by Malcolm Rose
“Have I?”
“Oh yes,” Luke replied.
Chapter Sixteen
“Cat hairs?” Luke enquired, as he walked away from the messy room where Rick Glenfield was working.
“What do you want to know about them?”
“You scanned Glenfield. Did you find any?”
“No. Nor did I find any on Jade Vernon.”
“You scanned Jade?” Luke exclaimed.
“You ordered me to scan everyone.”
Luke sighed. “Yes. I guess I did. But Jade... Never mind. Did you find any white paint flakes on Glenfield?”
“Most of the paint stains on the denim shirt were fresh smears but there were two fragments of old white paint, identical to that found on Ms Kee’s clothing.”
“Now that’s interesting. Not a killer punch, though. It might mean they’ve both been in the same place, that’s all. Maybe she walked her bad boys and girls down to the old kitchen for that detention. She could’ve come into contact with the old paint there. Was there any sawdust on him?”
“Yes. Traces adhering to the trousers. I cannot tell if it matches the samples from Ms Kee or Vince Wainwright’s room.”
“Any mystery wax or magnesium carbonate?”
Malc answered, “There was none on the exposed skin and clothing that I could scan.”
“Okay. I’m authorizing you to monitor the use of his identity card. If he leaves school, I want to know. If he takes a cab, I want you to register his destination and tell me.”
“Logged.”
“And send an order to intercept his rubbish. I want to see the big rip he claims is in his overalls.”
“Order sent.”
Luke stopped outside Ms Kee’s office. Filling the corridor with fragrance, a bouquet of lilies from the greenhouse had been left by her door as a reminder and a tribute. A new deputy head had not yet been appointed to take over her job so the room was unoccupied. Luke swiped his card past the security pad and the door clicked open. Inside, he sat at her desk and turned on her computer. “Malc, establish a radio link with her system and interrogate it for a list of students she put in detention on Tuesday afternoon. They could all have it in for her.”
“Four pupils were punished by her within the parameters you set.”
“Any familiar names?”
“Yes.”
“And?” Luke prompted.
“What is your enquiry?” asked Malc.
“Give me the familiar names.”
“Ed Hoffman was disciplined for bullying on Tuesday morning.”
Luke nodded. “Do any of the other three have anything to do with Crispy or Vince?”
“Unlikely. They were all students from Year 8.”
“Any connections with snakes?”
“None on record.”
Pushing his luck, Luke said, “While you’re linked, Malc, do a search for any documents that mention cats, snakes, arrows, archery, or glass cutters.”
Thirty seconds later, Malc replied, “There are many references to archery and arrows. All relate to legitimate sports usage and lessons. There are no other relevant files for those search terms.”
****
FI Harding had the authority to drag an instructor out of a lesson if he thought that an immediate interview would advance a case. He decided to use that authority to speak to Mr Cadman.
Before the science instructor left his class, he told his students how they should continue the lesson in his absence. Then, as always, he grabbed his sunglasses and hat. Outside the classroom, he wore sunglasses and a rimmed hat almost all of the time. He also seemed to wear a smart fresh suit every single day of the week. As a result, he had a reputation for being smooth. Unusually for a scientist, he adored jazz.
Luke took him to the edge of the school fields and sat down on a bench. Malc parked himself on the grass a metre in front of them, recording their exchange.
Guessing what Luke was about to ask, Instructor Cadman said, “Crispin Addley was the ideal student. Not as naturally gifted as some,” he said, looking sideways at Luke, “but clever, eager to learn, and respectful.” The shadow from the rim of his hat fell over his eyes, already hidden by sunglasses.
“So, you got on well with him?”
“Very.”
Trying to spring a surprise, Luke said, “Have you ever milked the venom from a rattlesnake?”
With barely a pause, Mr Cadman chuckled. “Excellent. I can see you’ve remembered your training.”
“What do you mean?”
