‘Of course I reject it! I’m just amazed we’re even talking about it.’
‘We could hardly not talk about it – your face did go very red.’
Penny decided to rise above this ludicrous line of enquiry; she’d keep silence on the matter, maintaining a face of relaxed unconcern which said, ‘Is that the best you can do?’
‘And, Penny, just put a matter to bed for us – because we have wondered a little.’ Tamsin paused. ‘We have this photo, you see – we found it in Jennifer’s room.’ Peter watched Penny’s reaction . . . there was immediate interest.
‘What photo?’ she asked, her voice less confident.
‘I’ve got it here somewhere,’ said Tamsin, knowing exactly where it was but not eager to find it too quickly. She rummaged through her file of notes, finding it, leaving it, building the drama, as Penny leaned forward, eyes on the file.
‘Ah, here it is,’ said Tamsin. ‘Knew it was there somewhere, and I’m sure it will mean nothing. But I couldn’t help thinking, well – you take a look.’
She handed Penny a photo of two girls, ten or eleven, in front of a ruined house, either side of an older man, but too frail for his age. There was something broken about him, but smiling through the rain, smiling for the camera, he could at least do that. Penny stared at the photo, and then put it aside.
‘The girl on the left must be Jennifer,’ said Tamsin, ‘with her father presumably – but the girl on the right? A friend, presumably – and I couldn’t help but feel there’s something of you about her, Penny. Tell me I’m mad.’
‘You’re not mad – simply mistaken.’
‘And I’m no expert . . . but that must be Tide Mills – where the picture was taken.’
‘Well, it could be, yes – I mean, I don’t know the place well . . .’
‘Oh, it’s definitely Tide Mills,’ said Tamsin. ‘I’ve had cause to be there a few times recently. And obviously a special place for Jennifer. Perhaps that’s why she was there when she was killed, returning to an old haunt.’ Penny nodded slowly. She seemed to be about to speak and then merely sighed. ‘We’re trying to trace her father,’ said Tamsin.
‘Well, good luck with that!’ said Penny. ‘And in the meantime, I see the snail is left untroubled, proceeding unnoticed, feeding off the terrain.’
‘The snail?’
‘Geoff’s world was about to fall in before Jamie was killed. You do know that?’
‘We’re not short of motives in this investigation,’ said Peter. ‘But they’re shared around, a democracy of reasons for the death of the headmaster. And Geoff was hardly alone in fearing the sack.’
‘He used to be married, you know.’
‘Who?’
‘Geoff. I knew his wife well. And one day, quite out of the blue, total surprise, she asked him for a divorce.’
‘So you didn’t know her that well.’
Penny ignored the comment.
‘But since that day,’ she continued, ‘since that moment, she says, he has not spoken a word to her. Not a word . . . solicitor’s letters, separate lives until she moved out of the school accommodation. She said she’d seen something.’
‘Seen something?’
‘She didn’t say any more – despite me asking. “I don’t want him hurt,” she said. She still loved him! So whatever it was she saw, it stayed a secret.’
‘All very interesting, Penny – but dysfunctional relationships are not a crime,’ said Tamsin. ‘There isn’t enough gaol space.’
‘The snail proceeds quietly, that’s all I say. Discreet in his movements – but you don’t want to get on the wrong side of him. Whatever there once was between you, he’ll eat it.’
Holly had the letter.
She had kept the letter which Ferdinand had written – or the one he’d denied having written, claiming the whole matter was just another fantasy of a teenage girl. But if the letter was real, and not some wicked phoney, the fantasy was now in the ‘true crime’ section.
‘It wasn’t that we didn’t believe you,’ said Tamsin.
‘No,’ said Holly.
‘We just needed to see it. An investigation has to be evidence-led because when there’s no evidence, there’s only conjecture as far as a court is concerned. The abbot here, he likes conjecture, far from the moorings of fact. But the police and the courts work differently.’
‘This won’t go to court, will it?’ asked Holly.
‘We’re here to solve a murder, Holly – well, two murders . . . maybe three. What’s happened to a few school collections is disappointing, particularly for the charities – but not top of our list.’
‘It was terrible what happened to Mr Standing,’ she said.
‘Indeed, very sad. You can’t help us there, I suppose?’
‘No, no,’ said Holly, as if that was a ridiculous idea. ‘It’s not like the bursar does assemblies or anything . . . or makes us late-night hot chocolate! I’d never seen him before this weekend.’
‘So let’s see the letter.’
Holly handed it over slowly and with reluctance, for she lost as much as she gained in this transaction. The letter proved she was telling the truth; but would also incriminate her. It would make more real and more public her deceit of these past few years, when she wished it less real and more secret. She’d kept the letter because it was the guarantee of more money from Ferdinand. It was evidence, and to that degree, a friend . . . but not a kind friend. It was a friend she’d needed but not one she liked.
‘What will happen to me?’ she asked.
‘So this is a forgery, is it?’
said Tamsin, with casual disdain. ‘By the expert forger, Holly.’
She showed the letter to the chaplain – or rather a duplicate, courtesy of the school photocopier.
‘Do take it – this is a copy. You won’t damage the evidence.’
