by Jill McGown
‘I had no reason at all to think that he was with Diana. She was involved with him – but that was all over eighteen months ago. Sam ended it.’
Lloyd saw the little frown that came and went on Judy’s brow.
‘You know it was Sam who ended it?’ he said.
‘Yes.’
‘Did – er – did Mrs Hamlyn talk to you about her relationships with – er – other . . . ?’ He tailed off, out of his depth.
‘No,’ Hamlyn said. ‘But I’m afraid everyone knew about her new man, once they had been discovered together – and it isn’t hard to tell when Sam is offended. Besides which, Diana simply wouldn’t have ended it.’
‘Mr Hamlyn,’ Judy said, just as tentative as Lloyd had been. ‘Forgive me. Would that have been the incident with the handyman?’
He nodded. ‘All a bit Lady Chatterley, I’m afraid,’ he said.
‘Doesn’t anyone do any work here?’ Lloyd asked, unable to keep quiet any longer.
‘The school wasn’t open,’ said Hamlyn, obviously feeling he had to defend what was left of the school’s honour. ‘It was during the summer break. And he wasn’t a handyman, not really. He mended the odd broken window, but we have a caretaker for that. Treadwell got a two-year driving ban, and he needed a driver.’ He gave a wry smile. ‘I don’t think he is ever entirely sober,’ he said. ‘That’s his little drawback. We’ve all got one.’
Lloyd wasn’t sure if he meant that it was a qualification for working at the school, or if he was being philosophical.
‘Anyway, he called him a handyman on the books. The young man had a lot of time on his hands, and so did Diana.’
Lloyd lapsed into silence again.
‘Treadwell discovered them – he was shocked, not unnaturally. Sacked the young man instantly. It was all round the school in no time, and Sam was far from pleased. I came in for some barely veiled comments about her availability, and just who was taking advantage of it – he presumably thought I didn’t know what she was like. The truth was that Sam didn’t know what she was like, and once he did it was all over, as far as he was concerned.’
Lloyd groped around for the question that would, he supposed, have a logical answer. But it was Alice-in-Wonderland logic. ‘Then – Mr Hamlyn – why did you say that you thought she was with Sam?’
‘I had my reasons. Childish revenge, I suppose. And I don’t like Sam Waters. He was trying to make a fool of everyone, as usual, and I had no qualms about dropping him in it, as the boys would say. But I can’t let you suspect him of murder because of what I said. I’ve no idea who she was with; I have no doubt that she was with someone. I suggest – purely from experience – that you look at the new man.’
‘Mr Newby?’ said Lloyd.
He nodded. ‘That was the pattern,’ he said. ‘The handyman was new. Newby is the new man now, and Diana would doubtless be interested in him. He, of course, may not have reciprocated; it didn’t follow that the new men were necessarily interested in her. But that was the sequence.’
Which number comes last in this sequence? Logic, thought Lloyd. It was all very logical. Judy would like it.
‘Do you have any more questions you’d like to ask me?’ Hamlyn said.
Yes, thought Lloyd. Why is a raven like a writing-desk, Mr Hamlyn?
‘No,’ was what he actually said. ‘Thank you for being so frank with us.’
Hamlyn removed his glasses, putting them away in a pouch. ‘I want you to find out who did that to Diana,’ he said, standing up.
‘We will,’ said Lloyd quietly.
Hamlyn nodded, his eyes sad and trusting, like a basset hound’s. ‘I believe,’ he said to Judy, ‘that some men buy their wives flowers when they have erred in some way. That’s how I felt. As though I had been bought flowers.’
Lloyd waited until the door had closed before he looked at Judy. He sighed. ‘Well?’ he said.
‘Well.’ She closed the notebook, her hand resting on it. ‘And you think our relationship’s irregular,’ she said.
Lloyd put his hand on hers. ‘Just not quite regular enough,’ he said, and smiled. He didn’t want to fight with her.
‘He thinks we should lay off Sam,’ Judy said, with her disconcerting ability to switch instantly back to work. Lloyd had made the rule; only Judy ever kept it.
‘Mm,’ he said, reluctantly following suit. He told Judy Sam’s latest revelation. ‘But he says he saw her with one of the boys,’ he concluded.
