremony. There was a big plaque to commemorate Mrs King.

  And an even bigger one for Ricky.

  the head is dead

  Tanya Landman is the author of many books for children, including Waking Merlin and Merlin’s Apprentice, The World’s Bellybutton and The Kraken Snores, and three stories featuring the characters Flotsam and Jetsam. Of The Head is Dead Tanya says, “An advert for a murder mystery evening at a local school caught my attention. I started to wonder if there were tensions and rivalries in the staff room. Suppose the whole event was a plot to divert attention from a real murder?”