A Trio of Murders: A Perfect Match, Redemption, Death of a Dancer

by Jill McGown

  Newby smiled. ‘I don’t suppose you’re too pleased about having a room-mate,’ he said.

  ‘Oh, I don’t know,’ said Sam truthfully. ‘I’ll be glad of the company.’

  ‘I’ll be looking for somewhere of my own,’ Newby said.

  ‘Good luck. The nearest town is Stansfield, and that’s twenty miles away,’ said Sam. ‘And if you get anywhere in one of the villages you’ll have even less privacy than you get here.’

  There was a knock at the door, and Sam watched as Newby went to answer it, moving in the oddly quick way he had, almost as though the stick wasn’t there at all. He could have gone, but he had a feeling in his bones that that wouldn’t have been a wise move.

  ‘Philip,’ Barry Treadwell’s voice boomed. ‘So sorry I couldn’t meet you myself this morning, but there were a million things to do.’ He walked in, nodded to Sam, then turned back to Newby. ‘Still,’ he said, ‘I’m sure you’d rather have Caroline showing you round than me!’

  Newby didn’t react with the expected polite smile. If Sam were to be asked, he would say that he saw a faint flush on Newby’s face.

  ‘Now – are you settling in all right? Got someone lined up to bring in your stuff?’

  ‘Not yet,’ said Newby.

  ‘Soon remedy that.’ He went back to the door, and bellowed at the youth who was passing to get someone else and start unpacking Newby’s car. ‘Keys?’ he said, turning back.

  ‘It’s open,’ said the still bemused Newby. ‘The back door doesn’t lock.’

  Treadwell relayed this information to the young man who had answered his summons; Matthew Cawston, head boy and smooth bastard. Sam didn’t care for him.

  ‘Good,’ Treadwell said. ‘That’s got that organised. You didn’t see much of the place when you came for the interview, did you? And it was a long time ago, now. So have a good look round, and anything you think you need – come to me. Anything we can do to make things easier . . . just pop into my office – any time. Sorry I can’t stay and chat.’

  Sam looked at Philip Newby when Barry had gone. ‘So,’ he said. ‘You’ve met the lovely Caroline?’

  Newby nodded.

  ‘Forget it,’ Sam said. ‘I’ve got my name down.’

  ‘I’m sorry?’ Newby said.

  There was another knock on the door, which opened to reveal Cawston and a bearer. The smaller boy staggered in, loaded down with suitcases.

  ‘Where would you like your things, sir?’ asked Cawston.

  ‘Oh – just dump them in my room,’ said Newby, going to open the door for the panting child. ‘Anywhere,’ he said.

  Sam watched as Cawston supervised. ‘Cawston,’ he said. ‘Try going back to the car and picking up a few things yourself. You never know, it might just work.’

  Cawston’s back stiffened for a moment. ‘Yes, sir,’ he said.

  ‘And don’t call me fucking sir!’ roared Sam, as Cawston left. ‘Lazy young sod,’ he said to Newby, as the other one emerged from the bedroom and scampered out before he got sworn at, too.

  Newby was trying not to look startled, and manfully got back to the matter in hand. ‘Er . . . you and . . . Mrs Knight,’ he said. ‘Are you . . .?’ He finished with a movement of his head.

  ‘Well,’ said Sam. ‘Let’s put it this way. There are four hundred males and twenty-three females in this place.’

  Cawston and his labourer returned with various items of Newby’s luggage.

  ‘Eight of them are under ten – I don’t know if you’re into paedophilia, but I’m not,’ Sam continued, enjoying Newby’s consternation at his discussing such things within the boys’ earshot. ‘Twelve of them are married, and one, as we all know only too well, is engaged to be married. If they stray, they don’t do it here.’

  ‘Is there more in the boot, sir?’ asked Cawston.

  ‘Except for one, of course,’ said Sam. ‘But she’s a nympho.’

  ‘No,’ Newby said, with a quick, disapproving glance at Sam. ‘It was frozen up this morning – I couldn’t use it.’ He dug in his pocket for change.

  ‘And you can get too much of a good thing,’ Sam went on, ignoring Newby’s embarrassment.

  Newby hurriedly tipped the boys, thanking them, shepherding them to the door.

  ‘One is Matron,’ continued Sam, ‘who is twice my size and coming up for sixty-five. And the other one is Caroline.’

