Leah nodded.
‘Do you know where she was going on Sunday evening?’
For a moment, Leah seemed unaccountably flustered. Any final vestiges of blood seemed to drain from her pale face. ‘She was – she took – I mean – I don’t know – I was in the shower when she went out. I didn’t see her go.’
She finished speaking in a voice so firm that it struck Geraldine as forced. It wasn’t clear what was bothering Leah, but Geraldine was convinced she was lying.
‘Leah, is there something you’re not telling me? It really won’t help if you keep anything back.’
Leah shook her head. ‘No, no,’ she protested earnestly.
‘If you’d like to tell me anything else, here’s my direct line. Or if you’d prefer to talk to someone else…’
‘No, no, it’s not you. It’s just that – well, I haven’t got anything else to say to you.’
Geraldine held back from warning Leah that her life could be in danger. The girl was already nervous to the point of hysteria. It would serve no purpose to worry her even more. Instead Geraldine decided to organise a constable to keep the street under surveillance. She left soon after, perplexed and frustrated, certain there was something Leah was refusing to disclose even though her flatmate had been murdered. But she couldn’t force Leah to confide in her.
33
Ned Thomson was the next former classmate of the three victims Geraldine was going to visit. He lived with his parents on their family farm in Saddleworth, set in grassy hills not far from Greenfield station. Passing a caravan site and a shop, she drew up outside a sprawling farmhouse. A skinny middle-aged woman opened the door. Her welcoming expression grew wary when she saw her visitor’s identity card. Quickly Geraldine explained that she was working on the investigation into a recent murder in the area.
‘Oh yes. And what has that got to do with us?’
‘You must be aware of the recent tragedies. The victims were at school with your son, Ned. This is just routine. We’re speaking to everyone who knew them at school who’s still living in the area, to see if they can shed any light on what’s happened.’
‘It’s got nothing to do with Ned. He’s got nothing to say to you.’ She started to close the door.
‘He was at school with the victims…’
‘So were a lot of people.’
Ignoring the interruption, Geraldine continued. ‘He knew them. We’re hoping he might be able to offer us some information that will help us to find out what happened. Anything he can tell us could be helpful.’
She hesitated to reassure Mrs Thomson that her son wasn’t a suspect. At the moment, anyone living in the vicinity could be the killer.
‘We’re concerned that other members of his class might be at risk. We need to track down whoever’s done this. I’m sure Ned will be keen to give us any help he can.’
Mrs Thomson grunted. ‘He’ll be up on the top field with his father.’
‘Can you call him, please?’
The woman nodded grudgingly. ‘You’d best come in then. But none of this has got anything to do with Ned. He’d never lift a finger to hurt anyone.’
She was so desperate to protect her son, she had succeeded only in arousing Geraldine’s suspicions. She showed Geraldine into a spacious room that looked as though it was furnished for greeting guests. One end was set out as a living room with sofas and armchairs, while at the other end of the room there was a large wooden desk and upright chairs. After ushering Geraldine over to a sofa, Mrs Thomson disappeared. A few moments later the door opened and a tall young man entered. He was wearing thick socks, and his trousers were splashed with mud above a neat line just below his knees. He must have removed wellington boots before coming into the house. Flicking a dark fringe off his high forehead, he sat down opposite Geraldine and smiled sadly at her.
‘This is about Steph and Peter, isn’t it?’ He spoke very slowly in a low drawl, as though he was reluctant to speak and was thinking very carefully about his words, forming them in the back of his throat and forcing them out of his mouth. ‘I thought someone would be coming here to ask me about it because we were all at school together. I know it was a long time ago, but it’s still a coincidence, isn’t it?’
Realising he hadn’t heard about Bethany’s death yet Geraldine hesitated, but he would find out soon enough. She might as well be the one to tell him.
‘I’m afraid I have some more bad news for you.’
He nodded as though he wasn’t surprised to hear what she was saying, but when she told him about the death of another of his former classmates, he looked genuinely startled.
‘Seriously? Bloody hell. Sorry, I don’t know what to say…’ He shook his head, as though to shake the news away. ‘I thought you were going to say you knew who had done it and were looking for someone. I didn’t think you’d come to tell me Beth’s dead too. That makes three, doesn’t it?’
‘I came here to see if there’s anything you can tell us that might assist us in our investigation.’
‘Yes, of course. Was she – was it the same? Another murder?’
He seemed fairly harmless, simple even. All the same, Geraldine was aware that he could be a homicidal maniac. Murderers were often unintelligent. Living on a farm he would certainly have access to firearms and, besides, he might not be as gormless as he appeared.
She nodded. ‘We’re still looking into what happened, but we believe it’s possible she was murdered.’
‘I understand you can’t tell me anything. But how can I help you with your enquiries?’
Ned recited the question as though he was copying the wording. Geraldine wondered if he had heard it on television, and whether he watched a lot of crime programmes. But if everyone who watched crime series on television became a suspect in a murder enquiry that would include the majority of the population.
‘Can you think of anyone who might have held a grudge against your classmates at school? Perhaps another pupil who was unfairly treated?’
