by Jill McGown
‘We have got the right story about you and her, have we?’ Judy asked Lacey, but she had lost her audience, as an older man came past them, and caught his attention.
‘Des – how are you doing?’ Lacey raised his voice to speak to the other man.
Des put down his tool-kit. ‘How do you think I’m doing?’ he demanded loudly enough to make people turn their heads. ‘Have you heard what’s been going on here?’
‘Yes,’ said Lacey. ‘That’s why I’m here.’
‘Well, if you’ve come to pay your respects to her husband, don’t bother. He’s gone, too. This place has gone mad. It was never normal, but this is ridiculous. And you didn’t help.’
‘What do you mean, he’s gone, too?’
‘He did himself in. This morning.’
Lacey looked at Judy. ‘Hamlyn?’ he said.
She nodded.
‘Poor old sod,’ he said.
‘Who’s this, then?’ asked Des. ‘Another of your conquests?’
Lacey smiled. ‘No. This is Sergeant Hill, Des. I’m a suspect.’
‘What?’ He cupped his hand to his ear.
‘A suspect! They think I might have done it.’
He was smiling as he spoke, but it seemed to Judy that the heartiness was just a little overdone; he didn’t want Des to think that Mrs Hamlyn’s death had touched him.
‘Get on! You couldn’t knock the skin off a rice pudding, for all your leather gear and your motorbike.’ He wagged a finger at Lacey. ‘Didn’t I tell you not to get involved with her?’
‘Yes, Des.’
‘Well. Won’t be told, will you? You and your good for a laugh. She isn’t good for a laugh now, is she?’
Judy turned as she heard the sound of Philip Newby’s stick on the pavement. He acknowledged her, and went into the flat.
‘What happened to him?’ asked Lacey.
Judy turned back. ‘Do you know him?’ she asked.
‘Well – met him. He was here for an interview. I’m not likely to forget – it was the day I was sacked.’
‘What’s that?’ said Des.
‘I’m saying that bloke was here for an interview the day me and Mrs H got caught,’ shouted Lacey. ‘What happened to him?’
Des leaned forward, eyebrows knotted together, to indicate that he hadn’t quite heard the question, despite its having been bellowed.
‘He was in a car crash,’ said Judy.
Lacey shook his head.
‘What was that?’ said Des.
‘Will he always have to use a stick?’ Lacey asked.
‘I don’t know,’ said Judy.
‘What?’ said Des. ‘Why do all you people mumble?’ With that, he picked up his tool-bag, and went towards the junior dormitory.
‘OK if I go now?’ asked Lacey, swinging his leg over the bike and kicking it into life.
‘Yes,’ said Judy. ‘Thank you for coming.’
She watched as he roared off down the drive. She had rather enjoyed meeting Jim Lacey. He was the first person she had met who actually seemed to care that Mrs Hamlyn was dead. She hoped she wouldn’t have to talk to him again, and grabbed Sandwell as he passed, handing him the hospital card. ‘Check that out, will you?’ she said sweetly. Barton General was not noted for its swift response to enquiries.
She had to pass Matthew on her way into the Treadwells’ house. He smiled politely, and gravely.
Treadwell came to his front door, a large whisky in his hand. ‘A bit early,’ he said, ushering her in. ‘But I needed it.’
Judy asked him which of the boys had danced with the other ladies at the top table, and he shrugged. ‘God knows,’ he said. ‘And Marcia, I expect.’ He tilted his head back slightly. ‘Marcia!’ he shouted.
Marcia appeared. She didn’t speak.
‘Who danced with you and what’s-her-name on Friday night?’
‘Lots of people danced with her,’ she said.
‘No – the boys.’
‘Oh, that.’ She went slightly pink. ‘Sorry,’ she said. ‘I thought you meant—’
‘Just tell her who danced with you,’ he said impatiently.
Judy looked apologetically at Marcia Treadwell, though why she felt she should apologise for the woman’s own husband she wasn’t sure.
‘I can’t remember who the other boy was,’ she said, a little fearfully. ‘But Matthew Cawston danced with me. Twice – the first dance, and then one later on.’
‘Thank you, Mrs Treadwell.’
Marcia Treadwell took herself back to wherever she had come from.
