‘Eight weeks nearly. I’m the new boy.’
‘Ah! I didn’t realise that. What do you teach?’
‘Junior English and Maths, plus Art and Drama. General factotum really.’
‘Do you like it here?’
‘Yes, I do, actually. I feel like I’ve been here for years.’
‘And can you tell me what happened on Sunday night? You were away for the weekend, I gather?’
‘Yes, a rare visit home. I was quite late back, and driving over the bridge I saw the fire. I nearly hit the parapet!’
‘Any idea what time it was?’
‘Only very roughly. Maybe half-eleven. There’s no clock on my dash and I didn’t think to look at my watch. I dumped the car and ran to the lock house, hoping Jackman was still awake. He’s the keeper. As it happened, he was just coming out as I arrived and had already telephoned to the fire brigade. We grabbed some buckets and shot along there to find most of the shed engulfed in flames. The doors were locked but we managed to get them open and get the nearest boat out. Too late, I’m afraid. Then we saw Willoughby. He was lying on his back a few feet inside. I thought for a moment it was that darned dummy again. I was one of those that found it, you know, or were called to it anyway.’
‘That’s interesting. Tell me about it in a minute. What happened then?’
‘Well, it clearly wasn’t the dummy because you could see his face, what was left of it. I don’t know what we thought we were doing really. It was pretty obvious he was dead. Had he been still alive I don’t think he’d have thanked us for saving him by that time, but it’s what you do, isn’t it? Sort of an instinct. We grabbed a leg each and dragged him out. Then just as we thought we’d got away with it there was a sort of puff of flame, and that’s when I lost my hair. We both ran and jumped in the river, which is where the others found us.’
‘What about the lock keeper, is he all right?’
‘Same as me really, only worse. I was very much the hero of the hour, as the Headmaster put it, but no-one seemed to bother about poor old Jackman to start with. He must be sixty if he’s a day and he did at least as much as me. In fact, more, because he went and grabbed a spade and levered the doors open with it. I grumbled a bit about his being neglected and I believe Armitage did go down to see him in the end. I don’t know if he gave him anything. He should have done.’
‘Did you have any idea of Willoughby’s injuries?’
‘The stab wounds, do you mean? No, not at all. By the time we got him out he was just a blackened shape. Pretty horrific. They carted him away that night, so nobody saw much of him, which is probably just as well.’
‘Did you like him?’
‘Willoughby? No opinion really. Bit full of himself, I thought. But as I said to the others, I’d scarcely had anything to do with the fellow.’
‘When did you say that?’
‘When we found the dummy. Two boys came and told us about it early one morning and Burstow, Crockford and I went to look. It was really quite convincing and I think we were all fooled for a moment or two. I was, anyway. Then we spotted Willoughby himself coming out of the school and still very much alive, so we made out we hadn’t seen him and that we thought the dummy was him and started to cast aspersions on the deceased’s character and so on. It seemed quite funny at the time. He was pretty huffy about it, and looking back I suppose it must have been worrying for him, getting those notes and then the dummy. Someone had gone to a lot of trouble over it – it wasn’t the work of minutes – and they’d had to steal his clothes as well.’
‘Who were the boys that reported it?’
Noble smiled. ‘That was Mornix.’
‘Mornix?’
‘Morley and Nixon, a couple of little ’erberts from the upper fourth. They’re great pals and never seen apart. Someone must have thought it amusing to portmanteau their surnames and it stuck. If there’s trouble they’re often at the bottom of it.’
‘Do you think they made the dummy?’
Noble shook his head then winced with pain. ‘Most unlikely. I’d have said someone older — an adult probably. And as they pointed out, where would they have got a shop dummy from? They said they found the thing that morning, already hanging, and thought it would make a good rag, which I suppose it did. They’re quite entertaining really; it’s hard to be cross with them for long.’
‘Do you enjoy teaching? It sounds as if you do.’
‘Yes, I do actually. I’ll probably stick at it now until I inherit, then we’ll see.’
‘Inherit? That sounds interesting.’
