Kennedy 02 - A Darker Side

by Shirley Wells

  ‘Sorry about that,’ he said, flashing strong white teeth at them. ‘How can I help?’

  ‘We’re trying to build a picture of Martin Hayden his friends, interests, that sort of thing,’ Max explained.

  ‘I’m afraid I don’t know him well. He’s not keen on sport, you see. He would far rather read a book than kick a football around.’

  ‘Who does he mix with?’ Jill asked, adding, ‘You must know that. He’s a striking boy. Handsome. You can’t help but notice him.’

  Max saw how he flushed slightly at that comment.

  ‘He’s often with Jason Keane so a word with him could be useful. Your best bet is to talk to his classmates.’

  ‘Seven years ago,’ Max began, ‘I gather a young boy accused you of what was it? Indecent behaviour?’

  ‘Oh, that. Yes, a pupil. I’d dropped him from the first eleven football team and he didn’t take it well. It warranted a paragraph in the local paper, but he knew he hadn’t a leg to stand on.’

  ‘A good-looking boy, was he?’ Jill asked.

  ‘Nothing special.’

  ‘What would you call special? Someone like Martin Hayden? Tall and slim, graceful, blond hair?’

  He laughed at that. ‘I’m not interested in seventeen-year-olds, if that’s what you’re getting at.’

  ‘Got a boyfriend, have you?’ Jill asked.

  His face turned the same shade of red as his T-shirt. ‘As a matter of fact, I have. He’s thirty-eight years old and works in the music industry. He’s what I’d call special,’ he added for good measure.

  ‘Doing what in the music industry?’ she asked.

  ‘He sings in a band, produces records, writes songs –’

  ‘The boy who made those accusations seven years ago,’ Jill said, with a swift change of subject. ‘What did he look like? Tall? Short?’

  ‘Average, I seem to recall.’

  ‘Dark? Blond?’

  ‘I think he had fair hair, but I really can’t see what this has –’

  ‘Your boyfriend, what does he look like?’

  ‘Now, listen,’ he spat out. ‘I have no idea where young Hayden has wandered off to. None at all. And I fail to see what my private life has to do with it.’

  ‘You think he’s wandered off?’ Max asked. ‘From what I’ve heard, he’s not the type to miss school or not let his parents know where he is.’

  ‘I can’t tell you where he is,’ Morrison said curtly. ‘Now, is there anything else?’

  ‘No, that’ll be all for now. Thank you for your time, Mr Morrison.’

  With a muttered ‘You’re welcome,’ he strode off, rubbing tense neck muscles as he went.

  ‘He’s not your biggest fan, kiddo,’ Max said as they watched him.

  ‘I’m not his, either. I’d like to know about the boy who made those accusations. I’d like to see a photo, too.’

  ‘I’m sure Grace is on to it.’

  ‘I know Jason Keane,’ she remarked. ‘The family lives at Kelton Bridge in a huge stone house by the church. Stacks of money, I imagine, but a nice family. Jason’s always seemed a pretty down-to-earth type. He’s another good- looking boy. Gets on well with other kids in the village. He organized a charity car wash when Kelton was raising funds for Emma Bolton, a toddler with cancer.’

  They headed back to the main entrance, looked at a plan of the school, and then set off for Room E4 where Max guessed Ms Lord taught kids how to punctuate such classics as CU2nite and CUl8er.

  The door had a glass panel and Max peered through.

  ‘Blimey, they didn’t make teachers like that when I was a kid.’

  Jill took a look. ‘Just as well, Max. If they had, you’d still be struggling with the cat sat on the mat.’ She rolled her eyes. ‘Are we going to talk to her or would you prefer to stand here and drool all afternoon?’

  Ms Donna Lord was in her late twenties or early thirties with long, blonde hair tumbling over her shoulders. It kept falling across her face and every time she tossed it back, pupils were treated to a glimpse of cleavage. She was sitting on the edge of a desk at the front of the class, wearing a tight blue skirt, blue blouse and high heels. Stockings, too, probably. Yes, Max would bet she was wearing stockings. If they stood there for a few more minutes, they’d probably find out because she kept crossing and uncrossing incredibly long legs. Max wouldn’t be surprised if the lucky lad in the front row could already answer that question.

  ‘We’ll talk to her,’ he said. ‘You’ll have to nudge me if I start drooling.’

