[DCI Neil Paget 01] - Fatal Flaw

by Frank Smith

  ‘And yet?’ Paget prompted gently.

  Sally looked at him for a long moment. ‘Jane’s had a rotten life,’ she said. ‘It didn’t seem to matter how hard she tried; how much she did for the girls. They always looked down on her; made fun of her behind her back. Schoolgirls can be very nasty little creatures, you know, especially when they think they’re superior to someone else ‘

  ‘But I liked her. I suppose I felt sorry for her, too. Perhaps it was because I came from a poor background myself. I was a day girl, and I can’t say I had too good a time of it at school. My mother didn’t have much, but she was determined to give me an education, and she did. Unfortunately, she didn’t live to see me finish.’ Sally took in a deep breath and let it out again. ‘But that’s got nothing to do with Jane, has it?’

  She flinched as she moved her arm. ‘It was during my last year at Thornton Hill when one of the girls found out about Jane. I’m not sure how, exactly - I think her family knew Miss Crowther and found out that way. Not that it matters now.’

  ‘You see, Jane came from a very strict, religious family - at least that was how they saw themselves - and when Jane was born with the deformed arm and hand, they saw it as a sign that God regarded her as wicked. As a consequence, they took it upon themselves to punish her for her wickedness. She was beaten repeatedly, starved, shut up in cupboards…’ Despite the warmth of the room, Sally shivered.

  ‘She was five years old before anyone found out about it. Her parents stood trial, and she was taken away from them. Perhaps because of her deformity, she was never adopted, but shunted from one set of foster-parents to another. I don’t know all the details, but she ended up living with Miss Crowther’s elder sister. I know the sister died young, and Miss Crowther felt obliged to give Jane a job. At least, that’s what this girl told us. She put the story all round the school, and, naturally, Jane heard about it as I’m sure she was meant to. You can imagine how she must have felt.’

  Sally fell silent, easing herself into a more comfortable position before going on. ‘I tell you this’, she said to Paget, ‘so that you might better understand why she acted the way she did. I know it was wrong; I know that what she did was terrible, but I think I understand why.

  ‘You see, she was inordinately fond of Monica. I think she saw in her the rejected little girl that she had been herself. She doted on her; went out of her way to protect her. But the more Jane tried to do for her, the more Monica resented it. It must have hurt poor Jane.’

  ‘Why did you go to see her this afternoon?’ Paget asked. ‘And what did you say to her that made her attack you?’

  ‘I went to tell her the truth,’ said Sally. ‘I felt that I was responsible, at least in part, for Monica’s death, and I wanted to tell Jane that. I thought Jane was blaming herself; punishing herself. She looked so ill.’

  ‘Please go on.’

  ‘Well, when I got there, she invited me in and made a cup of tea. We sat and chatted for a few minutes, then I simply plunged right in and told her about - well, what happened at the party, and how Monica had come to me that night. I told her everything - well, almost everything. I didn’t tell her who was there.’

  ‘How did she react?’

  Sally shrugged and promptly winced. ‘She didn’t say anything for a long time,’ she said. ‘I wasn’t quite sure what to do, so finally I got up and started to leave. But she got up, too, and walked with me to the door and out into the corridor. She began to talk. It was almost as if I wasn’t there at first. It was strange.’

  ‘What did she talk about. Miss Pritchard?’

  Sally frowned. ‘It was a bit hard to follow, but she said that she was worried about the way Monica had looked when she left her in bed on Christmas Eve, so she went back later to check up on her. She said she found her out of bed, flushed, excited. Jane said she was very cross with her and made Monica get back in bed. I’m not sure I’ve got it right, but I think Jane must have badgered Monica about what happened over at the stables, and Monica, probably in desperation - or perhaps maliciously - told her the same story she’d told me. She even showed Jane her bruises, and said Maurice had done that to her.’ Sally was silent for a moment. ‘I suppose Monica just wanted to get rid of Jane in any way she could so that she could slip out of school to come and see -‘ the word stuck in her throat as she swallowed hard - ‘me.’

  And that was the crux of the matter, thought Paget. The lie that was to leave behind a legacy of death for Maurice Blake and, unfortunately for him, Victor Palmer.

  ‘We were walking down the corridor,’ Sally went on. ‘Jane was holding on to my arm. Her fingers were like iron, digging into my flesh. She kept stopping, talking right at me as if she wanted to make sure I understood. Then she’d walk on a few paces and stop again.’

