The Temptation

by Vera Morris

  ‘I saw you with the pupils on the playing fields when I first visited the school. You looked as though you had them well under control. It must be difficult achieving high athletic standards with pupils of varied disabilities.’

  Salmon seemed to be having trouble following his line of thought. ‘What do you mean?’

  Frank searched for different words. ‘Do you have any problems teaching the boys games?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘None at all? Do some of them have coordination problems? Can’t catch balls, things like that?’

  ‘Yes.’

  This was impossible. He decided to cut to the chase. ‘Did you teach David Pemberton?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘What was he like? Did he enjoy games?’

  Salmon widened the space between his legs and leant forward. ‘He didn’t do much PE, he did extra art. He joined in when we went for cross-country runs. He seemed to like that, he was a good runner, could keep going when the other boys slowed down.’

  ‘What did you make of him?’

  ‘Make of him?’

  ‘Yes. Was he a pleasant boy? Or was he troublesome?’ It was like getting blood out of a stone. Or a lump of concrete.

  ‘He was all right, didn’t say much.’

  ‘He was friendly with Peter, wasn’t he?’

  The eyebrows came together again. ‘Who told you that?’

  He tried to look puzzled. ‘Mr Baron? The school matron? I can’t remember.’

  ‘Oh.’ The caterpillars above his eyes crawled apart. ‘I suppose they told you he died?’

  Frank tried not to show his surprise and consternation. Peter dead? ‘Yes. I can’t remember what they said he died of. Was it a heart problem?’

  Salmon laughed. ‘Yes, it stopped. They usually do when you die.’ He continued laughing.

  Frank took a chance. ‘When was that? The end of April, 1969, wasn’t it?’ That was near the date David ran away.

  ‘Something like that. Epileptic fit, died in his sleep. He had diabetes as well. Always trying to get out of games, saying he didn’t feel well.’

  ‘What was his surname, I’ve forgotten.’

  ‘Mobbs … you seem to have a bad memory, Mr Diamond. Anything else you’ve forgotten?’

  Frank decided to change tack. He waved his notebook and biro. ‘That’s why I write a lot of notes, Mr Salmon. Do you teach any other subjects?’

  ‘Geography.’

  ‘Have you always been a teacher? You look like a military man, to me.’

  Salmon flushed and pushed his shoulders back. ‘Army. Best years of my life.’

  ‘Why didn’t you stay? Why go into education/’

  ‘That’s none of your business. They treat you great at first, but if your face doesn’t fit … they treat you like shit.’

  ‘Are there any other military men on the staff?’

  ‘No, but …’

  Frank looked at him questioningly. ‘Yes?’

  Salmon moved uncomfortably on his seat. ‘No. No one else.’

  ‘What was Peter like?’

  ‘I thought you were here to ask about David Pemberton?’

  ‘That’s true, but I believe David was close to Peter. I wonder if David heard about his death and was so upset he ran away.’

  Salmon pulled at his lower lip and nodded. ‘Could be; makes sense.’

  ‘What was Peter like?’ Frank persisted.

  ‘Daft as a brush, like all those slitty-eyed kids. We’ve got several, you know. Most come from the orphanage.’

  Frank resisted saying something. ‘The orphanage?’

  ‘Don’t you know? Thought you were supposed to be a detective?’

  ‘That’s what I’m trying to do – detect. Tell me about the orphanage.’

  ‘Not sure which one it is, but the governors always accept two or three boys each year, all fees paid. Sometimes it works out but sometimes they get sent back—’

  Baron poked his head round the door. ‘Sorry to interrupt, but you’re late for your lesson, Mr Salmon. Had you forgotten?’

  Salmon flushed and got up.

  ‘Sorry, Mr Diamond. I’m afraid Mr Salmon must leave now. I’ll send in the next person.’

  ‘Thank you, Mr Salmon, you’ve been most helpful.’

  ‘Goodbye.’ He stalked off, shoulders back. All he needed was a peaked cap and a swagger stick.

  Stuart Elderkin pulled out a chair and smiled at the matron, who didn’t respond in a like manner. He hoped this interview would be more productive than the last three.

  ‘Very kind of you to give me your time, Miss Gammell.’

  ‘Nurse Gammell.’

