by Paul Gitsham
‘Why? He’s not one of those bloody attention-seeking fantasists who confess to everything, is he?’
Warren shook his head. ‘I don’t think so. I think he’s just enjoying letting us think that he actually killed her.’
‘Bloody nutter,’ muttered Grayson. ‘Is that why he’s been so unhelpful in providing an alibi?’
‘Maybe. What I do know is that most people in his position are desperate to do something to prove their innocence. These days, everyone watches CSI. I’ve had people give me their phone and practically beg me to use it to prove they weren’t near the crime scene. Leigh claims he rarely carries his phone, so it won’t be any use to us. It’s almost as though he relishes not being able to provide an alibi. He simply says that he was at home reading all night and won’t lift a finger to help us corroborate. I think he hates her so much that part of him wishes he actually had done it.’
‘Of course, he could just be guilty,’ said Grayson.
‘There is that,’ agreed Warren.
* * *
‘Insufficient grounds to arrest,’ said Warren, when he next met with Grayson, later that morning.
He and Tony Sutton had interviewed Russell Leigh, recording the proceedings, even though he had not been formally arrested.
‘As his lawyer so succinctly put it, “hatred plus lack of alibi is not in itself evidence of guilt”. We have no witnesses placing him near the crime scene, or forensics.’
‘I suppose fingerprints and a DNA sample are out of the question, if he won’t even furnish us with an alibi?’
‘You’d think so, but he was actually quite happy to give us a voluntary sample.’ Warren gave a grim smile. ‘His solicitor didn’t say anything obviously, but she didn’t look too pleased.’
Grayson tapped his teeth with a pen lid.
‘Do you still think he’s messing with us?’
‘Hard to say. I really can’t decide if he is guilty and arrogant enough to think he can get away with it, or if he’s just letting it play out until we finally clear him.’
‘What else have we got? We have motive, what about means and opportunity?’
‘Well, he would have had to get into the school somehow. He doesn’t have a current swipe card, obviously, and the electronic keypads were installed after he left.’
‘Any sign of forced entry or open windows?’
‘Nothing so far. Unfortunately, we have to rely on the site team’s word that they did their job correctly and locked all the windows that evening.’
‘Are there alarms on the windows?’
‘No. They had all of the school’s lower-floor windows upgraded with high-security locks when they replaced the old windows with double glazing about four years ago. Unfortunately, the budget didn’t stretch to upgrading the alarm system with contact switches for all the new windows.’
‘So even if we accept that nobody entered through a window, they could still have exited via one without triggering the alarm?’
‘It looks that way. The CSIs are fingerprinting all of the window locks, but they aren’t hopeful. The school policy is to save money by opening a window rather than turn on the air-con, so they’re covered in prints. So far, the only clear fingerprints on the window locks in Gwinnett’s office are hers. She was very good at remembering to close windows and lock doors at the end of the day, apparently.’
‘That would have been too easy,’ muttered Grayson.
‘Quite. The classroom windows could theoretically have been opened by any member of the school community – pupils included. The best we can hope for is a glaring anomaly, such as prints from a member of staff who had no business being in that classroom, but even then they could probably claim that they taught a cover lesson in there.’
‘That all assumes that the killer wasn’t wearing gloves,’ said Grayson.
‘Precisely. That being said, Leigh left years before the new windows were installed, so his fingerprints have no reason to be there.’
‘Well, keep me posted, but I’ll try not to pin all my hopes on that lead.’ Grayson paused. ‘Of course that only tells us how the killer escaped. How did the killer get in?’
‘The most obvious answer is that the killer was already in the building.’
‘That would suggest a colleague or other person who had a right to be there, at least earlier in the day,’ said Grayson.
‘If it wasn’t a co-worker, the killer could have entered the school hours before Gwinnett was killed, and hidden until later that evening. Entry and exit for school staff is quite lax; people swipe each other in and out all of the time, although the school’s safeguarding protocols demand that you should only do that for people that you know have a right to be there.’