‘Mr Treadwell,’ said Judy, ‘the chief inspector and I would like to talk to Matthew. You should be present.’
‘Why do you want to talk to Matthew?’ he asked.
‘It’s about the thefts,’ she said.
‘Does it really matter about the thefts? Don’t you think you’ve got more important things to do than that?’
‘We’d like to speak to Matthew,’ she repeated firmly, and went to the door. ‘I’ll find Chief Inspector Lloyd,’ she said.
Outside, Sandwell was waiting with confirmation that an ambulance had picked up James Lacey outside a pub at 9.30 on Friday night, and that he had been attended to just after midnight.
‘How did you get that so quickly?’ she asked, in awe of anyone who could get an answer of any sort from medical sources.
Sandwell grinned. ‘My sister was on night duty in casualty on Friday night,’ he said. ‘It’s not what you know, Sergeant . . . .’
‘Why the hell would he kill himself?’ said Sam.
Philip looked across at him. ‘Maybe he loved her,’ he said.
Sam gave his opinion in two words, which was how he often communicated quite complex thoughts. Philip mused a little on the versatility of one small word, as he shifted slightly in his chair. He could move more easily again. He had spent a sleepless night, thinking about Caroline, but not the way he’d thought of her before. It wasn’t a terrible, secret vice any more. It never had been. She’d known, all along.
And what had horrified him at the time seemed somehow to comfort him during the night. Despite the lack of sleep, he had been relaxed, for once, and the pain had relaxed with him.
‘I take it you don’t think he loved her,’ said Philip, realising just how much he disliked Sam Waters.
‘Who could love someone that everyone in the school was knocking off?’ asked Sam, then grinned unpleasantly. ‘Present company excepted, of course.’
‘But she was loved,’ said Philip. ‘She was like a second mother to the juniors – you only have to look at them since it happened. You can’t get a word out of the first-years. They loved her – why shouldn’t Hamlyn have felt the same?’
‘They haven’t all topped themselves, have they? They’ve got more bloody sense.’
‘Have you ever loved anyone, Sam?’ Philip asked.
‘Not a woman,’ he said. ‘Don’t get me wrong, I’m not queer. Gay. Whatever they want to call it now. You just can’t make a friend of a woman.’
‘I’m not surprised, if you think of them the way you do.’
‘That’s rich, if I may say so. Can’t go to jail for what you’re thinking, eh, Newby?’
Philip felt himself grow pink. Did everyone know? Had it been that obvious? It seemed it had, as Sam went on.
‘At least I can do something about it,’ he said. ‘And it’s all they’re good for.’
Philip sighed. ‘Am I supposed to go digging round in your psyche to find out that someone let you down in your impressionable youth or something?’
‘I don’t want you digging round anywhere near my psyche,’ said Sam. ‘Save it for your girlfriend.’
She had said he should come back; and he should, if she wanted him to. He owed her that. And it might prove whether or not her shock cure had worked. He rose, wincing a little. But he had got up without having to think about it; it was a considerable improvement.
He was only slightly out of breath as he knocked on her door; not bad a
t all. He heard the bolt being drawn back; he must get a bolt for his room, he thought. Especially in view of the thief’s activities. It wouldn’t surprise him if it was his flatmate who was stealing, just to cause mischief.
Caroline was pale. Her hand shook as she bolted the door again.
‘Are you frightened of something?’ he asked. Not him, obviously. She’d locked herself in with him.
‘I don’t want anyone just . . . walking in,’ she said, going over to the window.
‘Sam’s not been here again, has he?’
She shook her head. ‘And he’s not going to be,’ she said. She didn’t speak for a long time. Just stood, looking out of the window at the increased police activity.
‘Robert killed himself,’ she said, at last.
Philip made a grunt of acknowledgement.
‘I didn’t. I didn’t think I could go on living without Andrew, but I didn’t try to stop living.’
‘Killing yourself isn’t a normal reaction,’ Philip said, alarmed, going to her. He forgot, briefly, that he couldn’t walk the way he used to, and had to hold his breath until the pain passed off. He stood beside her. ‘You can live without him. Robert could have lived, too. He just . . . panicked, I imagine.’
