An Unfamiliar Murder

by Jane Isaac

  Kathleen’s face fell as she looked at her daughter. “We gave you a good home, opportunity. You’d never have had any of that where you came from!” she shouted back at her daughter, turning her nose up disapprovingly.

  “How would I know?” Anna retorted, competing with the decibels in her voice.

  “I’m not sitting here listening to this.” Her mother stood, glared at her daughter and marched out of the room.

  “I don’t believe it,” Anna said, shaking her head. “Typical. No answers to any questions and now she feels aggrieved. Why does it always have to be about her?”

  “Don’t be too hard on your mother.”

  This was just too much for Anna. She stood up and raised her hands to her head which now felt as if it were splitting in half. “I’m going to stay with Ross.”

  “Anna please!”

  She couldn’t miss the desperation in his voice as he stood. “I need some time to think,” she replied, turning to face the door as she closed her eyes in an effort to control her erratic breathing. “I need a few days.”

  She left him standing there. As soon as she reached the hallway she flew up the stairs hastily, keen to reach her bedroom before the tears came tumbling down.

  Chapter Eight

  Helen put out the cigarette and walked back in from the car park, stopping beside the water cooler and filling a plastic cup. As she drank she enjoyed the feeling of the cold water flowing through her body. She watched the hive of activity around her in the incident room, detectives going about the business, trying their best to find a cold blooded murderer. That was the thing with murderers - some were racked with remorse, afraid of incarceration, but almost relieved when they were caught, as if justice would take some of the guilt away. Others played a game of cat and mouse, relishing the notoriety the chase provided in the media. But calculating, cold blooded murderers were the worst type. They were engaged in a completely different game: one in which they were at length to prevent you discovering their identity at all costs.

  She made her way across to her office and reached into her bag, rummaging around for the paracetamol. By the time she had placed two in her mouth and swallowed them back there was a knock at the door. She looked up in time to see DS Pemberton’s face appear.

  “Yes, Sergeant?”

  “How did the meeting go?”

  She sighed. Having spent the last hour with the press office, discussing their media strategy, they concluded that, after the short statement released to the press on Saturday, they should release another appealing for witnesses. There wasn’t enough fresh information to warrant a press conference at this stage. But they couldn’t hold them off forever. “Poor. We’ve released another statement, appealing for witnesses, but we need something to feed the beast and fast, before they start printing what they want to. The train crash just outside Worthington put us on the back burner for the weekend, but now they’re looking for something new.”

  He nodded. Many a previous investigation had been thwarted by the press carrying out their own, partisan, enquiry. “You have several messages.”

  “Oh?” He walked into the office and closed the door behind him, his face grave.

  “What’s up?” she asked, suspicious.

  “Sergeant Samson called from custody. He has your mother and your son, Matthew, downstairs. You need to give him a call.”

  “What’s happened?” She looked at him, wide eyed. “Sean?”

  “I didn’t ask all the details. I believe it has something to do with smoking cannabis.” She didn’t miss the smile that tickled the edge of his lips. “Give Dave Samson a call, he’ll fill you in.”

  “Right.” Helen drew a deep breath in through her nose and let it out slowly.

  “A Mr. Devereaux from St Edmunds School also called. He wants to speak to you urgently.”

  She nodded, speechless, hard eyes staring into space. She hadn’t imagined her day getting any worse. Until now. “Anything else?”

  “Forensics results are back.”

  She looked at him eagerly. “And?” He untucked a pink cardboard file from underneath his arm and passed it over but his face was flat.

  “Nothing.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Nothing.” He shook his head as he spoke. “No prints, no DNA that doesn’t appear to match Anna or her boyfriend. It looks pretty clean.”

  “Do you have any good news for me, Sergeant?” He shook his head and shrugged.

  “What about the son?”

  “We’re working on it.”

  “See if you can speed things up there, please. I have a strong feeling that he might hold some answers.”

  She waited for him to shrug a single shoulder and close the office door behind her before she dialed the custody suite.

  “Cross Keys Custody, Sergeant Samson speaking.” The line crackled as he spoke.

  “Dave, it’s Helen Lavery.”

  “Oh. Hi, Helen. You got my message?”

  “Yeah. What happened?”

  “Matthew was caught smoking cannabis behind the gym at school with a couple of other lads. The school called us so we brought them in. Since we couldn’t locate you, your mother came down to be his accompanying adult for the interview.”

  She raised her free hand and massaged her forehead. That’s all I need. “Where is he now?”

  “He’s just been given a caution. I believe he’s still in the interview room with his grandmother. Want me to send him up?”

  She thought for a moment. “No. Put him in a cell for a bit, will you? Maybe it’ll knock some sense into him. I’ll be down in a bit.”

  “Sure thing.” She heard him muffle a chuckle.

  “And Dave?”

  “Yes?”

  “Give my mum a cup of tea would you?”

  “No worries.”

  “Thanks.”

