The Stranger Diaries

by Elly Griffiths

  I was halfway downstairs when Mum appeared on the landing, Dad’s dressing gown over her nightdress.

  ‘Where are you going, Heena?’

  She must have seen that I’m wearing my reflective police jacket. I was hardly going out to a rave.

  ‘Work,’ I said. ‘There’s been a development on the case.’

  ‘Be careful,’ she said.

  ‘I always am.’ I was out of the door before she could suggest making me a flask of haldi doodh.

  Once I got out of Seaford, the roads were icy. I drove as quickly as I dared. It was nearly midnight. My car dial changed to the slightly sinister 00.00 as I turned into the gates of Talgarth High. A uniform was standing by the stone pedestal with a lion on it (Kush and his friends once painted its balls bright blue).

  ‘Get in the car,’ I said. He looked frozen. In fact, he might have been suffering from the same fate as the lion.

  ‘Thank you, ma’am.’ Nice to see some respect from the younger generation.

  I drove slowly up to the main entrance. The uniform told me that the call had come in at eleven thirty. ‘A woman, sounding hysterical.’ She said that a man had been killed at the school. Uniform had attended and contacted CID. He didn’t know much more. His Sarge had told him to wait at the gates until I arrived.

  The doors were open. I didn’t need the uniform to tell me that the body was upstairs. Of course it was. I told the PC to wait for Neil in the hall and took the stairs two at a time.

  I went straight for Holland’s study and wasn’t even that surprised to see Clare Cassidy at the foot of the spiral staircase, sitting on a chair obviously brought from a classroom. A woman police officer was hovering round her, and a Sergeant that I vaguely recognised was talking to another, very tall man that I didn’t.

  They all turned when I approached. The Sergeant, Derek Something, said, ‘DS Kaur. You were quick.’

  ‘I live nearby,’ I said. ‘Clare. Fancy meeting you here.’

  Clare looked up at me. She was very pale but her eyes were dark with mascara and smoky eye-liner, slightly streaked. Who had she been making up for? Was it Mr Tall?

  ‘Ms Cassidy phoned 999,’ said Sergeant Derek. ‘A deceased male was found in the room at the top of that staircase. He appears to have been stabbed.’

  ‘Have you secured the scene? Called CSI?’

  ‘Yes. They’re on their way.’

  ‘I’ll have a look.’

  I climbed the stairs with the odd footprints on the carpet. It was funny. I’d heard so much about this room but had never been up here before. The door was open and I saw a man sitting at a desk. For a moment I thought it was the dummy Clare had mentioned before, but then I saw that it was, in fact, Rick Lewis. A knife was protruding from his chest and rigor mortis had set in. I didn’t go further into the room as I didn’t want to contaminate the scene.

  When I got back downstairs, Neil had arrived. I heard him asking Clare if she wanted a drink of water. That’s right, Neil. Suck up to Clare as usual.

  I spoke to the Sergeant. ‘The dead man is Rick Lewis. He’s a teacher here. His details are on file at the station. Next of kin will need to be informed.’

  ‘I’ll get on to it,’ he said, ‘unless you need me here.’

  ‘No. That’s OK. I’ll wait for CSI. I just want to talk to the witness first. Are any of these rooms open?’

  ‘There’s a classroom three doors down,’ said the female officer. ‘It’s where I got these chairs.’

  ‘OK,’ I said. ‘Neil and I will have a word with Miss Cassidy. Can you . . .’

  ‘PC Jill Monroe.’

  ‘PC Monroe. Can you stay with . . . ?’ I looked at the tall man who said, ‘Henry Hamilton.’ His voice wasn’t what I expected. It was northern. Cumbria, I thought. He was wearing expensive shoes, oxblood leather.

  Neil and I ushered Clare into the empty classroom.

  ‘Is this going to take long?’ she said. ‘I need to get home for Herbert.’

  ‘What about your daughter?’

  ‘She’s with her father.’

  So you had a clear weekend to see your boyfriend, I thought.

  ‘We’ll be as quick as we can,’ I said, ‘but we’ll need to ask some questions back at the station.’

  She looked from me to Neil. ‘Can I have a glass of water?’

  I sighed. God knows where we’d find water or a glass in this place. The dining room was sure to be locked. But Neil went out and came back with a plastic bottle. I think it was PC Monroe’s. Clare looked at it with distaste and took a tiny sip.

  ‘So,’ I said. ‘You just happened to be in an empty school at midnight?’