‘One of the boys?’ repeated Judy.
‘I don’t know why that should surprise you, in this place,’ said Lloyd.
‘Which one?’
Lloyd shrugged. He wasn’t at all sure that he believed Waters anyway. He told Judy what Sam said he had seen, and she looked thoughtful.
‘What?’ he asked. He knew that look. ‘What is it?’
‘The boys were allocated ladies to dance with,’ she said. ‘Who did Diana Hamlyn get?’
For once, he had got there before her. ‘I’ve checked that out,’ he said. ‘The boy has a dozen witnesses to prove that he went back to his table, and stayed there all evening. Good thought, though,’ he said, smiling.
Treadwell walked into the office, preventing Judy from giving vent to her obvious irritation at his patronising approbation.
‘Did Robert Hamlyn see you?’ he asked. ‘I told him he should wait in here.’
‘Yes, thank you,’ said Lloyd.
‘How well did you know Mrs Hamlyn?’ Judy asked, as Treadwell looked through papers in a drawer.
‘Not particularly well,’ he said. ‘We didn’t have a lot in common.’ He found what he was looking for and straightened up.
‘It’s been suggested that she might have been seeing one of the boys,’ said Judy.
Treadwell stared at her for a long moment before speaking. ‘By whom?’ he demanded, when he did speak. ‘Who made the suggestion?’ He made an impatient noise. ‘As if I need to ask! There’s only one person in this school whose mind works like that.’
‘Then you don’t think that there’s any truth in it?’ said Lloyd.
‘Of course there’s no truth in it! She would never have dreamed of having a relationship with one of the boys. It’s just the sort of foul suggestion I’d expect from Waters!’
‘But you’ve just said you didn’t know her very well,’ Judy pointed out, her voice quiet and reasonable.
‘I didn’t,’ Treadwell repeated. ‘But I did tell you this morning, Sergeant. Mrs Hamlyn was good with the boys.’ He shot a look at Lloyd. ‘And I don’t want any ribald comments,’ he said.
Lloyd’s eyes widened. ‘You weren’t going to get any, Mr Treadwell,’ he said angrily.
‘No,’ he said, slightly flustered. ‘I do beg your pardon – I’m obviously too used to dealing with Mr Waters. Mrs Hamlyn understood the boys. Youngsters have problems with everything from acne to arson – she could deal with them, better than anyone else here. The deputy head has responsibility for pastoral care, and I had no doubt that it would be Mrs Hamlyn who provided it. Robert’s too logical to understand what adolescents are going through, and Mrs Hamlyn would have been an asset. The suggestion is monstrous.’ He closed the drawer. ‘If you could let me know when you’ve finished with my office,’ he said, by way of a full stop.
‘Won’t be long now,’ said Lloyd.
Treadwell left, and Lloyd looked out of the window at the starlit night, and the frost which was already forming. So much for spring. A silence fell; idly he flicked through the little brochure which advised new parents of their responsibilities. His eyebrows rose as he read; according to Judy, it was cheaper to send your offspring here than to anywhere else, and he would need a loan just to get the clothes required. A policeman’s lot.
‘About the thefts,’ Judy said.
God. He’d thought they’d reached a truce. ‘We’ve got a murder inquiry, Judy,’ he said. But really, he should have known her better than that. He knew it as soon as he had spoken.
‘
You never know, sir,’ she said. ‘It might help with your murder inquiry, sir. If it’s all right for me to get involved in important things, sir.’
‘How could it help?’ he asked, trying to ignore her.
‘I follow orders,’ she said. ‘I was told to work on the thefts, so that’s what I did.’
Lloyd knew he was walking into something, and he didn’t know what.
‘I finally got Treadwell to do me a list. And one item hasn’t been recovered. Something he described as . . .’ She turned back the pages of her notebook. ‘Here it is – a “niblick” – wasn’t accounted for. I didn’t know what that was, so I asked him.’
Lloyd closed his eyes. ‘I know what it is,’ he groaned.
‘It’s an old golf-club,’ she went on. ‘It was in the Barn one minute, and gone the next, apparently. It was stolen just before Christmas.’
‘Why didn’t you tell me?’ he demanded.
‘I tried to. Twice. You said you weren’t interested.’
‘What have you done about it?’