  He smiled and nodded. ‘Of course.’

  ‘So how are the boys at the moment?’ Perhaps some small talk might oil the wheels.

  ‘What do you mean? How are the boys?’ Her sharp voice and pinched nostrils suggested she wasn’t impressed. The clipped speech and slight accent reminded him of a film he’d seen where a female Nazi concentration guard was being beastly to the women prisoners. It would be good casting.

  ‘Are they all well? No outbreaks of boils, or ingrown toe-nails?’ He laughed, hoping to lighten the mood.

  She glared at him. ‘We do not allow boils; all the boys are inspected every week for any skin problems, insect infestations and finger and toe nails are regularly cut. Without fail.’

  One step below torture and nails being pulled out. He gave up any idea of establishing a rapport.

  ‘Can you tell me about David Pemberton? What was he like? Who were his friends? Did he have any illnesses?’ He leant back in his chair, trying to look relaxed, but probably failing. God, Mabel was like an angel, even in her worse moods, compared to this she-devil.

  ‘David Pemberton? Why do you want to know about him?’

  ‘Didn’t the headmaster explain? We’re trying to find out what happened to him.’

  She sniffed. ‘I can tell you nothing.’

  ‘You must have had some dealings with him; you must have seen him around the school.’ His blood pressure was rising.

  She pursed her lips and looked upwards as though racking her brains. ‘No. He was not ill while he was here. I did not know him.’

  ‘You said a minute ago all the boys were inspected regularly. You must have come across him then. There aren’t that many boys at the school.’

  Red patches formed above her cheek bones. ‘You are trying to confuse me.’

  ‘Why don’t you want to talk about David? Have you been told not to?’ See how she handles that.

  She half-rose from the chair. ‘You are a rude man. No one tells me anything. Certainly not, Mr Baron.’ There was a contemptuous tone when she mentioned the headmaster. Interesting. He decided this conversation was not a waste of time.

  ‘Nurse Gammell, I do apologise if I’ve upset you. No offence intended,’ he grovelled. It seemed to have the right effect as she gave a swift nod of her head and settled back in her seat.

  ‘Did David ever speak to you? Did he ever ask your advice? I imagine many of the boys might seek your help.’

  This remark seemed to puzzle her. He could understand why. He’d rather consult a witch doctor than ask Nurse Gammell for help.

  She shook her head. ‘No. He did not.’

  ‘That’s a very attractive accent you’ve got.’ She frowned. He decided to modify that remark. ‘Just a trace, now and then. Your English is impeccable. Are you German?’

  Her bosom heaved. ‘German! I hate the Germans! Murderers and rapists! I am Russian.’ She seemed to grow about two inches as she declaimed her nationality. Stuart decided not to follow that up … just yet.

  He smiled at her. ‘Wonderful. Our staunchest allies. Great fighters – the Russians.’

  Her bottom lip curled. ‘We won the war, without us you would be under the jackboot.’

  ‘I’m sorry you can’t tell me about David. What about Peter, David’s friend? What can you tell me about him?’

  The nationalis
m in her eyes faded. ‘Who is this Peter? We do not have a Peter.’

  ‘Really? I’m sure Mr Baron mentioned him.’

  ‘What does he know?’

  ‘He is the headmaster, surely he knows all the pupils.’ She shrugged. ‘There was a Peter, Peter Mobbs but he is no longer with us.’

  ‘He left?’

  ‘Yes. He died. Nearly two years ago. He had many problems, he was a Down’s syndrome boy, also a diabetic and he had epilepsy.’ Her cold tone didn’t suggest any sympathy for Peter.

  Nearly two years. About the time David ran away. ‘The parents must have been grateful there was someone at the school who could give him proper care. I expect you had a lot to do with him?’

  She shrugged. ‘I monitored his insulin injections, tested his urine for glucose levels, made sure he ate the right foods.’

  ‘Did he die at home?’

  ‘No. Here. He had no parents. He was from the orphanage.’

  After trying, and failing, to get information about that institution Stuart Elderkin decided to finish the interview. He needed to see Frank. There were two matters to follow up. The orphanage and the death of Peter Mobbs.

