* * *
They drove up the broad, gravel driveway to the front entrance of the school building. Barry’s feelings of resentment resurfaced. He didn’t have a problem with the rich having material goods and luxury items, but this was something else entirely. How could most of the youngsters coming to a private school like this ever understand what it meant not to know where the next meal or the money for the next rent instalment was going to come from? He sighed and shook his head.
Sophie steered into the car park. ‘I can guess what you’re thinking, Barry. I met a lot of people from this kind of background when I was at Oxford. Most of them are perfectly nice people, but they’ve never had to face any real hardship, even if they’re not as arrogant as they seem. Those Hooray-Henry types are just a small, nasty minority. They suffer the same emotional pressures as the rest of us. Marriage breakdowns, family bust-ups and all the rest are as common at the top of society as at the bottom. Half of these kids will be miserable here. I couldn’t have faced sending my two to a boarding school for months at a time, even if we could have afforded it. And Martin and I both saw the effect it had on some of our friends at university. We saw too many cases where people sent to places like this were haunted by it, even into their twenties.’ She looked at her watch. ‘Time to go. He should be waiting in reception.’
The contrast with her visit to the state school in Exeter on the previous day struck Sophie immediately on entering the ornate hallway. Northside Academy had a colourful, vibrant atmosphere, its walls covered with displays of artwork produced by the pupils along with certificates and copies of awards. There had been a buzz of conversation, a feeling of energy. Sophie had been struck by one sleepy-looking lad who had passed them wearing odd shoes, one black and one brown. She couldn’t imagine that happening here. The hall seemed overly austere, and much too quiet.
The receptionist looked up as they approached her desk.
‘I’m Detective Chief Inspector Sophie Allen. We’re here to speak to Richard Imber?’
‘Oh yes,’ came the reply. ‘I think the deputy head wants to be in on your meeting with him.’
When the deputy head appeared a minute later, Sophie nearly did a double take. He had the same kind of tall, bony, austere look as the deputy the previous day. It made her wonder for a second what persona Martin adopted at his school. No, he wouldn’t be able to project that austere image, no matter how hard he tried. He was just too funny.
The deputy head held out his hand to Barry. ‘Good morning, Chief Inspector.’
Sophie stood stock still for a few moments, her mouth open. So the age-old assumptions of male privilege and dominance still held sway in places like this. Poor kids.
‘That would be me, Mr Tweddle. As you can see from the badge I’m wearing, prominently displayed on my lapel. I’m the DCI, mere woman that I am. Life’s a bugger sometimes, isn’t it? Letting a woman through into a senior role, despite all the mass of evidence that we’re far too frivolous to take on such a responsibility.’
Tweddle looked embarrassed. ‘I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to cause offence.’
‘No. Idiots rarely do.’ Sophie caught sight of a broad grin spreading across the previously strained face of the young man standing behind Tweddle. This was a perfect way to get Richard Imber on her side.
‘Um, can we start again? Good morning, Chief Inspector.’ Tweddle looked as if he wished the ground would open up and swallow him.
She grasped the outstretched hand, gave him a bright smile and deliberately fluttered her eyelashes. ‘And good morning to you, Deputy Head. Am I right in assuming that this is Richard Imber?’
The young man nodded, still smirking slightly, and offered his hand.
Sophie clasped it in both of hers. ‘Richard, I want you to know how much I feel for you over the tragic loss of your sister. I was at Hattie’s bedside when she died, holding her hand. I’ll try to answer any questions you have about her death.’ She turned to the deputy. ‘Can we go somewhere more private?’
‘Of course. Come along to my office. I’ll ask for coffee to be sent in. And I am sorry for the slip-up, really I am.’
He led the way along a wood-panelled corridor, the sound of their footfalls echoing from the polished timber. Tweddle’s office was rather more welcoming than Sophie had been expecting. It was warm and carpeted, and there were a few photos of his family on his desk, positioned behind the ubiquitous computer screen.
