‘I wonder,’ said Tyler, ‘that Hillman had no recollection of the occasion.’
‘No recollection?’ echoed Miss Hayburn, still going through the pages. ‘My goodness, Mr Wise was certainly prolific,’ she observed. ‘Jenkins alone must have made two dozen visits. How can you not change under that kind of pressure?’
‘They made them tough in those days,’ said Tyler.
‘They must have,’ she said. ‘Douglas Marley was a regular, too, and Robert Wild put in a few appearances. But Jenkins seems to have the class record, by the look of things.’
‘And Hillman just the one visit?’
‘Looks like it. For “obscene language”. Same as Jenkins, on that particular day.’
‘No direct mention of bullying, then?’
‘No mention of that word anywhere.’
‘Not surprising, when you think about it,’ said Tyler. ‘A dirty word for a headmaster, and especially one like Wise. The man was a fantasist. He wanted the world to believe that he was running the perfect establishment. A kind of “not on my patch” mentality, don’t you think?’
‘I couldn’t possibly comment,’ said Miss Hayburn.
‘But that’s the impression you’re getting?’
Tyler looked at the entry written in the book, dated close to the time that Alan Dale’s torment had been brought to its climax, prior to him going missing.
‘It might have been Hillman’s only visit, but Wise certainly didn’t pull any punches that day,’ said Miss Hayburn. ‘He must have had a downer on bad language, if nothing else.’
‘So how could Hillman have forgotten about it? It isn’t credible. I mean to say, Jenkins, alright, one visit might have blended in with another.’
‘Is that significant?’ she asked.
Tyler felt a sudden uneasiness. ‘I’m not sure at this stage. We still have a long way to go with our enquiries.’
It was too easy to run off at the mouth in this woman’s company. She was too good a listener, and her manner so deceptively casual that he imagined her making an exceptional interrogator, should the situation, the opportunity or the motivation ever arise.
He wondered if the way forward might be to pile all of the information gathered so far on to her desk, and ring her back in a couple of hours when she had solved the case and identified the guilty party.
Tyler excused himself to make another phone call.
Maggie Calleer answered. She asked the detective how he was getting on with his investigations. ‘I want to jog your memory about Martin Hillman,’ said Tyler.
‘Hillman? You surprise me.’
‘Life, I find, can be full of surprises.’
She asked what it was that he needed to know. His immediate concern was would she be at home for the rest of the morning. Miss Calleer agreed to wait in for his visit and to have the kettle on stand-by.
Finishing the call Tyler stepped back inside the headteacher’s office, to be informed that Howard Wood would not be in school for the rest of the week.
‘Is that good news for the school, or bad?’ he asked.
Miss Hayburn was once again unable to comment. And when Tyler suggested that she already had done, she kept a straight face, and said, ‘Then how remiss of me, DCI Tyler.’
She opened up another file and showed the detective some photographs from the school archives. Among them was a photograph of the entire school, dated June, 1971. In pride of place was Fredrick Wise, in those days sporting a regal moustache that reminded Tyler of official portraits of Chief Superintendent Berkins. That same no-nonsense austerity, though in fairness, in real-life Berkins was hardly the ogre that Wise appeared to have been. Official photos of people in positions of authority seldom brought out their most endearing features, reflected Tyler. Even in the rare cases where such features existed in the first place.
Wise may have been limited in his functioning as a pastoral minister to the children in his care, but he looked every inch a threat and a deterrent. Perhaps that was the point. Perhaps that was how the man earned his considerable pay.
DCI Tyler recognised the narrow face of Howard Wood in the same photograph, despite the long hair which had since given way under the relentless march of the intervening years. He was wearing a red pullover and Tyler asked Miss Hayburn if the man was still known to be a Stoke City fanatic.
‘I believe so,’ she said, cautiously. ‘If not quite as devout as he once was, by all accounts.’
‘Did Maggie Calleer tell you about his football interests?’