  Frank waited for Stuart at the front of the school. He walked round the mini-bus, which was a new, powerful machine, with blackened windows and no school logo on its sides. He’d asked Baron about that and he’d said it was easier for the pupils if they weren’t stared at when they were taken out on visits, which was also the reason for the lack of a school logo. Baron finished by saying they couldn’t spare any more time for further interviews and after consulting parents, no children would be seen. There was nothing Frank could do about that; he had no clout. He was no longer a detective inspector. But Revie was. Could he get him onside? He’d show him the drawings, tell him about Luxton’s possible connection with the school, and suggest a visit to Chillingworth by the police. He had to try. If Laurel was right, and Luxton was connected to the school by the photograph of the boy, plus his reaction on seeing Baron, then even if David ‘s disappearance wasn’t tied to the school, something nasty was probably going on there, and needed to be stopped. Pronto.

  Stuart walked towards him and they both got into the car.

  ‘Sorry to keep you, Frank. Well that’s a rum do. I don’t like the smell of this.’

  ‘Shall we stop for a pint and a sandwich? Then we can swap details.’

  Stuart tapped the dashboard with his small hands. ‘Best news I’ve had today. That was completely unsatisfactory. No, I lie. Despite the lack of cooperation a few things did emerge.’

  Frank started the car. ‘Save it until we’ve eaten. I’m starving. Where shall we lunch?’

  Stuart pursed his lips. ‘Might as well go back to Aldeburgh and the Cross Keys, we’ll be halfway home then.’

  They chose a table near the window looking out to Crabbe Street. After polishing off several crab sandwiches and a few pints of Adnams, Frank decided it was the right time to confess to Stuart. It would make it easier to tell Dorothy and Mabel if Stuart knew his transgressions first. He told him not only about the drawing he’d kept back, but also his meeting with Carol, and Laurel knew everything.

  ‘I’d rather not tell Dorothy and Mabel about meeting Carol.’

  Stuart’s face was grave. ‘So how do you feel about her now?’

  Frank bit his lip. ‘I couldn’t say this to Laurel, but when I saw how Carol was dressed, well, undressed, my desire deflated like a burst balloon.’

  Stuart sniggered. ‘Sorry.’

  ‘I suppose I’m a romantic at heart, I don’t like women leaping on me. It makes you realise how women must feel like when no sooner are they alone with a man than he forgets foreplay and heads directly for the vital parts. I thought perhaps I was falling in love, but I’m afraid it was lust.’

  ‘But not very strong lust, or you’d have, er … carried on, wouldn’t you?’

  ‘Perhaps my male hormones aren’t up to scratch.’

  Stuart slowly sipped the last of his pint. ‘Join the party! I’m not sure I’m up to it. Been a bit since I made the four-legged beast.’

  Frank turned to him. ‘Don’t think of it like that, Stuart. You love Mabel, she’s a lovely woman, and she seemed to be thawing the other night.’

  ‘I hope you’re right.’ He picked at a bit of crab meat he’d missed.

  Frank decided he couldn’t take any more personal relationships issues. ‘I’ll get some drinks in.’ He came back with two half-pints. ‘We need to do some thinking.’

  Stuart pulled a face. ‘Half-pints do nothing for my brain.’

  ‘Let’s get back to the case. What did you find out?’

  They exchanged information.

  ‘We’ve got to get Revie onside, make him see the connections between the school and Luxton,’ Frank said.

  ‘Could be difficult. Wonder if he found the photograph Laurel told us about. He’ll go hairless if his team missed that one. We don’t want to get his dander up.’

  ‘What do you think about the Harrops’ deaths? Can they be connected to Luxton’s?’

  Stuart slowly shook his head. ‘Can’t see it, but if they were murdered and if Luxton was murdered, I can’t believe we’ve got two different killers in the area who are expert at making a murder look like suicide.’

  ‘It almost looks like someone is tidying up. Removing people who might be a danger to them. But I don’t get the connection with the Harrops. If Luxton was a paedophile, and the school was involved, then he won’t be the only one, will he?’

  ‘No. We know Sam Harrop was a homosexual. Do you think he was also interested in young boys?’ Stuart asked.

  Frank looked down into his glass as though the bitter would reveal the answer. ‘Remember, when we first took on the case, you told us about another boy who died at the school?

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘You said there was a post-mortem. Can you remember the names of the doctors who signed the death certificate?’