‘This is Richard’s first day back at school since the weekend,’ Tweddle said. ‘He’s been home with his mother until this morning, but with A levels looming it’s a question of how much work he can afford to miss.’
‘Do you have a destination in mind, Richard?’
‘Well, I’m hoping to study law at Sheffield. It’s going to be tough to get the grades though.’
‘He underestimates his abilities,’ Tweddle said. ‘From what I hear he should manage the entry grades quite easily.’
Ignoring Tweddle, Sophie said, ‘That’s my subject. I took a degree in law, then did a master’s in criminal psychology later. It’s stood me in good stead, so well done you for choosing it. But let’s concentrate on why I’m here. I’ll do my best to answer any questions you have about Hattie’s death, as long as it doesn’t put the court case in jeopardy. You may have heard that we charged someone with her murder late yesterday. I expect your mother told you?’
Richard nodded. He’s a good-looking young man, Sophie thought. Those dark curls and olive skin tone would bowl anyone over. He could go into film if he wanted. His voice was gentle and considered. ‘Yes, but she didn’t say much.’
‘All I can tell you is that it’s a couple from Exeter. Hattie knew the man but it’s the wife who is being charged. Exeter police haven’t decided what to charge the man with. It may be murder or it could be accessory to murder. The CPS will consider all the evidence before they decide.’
‘So it wasn’t just a brawl?’ Richard said.
‘No. We think it was deliberate and planned in advance, but I can’t say any more than that. What I can do is reassure you about Hattie’s death. As I said earlier, I was at her bedside for an hour before she died, along with an intensive care nurse. She died peacefully, Richard. I’m sure she didn’t suffer. Your mother arrived a few minutes later. Sergeant Marsh here drove her down to Exeter. He did his very best to get her to the hospital in time, but it just wasn’t to be.’
‘I still can’t believe it. I still think Hattie will phone me for a chat or to get my opinion on something stupid. She was always doing that.’
‘So you were close to her?’
‘Yeah. Who else did she have? She kept telling me that I was her only real relative. That’s because Mum was only her step-mum. Hattie was my half-sister.’
Sophie leaned forward again. ‘We found that out this morning. Do you feel like telling me more about it, Richard?’
‘Hattie and Mum were at loggerheads a lot of the time, but I never really found out why. Maybe they kind of resented each other. Hattie was always saying that she was alone in the world apart from me, but even when Mum tried to be really nice to her she brushed her off. Hattie used to shriek at her that she was just trying to trick her by being nice. She used to make Mum cry.’
‘How did that make you feel?’
‘I sneaked out and went to my room. Sometimes Hattie followed me. She said she hated Mum, but she never really told me why. That was when we were older. When I was small, Hattie had a secret den in the hedge at the bottom of the garden and she used to hide in there. I wasn’t allowed in. She used to tell me that she’d got a witch to put a curse on it and if I ever went in my skin would turn to warts.’
‘Why did Hattie need a den, do you think?’
‘We had a lodger and he used to creep about the house. Hattie hated him, but she wouldn’t say why. She used her den a lot when he was around. I didn’t mind him. He used to buy me sweets.’
‘When did you last see Hattie, Richard?’
<
br /> He thought for a moment. ‘I was home a few weeks ago, that stormy weekend. It was Mum’s birthday on the Saturday and she was planning to take us out for the evening. But Hattie changed her mind at the last minute. She came for the afternoon, but then said she had to see someone in Bournemouth that evening. Mum was really upset about it and they had another row. Then Hattie drove off in the car. In the end we just stayed in. Mum cancelled the restaurant.’
Sophie thought for a moment and decided to try her luck.
‘Richard, do you remember a woman called Eddie Davis? She may have been a friend of your mother’s.’
He frowned. ‘Yeah. She stayed with us for a while a long time ago, when I was still in primary school. I think she was a nurse or something. Why?’
‘Did your mum have any other lodgers besides Eddie and the man you talked about?’