  She flashed me an unfriendly look but answered in a calm, flat voice. ‘I wanted to show Henry R.M. Holland’s study.’

  ‘Of course you did.’

  ‘We’d been out for a meal in Chichester. We got talking about Holland.’

  Yeah right, I thought. Clare had not got all dressed up like this for a cosy booksy chat. She was wearing a red coat but underneath I could see a flimsy blouse and lots of jewellery. High heels, too. It did change my perception of her that she had broken into the school for a shag. Especially considering she had an empty house with a perfectly serviceable bed. Maybe she wasn’t such a cold fish after all.

  ‘How do you know Mr Hamilton?’ I was betting it would be online but she said that she’d met him at Cambridge. He’d come across some letters from R.M. Holland that he thought might interest her. Didn’t change the fact that she’d been planning to bonk him in an empty school though.

  ‘Did you see anyone at the school when you arrived?’ I asked. ‘The caretaker?’

  ‘No,’ she said. ‘I had the keys. I didn’t want to wake Dave.’

  ‘Well, we’d better wake him now,’ I said, making a mental note to tell the uniform downstairs. I was surprised that Dave hadn’t seen the flashing lights.

  ‘What did you do when you got here?’ I asked.

  ‘We came straight up here,’ she said. ‘Henry wanted to see the study. We went in and we saw . . .’ She took another sip of water, hands shaking.

  ‘Did you recognise Mr Lewis straight away?’

  ‘Yes.’ In a whisper.

  ‘Have you any idea who could have done this?’

  She looked at me, mascaraed eyes huge. ‘It was him. The person who’s writing in my diaries.’

  I didn’t ask any more questions as I wanted to do a proper interview back at the station. I sent Clare home with PC Monroe to walk and feed the poor dog. Neil and I talked to Henry Hamilton. He seemed rather embarrassed about the whole thing: about meeting Clare in the first place, about sneaking into the school at night, about finding a dead body. I took his address and asked where he was staying tonight.

  ‘At The Royal Albion in Brighton.’

  Another perfectly good bed going begging.

  ‘You can go back there now,’ I said. ‘But we’ll need to talk to you first thing in the morning.’

  ‘It’s morning now,’ he said.

  I looked at my watch. It was almost one.

  ‘Can you come into the station at nine?’ I said. ‘DS Winston will give you the address.’

  ‘Of course,’ he said. Henry stood up. He really was stupidly tall. He seemed to want to say something, looking from me to Neil and rocking slightly from oxblood foot to foot.

  ‘Clare . . .’ he said at last.

  ‘What about her?’ I stood up too. Not that it made much difference.

  ‘You seemed to . . . You can’t . . . You don’t suspect her of anything, do you?’

  ‘Ms Cassidy is an important witness,’ I said, ‘as are you.’

  ‘Do you suspect her?’ asked Neil. A very good question.

  He laughed unconvincingly. ‘God, no. I don’t know her well but she’s so . . .’


  Isn’t she just, I thought.

  ‘You can go back to your hotel now,’ I said. ‘Try to get some rest. We’ll see you in a few hours.’

  The uniform, who was called PC Lee Parsons, fetched the caretaker. Dave Bannerman was a dishevelled looking man of about fifty who had obviously been in a deep (possibly alcohol-induced) sleep. I asked Dave if he’d seen or heard anything at the school tonight.

  ‘No,’ he said. ‘I did my last round at nine. Everything seemed in order.’

  I knew that the caretaker lived in a cottage in the grounds. In my day, there were rumours that Pervy Pete used to lure girls there with sweets. We thought that sort of thing was funny back then.

  ‘What did you do after nine?’

  ‘Watched TV. Had a beer.’

  Or three, I thought.

  ‘What did you watch?’ asked Neil.

  ‘Something on Netflix. I can’t remember.’

  That’s the trouble with TV now. You used to be able to place someone’s movements based on whether they’d seen the end of Match of the Day or not. Netflix and box sets have ruined everything.

  ‘Did you know that Clare Cassidy had the keys?’ I asked.

  He nodded. ‘Yes, she locked up after the rehearsal on Friday.’

  ‘Shouldn’t she have returned the keys to you?’

  He shrugged. ‘Strictly speaking, yes, but people often wait until Monday.’

  Safeguarding here was definitely slack. I would have a word with Tony Sweetman about that.

  ‘When did you last see Rick Lewis, head of English?’ asked Neil.

  Dave blinked at us. ‘Why? Is he . . . ?’

  ‘Just answer the question, please.’

