by Paul Gitsham
‘There was evidence of a struggle,’ recalled Sutton.
‘Well, she had pretty much every piece of stationery equipment you could imagine, except for a stapler. But she did have a box of spare staples in her desk drawer.’
‘Perhaps someone borrowed it?’ said Warren.
‘Maybe so, but when they did a trace evidence collection behind her desk, guess what they found?’
‘No idea.’
‘A single staple, unbent.’ She opened an image on her computer.
The staple was made of zinc-plated steel. A ruler showed it to be the typical size used in an office for securing paper documents. Pymm zoomed in.
Warren saw it immediately. ‘Is that…?’
‘Yes, bloodstains on the end of the pins. Forensics think she may have stabbed her assailant with the stapler, perhaps in the hand. Her attacker probably took away the stapler to avoid detection, but couldn’t find the actual staple.’
Warren turned to Sutton, but before he could say anything, they were interrupted by Mags Richardson, waving her tablet computer in the air triumphantly.
‘I’ve just got this report back from traffic.’ She handed over the mini-computer. ‘Spinner’s Row, three streets over from Sacred Heart School, has a problem with parents parking there during the school run, so the council operate a residents-only parking scheme during the school day. Guess who had the misfortune to receive a penalty charge notice for illegal parking on the day of Jillian Gwinnett’s murder?’
Warren had to read the report twice before its importance sunk in.
‘What the hell were they doing parked up near the school on Monday?’ asked Tony Sutton as he took the tablet from Warren’s hand. ‘And, more importantly, why did they risk a fifty-quid fine rather than park legally in the school’s visitor car park?’
Warren stood frozen to the spot. Half-formed ideas whirled around his head, the pieces of the puzzle finally coming together. Who would benefit the most from Jill Gwinnett’s death? Who could move unchallenged around the school? Who had been lying to them from the outset?
‘You all right, Boss?’
Warren smiled.
‘I think we’ve got ’em.’
* * *
The heating in interview suite one was stuck on high, and so Warren invited the person across the table to remove their jacket. They declined, just as they had declined the offer of legal representation.
Innocent or overconfident? After all, they hadn’t been arrested or charged with anything, so why would they need a lawyer? It was their decision to attend and that had been duly recorded, along with Warren’s clear reminder that they were free to terminate the interview or request a solicitor at any time.
‘Thank you for attending again at such short notice, we still have some details that need clarification—’ he motioned towards the PACE recorder ‘—and it helps us to have a record of anything that’s said, in case we need to refer back to it.’
‘Of course, anything I can do to help track down whoever did that to poor Jill.’
Sitting next to the interviewee was a mug of coffee in plain white china. Along with the custard cream, it reinforced the voluntary nature of the proceedings.
‘First of all, can you tell me where you were Monday evening?’
‘I’ve already answered that question. I was at home.’
‘Just doing it by the book.’ Warren smiled encouragingly. ‘Can anyone vouch for your presence?’
A pause.
‘We both know that I was alone.’
Without pausing to give the interviewee time to think, Tony Sutton took over.
‘How long have you been at Sacred Heart?’
‘Eight or so years now.’
‘But you knew Ms Gwinnett before then?’
‘Yes, the Catholic education sector in this area is a fairly small community. We all attend the same conferences and are members of the same networks.’
‘Just for the record, would you say that you and Ms Gwinnett had the same vision for the future of Catholic education and Sacred Heart in particular?’ asked Warren.
‘Yes.’
‘Do you have swipe card access to the school?’
This time the pause was longer.
‘Yes, of course. The role of the governing body is to hold school leaders to account, that includes being able to drop in without notice at any time.’
For the first time since the interview started, the person sitting opposite looked nervous. They took a swig of their coffee.
The statement was true; to deny such an easily verifiable statement would have been foolish. Warren decided to push a little harder.
‘Does your swipe card have the same access privileges as members of the Senior Leadership Team? Access all areas, including out-of-hours?’
‘Um, maybe. I’m not really sure.’
‘Well, we can check that out easily enough. Either way, would you say that people were used to seeing you around the school site?’
‘Yes, I suppose so.’
Tony Sutton took over.
‘Do you own a Ford Fiesta?’
‘Yes.’
‘Are you aware that you received a ticket for parking in a residents-only spot in Spinner’s Row?’
The brief closing of the eyes confirmed that the penalty charge notice had yet to land on the doormat.
‘No, I didn’t.’
‘Why did you park in Spinner’s Row? You have a permit for the school’s visitor car park just around the corner.’
‘Um, let me think.’ The suspect took a longer swig of coffee, their eyes darting around; a primal response to feeling trapped.
‘Oh yes, I remember, I decided to pop into the shops. I thought it would be a bit cheeky to use the school car park for a personal matter; there are a limited number of spaces.’