Miss Hayburn laughed. ‘On the occasions I get together with Maggie, we usually find something more interesting to talk about than football.’
‘Or Howard Wood.’
‘You don’t give up, do you?’ she said.
She pointed to a young woman with fine long hair, positioned on the opposite side of the assembled in the photograph. ‘That’s Maggie.’
Tyler could see her now. He wasn’t sure whether she had looked impossibly young for her age back then, or if the years had taken hold of her dramatically since. The kindness and the perceptive quality that she exuded were present at both ends of the thirty year line, and again he wondered whether Alan Dale might have survived the horrors of school had Calleer continued to be his class teacher and Miss Hayburn had held the higher reins.
‘Alan Dale,’ said Tyler, pointing to a smiling face next to Calleer. He looked again at the date on the photograph: June, 1971. ‘The year before he died.’
‘A lovely looking lad,’ said the headteacher. ‘He looks so bright, and yet …’
‘Something sad in there, too, don’t you think?’ said Tyler. ‘Sad, or frightened?’
‘It’s difficult to tell, when you know things about someone. Do we see the sadness because we expect to see it, or is it actually there? You know, Maggie would have seen it, if it had been.’
‘But could she have done anything about it?’
‘You shouldn’t underestimate her.’
‘I wouldn’t do that. But she would have been up against it, with the likes of Wise in charge.’
‘In your opinion.’
‘In my opinion, of course.’
‘Hindsight.’
Tyler looked again at the face of Alan Dale.
Miss Hayburn was right. The sadness, the apparent tinge of fear – most likely his own projections and nothing more. The savages were already through the gate, and entering the field of what had once been a young boy’s happy and carefree life. But the shepherd was still keeping her flock safe. It would take the likes of Howard Wood, and the utter dereliction of duty, and perhaps even sadistic encouragement – yes, in the end, nothing less than that – to allow the savages to descend on their prey, and to see the hopelessness begin to take hold of poor Alan Dale.
‘Are you okay?’ asked Miss Hayburn.
Tyler nodded, swallowed hard and pointed to the boy next to Alan Dale. Anthony Turnock, Alan’s friend. He too was smiling. ‘Yes, you’re right,’ he said. ‘It isn’t sadness and it isn’t fear. Relief. You can tell the ordeal was almost over for another year.’
Miss Hayburn raised her eyebrows.
Two along the row from Turnock was Steven Jenkins, striking an attitude for the camera; challenging the viewer, all these years on, to dare to look into his eyes. ‘Could I take this photograph?’ he asked. ‘I’d like somebody to have a look at it. I will return it, of course.’
‘No problem,’ said Miss Hayburn. ‘And pass on my best wishes to Maggie, if you would be so kind.’
Tyler looked at the headteacher, and not for the first time, with great admiration.
As Tyler got into the car his phone rang.
‘No complaints in from the hostel yet?’ he asked.
‘Funny you should mention that,’ said Mills. ‘The officer in charge contacted me a few minutes ago. Douglas Marley collapsed after I left. They’ve taken him to hospital. He was asking for me, apparently.’
‘What do you make of that?’
‘I’m not al
together sure. Thought I’d be the last person he’d want to see, the way he was carrying on.’
‘Better not disappoint the man then.’
Tyler ended the call and set off for Kingsley Holt.
‘The boy next to Jenkins is Martin Hillman,’ said Maggie Calleer, taking her reading glasses off again. ‘But why are you so interested in Hillman?’
Tyler looked again at the photograph. Hillman was the enigma.
Jenkins, as full of attitude as he had expected; Robert Wild, posing, with a twinkle in his eye that no amount of excess through the years could eradicate; Douglas Marley, betraying a natural toughness as unforced at it was uncompromising; Phillip Swanson, looking nervous, as though the camera was pointing directly at him and him alone, finding him out, exposing him to the light.
But Hillman?
Something in that expression. Am I looking too hard? Seeing what isn’t there?
What am I seeing?
‘I’ve been perusing Mr Wise’s old punishment book,’ he said at last.
