‘Just like poor old Simon,’ she mocked.
‘Is he really a good cook?’
‘Marvellous.’
‘Then perhaps we ought to get him back because I’m guilty of just the tiniest fib. The inhabitants on a farm would turn their noses up at my efforts to be a chef.’
‘Come on, Darren, I’ll give you a hand. But only one,’ she joked as she waved her bandaged limb while leading the way into the kitchen. ‘We’ll rustle up something together. I’m not too bothered about serving up a banquet, I’m just grateful to you for coming round. And the flowers were a really kind gesture.’
‘All part of the service, Ma’am.’
*****
Hart had spent part of his own late lunch hour at the home of Ron and Daisy Brown. His disclosure that the nature of their daughter’s death was suspicious, but that it could not be proven to be a murder unless a killer could be found, only gave them so much comfort. It was not a complete answer and so could not give them total closure. Hart decided to help them out.
‘This is not something I can say in public but, between the three of us, I’m telling you that Nicola was murdered. So you can put out of your minds any thoughts of suicide, any feelings that you let her down, any notions that she had a problem but didn’t come to you for advice or comfort. Nicola did not take her own life, and I am certain that she was a wonderfully happy young woman, just as you remember her.’
That was definitely a statement which the earnest bureaucrat or lawyer would counsel against uttering – some cliche about failing to cover your own behind rattled around Hart’s mind.
By agreement between Hart and Arthur Rhodes, the preliminary report wouldn’t be sent to the Chief until the evening. He could do what he liked then; at least the people who had to be in the know wouldn’t be gleaning their information from the TV, especially Nicola’s parents.
The press, of course, were going to love it. An officer would have to be stationed at the Browns’ place to make sure none of the hacks knocked on the door of their little terraced house. Hart thought Asha Kanjaria might just be the copper for the job, although the snappers had better make sure their cameras weren’t clicking away when she got there. Either that, or their own behinds had better be well protected.
32
‘Follow me if you would Mr Grove, Timothy. I’m afraid that Interview Room Number 2 isn’t exactly cheerful, but maybe it’s just about right given what we have to talk about. It was good of you to come to the station and save me the drive to your house.’
‘That’s a pleasure, Chief Inspector. Anything we can do to help,’ replied Timothy Grove’s father graciously.
That wasn’t quite true. We really don’t want the neighbours peeking out from behind their net curtains and wondering why the police are coming to my house, would have been more honest. But the father and son had certainly been more accommodating since the first unhappy meeting between the three of them, and Hart was pleased they had undertaken the journey instead of him. The only thing that irked him as they sat down on either side of a table that marked them as opponents, whatever their newly-established treaty might indicate, was that Redpath had not yet arrived back from his lunch.
‘Timothy, what would you say was the relationship between Sebastian and Ms Rand?’ asked Hart, the scenes on the DVDs playing in his mind.
The bluntness of the question caught the lad off guard and it took him a moment to think. Hart held up his hand to stop the boy’s father from nudging him along; there was no hurry, silence was an important component of every interview.
‘They got on really well,’ came the reply eventually.
‘I need more than that, Timothy. We’re talking about human relationships here. They’re complicated, can’t just be described in a short sentence. Let me help you.’ Hart paused, another exploitation of the power of silence. ‘Were they having an affair?’
The boy waited for a moment and then nodded.
‘Tell me about it. Take your time.’
‘They’d been at it for about a year. They weren’t in love or anything like that, it was just a bit of fun, that was all.’
‘A bit of fun? An affair between a teacher and her student! Just a bit of fun!’ Hart’s exclamation of surprise was a flimsy act, he had certainly encountered far more deviant expressions of human nature than that during his career.
‘They were both like that. Just liked a bit of a lark, that’s what life was about.’
‘And it all ended with Sebastian’s death?’
‘A few months before then.’
‘How many months? About the time of Nicola’s death? Or the bank-holiday camp, perhaps?’
‘That’s about it. They were still mates after that, but things were a bit edgy. They started to row a bit.’
Henry Grove interrupted the flow. ‘Talking about Nicola, Chief Inspector, do we know what happened to her yet? I mean, footage of the church was all over the news yesterday evening.’
‘Mr Grove, I have no more idea than you. It will take some time before those results come through.’
Hart moved on quickly, with the DVDs of the summer camp still playing in his mind. ‘Timothy, I know that Sebastian supplied drugs to Ms Rand. I think he was probably the source for other people too, including you. How did things get to that stage?’
This time the wait was too long, and Hart allowed the father to gee his son up. ‘Timmy, we talked about this last night and we agreed that you would just answer any questions simply and truthfully. So get on with it.’
The boy took a breath and dived in. ‘Seb supplied to the school. Anything you wanted, he could get it. Mostly grass, uppers, coke. And Es, of course. He could do you heroin too, not that many people are keen.’
‘He sold the stuff at school?’ asked Hart.
Timothy shook his head. ‘Never on the school grounds. He was always too careful.’
‘And he supplied to the teachers as well?’