‘Which shop?’ asked Sutton, immediately.
‘Um, Tesco Metro.’
As soon as they said it, they knew they had tripped up. Warren let them linger on their error for a moment, making a point of writing down ‘check Tesco CCTV’ in clear handwriting that could be easily read upside down by someone sitting opposite him.
‘To change the subject slightly, I’ve been reading OFSTED’s reports on Sacred Heart, as well as the diocese’s inspection reports.’ Warren pulled out a series of printouts, annotated with green highlighter. ‘My wife is a teacher, and her school recently had an OFSTED. She’d be pretty envious of comments like this: “Sacred Heart has made extraordinary progress in the past twelve months, due in no small part to the significant changes in the leadership and governance team. We now find that Sacred Heart no longer ‘Requires Improvement’ and is rated ‘Good’ or better in all key areas.”’ He flicked to the next page. ‘This one’s from your latest inspection: “Sacred Heart is an exceptional local school, rated as ‘Outstanding’ in all areas.”
‘That’s pretty remarkable progress in the past few years, OFSTED are a tough bunch to please. You also seem to have impressed the diocese. I especially like this report from a couple of years ago: “The transformation at Sacred Heart over the past five years has been nothing short of astonishing. The school has not only improved the educational outcomes of the young people it teaches, it has also placed the pupils’ spiritual and moral wellbeing at the very centre of its curriculum, with a strong emphasis on discipline and Catholic doctrine. This change is led from the top, with strong guidance from both the governing body and Senior Leadership Team. Sacred Heart is a model of how Catholic teachings can be relevant to twenty-first century learners and we propose that more schools follow its lead.”’
‘You must be very proud,’ said Sutton.
‘I only played a small part, it was a team effort.’
‘Go Team Ball, eh?’ said Warren. ‘Still, it’s pretty good to have that recognition from the diocese. I would imagine that such validation opens up a lot of future possibilities when it’s finally time to retire.’
‘I’m not sure what you me
an.’
‘Well, being a head teacher is a stressful job, it has to end one day. But from what I’ve heard, Noah Ball has much to offer the wider community beyond school leadership.’ Warren pointed to the final line of the highlighted paragraph in the diocesan inspection report
‘“… we propose that more schools follow its lead”. It sounds as though the diocese would like Team Ball to pass on their wisdom to other schools. From what I understand, that can be quite lucrative.’
‘It’s not about the money.’
‘Of course not. I imagine it’s more about the prestige and the influence.’ Warren leant forward. ‘All of those years hanging onto Noah Ball’s coat tails, supporting him as he became Hertfordshire and Essex Diocese’s go-to superhead, isn’t it time you and the rest of Team Ball also received some recognition?’
‘I did not come here to be insulted…’
Warren ignored the protestations.
‘Teaming up with Jillian Gwinnett to take over Sacred Heart from within was a stroke of genius and, to be fair, nobody could fault the outcomes. The pupils of Sacred Heart Academy are receiving a first-class education. But that’s not enough, is it?’
‘This is absolutely disgraceful. I’m glad that these slurs are recorded, I shall be demanding a copy for my records.’
Again, Warren ignored the bluster.
‘Tell me, was Noah Ball’s retirement when he turned sixty always part of the deal with Ms Gwinnett?’
‘I don’t—’
‘What was Ms Gwinnett’s reaction when she found out that he wasn’t going this summer? And that in fact he intended to stay on another two years to see the school through its centenary celebrations?’
‘I don’t know what you mean.’
Warren took an envelope out of the folder, removing the glossy photographs from within.
‘Have you seen these photos before?’
‘No.’
The lie was obvious to everyone in the room.
‘Are you sure about that? They were sent to your email address.’
Warren started to deal the photographs onto the table, one at a time.
‘Stanley Cruikshank is no paparazzo, but I think we can all see quite clearly that the pictures show Giles Sanders and Noah Ball getting into a car. Of course, it could just be one colleague offering another a lift home, but that farewell kiss is quite lingering. And these ones, taken the following morning, might raise questions about why they were leaving Giles Sanders’ house together at such an hour.’
Warren left the photos on the table, fanned out like a deck of cards.
‘I’m sure Ms Gwinnett thought she was being clever, blackmailing Stanley Cruikshank into taking these photos. But of course, it backfired. She went to Noah Ball and threatened to expose his little secret unless he stuck to the plan they agreed to when he first took over. Imagine her shock when he claimed that his wife already knew about his affairs. Of course, she couldn’t take him at his word and called his bluff. Turns out he was telling the truth.
‘So that left her only one option. The nuclear option. To threaten to send the photos anonymously to the diocese. If Ball gave in to her demands and retired, Gwinnett would likely be promoted to head and he and the rest of Team Ball could go on to their new careers. If he refused and she sent the photos, then he’d have to resign and she’d still become head. Win-win, really, for her. But not for Team Ball, of course; I imagine the diocese would want to distance itself from the scandal of an extramarital homosexual affair as soon as possible.’