  Newby closed the door with a sigh of relief, and took cigarettes from his jacket pocket. He lit one as he considered Sam’s words. ‘Which one’s the nympho?’ he asked.

  Sam had been expecting a reproof. He grinned. ‘You’ll find out,’ he said. ‘Are you coming to the pub?’

  ‘Mrs Knight! Mrs Knight!’

  Caroline turned in the direction of the peremptory treble.

  ‘Mrs Knight – Mrs Hamlyn says could you possibly pop up to see her if you have a moment?’

  The faithful reproduction of Diana Hamlyn’s request made Caroline smile, and she followed the child back to the junior dormitory, and popped up to see Diana, who sat amid trunks and suitcases and sundry grey-blazered small boys, a blonde, vivacious splash of colour.

  ‘. . . and this has no name-tag.’ She looked at the child over her reading-glasses, which were perched on the end of her nose. ‘You can write your name, can you, young man?’

  The child smiled shyly at her mock sternness, and Diana went on. ‘Two white shirts, two—’ She looked up and smiled. ‘Oh, super, Caroline. Are you on your way back to the staff block by any chance? The thing is that I only found out about this new chap this morning – I mean, he hasn’t had an invitation for drinks. I’m stuck here with these horrors, and I’m hours behind – could you be an angel and pop in to tell him he’s more than welcome?’

  I’ll bet he is, thought Caroline, as she tried to think of a way of refusing. Diana always welcomed a new man. She was an odd mixture of sense and sensibility.

  ‘Can you?’ Diana asked. ‘Or are you fearfully busy?’

  No, Caroline wasn’t fearfully busy. But she hadn’t been able to get away from Philip Newby fast enough, and she had no desire to go back. She still tried to think of a plausible excuse, but none presented itself. She supposed she was being silly; it wasn’t as if he had actually made a pass at her or anything. And, if the worst came to the worst, she could certainly run faster than him.

  Diana smiled her thanks. ‘Two vests,’ she said, carrying on with her inventory. ‘I’m assuming you have one on.’

  He smiled again, pinkly confirming her supposition. Diana was in her element with the little ones, thought Caroline, and not for the first time wondered why she had none of her own.

  And she delivered Philip’s message from Diana. At first he was diffident, almost shy; she wondered if she had imagined the whole thing until after a few moments she became aware of his intense interest once more.

  It surprised her a little that she thought of him as Philip. Not as Philip Newby, or Mr Newby, or just Newby, as Sam called him. There was something about Philip that she recognised, and understood. The shared experience of the accident, perhaps; she didn’t know.

  ‘Is it the sort of thing I ought to go to?’ he asked her calves.

  ‘Well, he’s just been appointed deputy head,’ she said. ‘That’s what they’re celebrating. I don’t know how strong you are on keeping in with the bosses. But it’s a good way to meet the rest of the staff.’

  His eyes travelled up, lingering now and then, before meeting hers. ‘I suppose I should go,’ he said.

  She resisted the temptation to pull the collar of her blouse together as his eyes rested on the little line of cleavage of which she was now as intensely aware as he was. She stood up. ‘They live at the top of the junior dormitory,’ she said. ‘That’s the building just across the side-road.’

  ‘The one that backs on to the car park?’

  ‘That’s right,’ she said, going to the door, wondering if he was actually listening to anything she said.

 
‘What about the Grand Tour?’ he asked, getting to his feet.

  Damn. She’d forgotten about that. He did listen, apparently. ‘Of course,’ she said, her heart sinking at the thought.

  He wanted to see everything, but she could see that trying to keep his feet on the slippery cobbles of the little lane through the buildings was painfully difficult. She was uncharitably grateful to the road surface for taking his mind off her anatomy.

  Over the years, buildings had been added to the grounds until it looked like a small village; a tour merely confused new people. But, she assured Philip as they went into the main building, he would find his way about eventually.

  She showed him the staff room, and one of the classrooms, then popped her head round Barry Treadwell’s door.

  ‘Oh, I beg your pardon,’ she said, when she saw that he had someone with him. ‘I was just showing Philip round.’

  ‘Come in, come in,’ Treadwell said. ‘Philip may as well find out that it’s not all roses.’ He gestured towards the dark-haired woman with him. ‘This is Detective Sergeant Hill,’ he said.