“I’m sure you’ve already got the answer from one of my students but you still ask the question. That way, when I deny it, you know I’m lying. You know I’m covering something up. But I don’t deny it.”
Mr Cadman was not just smooth. He also had a reputation for being sharp. It didn’t bother Luke. In practice interviews, he’d discovered that the clever ones were sometimes so sure of their superiority that they couldn’t imagine making a slip or getting caught. Luke hoped he was smart enough to exploit that arrogance. “Okay,” he said. “I’ll ask something I don’t know about you. Are you any good at archery?”
“So-so.”
“So-so?”
Mr Cadman shrugged. “Maybe a bit more than so-so.”
Luke guessed that Mr Cadman was being modest rather than dishonest but it was hard to tell without seeing his eyes. Luke got a good view only of the instructor’s nose, cheeks and mouth with its superbly trimmed moustache.
The field was marked out with pitches of different sizes and shapes. From the bench, Luke could see ongoing games of baseball and football. Less frequently than usual, the coaches shouted instructions at players. Nearer, a student accelerated down the track, took off and landed untidily in a shower of sand. Other pupils waited in a short queue while an instructor adjusted the high-jump bar unenthusiastically. Luke glanced beyond the pitches and tracks towards the firing range. It was out of sight because the ground sloped up slightly to a crown and then fell away to the spot where archers practised. From the bench, he could see the blades of the wind farm waving above the mound and the distant tops of trees shedding dry yellowy leaves.
The whole games area was much less lively than normal. The first two deaths were souring the atmosphere of the school. Luke hadn’t announced the third yet. He hoped that a suspect might reveal knowledge of Vince Wainwright’s murder before he put out a statement. That would be incriminating, but not proof of guilt. When people noticed that Vince’s room had been sealed and that he was not in lessons, rumours would soon start to fly. Probably, they were flying already.
“What did you do with the snake venom?”
“More training tactics. Confuse the suspect by switching subjects.”
Luke stared at him, waiting for a reply.
“I destroyed it. It was just an exercise – to show the students how it’s done.”
“Does that mean they could all do it?”
Mr Cadman laughed. “When I showed you how to conduct a post-mortem, I didn’t expect you to pick up a scalpel and do it yourself. But you had to know what happens.”
“Who have you trained to do it?”
“No one in school.”
“Out of school?”
“I’ve helped the animal sanctuary once or twice,” Mr Cadman answered. “It’s not a regular thing.”
“Apart from the people at the animal sanctuary, who would you say is capable of milking snake venom?”
Mr Cadman thought about it for a moment. “I can’t say I know anyone but me.”
Luke looked at Mr Cadman’s immaculate suit and decided that Malc would not spot a single hair on it. He decided to ask about cats instead. “Do you have an interest in cats?”
“Yes.”
“And what sort of interest is that?”
Mr Cadman shrugged. “I’m a biologist. I’m fascinated by all creatures great and small.”
“If you’ve got contacts with the conservation park, you’ll know about their cat smuggling pro
blem.”
“I do, yes. And I’m appalled by it.”
Luke looked out in the direction of the sanctuary and then back at Instructor Cadman. “Do you know who’s behind it?”
“There’s been rumours for ages it’s going on in school. I don’t know. But if I did, I’d...” The biologist shook his head. The taut lips under his moustache suggested anger.
“You’d what?”
“I’d give them a piece of my mind. Endangered species aren’t suitable as pets.”
“Do you know anyone who’d go further to stop it?”
Behind his sunglasses, Mr Cadman stared at Luke. “Are you saying Crispin Addley and Ms Kee were involved?”
Luke shook his head. “I’m just asking questions. And I require answers.” Of course, Mr Cadman could be playing a game. He might know perfectly well that Ms Kee was at the heart of an illicit trade in endangered cats. Not mentioning Vince Wainwright could be part of the same game, with the intention of suggesting that he didn’t know the student had been murdered last night.