He frowned. ‘You mean, was there a kid everyone bullied, who might have come back to get his revenge?’
Geraldine shrugged. That might be a start.
He smiled weakly. ‘That would probably be me. I was always very tall and I…’ He broke off, frowning. ‘I was six foot when I was thirteen.’
‘That must have been hard.’
‘The other kids used to call me beanpole, and – and other names, but my parents were happy enough with me.’ His anxious face broke into a genuine smile. ‘My dad used to tell me I could do the work of a man. That wasn’t really true, because I was skinny and not very strong back then, but it made me feel good about myself, enough to ignore the stupid idiots at school. My mum used to tell me the other boys were jealous.’ He paused. ‘I wasn’t unhappy as a kid. I certainly wasn’t a tortured victim who spent his time plotting revenge.’ He gave a shy smile. ‘I spent my school days waiting for the day when I could leave and work on the farm full-time. My dad lets me help run the caravan site,’ he added proudly.
Personable and apparently even-tempered, Ned didn’t seem mentally sharp, but Geraldine reserved her judgement.
‘I want you to think very carefully, Ned. Was there anyone in your school who struck you as odd in any way? It could have been a pupil or a teacher. Anything you tell me will be treated in confidence. Was anyone there capable of losing their temper, or being cruel?’
‘That would be most of the teachers.’ He gave a sad smile. ‘I haven’t been much help, have I?’
34
The final member of the class still living in the area was an accountant who was buying a terraced house in Clifton, on the outskirts of York. Robin was very different to Ned, in appearance as well as intellect. Barely taller than Geraldine and slightly tubby, his fair hair was cropped short and his face had a boyish appeal. He gave Geraldine a worried smile when
she introduced herself.
‘Police, eh? I take it you’re here about the recent murders? Well, it wasn’t me.’
In an effort to appear relaxed he gave a fake laugh which only made him sound nervous. From inside the house came the sound of a baby crying.
‘Can I come in?’ Geraldine asked.
Apart from any other consideration, it was freezing outside. Robin nodded and led her into a square living room which gave the impression of being smaller than it really was due to the amount of clutter everywhere, mostly baby clothes and brightly coloured plastic toys. Robin moved a packet of disposable nappies off an armchair so she could sit down, but before she could question him a blond woman came in carrying a wriggling infant in her arms. She barely looked at Geraldine.
‘Someone from the police is here,’ Robin said. ‘But don’t worry. It won’t take long.’ He glanced at Geraldine.
‘I hope not,’ the blond woman replied. ‘I’ll start on his bath myself then, shall I?’
She sounded irritated, and didn’t seem at all curious about what Geraldine was doing there. A moment later they heard her going upstairs with the baby, which had begun wailing loudly.
‘He’s only eight months,’ Robin said, as though he felt he ought to explain why the baby was crying.
Briefly Geraldine outlined the reason for her visit. Like Ned, Robin looked shocked.
‘Three members of our class have been murdered now,’ he muttered, speaking more to himself than to Geraldine. ‘And what’s being done about it?’
‘What makes you think Bethany was murdered?’
‘I just assumed it, because Stephanie and Peter were both murdered.’ He looked concerned. ‘That’s three victims now in two weeks, isn’t it? It can’t be coincidence, can it? It’s not like this is America. Nothing like it. People don’t get killed very often around here. I can’t remember the last time it happened. And now you’re saying there have been three murders in two weeks, and all the victims were in my class at school.’ He glared at Geraldine, and she suspected he was more frightened than she had realised at first. ‘I’d like to know what’s being done about it.’
Geraldine pumped him for information about his former schoolmates and teachers, but although he kept saying he wanted to help, it seemed he had nothing to tell her. He was adamant that no one who had attended school at the same time as him could have wanted to kill his classmates.
‘It doesn’t make sense,’ he kept repeating. ‘It just doesn’t make sense.’
When Geraldine questioned him about whether there had been any bullying at school, he shook his head.
‘I honestly can’t remember anything like that. I mean, there were the cool kids, and the geeky ones, and a few weirdos, of course, but there wasn’t anything that could be described as in any way out of the ordinary, and certainly no serious bullying. We used to squabble and scrap, of course we did, like any group of boys do. But there was nothing that you wouldn’t expect to come across in any group of kids. Nothing that might lead to a spate of murders, years later.’ He rolled his eyes. ‘That would have to be a seriously insane grudge from a complete maniac. And there was no one like that in our class at Saddleworth School. We were a decent enough bunch. Normal. And the teachers were mostly OK, too. The only nasty piece of work that I can remember was the school caretaker. He probably wasn’t that bad, he just seemed scary to us kids.’
‘What was his name?’
He frowned again. ‘I can’t remember. We called him Mr Hooligan, but that wasn’t his real name, of course. I can’t remember what he was called.’ He looked anxiously across the room at Geraldine. ‘You don’t suppose someone’s out to get the whole class, do you? I mean, you don’t think there’s any risk the killer might come looking for the rest of us?’ He glanced at the door. ‘I’ve got a baby here.’
Geraldine did her best to reassure him, while at the same time urging him to be careful.