‘Not all of them, of course. I can’t imagine old Mrs Morris puffing on a spliff.’ Hart allowed himself to smile with the boy at the thought. ‘I only know about Sophie, you know, Ms Rand, Simon and Paul. But Paul just smokes weed. I think he’s a bit scared of it all really. You know, the whole scene’s a bit too heavy for him.’
‘How did you all get to meet each other?’
‘Seb and me just saw them at The Temple one night and we got talking. It’s no big deal, they’re not much older than us.’
‘So where did Sebastian get his goods from?’
‘No one knows for sure. He wouldn’t tell anyone, not even me.’
‘But if you had to guess?’
‘You’ll keep this quiet?’
‘As a mouse.’
It was time for another deep breath before he plunged in again. ‘Danny Moses. But if you went to Danny direct and dropped a hint that you needed some coke, or even something dead harmless like just one tab of E, he’d look at you like you were mad. Said he didn’t do dirty stuff like that. They were all careful, see; I don’t think even Seb knew where Danny got the gear from. You could only buy from Seb. And Seb kept his mouth shut so you couldn’t go along the chain, not even as far as Danny.’
‘How did Sebastian get on with Nicola Brown.’
There was no hesitation this time. ‘He hated her. Couldn’t stand her. Always talking about her being a cow or a bitch or something like that.’
‘What did she think of him?’
‘She didn’t. And that’s what really got under his skin. He couldn’t get any reaction from her at all. When she was new at the school, at the beginning of Year 10, Seb put it about that he would screw her. Not because he fancied her or anything, but just because he thought he could pull any girl in the school and it would be a bit of fun proving it. Then he was going to ditch her. It was all just for a laugh, just to use her and throw her away and let everyone know he’d done it. When she brushed him off, like she was looking down on him, he started to get at her. You know, saying she w
as poor or skinny or ugly or frigid, or doing stupid things like chucking peas at her in the refectory.’
Hart butted in. ‘Did you join in with these stupid things, Timothy?’
‘I admit I did some stuff. But we all did. Everyone who knew Seb.’ He looked at Hart through eyes that had filled with water and smeared a tear across his cheek with the back of his hand. ‘But I didn’t know she would kill herself. I wouldn’t have joined in if I’d known that. There’s no way I could have known.’
‘You were telling me how Nicola reacted to all this bullying.’
‘Well, everything Seb did, she just ignored him, so he had to do more, up the ante. It was like an obsession with him, especially because everybody knew what was going on, how he was baiting her but she didn’t care. If she had hated him that would have been okay. But ignoring him – you just didn’t do that with Seb.’
‘How did he react to Nicola’s death?’
Timothy Grove shuffled in his seat; this was the question he had dreaded most.
His father helped him along. ‘Come on now, Timmy, get it over with. After all, it’s not you who said it.’
‘It’s not like he stood up in assembly or anything and broadcast it to the whole school. He only meant it as a joke.’
‘Come on then, Timothy. Let’s hear Sebastian’s joke,’ prodded Hart.
‘He just said he always knew she was a weirdo. And now she goes and proves it by hanging around in the toilets.’
‘Thank you both for your time,’ said Hart. ‘I’ll call you again if I need you.’
33
Even though it was packed to accommodate the shift change, the staff canteen at Lockingham Central Police Station was as quiet as a feather tumbling through a cloud. Knives, forks and spoons had been rested softly on their plates or were suspended in the air, taking a break from their return journeys between meal and mouth. Even the dinner ladies had stopped their ladling and their dolloping and the queue had stopped its snaking.
The reason for the hush, the calm, was visible on the television set which hung in the corner over the door. ‘Turn it up,’ someone shouted, as the ten o’clock news panned onto the face of Chief Superintendent Claude Rodgers.
‘I have called this press conference because I am aware that there has been considerable public interest regarding the death of Nicola Brown.’ The more experienced hacks knew there was big news coming – if this was going to be an anticlimax, then a minion would have been despatched to announce the lack of a revelation, not a law enforcement officer of some eminence. ‘Following the exhumation of Nicola’s body, enquiries into her death are to be re-opened.’
The cameras popped a barrage of flashes and a deluge of questions rushed the Chief’s way; it was like the whole world was clamouring to get a word in. Most of the queries he didn’t answer directly, and some he wasn’t going anywhere near, particularly the recurring enquiry about whether the girl’s death was linked to the murder of the schoolboy in the alley.
Hart was sitting at a table alone, loading some beans onto his fork and thinking that the Chief was doing a pretty good job. Whenever the press referred to Nicola’s ‘murder’, Rodgers always reminded them that a ‘suspicious death’ might prove to be nothing of the sort, it could even still be shown to be a suicide. Hart would have done the same, whatever the nature of his thoughts and his conversation with Ron and Daisy Brown about the matter. Not that it made much difference. The journalists would translate on behalf of the public and it would be murder they would all be reading about in the papers tomorrow morning.
The press conference ended with the Chief fielding a comment from the senior crime reporter of one of the nation’s most respected newspapers.
Chief Superintendent Rodgers, you are the man primarily responsible for convincing the coroner to order the exhumation of Nicola Brown’s body, despite the obvious risks to your reputation. If you had been wrong, then the outcry would have been considerable. How do you feel now that your courageous decision has been vindicated?
