An Education in Death (The Inspector Felix Mysteries Book 9)

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An Education in Death (The Inspector Felix Mysteries Book 9) Page 5

by R. A. Bentley


  ​‘Yes, it was. Did you see Willoughby at all, earlier in the day?’

  ​‘No. Dunston and Nicholls did, though, when we were having coffee. He looked in for a moment, then cleared off. That appears to have been the last sighting.’

  ​‘So I understand. When was this, again?’

  ​‘I should think about twelve-fifteen. Chaps were starting to leave by then.’

  ​‘Did he come into the room?’

  ​‘I don’t know, I was facing away from the door. If he did, it can only have been for a moment or two.’

  ​‘Who was there? Can you remember?’

  ​‘Apart from Dunston and Nicholls? I’m not exactly sure. Oh yes, Wayland was, talking to Dunston.’

  ​‘What about? Can you remember?’

  ​‘What about? Good heavens! Yes, I do, as a matter of fact. There was a timetable clash. Dunston is Biology. He takes the boys out and about sometimes, looking at bugs and plants and so forth, and they’ve been getting back late. Wayland’s classes tend to follow his and he was getting grumpy about it.’

  ​‘What does Mr Wayland do?’

  ​‘He’s Senior Maths.’

  ​‘Mr Willoughby being Games?’

  ​‘Yes, that’s right.’

  ​‘Did you like Willoughby?’

  ​Crockford’s eyes noticeably narrowed. ‘No, I didn’t.’

  ​‘Why not?’

  ​‘We were oil and water, Chief Inspector. Polar opposites. I thoroughly disliked him, and the feeling seemed to be mutual. I get on with everyone else.’

  ​‘Did you have fights?’

  ​‘Verbally yes, quite often. I wasn’t going to take his nonsense lying down. He was a stinker if you must know.’

  ​‘You don’t mind telling me that, given that he was murdered?’

  ​Crockford looked surprised. ‘Well no, I’m endeavouring to be honest. That’s what you want, isn’t it? I couldn’t have killed him, could I? I was in bed asleep.’

  ​‘He stole your girl, I believe?’

  ​Crockford coloured. ‘I don’t see what that has to do with anything, and I was hardly going to mention it without the lady’s permission. It wasn’t like that anyway. We were already drifting apart if you must know. I hadn’t seen her for a week and he stepped in. It was a caddish thing to do, absolutely typical of the man. I was annoyed and upset but I can’t in honesty say he stole her from me. The thing was on its last legs. Do you want to know what she said?’

  ‘I should not have asked you that, Mr Crockford,’ said Felix, ‘but if you wish to tell me . . .’

  ​‘She said she wasn’t ready to settle down yet; she just wanted to have fun with her friends. I’m not some sort of ingénue, Chief Inspector. I know what a girl means when she says that. It means one has been tried and found wanting.’

  ​‘And when did you finally part, as a couple?’

  ​‘The first few days of term. I wasn’t particularly surprised when I found she was going out with Willoughby. Whether that odious fellow suited her better I doubt, but if he did, I’m obviously very sorry for her. I’ve sent a note of condolence.’

  ​‘Dignified response, I’ll say that,’ admitted Felix. ‘Albeit a bit defensive.’

  ​‘I can’t fault his performance,’ agreed Rattigan, ‘but his day has more holes in it than a colander.’

  ​‘You’re assuming that Willoughby might not have been killed at the time of the fire? I must say, I’ve wondered about that.’

  ​‘I admit it creates problems,’ said Rattigan, ‘but so does murdering a man in the dark at a time and place where he had no obvious business to be.’

  ​‘There is something else, of course,’ said Felix. ‘Would any of those gentlemen have shot Willoughby with a homemade crossbow? It seems quite bizarre.’

  ​Outside the window, two fourteen-year-old boys looked at each other in wild surmise.

  ◆◆◆

  ​‘I shall begin to believe I’m a suspect,’ said Eric Campling, letting them into the school workshop. ‘What is it now?’

  ​‘Quite the reverse,’ Mr Campling,’ smiled Felix. ‘We’re rather hoping we can take you into our confidence. We don’t want it generally known, but our technical people tell me that Mr Willoughby wasn’t stabbed to death as we thought but killed with either a crossbow or a bow and arrow, probably the former, and that it may have been homemade. Obviously, we don’t want the murderer to know we’re on to it, so mum is very much the word.’