  Just as he lifted his hand to knock on the door, she spotted them, smiled an acknowledgement and slid off the desk. She said something to her pupils that made them laugh and walked over to the door, opened it and closed it behind her.

  ‘You’ll be the police,’ she said, in a slightly husky voice. ‘I’m sorry I missed you earlier but the Christmas concert is looming and, believe me, they need all the rehearsals they can get.’

  Her voice was even better than he’d expected. Throaty, and very sexy. He wondered if she’d been born with it, or if she was a heavy smoker.

  A discreet elbow in the ribs, presumably a drool alert nudge, prompted Max to respond.

  ‘Just a couple of questions,’ he told her.

  When she’d told them about Martin, her star pupil, Jill had a question of her own.

  ‘Is Jane Austen on the curriculum? Pride and Prejudice? Mansfield Park?’

  ‘Sadly not,’ Donna Lord said, ‘but Martin’s read those and enjoyed them.’

  ‘Did you give him a copy of Mansfield Park?’

  ‘I did, yes.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘I thought he’d enjoy it.’

  ‘Do you give all your pupils books?’ Jill asked.

  ‘Not all of them, no.’

  ‘So if we ask your pupils if you’ve given them a book, what sort of percentage would say yes?’

  Ms Lord shrugged.

  ‘It’s possible that Martin Hayden might be the only one?’ Jill suggested.

  ‘It’s possible. I can’t remember. Oh, I did give Alison Summers a couple of poetry books.’

  ‘Why Alison? Why Martin Hayden? What makes them special?’

  ‘Alison’s keen on poetry. She entered a competition organized by the local library and her poem came second. As for Martin, I told you, he’s my star pupil. He enjoys English language and literature. It’s rare in a boy. I had a spare copy of the book and gave it to him knowing it would have a good home. It is my job to encourage my pupils, you know.’

  ‘Did you put an inscription in Martin’s book?’

  She laughed at that, and Max pulled himself together. He could do without another elbow in the ribs.

  ‘I honestly can’t remember,’ she replied with amusement. ‘Probably.’

  ‘Does he have a crush on you?’ Jill asked curiously.

  ‘Probably. Young boys often have crushes, as you call them, on their teachers. They grow out of it.’

  ‘Does he have a girlfriend, do you know?’ Max put in.

  ‘Not that I know of, but you need to speak to his friends. Jason Keane would know.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Max said, ‘we plan to talk to him. OK, I think that’s all. Thanks for your time, Ms Lord.’

  ‘It’s Donna.’

  ‘Max,’ he returned.

  ‘I just wish I could be of more help,’ she said, ‘but I don’t know much about his life outside school. I’ve met his mother twice, but that’s all.’

  ‘That’s OK. Thanks.’

  She gave Max a let’s-go-to-bed smile at least that’s what it suggested to Max and returned to the classroom.

  As Max and Jill walked down the corridor, the sound of her pupils’ laughter reached them.

  ‘Right,’ Max said, ridding his mind of Miss Sex-on-legs. ‘We’ll see these pupils and then get something to eat.’ It was three o’clock and he was starving.

  They’d been offered the deputy headmaster’s office to use. Max gave the secretary
a list of names and the pupils were duly fetched from class.

  The first to arrive was Jason Keane. Tall and dark, he was, as Jill had said, a good-looking boy. He and Martin Hayden must make a handsome couple.

  ‘Hello,’ he said, surprised to see Jill.

  ‘Hi, Jason. How’s things?’

  ‘OK, I think.’

  ‘Good. I’m here helping the police,’ she explained. ‘We’re trying to find out what’s happened to Martin. He’s a friend of yours, isn’t he?’

  He nodded, yet Max thought he looked nervous. That meant nothing, though. Even in these so-called enlightened days, when Max couldn’t deliver so much as a well-deserved clip round the ear, a rare few were still in awe of coppers.

  ‘We thought you’d be most likely to know how he thought,’ Jill went on. ‘Did he say anything, drop any hints, or suggest in any way that he might not be in school yesterday?’

  ‘No. He definitely intended to come because we planned to go into town afterwards and look in HMV. The music store, you know?’

  ‘I certainly know it,’ Max told him. ‘My sons would spend a fortune in that shop.’

  He gave the lad an encouraging smile. ‘Does Martin have a mobile phone?’ His parents had said he didn’t, but Max couldn’t imagine a boy of that age without one permanently glued to his ear.