‘I’ve got people looking for it – what do you think I’ve done about it? I’m checking who was here and who wasn’t. I’ve given the lab details of the sort of club it was. I’ve—’
Lloyd held up a hand. She had, of course, done everything that he would have done. He looked at her, feeling ashamed of the streak of pettiness that had made him pull rank in front of Waters, of all people. ‘Sorry,’ he said. ‘I expect I deserved that.’
‘Yes,’ she said firmly. ‘You did.’
Sam opened the door, and smiled. ‘Well, well,’ he said. ‘It’s the fuzz.’
Chief Inspector Lloyd eyed him with distaste but, then, almost everyone did.
‘What now?’ Sam asked. ‘Come to arrest me, have you?’
They walked in without being asked, and Sam stood extravagantly to one side, his arm extending an invitation to the empty doorway.
‘Mr Newby,’ said Lloyd unexpectedly. ‘Is he in?’
‘No,’ said Sam, closing the door. ‘He’s upstairs, visiting. And that required considerable fortitude, let me tell you, because going anywhere at all is excruciatingly difficult for our Mr Newby at the moment, never mind tackling a flight of stairs.’ He sat down. ‘But, then, he lusts after our Mrs Knight.’
‘Do you have another topic of conversation?’ enquired the chief inspector.
Sam grinned. ‘Now and then,’ he said. ‘But a sex murder on the premises does make you think a bit about the power of our sexual urges, doesn’t it? I mean,’ he went on, picking up a can of beer, ‘it’s an urge that gets Newby up a flight of stairs when he can hardly walk – even though he’d be too knackered when he got to the top to do anything anyway. If he can do anything, which I doubt.’
‘Oh?’ said Lloyd.
Another knock at the door; Sam raised his eyebrows. ‘Popular chap I am, all of a sudden,’ he said, opening the door to someone’s chest. He looked up into the face of a young man who could have been nothing else on this earth but a policeman.
‘Sir?’ the young man said to Lloyd, failing even to acknowledge Sam, but at least refraining from entering without permission.
Lloyd went out, closing the door. Sam looked across at Sergeant Hill. ‘Finally got around to wondering about our Mr Newby, have you? Caroline didn’t tell you about him, did she? Oh, no. She enjoys it. As soon as someone takes a healthy interest in her, that’s when she blows the whistle.’
‘And Mr Newby’s interest is unhealthy?’
‘It all goes on in his head,’ said Sam, tapping his own head as he spoke. ‘And that’s where she wants it to stay. Give her a touch of the real thing, and she has the vapours.’
‘You mean because she rejected you she must be frigid?’ enquired the sergeant.
‘She’s got the same problem as you, sweetheart,’ he said. ‘Nothing that a good seeing-to wouldn’t cure.’ She didn’t react at all, not like the more volatile chief inspector.
‘Sorted out your thefts, have you?’ he asked, opening the beer.
‘The inquiry is proceeding,’ she said.
‘When do I get my pen back?’ he asked, twisting off the ring-pull.
She smiled. ‘Your pen will be returned in due course.’
‘When?’ he said. ‘I want it back.’
‘We wouldn’t dream of depriving you of it,’ she said. ‘But the culprit hasn’t been discovered yet.’
‘You can’t hang on to it! I don’t give a shit who stole it.’
‘I do. Your pen went missing on the night of the murder – it could be evidence.’
‘Evidence my arse! You’re doing this on purpose, you bitch. That pen’s important to me, and I want it back.’
The door opened. ‘Trouble, Sergeant?’ asked Lloyd, coming in without even knocking this time.
‘Nothing I can’t handle,’ said the sergeant.
‘You should be a traffic warden, you know that?’ said Sam. ‘Hard-faced—’
‘Mr Waters,’ Lloyd said, timing the interruption to cut him off. ‘Don’t say it.’ He sat down. ‘Suppose you tell me again what you were doing on Friday night.’
‘I was getting pills and potions, and goodness knows what all,’ said Caroline. ‘We hadn’t been married long – I suppose that’s why it hit me so hard.’
His mouth caressing her breasts, tongue tracing erect nipples . . .
‘It must have been terrible,’ he said. ‘How long were you married?’ He should know. Andrew must have told him.