  She replaced the receiver and put her head in her hands. How could she have two sons that were so completely different? Robert struggled academically, particularly in maths and science, but he was a sociable lad with a pleasant disposition, plenty of friends, always being invited to go bowling, swimming, on sleepovers. His school reports always read the same: ‘He tries hard’, ‘Very obliging’, ‘Always willing to have a go.’

  Matthew was a whole different ball game. He was blessed with the brains. Like his father, he had a practical as well as an academic mind, excelling at maths, science, design technology. He wanted to build aircraft, but despite having a clear career path since primary school, he constantly needed pushing. And now more than ever. Over the last couple of months she’d needed to nag him to do his homework, caught him feigning illness to miss school. And now drugs.

  Helen raked her hair away from her face as she telephoned the school and spoke to the headmaster’s secretary who made an appointment for 3.45pm.

  By the time she joined her mother and retrieved Matt from the cell he looked diffident, and the party of three drove back to St Edmunds in silence. She glanced at him in the rear view mirror a couple of times but decided words would be futile at this stage, afraid that her own anger may provoke her to say something she would later regret. No, it was better to let him sweat it out for the moment at least. At this stage she needed to concentrate her efforts on limiting the damage.

  St Edmunds High School was situated only a couple of miles from the station. Luckily, Hampton’s rush hour traffic hadn’t yet kicked in and they arrived in less than ten minutes. The school was a modern build, less than 15 years old and completely lacking in character.

  They made their way directly to the headmaster’s office and knocked on the door. Mr. Devereaux had managed St Edmunds comprehensive for the last seven years, during which time he had turned the school’s results around, so much so that it was now one of the leading comprehensives in the county, a fact which had increased his popularity with the governors. However, parents in general were skeptical about his success. He was known to be a deep disciplinarian and had the highest
expulsion rate in Hamptonshire, a fact which only fuelled parents’ arguments that he simply got rid of underperforming kids in order to improve the school’s ratings.

  Devereaux answered the door almost immediately. “Good afternoon, Mrs. Lavery,” he shook her hand, his fingers feeling like sweaty sausages against her own, and nodded to Jane Lavery before turning to Matthew. “You can wait outside,” he said firmly.

  The two women followed the headmaster into a small office, dominated by a large desk, upon which papers, books, photographs were all arranged in an orderly manner. Helen glanced across at her mother who raised her eyebrows. Helen couldn’t help but think what a contrast this desk was to hers at work. She winced at the musty smell which filled the air.

  As they seated themselves opposite him, the desk between them, Helen stared at the man who poured his body into the seat beneath him. They’d met on a couple of occasions in the past at open evenings and both times she witnessed his boldness, his tendency to boast about the school’s achievements. She was also harshly aware of his reputation for bullying parents into submission, as if they were an extension of his pupils.

  “I assume you know why I have called you here?” She caught a slight lisp in his voice as he spoke.

  “I have heard the police officer’s account,” Helen nodded. “Perhaps you would like to give me yours.”

  Devereaux looked at her suspiciously. This clearly wasn’t what he was expecting. He looked across at her mother, but Jane Lavery’s face gave nothing away. He shuffled in his seat, folded his hands together on the desk in front of him.

  “Well,” he cleared his throat. “Matthew was caught smoking marijuana behind the gym during break this afternoon.”

  She smiled inside at his use of the term ‘marijuana’. He sounded as though he had just stepped off the set of The Wire. “I understand there were other children involved?”

  “Yes, three in total.”

  “And how many joints did they have between them?”

  He tilted his head back, surprised by her bluntness. “Just the one, as far as I am aware.” She nodded, a gesture intended to encourage him to continue. “However,” he continued hastily, “that doesn’t make the offence any less serious.” She stared at the headmaster, expressionless. “School policy is to call the police which, as you are aware, we did.” She nodded and they sat quietly again. It always interested Helen how uncomfortable people were with silence. Eventually he spoke again. “The lockers were searched but no other drugs were found.”

  “So this was a group of teenagers, curiously meddling with drugs?” she asked finally.

  “I’m sure that I do not have to remind you, Mrs. Lavery, of all people, that marijuana is a class B drug.” His lisp dragged out the s in class. She wondered how much fun the school kids had with that lisp. Kids could be so cruel when they wanted to be.

  “Not at all, Mr. Devereaux,” she replied. “But let’s not get carried away here. Matt’s results are good, as I’m sure you are aware, and this is the first time the school has ever found the need to formally discipline him.” Helen knew she was walking a fine line here. Matt’s last test results had still been reasonably high but, in view of his rebellious behavior over the last few months, his lax attitude towards homework, it would only be a matter of time before they started to deteriorate. Intelligence alone could only bolster him in the short term.

  “It’s still an offence and against school rules!” Devereaux declared, clearly exasperated by her calmness. “And I have no choice but to suspend him for a week.”

  Helen frowned. “That seems rather harsh under the circumstances. He has already been cautioned by the police and you can be assured that he will be punished at home. It’s not as if he were supplying the drug to others, or if he had his own personal supply in his locker.” She was tempted to ask about the other boys, about where the drugs had come from, but thought better of it. That line of questioning could rebound and hit her in the face, especially if Matt had obtained the joint himself.