‘Complete nonsense.’
‘You can hardly blame her,’ said Tony Sutton. ‘She’d been deputy head for eight years. She deserved credit for those improvements as much as anyone in Team Ball. And she was there for years before he arrived on the scene, so why should he get all the accolades? Why should he be spearheading the centenary celebrations? Besides which, he broke a promise, didn’t he?’
‘I don’t have to listen to this anymore.’
‘What did you do to your hand?’ asked Warren.
‘Sorry?’
‘Your left hand. Why are you wearing a plaster? Last time you were interviewed, you wore gloves the whole time.’
‘Er, I pricked myself gardening.’
‘I don’t believe you.’
‘Excuse me?’
‘I don’t believe you. I think that if we were to take a look under that plaster, we would find two small puncture wounds, about six millimetres apart. The exact dimensions of the staples that fit Jillian Gwinnett’s stapler.’
‘No, I pricked myself on a rose bush.’
‘Jillian Gwinnett’s stapler went missing the night of her murder. Fortunately, we have found one just like it at the bottom of the wheelie bin in your garden. It’s currently with our forensics team who are examining it. I doubt we’ll find your fingerprints on there, of course, since you almost certainly wore gloves, but they have found a tiny trace of blood. Blood which I would bet good money matches the blood found on the staple underneath Jillian Gwinnett’s desk. Blood which I imagine matches you.’
‘You can’t just search my garden without a warrant.’
‘We did have a warrant, it was served in your absence. Don’t worry, we were let in and didn’t need to break down the door. As we speak, Scenes of Crime are currently searching your house for further evidence. I imagine you thought you were quite clever disposing of the rope in the site office as you went past. Rather convenient that the governors only voted last week not to authorise replacement of the broken CCTV cameras until the new financial year. Was disposing of that rope some sort of revenge on Stanley Cruikshank, or just coincidence? It doesn’t matter, the CSIs are going over your entire wardrobe looking for hemp fibres. If there are any present, they will find them. Just as they already found the plastic wrapper that the rope came in, and its receipt, in the same wheelie bin.’
‘I want a lawyer.’
‘I was about to suggest the same thing,’ said Warren. ‘Patricia Ball, I am arresting you on suspicion of the murder of Jillian Gwinnett…’
The End
Acknowledgements
So here we are again – 7 books in and I can’t believe the character I dreamt up one Easter when I should have been marking coursework is still going strong.
Huge thanks as always go out to HQ Digital, especially Clio and the team – I’m loving the new covers!
Editing a manuscript, as any writer will tell you, is as important as writing it. Sending that first completed draft to be judged will always be a nerve-wracking experience, but the feedback is always as kind as it is necessary.
Authors are nothing without their readers, and nothing makes it more worthwhile than a total stranger taking the time to tell you what they thought of your work, either through reviews, emails or even in person, so thank you all again.
I’m grateful as always for the support and advice of my parents and friends. Dad continues to be a one-man publicity team; if you’ve ever stumbled across one of my bookmarks tucked away in a National Trust second-hand book store, you know who to thank!
Yet again, my colleagues in both teaching and writing have provided inspiration (and even the odd name) – sorry if I haven’t killed you off in a book yet, there will be plenty more opportunities in the future.
Every writer needs a muse, and again Cheryl has been my rock – thanks for saying ‘yes!’.
So until the next time, thank you for taking the time to read A Deadly Lesson and I hope you enjoyed it.
Best wishes.
Paul
Hello, and thank you for taking the time to read A Deadly Lesson. If this is your first spell in the company of Warren and his team, then welcome! If you have read other books in the series, then an even bigger thank you for returning.
A Deadly Lesson is the first book I have written that is set completely in the world of my day-job, and so it’s important that I clear up a few small matters before I get hauled into my head teacher’s office and asked to exp
lain myself.
First, I have never fantasised about killing any of my colleagues – Sacred Heart is not based on the school that I work at, and the nefarious characters that populate it bear no resemblance to any of my friends and co-workers (even if some do have names that might sound familiar…)
Second, whilst themes in the book touch upon important topics in education, aside from the obvious challenges posed by the draconian budget cuts imposed in recent years, I can’t stress enough that this book is solely the product of my imagination or stories that I have read about in the press.
Finally, despite everything, I still believe that teaching is one of the most rewarding careers that there is, and I hope that this comes across.
I hope you enjoyed the book, and I look forward to seeing you again.
Best wishes,
Paul.
You can follow me on Twitter @dcijoneswriter
Visit my facebook page: www.facebook.com/dcijones or my website www.paulgitsham.com
Or email me on [email protected]
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