  ‘No, he doesn’t.’

  ‘Do you, Jason?’

  ‘Oh, yes. My mother insisted. Just for emergencies, really.’

  ‘A wise woman.’ Max smiled. ‘Does Martin know the number?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘So if he had any sort of problem, he’d call you?’

  ‘Yes, but he hasn’t.’

  ‘Apart from looking in HMV, what else do you both do after school?’

  ‘Sometimes we go to McDonald’s for a burger, but usually we go straight home. On Fridays, Martin ’ He stopped short, looking as if he’d said too much.

  ‘Go on,’ Max urged him. ‘What does Martin do on Fridays?’

  ‘He has guitar lessons,’ he admitted quietly.

  ‘Really?’ Jill was surprised. ‘I didn’t realize he played guitar.’

  ‘Er, no. The thing is, his parents well, it’s his father really who doesn’t approve. Martin keeps his guitar at my house, and I bring it in for him on Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays.’‘

  Why Mondays and Wednesdays, Jason?’

  ‘So he can practise.’

  ‘I see. And it’s a secret?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘That’s OK,’ Jill said, smiling to reassure him.

  ‘Where does he have lessons?’ Max asked.

  ‘From a man in Church Street, a Mr Campbell. He’s a strange chap, but Martin says he’s a brilliant teacher.’

  They talked for a few more minutes, but Jason could shed no light on Martin’s disappearance.

  ‘Let me know when you’re organizing another charity car wash,’ Jill said as he was leaving. ‘Mine’s never been so clean.’

  ‘I will,’ he promised, ‘but we’ll be charging a fiver next time,’ he added with a grin.

  The next boy they saw was Keith Palmer. He wasn’t such a fan of Martin’s.

  ‘We usually sit together on the bus,’ he told them, ‘but that’s all. We used to be good friends. Until last Christmas.’

  ‘What happened at Christmas, Keith?’ Jill asked.

  ‘Martin was supposed to be taking my sister, Claire, to the school disco,’ he explained. ‘Something better turned up, though, and he dumped her at the last minute.’

  ‘Something better?’ Jill queried.

  ‘Carole Moreton. Her parents are loaded.’ He hesitated. ‘Martin uses people. He thinks he’s God’s gift to the universe and only chooses friends that he thinks will do him some good.’

  Was that true, Max wondered, or was Keith Palmer still bitter because his sister didn’t go to the ball with Martin?

  ‘Everyone will tell you he’s wonderful,’ Keith warned them, ‘but he’s not. If something exciting cropped up, he’d go off without a thought for letting anyone know.’

  Max only hoped he was right.

  The last pupil they spoke to was David Fielding.

  ‘I suppose everyone’s saying I beat him up,’ he said shiftily, taking Max by surprise.

  ‘Did you?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Then why does everyone say you did?’

  Fielding shifted uneasily in his seat. ‘Me and me mates thought he needed a bit of a kicking, but we never hurt him. That’s all lies.’

  ‘When was this, David?’

  ‘A couple of weeks ago. We only called him names.

  Faggot, queen, stuff like that. Honest. Anyway, he got over it. Must have, because on Friday, he said he wanted us to be mates and that we’d have a drink after school.’

  Faggot? Queen?

  ‘And when are you going to have this drink?’ Jill asked.

  ‘Should’ve been yesterday. He was supposed to be bringing some of his old man’s home-made wine in.’

  ‘And you didn’t see him at all yesterday?’ Max asked.

  ‘No.’

  ‘OK, David, that’ll be all. You can get back to your English lesson now. Is Miss Lord your teacher?’

  ‘Yeah.’ He grinned.

  ‘Then I’m sure you’re eager to get back,’ Max said, allowing himself an inner smile. ‘Off you go!’

  Chapter Five

  It was almost six o’clock when Jill turned off the main road towards Kelton Bridge. She’d intended to go straight to her cottage but, on an impulse, she stopped at The Weaver’s Retreat. The Haydens might be a very private family, but there was little that escaped the residents of Kelton Bridge, and the pub was the best place to hear the gossip. The second best place was the village post office, but Olive Pren-dergast’s tittle-tattle tended to come highly embellished.

  ‘The usual, is it, Jill?’ Ian, the landlord, asked, his hand already on the lager pump.

  Jill didn’t really know what she fancied. It might as well be lager as anything else.