  “Rules are rules. I can assure you that if we had found any further evidence, then your son would have been expelled immediately, irrespective of his grades. The school governors are absolute on the issue of drugs.”

  Helen decided to quit whilst she was ahead. In her experience, one week’s suspension was not unreasonable for possession of an illegal substance on school premises. “What about work in the meantime?”

  Her acceptance threw him off balance momentarily. He stared at her. “Ah, yes well . . . I can get his tutors to email him work so that he doesn’t fall behind with the curriculum. If that is what you wish?”

  “Of course. I’m sure the school wouldn’t want his grades to be affected.” She stood indicating the end of the conversation. “Thank you for seeing us.”

  He nodded, flabbergasted, as she walked out of the office followed by her mother.

  The car was quiet again on the drive home, the silence only broken briefly when they stopped to collect Robert from his friend’s house, his mood instantly subdued by the serious atmosphere which hung in the car.

  Helen considered the effects of the punishment on Matt’s life. What would John would have made of all of this? Would he have handled it differently? Been harder on the boys? At times like this she longed for him, for his support.

  When they reached home Matthew bolted for his room. You’re not getting away with it that easily, thought Helen.

  “Mum, do you know where my Rugby shirt is?” piped up Robert as they removed their coats and hung them up in the hallway. “I need it for tomorrow.”

  “Ask your Gran to find it for you,” Helen said, pressing her lips together. “I have a special purpose to attend to,” she muttered under her breath, reaching the top of the stairs before she had even finished the sentence.

  Matt was lying on his back on the bed when she walked into him room without knocking. He quickly sat up, lifting his head backwards, a look of horror on his face.

  “Is this where I get the lecture?” he asked, warily.

  She stared at him for a moment. He looked more like his father every day. “Was this the first time?” she asked at last, ignoring his question.

  “Yes,” he replied, confused.

  “And the last?”

  “Aren’t you going to ask me where I got it from?”

  “The school and the police have already done that,” she said curtly. She looked him up and down. He was so young, so unspoilt. Or was he? The haircut, the drinking, the drugs. When she spoke again her tone was softer. “I would like to know why, though?”

  He shrugged. “Seemed like a laugh at the time.”

  “Is there anything wrong at school, anything you would like to talk about?”

  “No!” He snorted through his nose.

  The snort touched a nerve with Helen, hardening her reserve. “Listen, I understand that you are growing up Matthew. I understand that you want to experiment, try things. But make it the last time you experiment with cannabis. OK?”

  “Why? Because you’re worried about how it will affect you. Worried about your job, your reputation?” He stared at the blank wall opposite. It seemed that his boldness would fizzle out if he made eye contact.

  His outburst surprised her and when she finally spoke her tone was steely, her eyes hard. “This isn’t about me, Matt, it’s about you. About how a police caution and a school suspension will look on your record when you apply to engineering college.”

  He shifted his posture uncomfortably. “I’m not going to engineering college,” he muttered.

  “What?”

  “I said I’m not going . . .”

  “I heard what you said,” she interrupted. “What do you mean you’re not going to engineering college? I thought you wanted to build aircraft?”

  “No. You want me to build aircraft.” He virtually spat the words out of his mouth. “I want to fly them.”

  Helen was flabbergasted. “Since when?”

  “Forever.” He st
ared at the wall, avoiding her eyes.

  “Why haven’t you said anything?”

  He looked at her now and she could almost feel the hackles on his back rising. “Because you’d never listen. Not after what happened to Dad.” His voice was quiet, as if he were revealing a secret.

  Helen was aghast. After what happened to Dad. The words transported her back ten years. John had just returned from two months in Sierra Leone. She remembered the relief she felt having him back on British soil, the exhilaration at seeing him again. And then two weeks later, it had happened . . .

  He was on an Army training exercise, being routinely transported from Nuneaton to Leicester. The helicopter crashed into a field just a few miles from the runway, the pilot and all four passengers killed instantly. Two minutes later they would have landed at the base.

  There was an investigation - of course. The inquest heard that there were no reports of mechanical breakdown. Could it be weather conditions? It had been very foggy that evening. Or pilot error? Nobody would ever know. Three months after his death the coroner recorded an ‘open verdict’. Helen was beside herself. What did that mean?

  She plagued the Army for answers. It became an obsession. Grief turned to anger as she desperately looked for somebody to be held responsible for taking John’s life. And inevitably, eventually it made her ill. Her life began to fall apart at the seams. Until she had no fight left in her.

  One day, she had been sitting at the table helping Matthew draw a picture. It was almost Christmas. The boys had decorated the house with streamers, tinsel, baubles. She felt the tears come out of nowhere, streaming down her face, but couldn’t seem to stop them. Matthew looked up at her and said, “Mummy, don’t cry again. You can have my picture if you like. That’ll make you happy.” It was like an epiphany moment. The words of a small child lighting up the darkness that flooded her brain. Suddenly, she realized John was gone. There was nothing that she or anyone else could do to bring him back and, for the sake of the boys, she needed to move forward and put the accident behind her. The very next day she applied to join the police.