Particular Stupidities (The Romney And Marsh Files Book 5)

by Oliver Tidy

  A quarter-size football rolled into their path, the result of a wayward pass from a group of older boys the far side of the playground. Grimes, like many men of his type, found himself unable to resist the inviting and evocatively decorated sphere, as well as the opportunity of taking centre stage for a moment and showing the youngsters that some has-beens still had it. He adjusted his step with a dainty shuffle for a big man and put his foot through the centre of the ball in an impressively text book head-over-the-ball drive. He’d clearly found the sweet spot. The ball was launched on a low trajectory with noticeable speed for the ten feet it took to slam into the face of six-year-old girl wearing spectacles who had strayed into the line of friendly fire. The blood and the screaming were instantaneous.

  ***

  24

  Although they had shared something of a ‘moment’ the day of Operation Scrap – something that had the potential, especially given the following success of the operation, to go some way to thawing the prevailing permafrosty relationship that existed between them – it was clear from Superintendent Vine’s expression that she had withdrawn back into her aloof and formal carapace.

  Romney was invited to sit. Boudicca reached for her pencil and turned to a clean page in her notepad. Romney thought, ‘you can take the police officer out of street duties but you can’t take the street duties out of the police officer.’ When he saw the set of her jaw and the flinty glint in her eye he was glad he hadn’t said it. And it would have been a confusing mouthful. He mentally braced himself to be on his guard against himself as much as against anything she had to say to him.

  ‘You brought the recording with you?’

  Romney held it up, feeling a little peeved that he was expected to account for himself over the way things had turned out. Why did everything have to end up being turned over? He was reminded of something her predecessor had said, something about accountability ruining everything. Or was it accountants?

  ‘What happened?’

  Romney’s shrug, upward-facing palms and innocent expression said it was quite unforeseeable and out of his control. Shit happened. Then his mouth said, ‘The suspect was brought in for questioning in connection with our current murder investigation out at Aylesham.’

  Boudicca raised her eyebrows. ‘Who is it?’

  ‘A man by the name of Foyle. He was, technically still is, the head teacher at St Bartholomew’s.’

  Boudicca looked over her half-moon glasses at Romney to check that he wasn’t pulling her leg. ‘How much of a suspect?’

  ‘To our minds, he’s the prime suspect, ma’am,’ said Romney, thereby spreading a little accountability of his own. ‘We had a meeting about his place in developments this morning and agreed to invite him and his partner in for questioning.’

  ‘His partner? I can’t wait to hear where this is going. And what is her name?’

  ‘She’s a he. Ma’am.’

  Boudicca’s pencil stopped in mid-scribble. ‘The head teacher of a Catholic primary school in Aylesham, an ex-mining community, is a homosexual,’ said Boudicca.

  It didn’t sound like a question but Romney still felt obliged to comment. ‘Yes, ma’am.’

  Superintendent Vine assumed a bemused look. ‘So you invited him in for questioning. Where?’

  ‘At the station, ma’am.’

  ‘I mean where did you speak to him, Tom?’

  ‘At his house.’

  ‘Why didn’t you ask your questions there?’

  ‘We’ve already spoken to him once there. We felt it would be more… profitable to question him in less familiar surroundings.’

  ‘I see. So the recording. I’d better listen to it. You can stay in case I need clarification about anything.’

  Romney inserted the cassette into the machine Boudicca had already arranged on her desk. Before it was started, she said, ‘Was anything said, did anything happen, before the recording was started? Anything that it would be helpful for me to know?’

  Romney crumpled his brow in his pretence of trying to remember. ‘Oh, yes. I asked him for his partner’s name and whereabouts so that he might be invited along to assist the police with enquiries.’

  ‘And how did Mr Foyle react to that request?’

  ‘He understood the need for it, ma’am.’

  ‘You understand, Tom, that this is just a formality. As station chief I need to keep myself well informed of everything that happens here. We’ve had an incident that has involved a man helping us with our enquiries being rushed to hospital in an ambulance. Forewarned is forearmed.’