‘Sorry, my Pater is Viscount Stodley. He’s getting on a bit – I’m from his second marriage – so it probably won’t be long. Not that I’m eager to see him off or anything. I’m very fond of him.’
‘That wouldn’t be “Ladysmith Noble” by any chance?
‘Yes, it is! Well remembered.’
‘What did you do before this?’
‘Oxford, Sandhurst and the Army.’
‘Following in your father’s footsteps eh? Why did you leave?’
Noble looked suddenly awkward. ‘I suppose you had better know, but I’d appreciate it if you were to keep it under your hats, at least as far as the school is concerned. I was cashiered.’
‘Hmm, I see. Care to tell me what for?’
‘Ninety-eighth Article, duelling with a fellow officer.’
‘Duelling! What with?’
‘Sabres. There were some on the wall in the mess unfortunately. Damned foolish thing to do but honour was at stake, or seemed to be at the time. The other chap got a bit chopped about or we might have been all right.’
‘I don’t suppose Pater thought much of that.’
‘No, he didn’t. He bawled me out for getting caught. I say, would you mind if I push off? I need these damned dressings changed. They’re becoming a bit painful.’
‘Your secret is safe with me Mr Noble,’ said Felix, standing to help him up. ‘Unless it’s pertinent to the case, which I can’t imagine it would be. You take care of yourself now.’
‘Attractive character,’ said Felix, when he’d gone. ‘Not that I approve of duelling of course. Can’t really see him staying here, can you?’
‘I think we know who Miss Armitage will be setting her cap at next,’ said Rattigan dryly.
‘Well if he doesn’t suit her, I can’t imagine who would. I wonder why he came here, of all places? It must be eighty miles from Stodley and teaching posts are common enough.’
◆◆◆
Emily Armitage, with her buxom, heavy-lidded charms was normally the antithesis of what Felix found desirable but he was bound to admit that she had more than her share of “it.” He was a little surprised that Ernest Crockford had relinquished her without more of a struggle; or so it had seemed. She was sitting beside her mother on a sofa and looking quietly composed.
‘I understand you were engaged to Mr Willoughby, Miss Armitage,’ he said, ‘please accept our condolences on your loss.’
‘Thank you, Chief Inspector,’ she said.
‘I realise this may be distressing for you but would you be prepared to answer me a few questions? The more we learn, the more quickly we can catch the person that did this.’
‘Yes. I’ll do that,’ said Emily, glancing at her mother.
Mrs Armitage took her cue. ‘I’m just popping out for a while, dear. You’ll be all right, will you?’
The two detectives stood up for her until she left the room. ‘May I take it, Miss Armitage,’ said Felix, ‘that you saw Mr Willoughby shortly before you went away for the weekend?’
‘Yes, I saw him at Friday lunchtime.’
‘And had you any reason to suppose his life or safety was threatened by anyone, at that time?’
Emily shook her head. ‘Not unless you count the letters, and the dummy.’
/> ‘When did the last letter arrive, do you know?’
‘No, I don’t,’ said Emily. ‘Chief Inspector, this is embarrassing for me but I must tell you that by the time Mr Willoughby was murdered I no longer loved him, if I ever did, and that we were scarcely speaking to each other. Or at any rate, I was scarcely speaking to him. I absented myself last weekend mainly to get away from him, and on my return I had intended to give him back his ring. The murder was a terrible thing but I find I simply cannot continue to pretend, as I had intended to do, that I’m in mourning for him. I’m not that good an actress. I’m afraid that any answers I may give to your questions must therefore be seen in that light. My parents, however, know nothing of this. There have been rows and I’ve said cruel, hurtful things but I’m afraid I’m not yet ready to admit to them that they were right. I have my pride.’
Felix saw that tears had come into her eyes. She was, however, holding herself well in hand. ‘They won’t hear it from us, Miss Armitage,’ he said kindly. ‘Now, can you tell me if Mr Willoughby talked to you about the letters, and the dummy? Did he express to you any theories about who might be behind them?’
Emily sighed. ‘He just laughed at them at first,’ she said. ‘He thought it was one of the boys writing the letters, though it seemed unlikely to me. When they found the dummy, he got cross and said it was a master that was jealous of him.’