“People can get upset about animals – more upset about them than humans – but such people love living things. They wouldn’t kill anything – or anyone.”
Luke was not convinced. In his mind, he’d already placed Mr Cadman high on his list of suspects because he had a strong motive for removing Ms Kee and Vince from the smuggling chain. If Cadman thought that Crispy was another link, the instructor would be at the top of Luke’s list. “Were you on the firing range after school on Tuesday?”
“No. I was marking students’ work.”
“On your own?”
Mr Cadman’s lips curved into a dry smile. “Yes. There’s no one to vouch for me, I’m afraid.”
“And where were you last night?”
“Last night? In my quarters, listening to a documentary on jazz.”
“Jazz? What aspect of jazz?”
“You were trained well, weren’t you? It was on female singers.”
“Did you see Ms Kee yesterday morning, before school?”
“So I could poison her with snake venom? No.”
Before Malc could intervene, Luke said, “I haven’t released a statement on the cause of Ms Kee’s death.”
Mr Cadman laughed again. “I don’t need a statement. Crispin Addley was shot with an arrow and you asked about archery. Ms Kee died and you’re very keen to ask about rattler venom. It doesn’t take a genius.”
“Rick Glenfield keeps snakes. Has he ever had training or advice from you?”
“He asked about cage conditions once, as I recall. No more than that. He doesn’t say much. Especially not to me.”
“Why not?” asked Luke.
Mr Cadman adjusted his hat to block out more of the dazzling sun, low in the sky. “As part of my job in Biology, I do a lot of computing, so I took over some of his duties in general IT.”
On the field, a student cursed loudly as he brought down the high-jump bar with a trailing heel. A bunch of Year-9 pupils pounded around the running track for the third time. To Luke’s right, a hose was spraying water onto the parched turf. Strong sunlight caught the droplets and formed a mini-rainbow.
Luke decided he wasn’t going to get any more for the moment so he stood up. “What do you do when you’re not teaching, shooting or listening to jazz?”
For the first time, Mr Cadman became defensive. “I’m not the only one who relaxes with archery – and music. It wasn’t long ago that you had a hobby of shooting. And you did it very well, much to the annoyance of the sporty types.” Then he got to his feet and lifted his hat in a mock gesture of parting. “When I have a bit of spare time, I collect hats and antique furniture.”
Chapter Seventeen
As they left the breezy field, Malc announced, “A nylon overall has been recovered from Rick Glenfield’s waste and delivered to your quarters.”
Luke smiled. “Let’s go and take a look. I just love going through other people’s rubbish.”
Unable to hear the sarcasm in Luke’s voice, Malc replied, “Most forensic investigators find it beneficial.”
“Mmm. What about your second check on whether there’s anything that links Crispy to cats?” said Luke as he strode quickly towards the block of apartments. “What’s the answer?”
“I find no connection.”
“So, Crispy’s the odd one out,” Luke said to himself. “Cadman’s got no obvious motive for killing him.”
“There is only one suspect with a motive for all three victims,” Malc added.
“Yes. Thanks for that,” Luke retorted. “Just tell me. Was there a programme on female jazz singers last night and what time was it?”
“Confirmed. It was transmitted between ten o’clock and eleven.”
“Not exactly a perfect alibi, is it? No one to back him up and, when he’d finished watching, he still had time to get to Vince’s quarters with a glass cutter.”
“The pathologist has now established that the glass cutter was the weapon that caused Vince Wainwright’s wounds. It too has been delivered to your quarters.”
“Good.”
Luke passed his identity card through the outer security panel of the accommodation block and the door unlocked for him. “I hope you’ve noted another important fact about Mr Cadman, Malc. He’s into antique furniture.”
Malc hesitated. “He did not testify to getting inside.”
“No. I mean he collects it.”
“Explain the significance.”
“I’m sure he’s no stranger to wax polish.”
“Tenuous, but logged,” Malc replied.