  Sergeant Hill was about her own age, well dressed, and attractive. Caroline nodded to her, puzzled by her presence, and delighted that she was female, which would not please Barry at all.

  ‘Something’s gone missing,’ Barry said by way of explanation. ‘Already.’

  ‘We’ve got a thief,’ she said to Philip. ‘Watch your valuables.’ She turned back to Treadwell. ‘I’ll leave you to it,’ she said.

  They left the headmaster’s study, and went back downstairs, where she ticked off doors as they passed. ‘Storeroom, boiler room – and this,’ she said, opening the insignificant door at the end of the corridor, ‘will surprise you.’

  She liked introducing people to the Great Hall by its internal door, watching their faces as they found themselves in its baronial splendour.

  Philip looked up at the exposed beams arching across the high ceiling, and walked slowly towards one of the carved pillars, his face breaking into a slow smile at the sheer chaotic bad taste of it all.

  ‘It’s called the Great Hall,’ she said, as they crossed over, towards the double doors by which people more usually entered. ‘The original school had it built on, for reasons best-known to the founder. It’s used for assembly, prize-giving, lectures – that sort of thing. This is where we’ll be holding the Sesquicentennial Ball.’

  ‘Lovely word,’ he said. ‘You’d have to celebrate it just so you could use it. It’s next month, isn’t it?’ he asked.

  ‘Yes. Friday the fourteenth. St Valentine’s Day.’

  His face broke into a sudden and engaging smile. ‘That’s what Sam needs the adjectival dinner-jacket for!’ he said.

  ‘Correct,’ she said, laughing, as she pushed open the double doors to the entrance-hall.

  ‘Loos, cloakroom, telephone,’ she said, tackling the huge, arched outside door which weighed about a ton, and stepped out into the courtyard.

  Philip followed her, his step becoming unsure once more as he made his way across the cobbles.

  ‘What are all these buildings?’ he asked, stopping by one, trying not to look as though he was recovering from his short journey across the courtyard.

  Caroline pointed to the one behind the Hall. ‘That’s the Dining Hall,’ she said. ‘Most people just call it the canteen. And the new one behind that is the gymnasium.’

  Philip nodded. ‘What’s in here?’ he asked, trying the handle of the door he was pretending not to lean on. ‘Oh,’ he said, as visitors always did, when he found himself looking directly at the snow-covered playing-field through the open wall at the other side.

  ‘The Barn,’ said Caroline. ‘At least that’s what it used to be. It’s even got a hay-loft.’ She led the way in.

  ‘So it has,’ said Philip. ‘Do you have some use for hay?’

  Caroline stiffened slightly. ‘Not to feed animals,’ she said. Diana sometimes had a use for hay, she thought, but she didn’t burden Philip with explanations. He looked a little puzzled at her cryptic answer, and she smiled briefly. ‘Anyway – that lot’s well past its sell-by date,’ she said. ‘We tend to use this place like other people use attics.’

  ‘So I see,’ said Philip.

  Boxes, old books, builders’ left-overs lined the floor along the walls. But you could still have held a dance in what was left. They almost had, but the effort of getting it cleared out had proved too much for Barry.

  ‘Couldn’t it be put to some better use?’ asked Philip. ‘All this space?’

  ‘Ah – you and Sam had better get together,’ Caroline said. ‘He wants it to be turned into a new art room. The big doors face north, apparently. He wants glass put in their place, and all sorts of things.’ She smiled. ‘But that costs money, and this school doesn’t have a lot of that.’

  They wandered out, and Caroline slid the barn doors shut. ‘They’re supposed to be kept closed,’ she said. ‘But the kids play in here.’ She turned. ‘That’s the junior dormitory,’ she said, pointing across the playing-field. ‘The Hamlyns’ flat is at the top.’ She smiled at his confused expression. ‘You’ll get your bearings,’ she said.

  ‘Don’t you have a garden, or something?’ Philip asked.

  ‘No,’ she said. ‘There’s no room. We’ve got buildings everywhere there was once a space.’

  He frowned a little. ‘I thought I remembered a garden,’ he said.

  As they moved off again, his stick skidded on the frozen cobbles, shooting out of his hand; Caroline retrieved it, examining it for damage.

  ‘There’s a little crack just about halfway down,’ she said concernedly.