  Sally’s voice shook as she ran trembling fingers through her hair. ‘She started talking about people having to pay for what they’d done. Frankly, I thought she was rambling. We had just reached the door on to the landing of the back stairs when she said something about being sorry about Victor, but he shouldn’t have been there. It was only as we went through the door that I realized what she was saying. And then she said: “But it was you all the time! You were the one. You killed Monica. Not Maurice.”

  ‘I heard you shout just as she pushed me.’ Sally caught her breath. ‘If it hadn’t been for you. Chief Inspector...’ She glanced up at Tregalles. ‘And you. Sergeant. I’m sorry, I haven’t even thanked you for saving my life.’

  ‘We’re just thankful we arrived in time,’ said Paget.

  ‘But, how did you know?’ she asked. ‘I’ve been wondering about that.’

  ‘We didn’t until just a few minutes before,’ said Paget. He explained about their findings in the barn. ‘The twine was used to tie the pitchfork to the swing,’ he said. ‘Then, all Miss Wolsey had to do was pull the swing sideways, climb up on the bench with it, and wait. When Palmer - or Blake, as she thought - came through the door, she just let it go, or gave it a push for good measure. Its own weight was more than enough to carry it down. Either the twine broke when he fell, or Miss Wolsey cut the pitchfork loose herself, then pulled the swing up out of the way so we wouldn’t connect it to the killing. It was only when I looked at that old machine that I remembered cutting myself on it and getting those rust marks on my coat when I retrieved the twine.

  ‘Identical marks were on Miss Wolsey’s coat when I went over to talk to her the next day. I saw them, but they didn’t register. She’d tried to retrieve the ball of twine just as I had, but she couldn’t reach it so she had to leave it there. Also, one of her gardening gloves had been mended. The tear was in exactly the same place as where I cut my hand when I undid the cord to let the swing down.’

  ‘But her hand...?’ Sally shook her head as if she couldn’t believe what she was hearing. ‘How could she have tied the pitchfork to the swing?’

  ‘She’s a lot more adept with that hand than you might think,’ said Paget. ‘I wondered about that, too, until I recalled the first time I met her on Christmas Day. I couldn’t help but notice the gift she’d bought for Monica. It was beautifully wrapped and finished off with ribbons and bows. She told me she had wrapped it herself, and I wondered then how she had managed it. It must have been very difficult for her, but knowing what I do now, I suspect she would have seen it as a labour of love.’

  Tregalles nodded. ‘Unfortunately, the way in which Palmer was killed led us to believe that the killer had to be fairly strong. It wasn’t until we saw young James swing sideways and nearly knock Bob Tillman down that we twigged it. Once we had the idea, then it wasn’t hard to see where the twine had been used to tie the pitchfork to the swing. Blake was lucky that night. He’d changed shifts with Palmer, but when Miss Wolsey realized that she’d killed the wrong man, she went after Blake again, and this time she got him.’

  Sally shuddered. ‘No wonder she looked ill, poor soul,’ she said half to herself. ‘She must have been out of her mind.’<
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  ‘I wouldn’t feel too sorry for her if I were you,’ Tregalles said. ‘Remember, once you told her about your part in all this, she tried to kill you, too.’

  ‘We’ll need a formal statement from you,’ Paget said, ‘but that can be done later. I’ll have a driver take you home if you feel up to it.’

  ‘There’s no need for that.’

  Their heads turned in unison. Lady Tyndall stood there just inside the door. ‘I’ll take her home,’ she said.

  ‘Maria!’ Tears filled Sally’s eyes and spilled down her cheeks.

  Lady Tyndall crossed swiftly to her side. Gently, very gently, she put an arm around Sally’s shoulders. ‘Miss Crowther rang to tell me what had happened,’ she said. ‘As one of the governors, she thought I ought to know. I came as quickly as I could. Come on, let’s get you home.’

  Andrea McMillan looked tired as she stood there in the doorway.

  ‘May I come in?’ he said.

  She lifted an eyebrow in faint enquiry, but didn’t speak.

  ‘We have the person who killed Palmer in custody,’ he said. ‘I thought you ought to know.’

  Still she didn’t speak; just turned and led the way into the living-room, leaving him to follow. She reached the middle of the room and turned to face him. ‘Does this mean I am no longer under suspicion?’ she said.

  He nodded. ‘Yes. It appears that Victor Palmer was killed by mistake. The person who killed him was after Blake. She was expecting him to come through the door that night, but unknown to her, Blake had switched with Palmer.’