She looked up at him. ‘Maybe I should have killed myself,’ she said.
‘Caroline,’ he said. ‘Look – come away from the window. Sit down.’ He manoeuvred her to the sofa, and sat her down. ‘You’ve had too much death to cope with,’ he said, carefully sitting beside her. ‘Do you think that’s what Diana would have wanted him to do?’ he asked. ‘You can’t think it’s what Andrew would have wanted. He was crazy about you. He told me you’d altered his whole life. He was really upset because I’d missed you—’ He broke off, realising what he was saying.
‘What’s wrong?’
‘I’ve just remembered that,’ he said.
A lot of memories came flooding in on top of that. Too many. Not everything. It was disjointed and confusing, but such a relief that he sighed with satisfaction.
‘What have you remembered?’ she asked.
‘He kept telling me he had a surprise for me. Then eventually he told me about you. He said I’d like you.’ He smiled. ‘He was right.’
‘He said I’d like you,’ she said, with an answering smile.
Philip reddened. ‘I’ve made it a bit difficult for you,’ he said.
She shook her head.
‘ “Everything’s gone wrong,” ’ Philip said, frowning, as another snatch of that day came back to him. Andrew had said that – just like Caroline had when she met him on the first day of term.
‘What?’ said Caroline.
‘Oh – I was just remembering what Andrew said. I’d had the interview, and you were due back, but you had got held up.’
She nodded.
‘And some crisis had happened here,’ said Philip. ‘I had to get back to London, but I’d missed my train.’ He gave a bitter little smile. ‘I can’t even remember what was so bloody important now,’ he said, looking at his stick. ‘But he really wanted me to meet you.’ He smiled. ‘I’m glad I have.’
She smiled back. ‘You’re so like him,’ she said. There were tears in her eyes.
Tentatively, Philip put a hand on her shoulder, patting her. She drew back. ‘You can’t give me a cuddle if you’re hanging on to that,’ she said, taking away his stick.
He held her close as she literally cried on his shoulder. Nothing wrong with his shoulders, like the man said.
The heavy smell of exhaust fumes still lingered in the air around the junior dormitory, and once again the school was alive with uniforms; once again an ambulance stood by helplessly as another dead body was examined; once again Matthew watched the aftermath of sudden, unnatural death.
But this time the scene was sunlit and incongruous. Night seemed the right time for alarms and excursions; the professional, quiet urgency with which these people performed their duties suited a cloak of darkness, and it seemed out of place on a day when the bright winter sunshine flashed its reflection on the windows of the cars that came in a continuous stream up the drive.
Faces appeared at the windows as the news was whispered through the waking school, and boys came and stood in small groups, keeping a discreet distance from the Hamlyns’ garage, where all the activity was centred. Matthew hated being one of the crowd, one of those who gathered to watch while other people got on with the job.
He had liked Hamlyn; he was sorry that he was dead. But he was dead, and there was nothing he could do about that. That being so, he rather wished he’d found him. Then he would have been in the arena, not in the stands. One day, he would be. One day, he’d be the one called to the scene, like the doctor, who came out of the garage, a girl running behind him, trying to keep up with his long strides. The sergeant and the chief inspector followed, and stopped to speak to Treadwell. What in the world had he been doing, wandering about the grounds at that time in the morning? Matthew wondered if the police had asked him that.
They seemed to be looking over at him, all three of them, talking about him. He thought he was imagining things until they began walking towards him. Being singled out was better than being one of the crowd, but he didn’t understand this, and that worried him.
‘Could we have a word, Matthew?’ asked the sergeant, pleasantly enough.
Matthew had never known dread. He became acquainted with it as he followed them to the headmaster’s house, and into the sitting-room, where Sergeant Hill formally introduced him to the chief inspector. Mrs Treadwell eventually realised that she was surplus to requirements, and went off into the kitchen. Nothing ever seemed to touch her, Matthew thought, as he sat down at Treadwell’s command. Murder, suicide – she looked exactly the same. No one else did.
Treadwell looked pale and shocked, his hair uncombed, his clothes hastily assembled. Matthew had never seen him without a tie. Mrs Knight had looked like death when he had seen her earlier; even Waters had been too preoccupied to give anyone the benefit of his opinion. But Mrs Treadwell just fluttered about, as usual.