‘That probably makes interesting reading,’ said Calleer.
‘Martin Hillman got his name in the book and yet has no recollection of the event.’
‘Thirty years can do things to the memory.’
‘But are you likely to forget something like that?’ asked Tyler.
‘I wouldn’t know.’
He told her of the alleged incident, Hillman and Jenkins tormenting Alan Dale and running into Wise, who wasn’t amused at the language they were using.
‘Of course, this was the year after they had left your class, so there’s no reason why you should have been aware of it at all.’
‘Who told you this?’ she asked.
‘I’m afraid I’m not at liberty to divulge that information at the present time.’
‘I was being nosy. I apologise.’
‘And I’m sorry for the cloak and dagger. There’s something about these enquiries that brings out my formal side.’
‘Are you referring to the untimely death of Steven Jenkins?’ asked Calleer. ‘I mean to say, he might have been a bit of a monkey in his youth, but who would do such a thing? Was he tangled up in drugs or – I do apologise, I can’t seem to help myself.’
‘I think your curiosity is understandable, in the circumstances.’
‘One day you’re here asking about Alan Dale, and in no time you’re back investigating the murder of his classmate.’
Tyler waited for the inevitable question. It was framed on her lips, but by force of will she held back.
‘Okay,’ he said. ‘Can I come back to Hillman? Something doesn’t quite add up. Martin Hillman was, by all accounts, a hard worker who never got into trouble. Except that, according to at least one account, he did get into trouble, serious trouble, and for bullying Alan Dale. Now, of course it’s possible that the person giving this account is mistaken. Except that there is a written record, detailing both crime and punishment.’
‘I’m surprised they’ve kept hold of records like that.’
‘It took some unearthing. Probably end up in a museum one day. So, given that a visit to Mr Wise would have been a traumatic affair, not easily forgotten, wouldn’t you agree that it is odd that Martin Hillman has no recollection?’
Calleer made no response.
‘Okay, from what I’ve heard,’ said Tyler, ‘for the likes of Steven Jenkins and Douglas Marley, a visit to Mr Wise was part of the average week. Such treatment may have been routine for them, though I doubt even that.’
‘But for Hillman, this was an event. He was not used to it. He was either not used to getting into trouble because he was a good kid, in which case he might have felt an amount of righteous indignation for the severity of the punishment, or else he was simply not used to getting caught.’
Calleer nodded. ‘I think you’ve got that part right,’ she said. ‘I think you might have hit the nail on the head.’
‘That Hillman was not used to getting caught?’
‘That is what surprises me. Not that he could sink to bullying but that he could actually have been caught.’
She picked up the photograph again.
‘What is it?’ asked Tyler.
‘I should have said last time. There was a rumour.’
‘What kind of rumour?’
‘It was about Howard Wood. There was an allegation made against a pupil in his class. The whole thing was hushed up.
‘The point I’m trying to make, is that the rumour suggested Howard Wood put himself on the line to defend the pupil against the allegation. It was out of character for Mr Wood to stand up for anybody. Beer and football were all he seemed to care about.
‘I went into the staff room one day, and a couple of teachers were talking. They stopped when they saw me, but I heard the word blackmail and I heard the name Wood. I never knew any more than that, and doubtless I never will.’
Tyler took a few moments to digest the possible implications of what had just been said. ‘Are you telling me that Hillman blackmailed Wood?’
‘I’m not saying anything of the sort. What I’ve told you is as much as I know.’
‘But you have your thoughts on the matter, clearly.’
‘Oh, I have my thoughts. But they’re still only thoughts.’
‘And you have no idea what the allegation was – against Hillman, presumably – or who made the allegation?’
‘Again, only rumours.’
Tyler waited.
Calleer breathed deeply and said, ‘A boy was expelled, I don’t recall his name. The boy had made the allegation, I think, against Martin Hillman. But then the thing was completely turned around and the boy ended up being expelled. It was all very hush-hush.’