‘No. There was a big gap after him. Hattie said she’d run away if Mum had any others. Mum only took Auntie Eddie in because she already knew us.’
Sophie tried hard not to appear surprised. ‘She was your auntie?’
‘She wasn’t a real aunt. I think she’d been at school with Mum. She was really nice. When we were small she’d send us birthday cards, but Hattie said we shouldn’t trust her. She said Eddie might be a witch.’
‘Did you know that she took Hattie away for a short holiday last spring?’
‘Yeah. I thought it meant Hattie had finally got over her stupid ideas. Eddie was one of the nicest people we knew. I went to her funeral with Mum.’
Richard was thoughtful, so unlike his sister. But, of course, he’d had his mother to cherish him along with Hattie herself, and it was unlikely that he’d been abused as a child.
‘I think Hattie was ill again. That last time we saw her, she was different somehow. She was anorexic, did you know? It started when she was about fifteen. She could be really bad when she got into one of her moods.’
‘Did she often talk about witches, Richard?’
‘Not all the time. It was really only during her bad spells.’
Sophie thought for a moment. This might be the only opportunity to find out what the family had known about Hattie’s possible relationship with Lawrence Jackson. But how best to go about it?
‘There was a church organist in your village, Richard. He gave lessons to teenagers. Did you ever come into contact with him?’
‘I think I know who you mean. He taught Hattie but I was too young. Well, that’s what Mum told me.’
‘Can you remember whether your mum was ever concerned about him teaching Hattie?’
Richard thought for a moment or two before replying. ‘I don’t think so.’ He frowned.
Sophie wondered if she’d raised an issue that had long been buried. ‘I have a responsibility, Richard. I’m a senior police officer, and if someone shows certain patterns of behaviour I really should uncover them.’
‘Can’t you ask Mum?’
‘She refused to talk about it. I think she feels that she’s somehow responsible, even though that’s not the case. If you could shed any light on what went on, it would be a great help. There’s no one else, you see. It won’t help any prosecutions, of course. The man’s dead. But it will help to explain Hattie’s strange moods.’
Sophie gave him a gentle smile.
‘There may have been something. There was one time when Hattie was missing until really late. We went out looking for her. I was only taken along because Mum didn’t want to leave me by myself. We saw Hattie coming out of his house with him. They were holding hands but he let go as soon as he saw us coming. Mum and Hattie had a screaming match in the middle of the road. I can’t remember much else.’ He paused and looked at her keenly. ‘Do you think they were . . . you know?’
‘We’ll never know for sure. How old was she then?’
‘That’s easy. It was her fifteenth birthday. She’d had a few friends round earlier for tea and after they went home, she just vanished. We thought she’d gone with them and Mum only found out she hadn’t much later, after she got worried and phoned them. And that’s all I remember.’
That was it. The situation Richard described meshed so well with what they’d learned from talking to Jackson’s first wife, Caroline. A seduction on the girl’s fifteenth or sixteenth birthday. Well, he would have quickly found out that he’d bitten off more than he could chew with Hattie. She’d been abused before and would have recognised him for what he really was. The blackmail would have started soon afterwards. The one thing that could be said in his favour was that he’d killed the right person — himself — rather than his young victim. Unlike the Mureys.
The two detectives thanked Richard and Tweddle. The latter looked more than a little shell-shocked. Sophie wondered whether a school like this ever had to deal with these kinds of issues. Maybe the preferred policy was to brush such things under a conveniently situated carpet.
They walked back to the car.
‘I think that’s it, Barry,’ Sophie said. ‘I’m content that we have something close to the whole sorry picture. I feel desperately sad about Hattie’s life. So much of it seems to have pivoted on three key events. The loss of her father, the probable abuse by that creepy lodger when she was small, and Jackson’s manipulation of her, even if it did turn on him and bite him back. Those experiences were formative. To say it was a tragedy is an understatement.’
Barry climbed into the passenger seat of Sophie’s car and they both sat in silence.