‘Jealous in what regard?’
‘Of him going out with me, obviously,’ said Emily.
‘Did he name names?’
‘I’d rather not say.’
‘Was it Mr Crockford by any chance?’
Emily shrugged. ‘Yes, it was, since you mention him. But I can’t imagine him doing that, you know, it’s not his style at all, and he certainly wouldn’t have murdered him. He’s a gentle, kindly man and I’m afraid I treated him very shabbily.’
Felix smiled. ‘Don’t be too hard on yourself, Miss Armitage. We all go through that sort of thing in one way or another. When did you start going out with Mr Willoughby? Can you remember?’
‘It was a few days into this term.’
‘That’s when you split up with Mr Crockford?’
‘Yes, it was.’
‘Can you think of any reason why Mr Willoughby might have been at the boatshed on Sunday, particularly late in the evening?’
‘I simply can’t imagine,’ said Emily. ‘Nobody goes there at night. He sometimes worked there during the day, on the boats, but not at night.’
‘Did you ever meet him there yourself?’
‘No, I didn’t.’
‘Can you think of anyone who might have wanted to kill him?’
‘No, I can’t. Lots of people didn’t like him and it wasn’t very long before I didn’t like him. But not to kill him.’
Chapter Seven
‘Nobody liked him and nobody hated him, about sums it up,’ said Felix, accepting a cigarette. ‘Not enough to murder him anyway.’
Detective Chief Superintendent Polly nodded sympathetically. ‘I’ve had a few like that in my time. No decent motives I take it?’
Felix shook his head. ‘Not really. One of his fellow teachers might have resented him for pinching his girl, who just happens to be Emily Armitage, the Headmaster’s youngest. No alibi worth mentioning but if he did it, I’ll eat my hat. Armitage also appears to have objected to Willoughby’s interest in his daughter but he didn’t need to murder the fellow to get rid of him, he could just have sacked him. He also has a cast-iron alibi. Emily claims she was about to dump Willoughby before he was murdered, having gone off him, though I avoided asking why. That might be one for later. I got the impression she’s been doing some rather rapid growing up.’
‘What’s she like?’
‘Hard to say on such brief acquaintance. Intelligent and articulate, as you might expect.’
‘Appearance?’
‘Big, handsome girl. Strangely alluring. It’s the eyes, I think.’
‘Couldn’t be her, could it?’
‘No, she was away when it happened. I really can’t see a woman doing it, to be honest.’
‘Just as well probably. If they start that sort of thing, we’ll need to double the force.’ He passed across a folder. ‘Here are your poison pen letters, and a note from our graphologist. All by the same hand, he says. Same pen, same paper. Cheap, lined stuff such as a schoolboy might use. He also says it’s an educated adult male, probably under thirty. I don’t set much store by that sort of thing myself.’
‘Neither do I. How did he get his age?’
‘One assumes the handwriting style, though how they can do it when it’s disguised, I can’t imagine. It wouldn’t be a sixth former, would it? I doubt he can distinguish between one and, say, a twenty-two-year-old.’
‘I rather hope that he can. I don’t want it to be a boy, though I’m constantly aware of the possibility. There are thirty-two fifth formers and twenty-three sixth formers for one thing, assuming it wasn’t someone even younger, and a homicidal youth with a crossbow and a box of matches scarcely bears contemplating.’
‘Common enough round here,’ said Polly. ‘Maybe not the crossbow.’
‘It’s hardly the East End, sir. These are kids whose fathers can afford a hundred or more pounds a term. They’re headed for Oxbridge not the Scrubs. Anyway, this has all the hallmarks of a well-planned, cold-blooded assassination. An adult thing, for my money. I imagine it was supposed to look like a tragic mischance and but for two brave rescuers it probably would have done. Talking of which, have you heard of Viscount Stodley?’
‘Ladysmith Noble? Yes, I have, as a matter of fact. He got into some trouble a year or two ago. Shot a poacher. Where does he come into it?’