  ‘I don’t think you have anything to worry about over this, ma’am. Just one of those unfortunate incidents.’ Romney’s smile was a bit forced.

  ‘Let’s hear the tape then.’

  Romney pressed play.

  Romney: Does the name Lance Leavey mean anything to you, Mr Foyle? (Pause) Sorry. You’ll have to say it for the tape, Mr Foyle.’

  Foyle: ‘No. The name means nothing to me.’

  Romney: ‘He is the young man who we found wrapped in plastic and dumped in the chest freezer in a container that St Bartholomew’s enjoyed the use of. Had you ever been in that container?’

  Foyle: ‘No.’

  Romney: ‘But you knew of it?’

  Foyle: ‘Yes.’

  Romney: ‘To your knowledge, has your partner, Mr Close, ever been in that container?’

  Foyle: ‘What? No!’

  Romney: ‘Was Lance Leavey blackmailing you, Mr Foyle?’

  Foyle: ‘Blackmail? I told you I never met the man.’

  Romney: ‘Maybe he didn’t use his name. Has anyone been blackmailing you?’

  Foyle: ‘No one is blackmailing me. Where do you get this idea from, Inspector? Please, tell me. Where do you get it?’

  Romney: ‘Calm down, Mr Foyle. These are just questions.’

  Foyle: ‘Calm down? I think I am quite calm considering I’m being accused of murder.’

  Romney: ‘No one has accused you of murder, Mr Foyle. Yet.’

  Foyle: ‘See. You think it, don’t you? Why? Tell me one good reason why?’

  Romney: ‘When you were head teacher at St Bartholomew’s, did you ever work late?’

  Foyle: ‘I am still the head teacher of St Bartholomew’s. And yes, there were occasions when I felt the need to work late.’

  Romney: ‘Times when you were the only member of staff there?’

  Foyle: ‘Sometimes, yes.’

  Romney: ‘Did your partner, Mr Close, ever visit you when you were there alone?’

  Foyle: ‘He may have.’

  Romney: ‘Either he did or he didn’t, Mr Foyle.’

  Foyle: ‘Yes, he did.’

  Romney: ‘Did you and Mr Close ever have sexual relations in the school when you were there alone, Mr Foyle?’

  Up until this point Superintendent Vine had been sucking the end of her pencil thoughtfully, nodding tacit approval for Romney’s interviewing. She’d heard nothing untoward, nothing to worry her, nothing that would need defending. But when Romney asked whether Foyle and his partner had had sexual relations on school property her gaze snapped up and her teeth could be heard splintering the end of her HB2.

  Foyle: ‘I beg your pardon. What a disgusting thing to ask. How dare you. Is it because we’re gay? Are you a bigot, a homophobe, Inspector? Do you think that all gay people must be involved in depraved sexual practices? This feels like some kind of a witch-hunt. I cannot believe what I am hearing. Free to leave anytime I like, you said. Well I’ve had enough. If you need to speak to me again you can arrest me and you can expect to see me with my legal counsel. Good day to you.’

  (Sound of a chair being shoved roughly across the floor. Sound of laboured breathing. Sound of someone falling over.)

  Romney turned off the tape.

  Vine stared at Romney and Romney found it disconcerting.

  ‘Why did you ask him about having sexual relations with his partner in the school?’

  ‘We have a theory
for how Lance Leavey came to be in the container, ma’am. It involves Foyle engaged in sexual practices with his partner in the school the night that Lance Leavey first visited Aylesham.’

  ‘I don’t understand. What basis do you have for such a line of enquiry? Please explain.’

  Romney smiled a little sheepishly. ‘Nothing sound, I’ll admit, but then as you’ll no doubt appreciate, ma’am, there is often a fair amount of fishing involved when we’re trying to get to the truth of a matter.’

  Romney explained about the video they believed Lance had been preoccupied with and how ‘they’, meaning all of CID, thought it could have something to do with Foyle and his partner having sex in a classroom.

  Boudicca was shaking her head. ‘Why does this automatically have to be about sex?’ she said, reminding Romney of something Marsh had said earlier.