  ​‘Good heavens!’ said Campling. ‘Whatever next? And you think it might have been created here, in this workshop?’

  ​‘Well it’s a thought, isn’t it? Perhaps you can advise. Would it be possible for anyone to make such a thing here without you or someone else knowing about it? Unless you did know, of course.’

  ​Campling considered. ‘I won’t say it couldn’t happen,’ he said at last. This room is empty for much of the time, although the door is always locked. If anyone could obtain a key and wasn’t too noisy, they might get away with it, in the daytime anyway, though a light in the evening might attract inquisitive eyes. I suppose they could pretend to have had permission to finish a project. They’re judged for a prize at the end of each summer term, the Fortescue-Robertson Rose Bowl, so they could have used that excuse. Pretty risky, though. No, I’ve never had anyone ask permission to make such a thing and I wouldn’t let them if they did.’

  ​‘What about technically? Do you have the equipment?’

  ​‘Oh yes, there would be no problem with that. You have no idea what it looks like presumably?’

  ​‘No, none. Might the springy bits present a problem?’

  ​‘The laths, I think they call them. No, you can use all sorts of common materials for that, and none of the components are very large, so could be easily concealed and assembled elsewhere, if required.’

  ​‘Difficult job? Could a boy do it?’

  ​Campling smiled. ‘Yes, I’d say so. An older one anyway. They are rather simple things in essence but would require some precision in the assembly. They’d need to obtain a plan, though, unless they’d put a lot of thought into it. You don’t seriously think it likely do you?’

  ​‘I don’t know,’ admitted Felix, ‘but someone did it, if not here then somewhere else.’

  ​‘Silly old fool,’ said Morley, peering cautiously out of the materials-cupboard door. I’ve never known him check the back window since we’ve been here. They’ve gone now anyway.’

  ​‘Whom do we know that could build a crossbow?’ said Nixon. ‘I don’t think I could do it, could you? Not to be sure it would really kill someone.’

  ​‘No-one in our year, I doubt,’ said Morley. ‘A fifth or sixth former might, I suppose.’ He began poking about in the tea chest used as an off-cuts box.

  ​‘What are you looking for?’

  ​‘Evidence. If anyone made it fairly recently there’d be bits left over. One might identify them.’

  ​‘Anything there?’

  ​‘Don’t know really. Not sure what to look for.’

  ​‘I was wondering,’ said Nixon. ‘They presumably found the crossbow arrow stuck in the body —’

  ​‘Bolt. It’s called a bolt.’

  ​‘Bolt then. But they couldn’t know if the crossbow itself was homemade, could they? The murderer might just have got hold of one and made some ammo for it.’

  ​‘That’s a very good point,’ said Morley, going back to the tea chest. ‘Bits of dowelling? Hollow metal tube?’

  ​‘Don’t forget the flight feathers,’ said Nixon. If you can find a bit of feather you’ve got your evidence I should think.’

  ◆◆◆

  ​Shabbily dressed and prematurely aged, with strands of iron-grey hair swept across his balding pate, Harold Matteson seemed to bring with him an enveloping cloud of melancholy. Felix noted that the front of his suit was peppered with tiny holes, which he guessed were acid burns from chemical demonstrations. H
e couldn’t see his trouser turn ups from where he was sitting but knew instinctively that one at least would be sagging open with dust and fluff in it. ‘I see you’re Physics and Chemistry’ he said.

  ​‘Yes,’ said Mr Matteson.

  ​‘Must be interesting I should think?’

  ​‘For the first year or two it was, but that was a long time ago. It’s very repetitive you know. Same old thing, year in, year out. I’d like to do something else but no-one wants you at my age.’

  ​‘Which is?’

  ​‘Fifty-two.’

  ​Well you never know; something might turn up. You live out?’

  ​‘Yes.’

  ​‘Alone?’

  ​‘Yes, since my mother died.’

  ​‘Oh, I see. In the village, would that be?’​

  ​‘No, about four miles away. I cycle in.’