Rodgers thought for a moment, meditating philosophically within a silence that obediently awaited his reply. Then, at last, he was ready.
‘Sometimes a police officer must follow his gut feeling. Must simply do what he believes to be right. Must embark upon the moral course of action, rather than the merely expedient one.’ And then he broke the rule that is hammered into every amateur before they appear on TV: he jutted his head forward a foot and looked directly into the television camera. His stern countenance and white moustache marched straight into the station canteen. ‘And a worthy man will say, to blazes with the consequences!’
A throbbing commotion erupted as the officers in the canteen cheered and banged their cutlery on the tables. Part of the din was derision, part admiration, and some just a manifestation of the feeling that it was their own man up there on the telly and so they were going to root for him no matter what.
Asha Kanjaria gently sat herself down next to Hart.
‘That must hurt a bit, Sir.’
‘I’d be lying if I said it didn’t, but perhaps it’s just my own vanity taking a knock.’
‘That’s a bit hard on yourself. But what makes him behave like that? Why does he weasel the credit for something that everyone in here should know had nothing to do with him?’
‘Should you be talking about a chief superintendent weaselling credit?’
‘Perhaps not, Sir.’
Hart smiled. ‘The top brass aren’t especially bad folks, but most of their moral fibre weaves itself into knots as they climb nearer the summit. They start to make decisions which produce the smallest waves on the great sea of their careers, not necessarily the right ones, and they say things which show them in the best light, even if it means bending the truth a little. The bottom line is, they live their lives terrified of what their own bosses think of them. The really top notch ones are too strong to fret about the opinions of the high and mighty, and it would be good to think you won’t if you ever get near the top of the ladder yourself.’
‘I’ll do my best, Sir,’ she replied, with a young person’s confidence in her destiny.
Hart’s gammon, egg, beans and chips had lost their appeal somehow. But it would have been puerile to have walked out and left them, so he soldiered on and scooped up another forkful of beans.
34
Hart’s first job the next morning was to ponder Redpath’s news that Simon Chandler wore size eleven shoes, the same size as the footprints found in the alley where Sebastian Emmer had been killed. It seemed his sergeant had at least been doing a bit of work during yesterday’s extended lunch hour and not just loafing around, so Hart forgave him his indiscretion of getting back late.
Hart’s foremost task, however, was to plan his swoop on Highdean School. Everybody in the country who didn’t live in a cave knew about the ‘suspicious death’ the Chief had talked about, and Hart wanted to be at that school before anybody with a nasty secret to hide got there to brush away any tracks in the sand. He would just have to nip upstairs first and let the Chief know he was dragging a fair number of the station’s personnel down south for a few hours.
As he reached the top of the stairs, Rodgers’ office door opened and he emerged with a tall man dressed in a policeman’s uniform, the epaulettes wearing the rank of an assistant chief constable. Hart felt he should have recognised him, after all there were only three ACCs in the force, but he had no time to waste so he just butted in.
‘Sir, just letting you know I’m off to Highdean School and taking a few of the crew with me, so the station may be a bit light for a while.’
‘Just a moment, Chief Inspector. I’d like you to meet our guest.’
Hart wondered whether his boss expected him to add to the formality he had induced into their encounter by saluting and snapping his heels together.
‘This is Commander Sturgess of the Metropolitan Police. You may remember he telephoned me shortly after you began your investigation.’
&nbs
p; ‘I’ve heard a great deal about you, Chief Inspector.’ Then a joke, which was delivered with the cold humour of a teasing executioner. ‘Some of it good, of course.’
‘Pleased to meet you, Sir,’ lied Hart.
‘Chief Inspector,’ started Rodgers, maintaining the primness of tone appropriate to such an important visitor, ‘Commander Sturgess is not merely paying us a social call; he and I have been discussing the Nicola Brown case.’
‘Have you, Sir. Have you, really.’
‘We agree you’ve done some good work here. Some of it very good work, in fact.’
‘Very kind of you to say so, Sir. Very kind indeed.’
‘Of course, you’ll need to hand over your notes to the Commander and his team. You’ll also need to make yourself available for an interview with the officers investigating the case.’
‘I’m investigating the case, Sir.’ Hart was going to put up a fight before he was tossed onto the scrapheap. ‘In fact, you may recall that I’m actually leading the investigation.’
‘Chief Inspector, the girl’s death occurred within the Commander’s area. His officers will take over the investigation, as per normal procedure.’
‘But I’ve got together all of the facts about the case, interviewed people, put out feelers, done the groundwork. Most of all, I’ve built relationships.’
‘And that’s why you’ll need to speak to the team who are taking over the investigation,’ informed Rodgers with what he felt was admirable patience. ‘To ensure they can pick up where you leave off.’
Hart looked up at Sturgess and felt like a fish thrashing around on the end of his line. The thin, barely discernible, smile on the fisherman’s lips deliberately let him know he was cherishing every moment of the creature’s distress, but was anticipating the impending death throes with even greater relish.
‘But what if there’s a connection between the two murders? Doesn’t it make sense to have the same team investigate them both?’
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