Bleak recognition broke across Ferdinand’s face, his body crumbling a little, like a balloon figure deflated. The tight and shiny exterior shell of his body was now a soft and sunken thing . . . although, in a way, these difficult words – they were almost a relief, for a second or two. He needed to regain control.
‘It was a moment of madness – that’s all it was,’ he said, firmly. This whole thing needed a tight lid placed on it.
‘All what was?’
Ferdinand was angry. He’d offered the truth to the police and how did they respond? They simply demanded more – and they demanded it now! This was unacceptable as far as Ferdinand was concerned. Much too pushy! Who did they think they were talking to? Though he hated himself as well, surrounded by pictures of youthful success on the walls, large colour pictures . . . while all he felt was the sweat of failed middle age, the wretched collapse of something.
‘I may have touched her in the wrong way on one occasion.’ Silence . . . neither Tamsin nor Peter interrupted and Ferdinand hoped that was enough. It wasn’t enough.
‘You may have touched her?’ said Tamsin.
‘It wasn’t rape or anything!’
A slight pause.
‘Do you want our applause?’ asked Tamsin. ‘Chaplain doesn’t quite rape sixteen-year-old schoolgirl! There’s a feel-good story to restore confidence in the Church!’
‘I’m just saying. There are degrees in these matters.’
‘You certainly seem to have one.’
‘And she led me on. I mean, she knew what she was doing. She’s not so innocent, you know!’
‘Excuse me!’ Now Tamsin was angry, loud bells ringing in her head. ‘The school chaplain was led on by a sixteen-year-old girl? Was this part of your calling from God – or private work?’
‘I grant you, it was a mistake.’
‘That is some way short of an apology.’
‘Well, I think I’ve paid for it, haven’t I? Quite literally!’
> ‘It wasn’t your money,’ said Peter. ‘Unless you’re paid from the chapel collections.’
‘Holly says you placed your hand on her inner thigh,’ said Tamsin, like an examining counsel. ‘Is that so?’
‘Maybe.’
‘And she then says that when she didn’t move, probably in shock, you pushed it further.’ Peter watched a man drowning, fighting for air, fighting for life . . . but drowning. ‘Quite a way further.’
‘A minx,’ said Father Heep to himself.
Tamsin kept calm, an extraordinary act of self-control.
‘And then she did pull back and said “What are you doing?”’ Ferdinand looked at her intently. ‘Do you remember any of that, Reverend?’
‘I apologized straight away, really – I mean, it was something and nothing.’
‘More something than nothing,’ said Peter. ‘It was the crucifixion of trust.’
‘And I begged her forgiveness – it wasn’t as if I denied it. I could have denied it!’
‘That’s true,’ said the abbot. ‘I mean, Peter denied Jesus three times when he was arrested, so it’s not unknown among the faithful – and Peter went on to get a halo.’
Ferdinand wasn’t listening, he was back there, back in time, reluctantly revisiting a scene he’d tried so hard to forget.
‘But she just got up and left the room – without saying anything else.’
‘A minx, as you say,’ said Tamsin.
‘She just left me there, left me to stew.’
‘How very insensitive . . . as if it was her task to look after you in the situation! Were you a self-pitying child . . . or has it come late in life?’
Ferdinand’s face darkened.
‘And the following day’ – the recall was painful for him – ‘the following day, the letter arrived with her demands.’
‘Her demands?’
‘If she was to stay quiet and not speak of the “attack”. I mean, it wasn’t an attack – not a real attack, no one would seriously call that an attack! But that’s what she called it.’
‘And what did you do?’
Ferdinand sighed.
‘I made a big mistake.’
‘Another one?’
‘I wrote her a letter . . . the letter you now possess. I simply asked her to let the matter be.’
‘Something of a begging letter, Ferdinand – quite desperate, really.’
‘Asking, begging – she had my career in her hands! You do know that the last chaplain had to leave because of – well, the usual.’
‘The usual?’
‘It’s not easy.’
‘Apparently not. So Holly began enjoying the chapel collections – collections which, in theory, were destined for various charities . . . but which ended up in her wardrobe.’
‘She didn’t get all the collections.’
He would defend his integrity.
‘No?’
‘Oh no! We sent money after the earthquake, I was very insistent about that – made myself very clear. Well, as clear as I could, given that she still had the letter. And there have been other occasions, definitely, when we gave generously.’
‘To someone other than Holly, you mean?’
‘She particularly liked to collect on Old Boys Days or special school celebrations when there were more adults at the service, governors, parents – with deeper pockets, notes rather than coins. She liked notes.’
‘Who doesn’t? And this term?’
‘She has had most of the collections this term. She said she needed to save, that her family situation was difficult.’
‘And the grateful letters from charities on the chapel noticeboard?’ asked the abbot.
‘I do those myself . . . on the computer. It isn’t hard . . . really.’
There was almost pride in his voice, which riled Peter.
‘And just so there’s no confusion, Father – this is the same Holly who yesterday you treated with such scant regard.’ Ferdinand shrugged. ‘Claiming she had made these things up, concocted the accusations from her excitable teenage imagination.’ Ferdinand remained silent; it didn’t sound good when put like that. But you do what you must do to survive, this was Ferdinand’s thought. ‘And I actually believed you,’ said Peter. ‘I believed you, Ferdinand . . . or I was on my way to believing you, as the adult, as the chaplain.’