‘What about visitors?’
‘They are signed in and out at reception, there’s no other way onto or off the site without swipe card access. If they are a regular visitor, such as a peripatetic music teacher or visiting tutor, they will have previously undergone a criminal records check and will have their own photo ID badge with a green lanyard which they hand back when they leave. They need to sign in and out at reception, and they can move around the school freely during normal school hours, but can’t operate swipe doors after 5 p.m.
‘If they have not undergone a DBS check then they will have a red lanyard and a visitor badge. They will be accompanied at all times when they are on site. Visitors’ badges don’t work as swipe cards, so unless someone else operates the main gate for them, they can only enter or leave the school site via the main reception desk, and can’t enter locked offices or other rooms.’
‘What does the visitors’ log say?’
‘Two dozen people in the previous two days. Eleven were regular visitors, including the cleaning team. They all signed in and out during the day, and their badges were returned. Four parents meeting with year heads first thing in the morning were given red lanyard visitor badges – again, they signed out and returned them before leaving after their meeting. The remaining nine callers were parcel delivery drivers and a two-man team from a catering supplies company. They were all logged, but not issued with a badge as they were only on site for a few moments and accompanied at all times. If we need it, the reception CCTV is one of the few cameras that is in good repair and recording video.’
‘What about witnesses?’
‘We’re currently interviewing all staff to see if they saw anyone suspicious or unexpected around the school site.’
Grayson picked up a signed golf ball from a pedestal on his desk, and absently threaded it through his fingers.
‘It’s sounding more and more as though the killer was an insider. Where does that leave Russell Leigh?’
‘I’m unsure. He doesn’t have a swipe card, obviously, and he’s not in the visitors’ log. The question is whether he could have persuaded someone to let him onto the site.’
‘A bit of loyalty to the old boss?’
‘Perhaps. I got Rachel to have a look at the staff records. About half of the current teaching staff, and most of the support staff, started at the school before Leigh left but unless they were in on it, I’d be hard-pressed to think of any reason he could come up with to convince them he had legitimate business at the school. He burnt most of his bridges when he left, I doubt he’d be welcome there anymore.’
‘Well. it sounds unlikely that Leigh is our man, but keep on digging until we can be sure.’
* * *
‘Sir, you need to see this,’ called out Rachel Pymm as Warren made his way back across the main office. ‘It just came back from Forensic IT. They found it in Jillian Gwinnett’s school email account. It had been deleted, but they were able to retrieve it from the back-up server.’
Warren read the email over Pymm’s shoulder.
He whistled through his teeth.
‘I think we need to speak to Mr Cruikshank again.’
* * *
Stanley Cruikshank was the school’s deputy site manager. A quietly spoken man
in his late forties, with a thinning head of largely grey hair, the air of nonchalance that he tried to project was fooling no one. By the time Moray Ruskin started the PACE recorder, perspiration beaded the man’s forehead and his large, calloused hands left sweaty imprints on the table. He had declined the offer of a solicitor.
‘I think you know why you are here, Mr Cruikshank,’ started Warren. It would be a lot easier if the man assumed that they knew more than they did and started speaking without further prompting. Unfortunately, Cruikshank wasn’t foolish enough to walk into that trap.
‘No. I’m guessing it has something to Jill Gwinnett’s death?’
‘Perhaps. Perhaps not. We’ll have to see where this conversation leads us.’
Warren let that linger in the air for a moment. Unfortunately, Cruikshank was already so on edge it was hard to tell if that made him more nervous or not.
‘According to your statement, you finished locking up the school at about 6.30 p.m.?’ started Ruskin.
‘Yeah, about then. I didn’t look at my watch, but we always finish about the same time.’
‘“We” being you and your colleague Graham Harris?’
‘Yeah, that’s right.’
‘His car was photographed leaving the school at 6.40 p.m.’ Ruskin paused. ‘When did you leave?’