  ‘We have to start somewhere ma’am,’ he said a little pathetically.

  Boudicca huffed. ‘Well it seems clear that that’s what upset him. Anything else you want to say on the matter?’

  ‘No, ma’am.’

  ‘How sure are you that he’s our man?’

  ‘We’ll know more later, ma’am. I’ve sent Joy and Peter to the school to search for vital evidence that could prove important. If we’d had the phone this might all be tied up by now.’

  ‘It was never recovered?’

  Romney shook his head.

  ‘Have you enquired as to Mr Foyle’s condition?’

  ‘DC Spicer was looking into that as I was on my way up here, ma’am,’ lied Romney.

  ‘Keep me informed if you hear anything. You haven’t forgotten about tonight, have you?’

  Romney smiled warmly. ‘Oh no, ma’am. We’re... I’m looking forward to it. I think you’re right. It could prove useful to us.’

  ‘Good to hear you seeing things my way for a change, Tom.’ A tight little smile played at the corners of her mouth. ‘Good day to you.’

  As Romney made his way back to CID he decided he’d have a word with Marsh just to make sure she remembered things the way he did. He needed to tell Spicer to phone the hospital to check on Foyle. But what he needed more than anything was for Marsh and Grimes to turn something up at St Bartholomew’s.

  *

  The shock of it, the unwanted attention it earned him, the remorse and the upset combined to leave Grimes’ blood sugar levels low. At least that’s what he claimed as they stood at the counter waiting for their teas. Marsh noticed he was staring with undisguised longing at the home-made walnut cake with chocolate icing.

  ‘Honestly. I wasn’t lying to you in the school about my eating resolutions but I need something, Sarge. I’m feeling light-headed. Not good for me in my condition, you know, blood pressure and that, not if I’m driving.’

  They were being served by Patton’s wife. She looked just as unappealing as she had on the previous occasion Marsh had seen her and Marsh wondered again how the handsome, smartly dressed and well-groomed man ended up married to her. Then she rebuked herself for her shallow judgement. She instantly put it down to being around Romney. Perhaps the woman was wonderful company, although the sullen way she served them did little to lend credence to that notion.

  Without looking up, Mrs Patton said, ‘Anything else?’

  ‘I’ll just have a slice of that walnut cake,’ said Grimes. ‘Unless you want one, Sarge.’

  She sighed. ‘Go on then. I’ll only want some if I’m watching you eat it.’

  Grimes paid for everything and they took a table by a window. Grimes had suggested that they have their break before they attended to the reason they were there. He said his system couldn’t wait.

  As they supped and ate, Mr Patton appeared behind the counter. Recognising Marsh, he gave a little wave and came over.

  ‘I see you’re trying the cake. How is it?’

  ‘Really good,’ said Grimes. ‘Moist and tasty.’

  ‘Would you like another slice? On the house,’ said Patton.

  Marsh could tell from his hesitation that had she not been there Grimes would have said yes without a thought. So much for his resolutions. ‘Thanks, but we’re fine. It is good though.’

  ‘You’re still investigating the dead body, I suppose?’ said Patton.

  ‘Yes,’ said Marsh.

  ‘No idea who might be responsible for it? Sorry, I know you can’t say. Forget I asked.’

  ‘Our enquiries are ongoing and we have some decent leads that we’re following up,’ said Marsh because she liked the man and he’d been nice to her on previous visits. ‘Will you be at the meeting tonight?’

  ‘Yes. I’m on the committee. We’re looking forward to welcoming the police. We all think it’s a marvellous idea. Was it Inspector Romney’s?’

  Grimes spluttered on his tea.

  ‘DI Romney is very keen on furthering relations between the community and the police,’ Marsh said with a straight face. ‘He’s often coming up with initiatives like this one. You should ask him about his interest in community policing tonight. He’d appreciate that.’

  ‘I will. Will you be coming?’

  ‘Sadly not. A prior engagement.’