‘The sergeant would like to ask you a few questions,’ said Treadwell, sitting stiffly on an upright chair.
Matthew looked politely at Sergeant Hill.
‘Friday night,’ said Sergeant Hill crisply, and Matthew could only be thankful that he had been allowed to sit.
Helpful. Be helpful, anxious to please, until you know what she knows.
Matthew nodded slowly. ‘The night of the ball?’ he said.
‘You danced with Mrs Treadwell, I believe?’ she said.
‘Yes,’ said Matthew, a genuine puzzlement pulling his brows together. ‘All the boys danced with the ladies.’
‘Yes,’ she said, and opened a notebook. ‘You took Mrs Treadwell back to her table when the dance was over?’
‘Yes,’ he said. ‘Of course.’
‘What happened then?’
‘Nothing,’ he replied, to give himself time to think.
She sighed. ‘What did you do, Matthew? When you got to the top table?’
This was all wrong. She wasn’t going to be a pushover. He should have come forward of his own accord, when he’d meant to. Now he wasn’t sure how to play it.
‘What did you do when you got to the top table?’ she asked again.
She knew. He didn’t know how, but she knew already. He was supposed to be telling her of his own free will – shamefacedly confessing, reluctantly imparting the rest of his story. This wasn’t right; it wasn’t fair. But he still had information; he still had something to bargain with. Still, he wouldn’t rush in, he told himself. He had to change his game-plan, but he had to be careful; he had to trump the right trick.
‘Nothing,’ he said again, dropping his head, still hoping that reluctant confession followed by his specific knowledge might swing things in his favour.
‘Did you take a pen, Matthew?’ asked the sergeant.
He lifted his head and looked straight at he
r. He didn’t think muted heroism would go down very well with her after all; directness might be the answer. And she knew; there was no point in denying it.
‘Yes,’ he said. ‘It was just lying on the table, so I took it.’
Sergeant Hill nodded; Treadwell’s mouth fell open as his face grew dark.
Chief Inspector Lloyd turned from his contemplation of the view from Treadwell’s sitting-room window, where he had been taking no apparent interest in the interview.
‘Did you steal the other things that have gone missing over the last eighteen months?’ he asked.
‘Yes.’ Matthew saw a slight frown appear and disappear on the sergeant’s face.
‘Why?’ said Treadwell, sounding betrayed. ‘Why, Matthew?’
‘Fun,’ said Matthew, looking at the chief inspector.
‘What? Speak up, boy.’
Speak up, boy. Somewhere, Treadwell had a headmaster’s phrase-book, Matthew would swear. He turned his head this time. ‘Fun,’ he repeated.
‘Fun?’ echoed Treadwell. ‘You stole for fun?’
‘Yes,’ said Matthew. ‘Everyone thought that one of the teachers was stealing,’ he said, turning back to the sergeant. ‘It was fun.’
‘What did you hope to gain by it?’ Treadwell asked, his face baffled.
‘Nothing. It wasn’t really stealing,’ Matthew said. ‘I was going to give it all back. I was going to leave it somewhere it would all be found after I’d left. That’s not really stealing. I kept it all.’
‘We haven’t found it all,’ said the sergeant.
‘It was all there,’ said Matthew.
‘Well,’ said Lloyd, ‘we’ll come back to that. What happened after you took the pen?’ He sat beside the sergeant on the sofa.
‘I was on my way back to my table when Mrs Hamlyn stopped me. She said she wanted to see me outside, and just carried on walking, as if she hadn’t spoken to me at all. So I went out and waited for her.’
‘Go on,’ said Lloyd.
‘She came out and asked me for the pen. I said I hadn’t taken it.’
Lloyd looked up. ‘Where did this conversation take place?’ he asked.
‘Outside the Hall, to start with,’ said Matthew. ‘But it suddenly started raining, and she didn’t want to go back into the Hall because there were too many people going in and out of the cloakrooms. So we went into the Barn. She said she’d seen me take the pen. She said she’d have to talk to Mr Treadwell, but then someone else came in, and . . . .’ He shrugged. ‘I ran away.’