There was silence between them in the school waiting room, born again as an interview room. And if silence can be described, given a character, it was an exhausted silence which simply acknowledged the spectacular mess and ensuing contortions that a single moment of indiscretion – of ancient longing and desire acted upon – had created in the life of Father Ferdinand Heep, the school chaplain at Stormhaven Towers. They’d reached the bottom of the abyss and there was no further to fall.
‘So when did Jamie find out?’ asked Peter.
‘They call you “Spanker Geoff”,
Mr Ogilvie. Is there any particular reason for that?’
They knew the answer and so did Mr Ogilvie . . . though he wasn’t disposed to tell them.
‘It seems you lost your temper on one occasion,’ said Tamsin.
‘I didn’t lose my temper. I merely said to one of the boys – a particularly irritating fellow – that I wished we’d met twenty years ago, when I could have given him a good spanking.’
‘You merely said?’
‘I may have raised my voice a little.’
‘You mean you shouted.’
Geoff would not be intimidated by this woman.
‘Teachers held a few cards when I started out in the trade – but they don’t hold any now. You can’t hate the children like you once could.’
‘The good old days, eh?’
‘Parents are “consumers” now – and I’m a PR executive for the school who happens to teach chemistry. Everything’s changed, believe me. No different from the police, really. People used to respect you lot too, a cuff round the ear wasn’t the crime of the century . . . and then this sick obsession with accountability took hold.’
Angry, thought Peter.
‘Would you like to have been head?’ asked Tamsin.
‘Doesn’t everyone want to be head?’
‘I’ll check with the gardeners, but . . .’
‘Of course I wanted to be head – and if not here, somewhere else. But I’ve been too loyal, haven’t I? Too bloody loyal! Not thought of myself enough – I’ve worked for the school, for the team, my first mistake! And now? What is there for me now? Fifteen more years of the same old thing with a poncey title that means nothing? God help me!’
‘Perhaps they’ll make you the new headmaster?’ said Tamsin, setting the trap. ‘That’s what Jamie would have wanted, surely – his right-hand man to succeed him?’
How honest was ‘Spanker’ going to be?
‘Jamie was demoting me,’ said Geoff, calmly – almost with relief. Tamsin acted suitably surprised. ‘Yes, he told me on Saturday, bless him, so that was a good start to the summer.’
‘That must have been a shock,’ said Peter.
‘“Just a change of portfolio, Geoff,” he said, as the knife went in. “We just need to be grown-up about this,” he said, meaning, “Please agree with me and don’t be angry.” He didn’t react well to anger, Jamie.’
‘And were you angry?’
‘I could keep my senior master’s house, which softened the blow – as he knew it would. Well, I’ll never live anywhere so nice again, no chance . . . whereas he will, of course . . . or he would have. Jamie and Cressida were not short of cash – and Cressida certainly won’t be, with the life insurance falling like financial manna from heaven.’
‘I’m not sure she needs it.’
‘But it is usually the family who kill, isn’t it? I mean, Cressida is the murderer, is
n’t she?’
‘You were talking about your demotion,’ said Peter, which prompted a wry smile from Geoff.
‘Jamie was dreaming up some a fancy new job title like Director of School Development – as meaningless as Director of Wellbeing in my book. Beware the fancy title bestowed by Jamie – it means he’s about to castrate you . . . lipstick on a pig from where I was sitting.’
‘That must have made you angry.’
‘I’m angry all the time, Abbot . . . all the time. I could pull the skies down on a vast number of people. But I don’t. There’s a kind man in me somewhere.’
‘These people are a joke,’
said Crispin, leaning forward towards his interrogators. He’d decided to enjoy the interview, enjoy the game. ‘My dad sent me here because he wanted me to be more like “these people” . . . that’s what he called them, “these people”. “A different class,” he’d say – but there’s no different class here.’
‘The rich aren’t so different?’
‘Apart from Cressida, obviously.’
‘Dr Cutting?’
‘She’s class!’
This was not the admiration they were expecting. Indeed, their thoughts had been in another direction before the boy arrived for interview.
‘So how about Holly and Crispin?’ Peter had said, speculatively.
‘Holly and Crispin?’
What was the abbot talking about?
‘A love-pact to kill all their old teachers.’
‘I hardly think there’s anything there.’
‘Penny does.’
‘That was just a joke.’
‘Nothing’s just a joke.’
‘Holly with Crispin?’ said Tamsin, amazed. ‘He’s not in her league. She’s a head-turner – some women are.’
Tamsin spoke as a fellow member of the club, and one who knew the awe and the hate that came with the package.
‘Or maybe Holly isn’t in his league,’ said Peter. He didn’t deny Tamsin’s words but pondered the girl’s substance. ‘Did you see how he challenged Penny in the common room? There’s an assurance about him, almost as if he’s growing into this, waking up. It’s like he’s not alone in that room – but I’m not sure his partner is Holly.’
A (Very) Public School Murder Page 18