‘A few minutes after. I returned all the keys to the key safe.’
‘And how did you get home?’
He gave a shrug. ‘I walked. It’s not far.’
‘And did anyone see you leave?’
‘Dunno, it was dark.’
‘What about on your way home? Did you stop off anywhere, or see anyone? A neighbour perhaps?’
Cruikshank frowned. ‘No, I don’t think so.’
‘What did you do for the rest of the evening?’
‘Had a beer, watched a bit of telly. I went to bed early ’cause I was on the early shift unlocking, and firing up the boiler. I live alone,’ he said, pre-empting Ruskin’s next question.
‘You’ve had a number of jobs, over the past few years, I see,’ said Warren. ‘When did you start working at Sacred Heart?’
Cruikshank cleared his throat.
‘About five years ago.’
‘And before then?’
Cruikshank cleared his throat again, before reaching for his plastic cup of water.
‘I worked in a couple of warehouses.’
‘I see.’ Warren made a show of jotting down his replies.
‘Did you start at Sacred Heart as deputy site manager?’
‘No. I was taken on as a cleaning supervisor at first, then an opening came up on the site team.’
‘And you were promoted to deputy site team manager last year?’
Cruikshank took another sip of water. His mouth still sounded dry when he replied.
‘Yes. When Nick, the site manager, retired, Bernie took over, which left his position open. I applied and got the job.’
Warren made another note.
‘Quite impressive, working your way up from cleaner to deputy site team manager in four years. I guess you’ve found your niche, eh?’
Cruikshank nodded, but said nothing. His cup was now empty and Ruskin refilled it for him.
‘I imagine the money’s a lot better than cleaning?’ said Ruskin.
Cruikshank nodded again.
‘Better than working in a warehouse as well, I’ll bet?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Better pay. Better hours. Other perks as well, I imagine?’
‘I don’t know what you mean.’
‘Mind you,’ said Warren, ‘if you think of it as four years to get back to the same level you were at ten years ago, then that doesn’t seem quite as impressive, does it?’
Cruikshank licked his lips, but before he had a chance to reply Warren started again, opening the buff-coloured folder in front of him.
‘It seems a bit strange that when you applied for the job at Sacred Heart, you provided references from Elliot’s Warehouse, and Middlesbury Logistics, but didn’t mention your stint as assistant site manager at Middlesbury Town Comprehensive during the late Nineties. Surely that would have been more relevant to this position?’
‘They asked for my two most recent employers.’ Cruikshank looked down at the plastic cup in his hand, already empty again. At the rate he was going, they’d have to suspend the interview soon for a toilet break.
‘Why did you leave Middlesbury Town Comprehensive?’ asked Ruskin.
‘Redundancy,’ said Cruikshank. This time his voice was more confident.
‘I see,’ said Warren, making another note on his pad.
‘I assume that for your current position at Sacred Heart, you’ve undergone checks by the Disclosure and Barring Service?’
‘I think it was called a CRB check back then, but yeah, you have to.’ Sweat had started to trickle down the side of Cruikshank’s face.
‘And was there anything that came up?’
He shook his head. ‘No. They wouldn’t have employed me if it had.’
Warren leant back in his chair and stared at Cruikshank. He counted off fifteen seconds in his head. Beside him, Ruskin folded his arms. It was clear to see from Cruikshank’s eyes that those fifteen seconds were passing far more slowly for him than for anyone else in the room.
‘The thing about DBS checks,’ said Warren, finally, ‘is that they only work if concerns are passed onto either the DBS or the police.’ He stared at Cruikshank.
‘Of course, these days there is a legal obligation to disclose anything that you think might be amiss, but the Independent Safeguarding Authority didn’t come into being until some years after the Soham murders in 2002. So before then, only those incidents actually reported to the police would come up on criminal records check. Very little in the way of what we call “soft intelligence” was recorded back then.