  He almost snatched it from her. ‘I know,’ he said.

  They carried on, more slowly now that he was taking care with the stick, and on their way back to the staff block Caroline explained the buildings that huddled round the lane. There had been a time when the enrolment had increased rather than decreased every year, and the result was a wonderful mixture of periods and mock-periods. The whole place was an architect’s nightmare, and Caroline liked it.

  Philip suddenly stopped, as they emerged from the lane. ‘There’s no need to see me home,’ he snapped.

  Caroline raised an eyebrow. ‘I live here, too,’ she pointed out.

  His unexpected smile appeared again. ‘Sorry,’ he said.

  Caroline smiled back. When he wasn’t ogling her, or biting her head off, he wasn’t all that bad. In fact, he reminded her of Andrew; she wasn’t surprised that they had been friends.

  Outside the light faded, and Judy Hill tried to sound interested in Mr Treadwell’s problems.

  ‘And it began about eighteen months ago?’ she asked, taking out her notebook.

  ‘Yes, just about. A year ago last September – at the beginning of the autumn term. At first, we didn’t even realise we had a thief – the odd thing went missing now and then, but it wasn’t constant. There would be months when nothing went missing. But eventually we knew it couldn’t be coincidence.’

  ‘Do you have a list of the stolen items?’

  ‘Not as such,’ he said. ‘I’ve noted them down here and there, but I haven’t done an actual list. I can let you have one, if you like.’

  ‘Yes, please,’ she said, trying not to yawn. ‘Have you done anything yourself about the thefts?’

  ‘I made an announcement at assembly. Told everyone to keep a careful eye on anything that might be stolen, and to report anything that was. I advised the thief to stop, because if he was caught he would be expelled.’

  Dynamic leadership, Judy thought, and her brown eyes widened a little as she wrote. ‘You’re certain it is one of the boys?’ she asked.

  ‘Well,’ he said, ‘yes. Yes, I imagine it is.’ He got up and looked out at the darkening sky. ‘I think we must be seen to be doing something about it.’

  ‘What’s gone missing today?’

  ‘A ring – not worth much but, then, none of it is. It belongs to one of the tea
chers. She’d left it on the . . .’

  Judy wrote down what he was saying. There wasn’t much you could do about this sort of stealing, with upwards of four hundred suspects. On the first day of term, everyone was all over the place. There were no classes; there was nothing to pin anyone down to a particular place at a particular time. Whoever it was, he bided his time, and took great care not to get caught. It was obviously purely to irritate.

  Trust Lloyd to land her with this on her first day back. ‘As a favour to Chief Superintendent Allison,’ he had said, blue eyes shining with suspect honesty. ‘The headmaster doesn’t want uniforms all over the show.’

  ‘What’s wrong with Sandwell?’ she had asked.

  ‘Mr Allison thinks a woman would be less threatening to the lads.’ He had grinned mischievously. ‘And I thought it would be a nice way to ease you back into harness.’

  This, of course, was Lloyd’s way of getting at her, Judy thought darkly, as she glanced at her notes, at the list she had made of where the thefts had occurred.

  ‘Would I be right in thinking that these are mainly staff areas?’ She glanced down the list. ‘Staff room, sports pavilion, secretary’s office, kitchen, storeroom . . .’ she read.

  ‘Yes,’ he said testily, then apologised. ‘It is popularly believed to be a member of staff,’ he admitted. ‘But that’s out of the question.’

  ‘Well,’ said Judy, ‘I’d better start with the boys, if you think it’s one of them.’

  ‘How?’ asked Treadwell, alarmed.

  ‘Do you have a head boy?’ Judy asked.

  ‘Oh, yes.’

  ‘Perhaps if I speak to him. If it is one of the boys, he quite probably has an idea who.’

  ‘He’d never tell you if he did. That would be sneaking.’

  ‘I know. But he might warn off whoever it is. Or just knowing that the police have been called in might put the thief off. And, if it is a member of staff, they might get an attack of conscience if the boys seem to be being suspected.’

  That was what Treadwell was hoping.

  She closed her notebook. ‘It isn’t very satisfactory, but . . .’

  ‘Yes, yes.’ Treadwell stood up. ‘I’ll send Matthew in,’ he said. ‘In the meantime, I’m sure you could do with a cup of tea.’