  Stuart’s eyes widened. ‘You don’t think it could have been …?’

  ‘It’s a thought.’

  ‘We need to examine the two death certificates: Peter’s and the other boy, I think his name was Roy Franks.’

  ‘We’ve got to see Revie. Let’s hope I can eat enough humble pie to satisfy him.’

  ‘Offer him humble pie and a side order of fame and promotion if he cracks this case,’ Stuart said.

  ‘But where does David fit into all this? Now we can understand why he didn’t want to go back to school. But what happened to him, and where is he?’

  David, Age 13 years

  I have a friend. The first friend I’ve ever had. His name is Peter. He has Down’s syndrome. I like him so much. He is the same age as me. He’s at Chillingworth School. I was frightened when I went there. Peter hasn’t got a daddy or a mummy. He’s an orphan. He lives in a place called an orphanage with other orphan boys. He doesn’t like it. We came to the school together. He was scared, too.

  He likes to watch me draw and paint. He tries to do the same but he makes a mess. We laugh together at his drawings. I like it when he laughs. He throws back his head and all his body shakes. When he does that he makes me laugh and I can’t stop. It makes me happy. I like feeling happy. It’s good.

  When I went home for half-term I told Mummy and Daddy about Peter. I asked if he could come to stay for Christmas. Daddy looked pleased. Mummy said she would see. Before I went back to school she said no. I think she rang the school. I drew Peter and put him with the secret drawings.

  I wish I hadn’t told Peter I’d ask if he could come home with me for Christmas. I said we could sleep together in my room. I told him about Miss Fenner and her puddings. We talked about what we would like for Christmas dinner.

  Peter wanted lots of roast potatoes and I wanted a pudding with flames. I have to tell him he can’t come. He is upset. I am upset. Why didn’t she let him come? She fusses round me. She comes in my room when I’m drawing. She’s always looking in m
y desk and tidying up. What would she say if she saw my secret drawings? The one of her with the tutor? Or the one of her I see in my head? When I go to school I miss Daddy and Miss Fenner, but I don’t miss Mummy. When I’m at home I miss Peter. I like the art teacher. I don’t like the PE teacher. He’s a bully. Peter doesn’t like him. The headmaster, Mr Baron, comes and looks at my drawings and paintings. He says nice things. He lets me miss PE and do art instead. I like him, but he won’t let Peter miss PE. I go to Mr Baron’s room with the art teacher. We have tea and cakes. They aren’t as nice as Miss Fenner’s. Mr Baron has lots of paintings on the walls. He takes me round them and he talks and talks. My art teacher says I am a lucky boy. When I go home for Christmas I draw Mr Baron. I also draw the nurse. I don’t like her. Peter is afraid of her. When he feels ill he won’t tell in case they send him to her. He says she made him take of all of his clothes. She examined him all over and looked at his willy and made him bend over and prodded him. He cried when he told me. Why did she do that? I’m not going to let her do that to me. Peter is sad he has to stay at school for Christmas. I’m going to talk to Daddy and see if Peter can come home with me at half-term.

  I want to show him my secret drawings. I don’t think I can show him the one with my mummy and the tutor. I feel my face go red as I think of doing that. It’s a bad secret. I wish it wasn’t true.

  Chapter 21

  Laurel looked round the dining table at Greyfriars. Supper was over and Frank was helping Mabel and Dorothy clear up. Stuart filled his pipe, looking happy and relaxed. Laurel was nervous because Frank was going to tell Dorothy and Mabel about keeping back the drawing of Carol and the tutor; because of that she couldn’t do justice to cold beef, sauté potatoes and salad. Frank hadn’t eaten much either. How would they react? What would happen if one or both of them were so upset they wanted to end their association with him? If Mabel was disgusted, would she take Stuart with her? It was wonderful to see Stuart and Mabel happy together again. Why did you do that, Frank? Why jeopardise the partnership? She’d said she understood, and she did. She couldn’t criticise him; he’d taken a great risk when he didn’t inform anyone of her part in the death of her sister’s murderer. The other three didn’t know what a debt she owed him. One she could never repay. What she’d done was on a different level to his indiscretions. But she couldn’t tell them. She couldn’t tell anyone. It was her and Frank’s secret.