  ‘Oh well. I’ll leave you to your refreshment. Are you sure I can’t get you another slice?’

  ‘Go on then,’ said Grimes. ‘Just a thin one. It really is very good.’

  As Patten moved away Marsh tried to give Grimes her disappointed look. He avoided it by refusing to meet her eye, focussing on his plate and stabbing at crumbs with his fat finger before licking then off. Without looking up, he said, ‘If you say anything, I’ll tell the boss what you said to Mr Smooth.’

  That made Marsh laugh out loud.

  *

  ‘How many flat tyres did you get?’

  ‘None, guv,’ said Grimes. ‘We didn’t park so we’d stick out like a sore thumb. I tucked the motor up a side street. Out the way.’

  ‘Bully for you. Did you find anything?’

  ‘DPM was where you said it might be and Joy grabbed a roll of adhesive tape. She’s dropping it all off at forensics now.’

  ‘Good. Did you have a look around where I told you to?’

  ‘Yep. All sorted.’

  ‘Right. Let’s hope that forensics give us some good news.’

  ‘You really fancy the head for it, guv?’

  ‘Yes, I do. The more I think about it the more I think he could have been exaggerating that fit he had.’

  ‘What about smashing his face on the floor. I heard he lost teeth. That takes guts to fake.’

  ‘Maybe that was just an unexpected by-product, or a measure of how desperate he was to escape. Serves him right. Tell Joy to come and find me when she shows up, will you?’

  Romney headed off to his office and shut the door.

  Spicer came over. ‘I heard that,’ he said.

  ‘And?’

  ‘He got me to ring the hospital, see how the guy is.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘He had a heart attack. Now they do take some faking.’

  *

  In the late afternoon Romney received a call from forensics. He came out of his office smiling broadly. As his team were all within a five-foot radius of each other he shared the news. ‘According to preliminary assessment, the Blunt instrument over at forensics says that the DPM sample you brought back‘s a match. He’s fairly confident that the adhesive tape will turn out that way too, but he needs a bit more time for that. I told you. Didn’t I tell you? Foyle is guilty. I’ll give the boyfriend the rest of today and then tomorrow we’ll have him in. Under arrest if necessary.’

  Marsh said, ‘Martin’s phone service provider has forwarded me copies of his statements.’

  ‘More ammunition?’

  Marsh shook her head. ‘No calls or texts made to the number Mr Foyle gave us.’

  Romney frowned. ‘Requisition Foyle’s home phone records and his boyfriend’s. There must be something somewhere. We all set for tonight?’ They nodded. ‘Good. Let’s not
have any Fower-ups.’

  ‘Did you say “Fower-ups”?’

  ‘No. I said foul-ups.’ He turned and went back to his office.

  ***

  25

  Not living near each other, Romney and Superintendent Vine did not share a car to Aylesham. Even if they had been next door neighbours, car sharing would have been extremely unlikely.

  Romney found a spot on the opposite side of the car park to the hall. He was early, as was his habit. His parking space would soon be in heavy shadow and then darkness the way the time was going. He’d have preferred something closer to the main building, closer to the meagre lights, but those few spots were already all taken. Romney understood that it was a security issue for the drivers.

  After a cigarette, he wandered into the building and made his way down the long corridor. He stopped to read some of the names carved into boards that commemorated miners who had died in work-related accidents. There was a surprising number. There were old photographs too. Black and white and grainy. Most were posed and of men engaged in coal mining, blackened like the BBC television black and white minstrels of the seventies. Romney shook his head at the life they must have had.

  He was passing the entrance to the cafe when he noticed there were people inside and lights on. He stopped and tried the door. It was unlocked. He went in. Patton was talking to his wife behind the counter. Romney caught the edge to his voice before they noticed him. Patton looked startled, almost afraid, before he relaxed and said, ‘Hello, Inspector. Didn’t hear you come in. You frightened the life out of me.’

  ‘Sorry. I’m here for the meeting. Didn’t expect to find you open.’

  ‘We provide the refreshments.’

  ‘Any chance of a quick brew now? I’m parched.’