Releasing the fastenings at the top of her stockings, sliding sheer nylon down long, long legs . . .
‘Almost three years,’ she said. ‘It would have been our third anniversary that month.’
‘Andrew and I had lost touch,’ he said. ‘I didn’t even know he was married.’
His mouth claiming hers; their bodies coming together, only silk between them . . . her gasps at the thrusting pressure against the soft barrier . . .
‘He’d lost your address,’ she said. ‘He was so pleased when you applied for this job.’
Hooking his fingers over the waistband, drawing the silk down; lips travelling back up the smooth legs, gently, expertly, stimulating her . . . her back arching, twisting her against him . . . her groan of pleasure as he entered her, repeated over and over with the rhythmic movements . . . her body writhing, shuddering under his; slowly bringing her to a climax, the soft moans under her quickened breath growing louder, louder, turning to cries of ecstasy—
‘Why don’t you let me join in?’ she asked.
The rush of blood burned his face while everything else in the universe froze into solid ice. He could hear; he could hear the radio playing downstairs. He could hear the water gurgling through the old-fashioned radiator. He could hear the ever-present police call to one another. He could see; he could see the faded, threadbare rug beneath his feet. He could see scuff marks on his shoes. He could see the empty wine-glass on the floor. He could have seen Caroline, if he had looked up, but he couldn’t look at her. Not ever again.
‘I’m sure it would be better fun if I was doing it, too,’ she said.
Say something, you fool. Say something. ‘I was staring, wasn’t I?’ he muttered. ‘I’m sorry – I . . .’
‘You were doing a bit more than staring,’ she said. ‘You’ve been doing it ever since you arrived.’
‘I . . .’ He couldn’t look at her at all. He tried to get up. ‘I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I don’t mean to do it. I don’t know I’m doing it – I . . . well, I do, but . . .’ He grasped the arm of the sofa, trying desperately to get to his feet. ‘I’m sorry.’
‘You don’t have to go,’ she said.
‘Why don’t you tell me to sod off?’ It wasn’t a question; it was a plea, mumbled, his eyes firmly fixed on his shoes. Why wasn’t she angry? He could take anger.
‘If you were anyone else, I would. But you’re not. You’re Andrew’s friend, and I know you. Feel as if I know you.’
Oh, God, if only he co
uld move. Then he could run away from this.
‘Why, Philip?’ she asked.
His skin was on fire again. ‘I don’t know,’ he said. ‘I don’t know. I can’t . . . can’t . . .’ His courage failed him.
‘Can’t what?’ she said.
His shoes looked back at him, no help. ‘I can’t do anything else,’ he said.
‘Have you tried?’
He shook his head.
‘Then how do you know you can’t?’
‘I know,’ he muttered. Oh, God, let him get out of here.
She was pouring him another drink, handing it to him. He took it, looking at the glass, not at her.
‘What does the doctor say?’ she asked.
‘He just keeps saying that it isn’t physical.’ That wasn’t true; it was not all the doctor said. He said a lot of things that didn’t help.
‘That much was fairly obvious,’ she said.
Oh, God. The humiliation burned on his face. Was that supposed to be some sort of comfort to him? It had all been in his mind; he hadn’t had to wrestle with his clothes, to heave his body into doing what was required of it. Because it couldn’t, he knew it couldn’t. It could only make him want to die of embarrassment.
‘Sorry,’ she said. He could hear the smile in her voice, and he wanted to die. Please, please let me leave, he begged God, Caroline, anyone with the power to grant his wish. Please don’t make me talk about it. Please let me die.
‘Philip,’ she said.
He stared at the rug. He wanted to crawl into its faded pattern, and fade with it. Disappear. Die.
‘What sort of doctor?’ she asked.
‘Psychiatrist,’ he muttered.
‘Are you straight with him? Do you tell him everything?’
He had to look at her. She wasn’t going to let him go.
She sat beside him, fully clothed. For the first time, he tried deliberately to have his fantasy, but he couldn’t. He couldn’t even have that, not now that she had faced him with it.
‘I told him,’ he said miserably. ‘When it started. Total strangers – women in bus queues, girls behind the counter at the bank. I told him. I was frightened I’d molest someone. But he – he just says it’s because I’m depressed.’