Tyler looked again at the school photograph.
‘Martin Hillman has an oddly mature quality about him, wouldn’t you agree? An air of, what, cold detachment, perhaps? Was he a cold fish, ahead of his years?’
‘In some ways I think he probably was,’ said Calleer. ‘It was always difficult to weigh him up, certainly.’
‘What else can you tell me about him?’
‘His mother was a solicitor. She had a formidable reputation, I believe. From what I know of her – and I met her a couple of times, at parent evenings – the news that Wise had thrashed her son would likely have met with a lawsuit, even back then.’
‘And Wise would have been aware of this?’
‘I don’t know. He might have been. But if he was, why go ahead and risk it?’
‘Maybe he felt that it was his moral obligation.’
‘I doubt that.’
‘You don’t remember Mr Wise as a man of moral integrity, then?’
‘You’re trying to put words in my mouth.’
‘My turn to apologise.’
‘All I can tell you is that Martin Hillman was, as I’ve already suggested, something of a dark horse. He was a boy I never came close to understanding. He didn’t get involved in the usual kinds of trouble that might have been going on, but I never had him marked down as a saint either. To put it bluntly, he was the sort who simply doesn’t get caught.’
‘But even those types get unlucky once in a while,’ said Tyler. ‘Sooner or later.’ Tyler pictured the scene: A boy makes an accusation against Hillman, and Hillman blackmails his own teacher to turn the accusation around and get the boy expelled. Hillman’s mother is a solicitor, and a fearsome one. She would set the world on fire to protect her son.
And then one day young Martin turns the wrong corner at the wrong time while in the process of verbally abusing Alan Dale and Wise beats the living crap out of him for the language used, and without even stopping to consider the possibility of a complaint or worse. Hillman, rather than letting his mother loose on Wise, realises that for once he has come unstuck. Maybe he is embarrassed, and maybe he hungers for a more physical revenge: one that he can personally be involved in.
Old Testament-style revenge. An eye for an eye.
Maggie Callee
r was still looking at the photograph.
‘You’re probably right,’ she said.
‘What’s that?’ asked Tyler.
‘That even the Hillmans of this world do get caught, sometimes.’
She looked about to say more, and Tyler eased back, giving her the time and space.
‘You know,’ she said at last, ‘I remember feeling incredibly sorry for that boy once.’
‘Hillman?’
‘His father was also a solicitor.’
‘He has my sympathy,’ said Tyler.
‘He abandoned Martin when the boy was very young. Martin and his mother had to move out of their fine home and into something far more modest. There was a lot of speculation doing the rounds, staff-room gossip. His mother drank, apparently, and by all accounts it made her moody and unreliable. It also ate into what money was available to lavish on her son.’
‘He was indulged, then?’
‘Possibly she felt she owed it to him. Bought him things to make up for the guilt she was feeling over the split-up. God, listen to the amateur psychiatrist, will you? I’m back in the staff-room. Ignore me, please. Obviously, I have too much time on my hands these days.’
‘I’ll ask Miss Hayburn if she’ll take you back on.’
‘You think I haven’t asked her myself? I’m joking, by the way.’
‘You say Hillman’s mother drank?’
‘A few of the teachers noticed it on her breath at a parent evening. She could be quite explosive if anybody said anything negative about her son.’
‘When you heard the rumour about Hillman blackmailing Wood, you put two and two together.’
Calleer looked uncomfortable.
‘And what did two and two add up to, Miss Calleer? Were you thinking that Hillman had reason to despise drink? That Wood was a drinker and Hillman caught him when he was on duty? Maybe Hillman’s mother put him up to it. One drinker can usually sniff out another … so I’m told.’
The interview was over.
From his car, Tyler watched Calleer close the front door. Underneath all of those layers of kindness ran an undercurrent of melancholy, he thought. Perhaps born of guilt, but who knows? It pained him to witness such a thing. She didn’t deserve to carry the burdens she undoubtedly bore. That was no kind of justice.
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