  ​‘And did you have much to do with Mr Willoughby?’

  ​‘Not a great deal. I had a pint or two with him once, at the Spotted Cow.’

  ​‘Really? You got along all right then? Some of the masters didn’t like him.’

  ​‘He wasn’t popular, no, but he seemed pleasant enough away from school. He didn’t like his job either so we found something in common.’

  ​‘Did he say why he didn’t like his job?’

  ​‘Same reason as me really. He was bored and he didn’t like children very much. Also, the other masters annoyed him.’

  ​‘Why do you think that was?’

  ​‘I think he knew they despised him. It was a bit obvious sometimes. They seemed to bring out the worst in him.’

  ​‘Did he ask you any questions about yourself?’

  ​‘Yes, he did. I was surprised. You wouldn’t have thought he was the sort to be interested in other people. We talked about my parents and so on.’

  ​‘Did he say what he’d really like to do?’

  ​‘Can’t say he did. He didn’t talk much about himself. You mustn’t think we were friends or anything; it was only a couple of drinks. He never seemed interested in doing it again.’

  ​‘Would you have been aware if he’d had any enemies? Had anyone threatened him?’

  ​‘I don’t know. No-one has ever said so to me. They may have done, I suppose.’

  ​‘Misery in brown boots’ said Rattigan. ‘When he came in, the air struck cold.’

  ​‘Dominated by his mother I expect, and now all at sea. I think we can forget him frankly. Had it been a poisoning he’d have merited a closer look.’

  ​‘Or a sex crime.’

  ​‘Yes, or that. Are we becoming cynical, Teddy?’

  ​‘I was born cynical,’ said Rattigan.

  ​‘I think you probably were,’ said Felix.

  ◆◆◆

  ​The Spotted Cow proved to be a pleasant hostelry, and a busy one. They were lunching in the saloon bar, there being no tables free in the public.

  ​‘It occurs to me . . .’ said Rattigan, taking a long pull at his beer before continuing, ‘that we don’t actually know the crossbow was homemade, only the bolts. In fact, only three bolts. The murderer might have had the weapon already to hand but with little or no ammunition. He couldn’t risk buying any, should that be possible, because we might trace it to him. It would be much easier, one supposes, to make just the bolts.’

  ​‘That’s a very good point, Teddy,’ said Felix, ‘if a rather dispiriting one. He could probably have made them anywhere at a pinch and not needed a workshop.’

  ​‘Wouldn’t he need to practice his shooting, before the murder?’ said Nash. ‘Your killer is unlikely to be a skilled archer, if that’s the word. We might find bolts lying about somewhere, or the holes they’ve made.’

  ​‘Unless he did it at point-blank range,’ said Yardley, ‘crept up on him or lay in wait. Might it not be a bow and arrow anyway? It’d be a cinch to make one of those.’

  ​‘My thinking was that a bow would be hard to conceal,’ said Felix, ‘though one could leave it in the woods, I suppose, until required. Also, don’t you need a fair amount of strength to draw a proper longbow and more skill to use it? Not something I know much about.’

  ​‘I think you’d need strength for a crossbow too,’ said Nash. ‘In the old pictures you see them hauling on the string with their foot on the bow. I suppose they hook it over the trigger mechanism.’

  ​‘Really? I didn’t know that,’ said Felix thoughtfully. ‘Which again points to an adult perhaps.’

  ​‘Where is it now, do you suppose?’ said Rattigan. ‘You’d want to get rid of it pretty quickly afterwards.’

  ​‘The river?’

  ​‘Might float, if it’s wood.’

  ​‘Chuck it in the fire?’

  ​‘Hide it to dispose of later?’

  ​‘I suppose we ought to search for it,’ said Felix, ‘but I don’t think we’ll make it a priority. He’s hardly going to leave any dabs on it or dump it somewhere incriminating. How did the rest of the dabbing go? Any problems?’

  ​‘None at all,’ said Yardley. ‘We’ve got all the interviewees so far, and the ladies in the office and Gibbs the butler. The Headmaster came back and we got him too. He seemed very interested in it. Wanted to know all the ins and outs.’

  ​‘Well now,’ said Felix, sitting back. ‘We’ve started to get an idea of the place and the people, so what have we learned so far?’