  ‘Please.’ She looked in dismay around the empty bar. ‘Where is everyone?’

  ‘It were busy earlier,’ he replied, pouring her a half-pint of Stella, ‘but there’s often a lull around now.’

  ‘Thanks.’ She handed him a fiver as he put her glass on the bar.

  ‘Still raining, is it?’

  ‘Worse than ever. We’ll have to build an ark soon.’

  He smiled at that. ‘It’s supposed to improve tomorrow. Should be colder and windier, but dry.’

  ‘Fingers crossed then.’ She perched on a stool at the bar and took a sip of lager. ‘Have you heard about Martin Hayden, the boy from Lower Crags Farm?’

  ‘Ay, me and Dennis were talking about it earlier. It’s a funny do. Mind, he’s a bit of a wild one, by all accounts, so he could have gone off anywhere.’

  ‘A wild one?’

  ‘He seems to have gone that way lately,’ Ian said, nodding. ‘He’s been thrown out of a couple of pubs in Harrington in the last couple of months. Mind, that’ll be the landlords’ fault, if you ask me. They’re too happy to turn a blind eye to under-age drinking. I know he could pass for eighteen, but landlords are supposed to ask for ID from anyone who looks younger than twenty-one. Anyway, he got thrown out twice that I know of. You know what kids are like when they’ve had too much to drink.’

  ‘Yes, I can imagine. Do you know the family well?’

  ‘No.’ He polished his side of the bar as he thought. ‘Occasionally, very occasionally, Andy, his brother, has a drink in here. George Hayden’s been known to call in but he’s not a particularly chatty or popular bloke.’

  Jill was all too aware of that.

  ‘What about the boy’s mother?’

  ‘Josie? She seems nice enough, but she doesn’t have a lot to say for herself.’ He grunted. ‘George makes sure of that.’

  The door banged open and Tony Hutchinson breezed in. ‘Hi, Jill. Ian. Where is everyone?�
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  While Ian explained again that they’d missed the rush, Jill looked at the tie Tony was wearing. As headmaster of Kelton Bridge’s primary school, he dressed in suit and tie every day, and Jill was fascinated by his ties. They came in all colours of the rainbow and, if they didn’t happen to match his shirt, they were guaranteed to clash violently with socks that had been fluorescent yellow. In his mid-fifties, he was a good-looking man, but those socks . . .

  ‘We were talking about Martin Hayden,’ Jill said as he sat on the stool next to her and took a swallow of his pint. ‘Do you know the family, Tony?’

  ‘I taught the three children,’ he said, licking froth from his top lip. ‘They were OK, but I don’t know the parents well. They keep themselves to themselves. They’ve never involved themselves in school or village activities.’

  ‘What do you make of young Martin?’ she asked.

  ‘An honest opinion? He’s a spoilt brat.’ He took another swallow of beer. ‘Not in a material way perhaps,’ he added thoughtfully, ‘but – oh, perhaps he’s not spoilt exactly, but he’s got one hell of a high opinion of himself. A bright boy, though.’

  Nothing he said surprised Jill.

  ‘The daughter’s a hairdresser,’ he went on. ‘She’s done Liz’s hair a couple of times.’

  ‘Oh?’

  Now that did surprise Jill. Liz, Tony’s wife, was always immaculately coiffeured and Jill had assumed that only a top stylist was allowed near it.

  ‘Yes. Apparently, she’s into astrology. A nice enough kid, though. It’s just the males in the family that no one would want to associate with.’

  ‘What about Andy?’ she asked curiously.

  ‘He’ll be as big a bully as his father one day.’ He grimaced. ‘Sorry, but you did ask my opinion.’

  And she was grateful for any opinion.

  ‘What do you think, Tony? Might Martin have escaped the farm and done a runner?’

  ‘It wouldn’t surprise me in the least,’ he replied easily. ‘Martin Hayden looks out for Martin Hayden and Martin Hayden alone. He wouldn’t think twice about anyone else.’

  Perhaps he’d done exactly that. Jill hoped so.

  Now it was Tony’s turn to ask the questions. ‘Is this idle curiosity or have you returned to police work?’

  ‘I discussed Martin’s disappearance with the force,’ she said, ‘but no, I’m not working for them.’ She grinned, knowing exactly what Tony thought of the self-help books she wrote. ‘I’m too busy writing.’