  ‘You said “she”...?’

  ‘A Miss Wolsey. She’s a housemistress at Thornton Hill School. One of her girls died on Christmas Day as a result of a suicide attempt, and Miss Wolsey believed - mistakenly as it turned out - that it was because Blake had attempted to rape her. Miss Wolsey was very much attached to Monica. Too much so, I’m afraid. She also attempted to kill Sally Pritchard. Fortunately, she failed.’

  Concern flooded across her face. ‘Sally? Is she all right?’

  ‘She has a sprained arm and a sore back, but she’ll be all right,’ Paget said. ‘Miss Wolsey tried to push her down the stairs, but went down herself instead. She broke her back in the fall.’

  ‘But she’s still alive? You said she was in custody.’

  ‘Yes. She’s still alive, but the surgeon told me that even if she does recover, she’ll never walk again.’

  Professional interest took over. ‘Was that Hepworth?’

  ‘That’s right.’

  She nodded. ‘He’s good,’ she said. ‘How bad is the injury? Did he say?’

  ‘He said he could only do so much for her here. He mentioned Birmingham.’

  ‘Then it is bad,’ she concluded.

  Paget looked at her. For a moment, standing there, brow furrowed with concern for someone else, she reminded him of the first time they’d met. She was consoling a young nurse who had been attacked by a patient under guard, and she’d looked exactly the way she looked now.

  ‘Andrea...’ he began.

  Her expression changed. ‘Thank you for letting me know,’ she said. She hesitated; looked away. ‘I’ve already given notice at the hospital. It didn’t seem fair, somehow, to remain on staff. Not when it’s obvious to everyone that you are suspected of murder.’ A bitter smile touched her lips. ‘People like to have confidence in their doctor, and -‘ she shrugged - ‘as I said, it didn’t seem fair. Now that I’m free to go, I shall go down and join Sarah and stay with Kate for a while. She could do with some help, and I think a bit of manual labour might do me the world of good. It will give me time to think; get things sorted out.’

  He nodded. There was so much he wanted to say, but it was too late. Much too late. He turned and walked to the door. It seemed a very long way.

  He turned to look at her. ‘I hope...’ His mouth was dry and he stumbled over the words. ‘I hope that you and Sarah will be happy,’ he said huskily.

  ‘Thank you, Neil. I doubt if we shall see each other again before I go, so I’ll say goodbye now.’

  ‘Of course. Goodbye, Andrea.’

  The door closed behind him and he was gone.

  Andrea remained standing in the middle of the room. For a moment she had the strangest feeling that the walls of the room had vanished; that there was nothing; she was alone in the universe.

  The feeling passed, and she just felt empty.

  Monday, 11 January

  Miss Crowther shut the door of the boardroom behind her and leaned against it. She felt completely drained.

  She’d steeled herself for what she knew must come when she was summoned to attend an emergency meeting of the board. They would blame her for what Jane had done. They would blame her for keeping her on all these years. Blame her for tarnishing the reputation of the school.

  And no one knew better than she that to a school such as Thornton Hill, reputation was everything. Someone would have to be the scapegoat; parents would demand it, and there was no doubt in her mind as to whom the board would choose.

  Her great-grandfather might have been the founder of Thornton Hill, but the board still had the power to remove her as headmistress.

  She had been prepared for it. It had taken every ounce of courage she possessed to walk into that room this morning. She would not resign; she had made up her mind to that. Whatever they might say, none of this was her fault, and she’d be damned if she was going to make it easy for them. If she had to leave the school that was her very life, they would have to dismiss her.

  But now, standing there outside the room, she still could not believe what had happened. Lady Tyndall, of all people, had scotched the move to sack her almost before it had begun. In her capacity as chair, she had opened the proceedings with a spirited defence of the school’s past record and Miss Crowther’s contribution to that record. She had concluded by saying it would be a gross miscarriage of justice to try to lay the blame for what had happened on any individual. No one could have foreseen such events, she said, and if the school needed to be defended, then it was up to them as members of the board to face the world as one.

  There had been some uncomfortable shuffling of feet. Captain Wickstowe had harrumphed a bit, and the Right Reverend Rowen-Jones had mumbled some platitude or other, but none had found the courage to oppose the chair.

  As to why Lady Tyndall had come so valiantly to her defence, Miss Crowther did not understand. Nor, at this moment, did she care. She just knew that her dream of finishing her days as headmistress of Thornton Hill could have ended here today. Now all that was changed, and she was very, very grateful.