Barry coughed. ‘I know we usually have some kind of celebration after we wrap up a case, ma’am. I’m not sure I feel that way about this one.’
‘No. The Exeter mob are doing something tomorrow evening and we’re invited. But I’ve already sent our apologies. Like you, my feelings about it are too mixed up.’
‘Do you think Rae might want to go? She’s spent far more time down there than us.’
‘No. She told me just before we left the office. She’d heard about it from Steve Gulliver. He probably doesn’t realise that she’s already got a bloke and thinks he’s in with a chance. I wonder if Rae ever imagined that she’d have men queuing up for her like this.’ Sophie swung the car out of the parking slot. ‘Tell you what. Why don’t we go out at the weekend for a pub meal? Martin’s always up for an evening out. You can bring Gwen and we’ll ask Rae to bring her young man. Craig, isn’t it?’
‘That might terrify him, ma’am. You can be pretty intimidating, you know.’
She laughed. ‘Oh, I know, alright. I’ve been working on it for years.’
THE END
Acknowledgements
This is a work of fiction, and none of the characters and situations described in this novel bear any resemblance to real persons or events. I would like to emphasise my great respect for all of the staff I’ve met at Exeter University.
However, many of the places mentioned in this novel do indeed exist. In particular, Dancing Ledge is a wonderful spot on the coast path in Dorset, a couple of miles west of Swanage. Durlston Estate is a beautiful country park with spectacular coastal views, and its castle functions as a visitor centre with a great cafe/restaurant that serves Palmer’s Dorset Gold ale on hand-pump. Swanage people know it well.
If you have never visited the city of Exeter in Devon, I would recommend it. It’s a bustling, thriving place, full of history. Sophie Allen, of course, likes it for its pubs. Readers who have never been to Exeter may wonder why I refer to Exeter St David’s railway station by its name. Exeter has two main stations: Central and St David’s. St David’s is the larger of the two, and is one of the main stops on the fast Paddington to Penzance line. Central has slower long-distance trains to Salisbury and London Waterloo.
I must thank many people for their help and support during the writing of this novel. Firstly, the staff at Joffe Books. My thanks to the editorial team, particularly Anne Derges, the crime editor. Any errors that remain, and I’m sure there are some, are entirely my responsibility. Next, some friends who listened
to my ideas and made useful comments. Particular thanks go to Rachel, who suggested a way out of a very early dilemma while we were having a drink in a pub in the lovely Wiltshire town of Bradford On Avon. Also to Eleanor and all her friends, particularly Sylvie and Ava. To my curry companion, thank you. Lastly to my wife Margaret, always supportive.
Samaritans offers support for people in the UK going through tough times
www.samaritans.org/how-we-can-help-you/contact-us
And in the USA, Lifeline offers support
www suicidepreventionlifeline.org/help-yourself/
About Michael Hambling
Please visit my website (www.michaelhambling.co.uk) for information about my novels and news about forthcoming plans. You can also email me using the website’s contact form. Alternatively, send an email to [email protected].
I have a Facebook page belonging to Michael Hambling Author, but I feel guilty about not updating or checking it as often as I should!
My Amazon author page has some summary information about my novels.
Please visit the website of my publisher, Joffe Books, at www.joffebooks.com to find other great books by some talented authors.
There seems to have been some concern that this, the sixth Sophie Allen novel, would be the last. This is not true. Sophie will live on as long as I can manage to generate fictional crimes for her to solve. If anyone thinks that my plots are far-fetched, I’d like to remind them of the old adage that truth is stranger than fiction. This is particularly true for some of the incidents described in this novel.
THE SOPHIE ALLEN BOOKS
Book 1: DARK CRIMES
Book 2: DEADLY CRIMES
Book 3: SECRET CRIMES
Book 4: BURIED CRIMES
Book 5: TWISTED CRIMES
Book 6: EVIL CRIMES
Book1: DARK CRIMES
EVIL CRIMES a gripping crime thriller full of twists Page 21