‘The problem is that sometimes people can’t quite place their finger on what’s wrong, and so they don’t know what to say. Perhaps nobody has actually come forward to say that a person has done something concrete. Maybe the rumours are just a bit of malicious gossip.
‘But the thing is, deep down in here—’ Warren pointed to his gut ‘—you just know that something isn’t right. You know that somebody is a wrong ’un, but there has never been anything more than hearsay.’
‘I don’t see what this has to do with Jill’s murder.’
‘As I said, perhaps it does, perhaps it doesn’t.’ Again, he let that sink in.
‘Back when you worked at Middlesbury Town Comprehensive, where did you like to go for a drink on a Friday night?’ asked Ruskin.
‘Can’t remember.’
‘What about the Fiddler’s Arms, down Westland Street? I believe it’s no longer there,’ suggested Warren.
‘Maybe.’
‘It was a popular pub, apparently. A bit before my time, I’m afraid.’ Warren leaned forward conspiratorially. ‘I’m told they were quite relaxed about checking people’s ID.’
‘I wouldn’t know, I was over eighteen.’
‘True. Mind you, that would have made you stand out in there on a weekend. Most of the crowd were underage. Lots of sixth-formers, for example.’
Cruikshank shrugged.
‘How old were you when you started at Middlesbury Town Comp? Twenty-three? Twenty-four?’
Cruikshank said nothing.
‘I’ve seen your staff photo from back then, it’s fair to say you were a good-looking lad.’
Again, Cruikshank remained quiet.
‘You lived with your mum and dad back then, didn’t you?’
He nodded.
‘So no mortgage or rent to pay? Plenty of beer money.’ Warren paused. ‘You could afford to show a girl a good time.’
‘No crime in that.’
Cruikshank had clearly decided that silence was not his friend.
‘You’re absolutely right. The age of consent in this country is sixteen and the amendment to the Sexual Offences A
ct that would make it an offence for a person of trust – such as a school caretaker – to engage in sexual activity with somebody under eighteen didn’t occur until 2000. So in that sense you are correct Mr Cruikshank. Having sex with a sixth-form student over the age of sixteen was not a criminal offence back when you were employed at Middlesbury Town Comprehensive.’
‘Still pretty dodgy though, wouldn’t you say?’ said Ruskin. ‘I’m pretty sure there were school rules against that sort of thing.’
‘Nothing was ever proven.’
‘It wasn’t just the sixth-form girls though, was it?’ Warren made a show of turning the pages over in his notepad. ‘Apparently, even the lower-school kids had a name for you – “Creepy Cruikshank”, I believe? People noticed that you did an awful lot of litter-picking around the entrance to the girls’ PE changing rooms. Especially around about the time that they were coming in and out.’
Cruikshank leant back in his chair, crossing his arms.
‘This was fifteen years ago. Nobody ever proved anything. It was all bullshit, put about by kids that didn’t like me. What has it got to do with anything going on today?’
‘This is an email sent to Ms Gwinnett two months ago, in her capacity as Sacred Heart’s safeguarding lead.’ Warren removed a printout from the evidence folder.
‘“Dear Ms Gwinnett, I am writing to you in confidence about one of your employees, a Mr Stanley Cruikshank. Stan was a member of the site team at Middlesbury Town Comprehensive between 1994 and 2001, before it was mutually agreed that he should terminate his employment with us, due to concerns about his suitability to work in a school environment.
“I would be grateful if you could call me as a matter of urgency to discuss this matter further.”’
Warren looked up from the printout. ‘Any ideas what that email is referring to?’
‘No comment.’
‘Well, I called the sender of this email and they told me that they had in fact been called by Ms Gwinnett. They were shocked to hear what had happened to her, naturally, and so they told me exactly what they discussed.’
Warren paused. ‘You weren’t really made redundant, were you, Stanley?’
‘That’s what it said on the letter. I probably still have a copy somewhere.’