‘What do you mean?’
‘I just mean that it would be sensible to remain vigilant. Keep an eye out for anything strange, and if you become aware of anything unusual, contact us at once.’ She handed him a card with her phone number on it. ‘If you’re at all concerned, call us.’
‘So was Beth definitely killed by the same person?’
‘No, not necessarily. We don’t yet know whether her death’s in any way related to the other two.’
Along with most of the team, Geraldine was convinced the three deaths were part of the same investigation, but that information had not yet been officially confirmed.
She had done her best, but none of the surviving members of the class had been able – or willing – to give her any information that might assist the investigation. The only mention of anyone unpleasant had been Robin’s reference to the school caretaker. Although all the academic and ancillary staff were being approached for samples of DNA, along with former pupils at the school, Geraldine made a note to have the caretaker checked. She decided against going back to her desk that evening, and instead went straight home. She was hungry, and tired, and dispirited that her evening’s questioning had come up with no new information. Back at her flat, she settled down to write up her notes from her evening’s work before turning her attention to supper.
She was not only tired, but also feeling uncharacteristically lonely. As a rule she was at ease in her own company and enjoyed spending time by herself, but tonight she found her solitude overwhelming. She wished she had a companion to share her supper, someone who could distract her from a case which was going nowhere, and snap her out of her dejection. Miserably she poured herself a glass of red wine. She had been making a conscious effort to cut down on her drinking, but there were evenings when she felt she needed something to help her relax.
35
Small and light, it was hard to believe something that looked so innocuous could be so destructive, and with so little fuss. Although in some ways not as satisfying as a blade it was far more efficient, as long as there was no one around to hear the explosion. He stared, mesmerised by the shiny hard surfaces of the gadget lying on his palm, its dimensions smaller than the area of his hand held out flat. He couldn’t take his eyes off it. Although nothing much to look at, its latent power imbued it with an irresistible beauty. He wondered if it would look as interesting to someone ignorant of its function. In any case, by itself it was a mere lump of metal. His was the force that could transform it into a lethal weapon.
With a gun in his hand, he was truly invincible.
It was time to find a clever hiding place for it, somewhere no one else would think of looking. There was no urgency, because he never had any visitors. It had only ever been the two of them until she had disappeared, leaving him on his own. All the same, he had to accept the possibility that someone else might come snooping around. The police weren’t complete idiots. They must have realised by now that his three victims to date had been at school together, in the same class. Eventually they might stumble on the right connections. Already they had been going from house to house, questioning local residents.
Fortunately he had foreseen that problem, and had taken the precaution of moving into a derelict house at the end of his road, three doors along from his own house, where he figured it would be relatively easy to keep a low profile. He had cancelled his mail, and dropped a note to his neighbours to say that he was going away. He didn’t think anyone was likely to recognise him with a beard and moustache and the glasses he now wore, and he was careful to avoid being spotted going in and out of the abandoned house. It was a dangerous strategy, but he was up for the challenge. Staying put he would have risked the police demanding a sample of his DNA and once they had that, he would be done for. As with everything else in his life, it was only a matter of being prepared. Fortunately he possessed the foresight to pre-empt difficulties, and the intelligence to circumvent them. With such attributes he really couldn’t fail.
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Even so, despite all his efforts, he half-expected someone would have knocked on his door by now, questioning him about his association with the victims. He had rehearsed his replies, trying to be ready for anything they might ask him. The police wanted to question everyone who lived in the area. Whatever happened, if they caught up with him he mustn’t do anything to arouse their suspicion. And that included storing the gun out of sight. It was small enough to be concealed almost anywhere but he wanted to keep it hidden somewhere special because, although he had only just acquired it by chance, it had immediately become his most treasured possession. Holding it gave him a thrill that reminded him how he had felt as a child playing with a small wooden box he had converted into a trap. Recalling how curious he had been about watching someone die, he smiled. He had come a long way since then.
The second murder had been reported in the local news for days. By the third death his exploits had attracted the attention of the national media which was gratifying, even though his notoriety possibly increased his chance of being caught. There was a great deal of speculation about whether the recent murders were linked, which made him smile. The police really didn’t have a clue what was going on. Using a different weapon had been a touch of inspiration. Even though it hadn’t been his idea to change his means of killing, he had been clever enough to take advantage of the gun being there. That alone should have baffled the police, as if they weren’t confused enough already. Carrying out his plan was going to be easier now he had acquired a gun. He gazed at it lying on his outstretched palm. It hardly seemed to weigh anything. He would struggle to use it as a cosh it was so small and light. Yet with one touch of the trigger he could blow someone’s brains out.
He smiled because his luck had returned with a vengeance. The beauty of it was that the gun could never be traced back to him. It was possible that Beth had acquired it illegally, so the police might never discover where the weapon had come from. Not that it mattered, as long as they never found out where it had gone. Getting his hands on it like that really had been the most amazing stroke of luck. Before she had a chance to turn and threaten him, or worse, he had snatched the gun from her. He had the impression she wouldn’t have known how to use it anyway.
Class Murder Page 16