Inside his apartment, Luke spread out and examined Rick Glenfield’s overall. There was a rip from the shoulder to the pocket, just as Rick had claimed. Malc scanned the garment, searching for the telltale spectra of haemoglobin or blood proteins, but could not detect any among the smears of workplace dirt and contamination from the trash pile.
“Are there any viruses on it, Malc? According to Jade, Vince had a cold. When he coughed up blood, he’d splatter germs around as well.”
Malc tested the overall again and then reported, “None detected.”
“Okay. There’s nothing to say this is Demon Archer’s so I’ll tell you what we do. You put an order out to have all rubbish searched. And I mean all. Every single bin on site. I’m looking for bloodstained clothes. Or a syringe with Ms Kee’s blood at one end and Demon Archer’s fingerprints at the other. That’d go down very well.”
“Order sent.”
“And talking of clothes, Malc...” Luke went to his own wardrobe, opened the door and, with an exaggerated sweep of his arm, invited Malc to scan inside. “If you find any sign of blood on mine, I’ll walk to Cambridge and volunteer to lock myself in prison.”
Malc’s spectroscopic examination failed to pick out specks of blood. Determined to be thorough, he tried a more sensitive method. He released phthaldialdehyde into the wardrobe and then swept intense ultraviolet light across the clothes to pick out shiny spots that the reagent would create if it came into contact with blood proteins. Three minutes later, he said, “I have detected one tiny bloodstain on the sleeve of a jumper. The blood group indicates that it is your own blood.”
“I cut my hand a while back. None of Vince’s?”
“No.”
“Admit it,” Luke said with a grin. “You’re struggling to find one vital piece of evidence against me.”
“This morning, you reasoned that Demon Archer could have washed an overall in the shower or destroyed either the overall or a spare set of clothes. This speculation also applies to you. As for crucial evidence, we have your fingerprints on the arrow.”
Luke did not reply. He was still troubled by the finding of his prints on one of the murder weapons. He took the bag containing the glass cutter and dangled it in midair so that Malc could sweep all the way around it. “Any fingerprints this time?” he asked. He felt nervous in case his prints turned up again even though he had never held a glass cutte
r in his bare hand.
“No.”
Luke sighed with relief. To make it seem that he was only thinking about somebody else’s prints, he said, “I’d have been amazed if there was. One thing’s for sure, we’re not dealing with a fool. Any markings to identify it?”
“None.”
“Check the school computer. Has anyone ordered a glass cutter recently?”
“No.”
“It’s probably been pinched from a workshop or bought outside school. Maybe by Vince. Anyway, it’ll be impossible to trace.”
Shaking his head, Luke looked in turn at the murder weapons and muttered to himself, “An arrow and a glass cutter. And snake venom. The answer’s right here.”
****
In her apartment, Olivia Pang sat in the same crumpled clothes. Luke guessed that Crispy’s illicit girlfriend had hardly moved for two days. “How are you doing?” he asked needlessly. He could see that she was suffering beyond words.
Olivia looked up at Malc and then said to Luke, “Official visit this time?”
“I have to ask you something for the record. It’s not about your friendship with Crispy.”
Olivia lowered her bloodshot eyes and waited.
“Did he have anything to do with cats, Olivia?”
Frowning, she looked up again. “Cats?”
“Yes.”
She shook her head. “No.”
“Are you absolutely sure?”
“Yes,” she mumbled.
“Could he have kept it from you?”
“We told each other everything.”
“How about cat smuggling?”
“No,” she answered, on the verge of sobbing once more.
“Bear with me, Olivia. I’m trying to help him – and you. If Crispy knew someone was planning to do something violent – for instance, to stop a cat smuggling operation – would he have tried to report it or get in the way? I ask because he might’ve made himself an enemy that way.”
“Yes, he would’ve tried to do something about it,” she replied. “He was like that. He didn’t like violence.”
“What he planned would’ve been dangerous so he might have kept it to himself to protect you. What do you think?”