‘His son is a master at the school. Only arrived this term. He was one of those who dragged out the body, the lock-keeper being the other, and got quite badly burned for his pains. He seems out of place, to my mind, a larger than life sort of chap and not short of a bob or two, judging by his clothes and car. I doubt a job like that would cover his expenses, and why bury himself in a country village, miles from the bright lights?’
‘That’ll be Arthur,’ said Polly. ‘I thought he was in the army.’
‘He was. There was a bit of bother and he came out.’
‘Like father like son by the sound of it. Did you want me to make enquiries?’
‘It would do no harm, sir, though it seems unlikely he’s our murderer. We might check his alibi for the weekend – went home, he said – and if anybody knows why he chose the Thomas Thirkettle School. I’ve an idea there might be a story there somewhere. It’ll need to be someone a bit discreet, though; I wouldn’t want it getting back to him.’
‘The local chap, Hopkins, is your man for that. You’re suspicious of him, aren’t you? I know you and your hunches.’
‘I wouldn’t put it as strongly as that,’ said Felix. ‘I was just struck by the coincidence. Noble joins the school and the letters start to arrive. That’s all it might be of course, a coincidence.’
‘I’ll see what I can discover. And while I think of it, what about Willoughby’s next of kin?’
‘They live up the country, Leeds or somewhere. Elderly, I fancy. Not likely to be much use to us. Armitage is dealing with it.’ He rose at a knock on the door. ‘I’ll leave you to it sir.’
◆◆◆
‘Why a crossbow anyway?’ said Nixon as they poked about in the ashes of the boatshed. ‘Why choose that of all things?’
‘Makes no noise,’ said Morley.
‘Nor does stabbing to death, if you’re quick. He might scream a bit I suppose. Or you could creep up behind him and cut his throat so he couldn’t. He’d just gurgle horribly.’
‘True, but it’s messy. You wouldn’t have wanted to get that close to Willoughby anyway. He might grab you and strangle you with his big, hairy
hands, and you might end up covered in blood and they’d see it at the laundry. With a crossbow you wouldn’t have to get near him. Then – yes of course! – you could pull the bolts out of the body and set fire to it. Then they wouldn’t know how he was killed. Hence doing it in a nice, wooden boatshed. It would just look like an accident!’
‘Hmm, yes, I can see that,’ said Nixon, impressed. ‘That’s rather clever. You’ve a talent for this murdering business, haven’t you? You’re a murderous, masochist tart. Morley the murderous masochist tart, kills in the night with a poisonous fart. Remind me to move beds.’
‘Then you’d get Tomlinson’s nightmares and you really might get strangled. One wonders if he worked out beforehand that he’d need a crossbow, or whether he already had one and thought to himself, why yes, the very thing! I think the second, because otherwise he’d probably just have thought of another way to do it, like cyanide in Willoughby’s tea or something; which is why we couldn’t find any off-cuts, only some bits of tubing from making the bolts.’
‘So what do we infer, pray, from this convoluted piece of logic?’
‘That it was a master, of course. Boys in school don’t own crossbows. Or at any rate they don’t bring them with them; they’d be confiscated.’
‘Which master then?’
‘I don’t know but I’ll bet they found it in the attic. The house is old enough after all. There’s probably all sorts of interesting stuff up there.’
‘Ought we to search for it?’
‘No, because they wouldn’t be so stupid as to put it back. I suspect they hid it after they’d used it, and I think I know where. How’s your torch battery?’
‘It’s a new one, and we ought to get back or we’ll be late.’
‘Blow! What is it this afternoon?’
‘Double maths.’
‘Double blow!’
◆◆◆
They were crammed into their tiny temporary office at the school, Felix studying the poison pen letters. ‘This one’s dated September the fifteenth,’ he said. “Your crimes have found you out, you bastard. There’s going to be a reckoning.” Bastard and reckoning misspelled and no punctuation. It hardly needs a graphologist to tell you it’s an adult pretending to be a boy. If the fruit of my loins couldn’t spell reckoning by the fifth or sixth form, I’d want my money back.’
An Education in Death (The Inspector Felix Mysteries Book 9) Page 6