  ​‘Murder. Almost certainly premeditated,’ offered Rattigan. ‘You don’t walk about with a crossbow on the off-chance, and three shots are not an accident. Evidence also suggests the killer attempted to conceal the type of weapon by removing the bolts from the body and might have been hoping to destroy it entirely by fire, making it look like a tragic mishap.’

  ​‘Yes, unless the fire was an unintended consequence,’ agreed Felix, ‘though it took hold suspiciously quickly by the sound of it, as if someone had been splashing kerosene about.’

  ​‘You wouldn’t get that from a capsized Tilley lamp,’ said Nash.

  ​‘No, you wouldn’t, and I rather wondered, you know, about the lamp’s position. It looked a bit obvious to me, as if we were intended to find it.’

  ​‘There’s also the question about what Willoughby was doing there on a Sunday night after dark,’ said Rattigan. ‘Strange place to be if you ask me.’

  ​‘Working at something by the light of that lamp?’ suggested Yardley. ‘It would be a perfect time to ambush him; lots of shadows to lurk in and so on. They’d have to know he was going to be there, of course.’

  ​‘Only works if they could get near him though,’ said Rattigan. They’d have to come down through the pitch-dark wood. Or along the towpath, which mightn’t be much easier. A torch would be a dead giveaway.’

  ​‘They might have arranged to meet,’ said Nash. ‘He wouldn’t have expected his killer to turn up with a crossbow. Or as Paul says, the killer might have been hiding somewhere all along, waiting to ambush him.’

  ​‘I suppose that’s possible,’ said Felix. ‘But as Teddy says, you still have to explain why Willoughby chose such a time to be there at all, even by arrangement. This was at about eleven thirty in the evening, don’t forget. Late for a Sunday night, with work to go to in the morning. It also suggests that whatever he was doing he’d been at it for some time. Why not kill him sooner?’

  ​‘Waiting for the right moment?’ suggested Yardley.

  ​Felix turned to Rattigan. ‘Tell ’em what we’re wondering, Teddy.’

  ​‘You’re assuming that the killer set the fire just after the murder,’ said Rattigan. ‘I did myself to start with, but he might easily have killed him at any time after he was last seen, which seems to have been something after twelve in the afternoon. Later he decides to make a job of it and cremate the body; or it might have been his intention all along. Waiting for darkness he uses a torch, or that Tilley lamp, to find his way down there. He can then take his time over setting a good blaze with very little risk
of being seen or identified. Then he slips away into the night.’

  ​‘Yes, that might work,’ agreed Nash. ‘I suppose if the shed was lock-able and he had a key he could have locked it so no-one else could stumble on the body. Still a bit risky though.’

  ​‘That does seem more plausible time-wise,’ admitted Yardley, ‘and we could probably find out about the key situation easily enough. How many there normally are and so on.’

  ​‘Twelve-thirty until dark, though,’ said Nash. ‘That’s a lot of time to cover.’

  Chapter Six

  ​Under ordinary circumstances, thought Felix, Arthur Noble, with his even features, jet black hair and soulful eyes would have been quite the matinee idol. As it was, he looked a fright. ‘I’m sorry we didn’t get to you this morning,’ he said, ‘We were rather side-tracked I’m afraid. Which bits of you hurt? Are you able to sit down?’

  ​‘I’m fine, Chief Inspector,’ said Noble. ‘It’s just my wrists really, and the front half of my scalp. Fortunately I had on my driving gloves so my hands didn’t come off too badly. I tried wearing a hat but it was too sore. Crockford thinks I resemble a Renaissance beauty; the sort that shaved their heads to get a high brow. All it wants is a wimple, he says.’

  ​‘Treasure that thought, Mr Noble,’ grinned Felix, holding his chair for him. ‘You’re presumably not teaching at the moment?’

  ​‘As a matter of fact, I am. I find it takes one's mind off it a bit. I thought I might be laughed at but they seem thoroughly in awe of me at the moment.’

  ​‘Well I hope it all heals quickly. Now then, we have your name and this is your address. Can we have your age?’

  ​‘Twenty-five. Twenty-six in December.’

  ​‘And how long have you been here?’

 

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