  ‘I suppose it was on Friday. I think I saw him leaving at the end of the day. Yes, that’s right, he was one of the last. There was only Ms Cassidy and Ms Palmer left after him. They were taking the rehearsal. They’re doing Little Shop of Horrors this year.’

  ‘What about Mr Sweetman?’ Surely the head teacher should leave last, like captains and sinking ships?

  A slight sneer. ‘He left early. Apparently he was going away for the weekend.’

  ‘Thank you, Mr Bannerman,’ I said. ‘We’ll need a proper statement tomorrow but that’s all for now.’

  PC Parsons ushered the caretaker out. Neil and I sat in the empty classroom and looked at each other.

  ‘What do you think?’ said Neil. ‘Is it the same person? Was there another note?’

  ‘I couldn’t see,’ I said. ‘CSI will find it if there is. But I think it’s the same person. Another stabbing. And the diary writer said that there might be more.’

  ‘You think it’s the person who wrote in Clare’s diary?’

  ‘Unless it was Clare herself.’

  ‘The writing is different. That’s what the handwriting expert said.’

  ‘She couldn’t be certain,’ I said. ‘They’re never certain. It wouldn’t stand up in court.’

  ‘You think Clare stabbed Rick and then came back here with her fancy man?’

  ‘Fancy man,’ I said. ‘What century are you living in?’

  ‘He was fancy,’ said Neil. ‘I didn’t trust him.’

  ‘She could have orchestrated the whole thing,’ I said. ‘Made us think she was just coming back here for a shag to divert attention.’

  ‘But why?’ said Neil. ‘Why not just let the caretaker — poor sod — discover the body on Monday morning?’

  ‘If he ever comes up here,’ I said. ‘I bet Rick could have stayed in that chair for a long time.’

  Neil gave a theatrical shudder. ‘But why would Clare kill Rick?’

  ‘We know that he had a thing about her, that he stalked her. Maybe she wanted to teach him a lesson.’

  ‘Why would she want to do that?’

  ‘Well, she is a teacher,’ I said. ‘Come on, let’s get back to the station and interview her.’

  We walked down the main staircase just as the CSI team, monstrous and bloated in their white coveralls, were climbing upwards.

  Chapter 25

  Neil and I interviewed Clare Cassidy with Donna watching behind the two-way mirror. Clare had changed into jeans and a thick navy-blue jumper. She’d wiped the war-paint off but I wondered if she’d put a little grey shadow on her eyelids, just to give her that wan, vulnerable look. But perhaps I was being unfair.

  We interviewed her under caution. I’d asked if she wanted a solicitor present and she said no. She seemed quite calm, taking her seat and moving her chair a centimetre or two away from us, just to establish some control over the space. We had offered a hot drink but she’d brought a water bottle with her, the reusable, ecologically sound kind. She held it tightly in one hand.

  I introduced myself and Neil for the tape, then I asked Clare to go through her movements last night. She described getting ready for the date, taking the dog out, meeting Henry Hamilton at the restaurant. She remembered what they had both eaten and that he’d paid the bill.

  ‘Whose idea was it to go to Talgarth?’ I asked.

  ‘His,’ said Clare. ‘We were talking about R.M. Holland’s study and he said that he’d love to see it. I thought he was joking at first.’

  ‘But you did go to see it,’ I said. ‘You let yourself into the school in the middle of the night, probably breaking all the health and safety guidelines. Why?’

  She shrugged slightly. ‘I don’t know. Perhaps I thought it would be romantic. An adventure.’

  ‘Romantic?’ I said. ‘What do you mean?’

  She fixed me with her big-eyed stare. ‘Sometimes breaking rules is exciting.’

  ‘Were you planning to have sex with Henry?’ If she said yes, it would look damning in court. Juries hate women to have a sex life.

  ‘I wasn’t planning anything,’ she said. ‘I just thought it might be fun.’

  ‘Fun?’

  ‘Well,’ she said, ‘I clearly got that one wrong.’

  I looked at Neil and he obediently changed tack. ‘When did you last see Rick Lewis?’

  ‘At school on Friday. I went to hand Georgie over to her dad. We’re being extra careful, as you told us. When I was going back upstairs, Rick was coming down. He asked if I had a rehearsal that night. I said yes. He said that he was going home and I wished him a good weekend.’

  Except he hadn’t gone straight home, I thought. Dave Bannerman had said that he was one of the last to leave.

  ‘How did he seem? In himself?’

  ‘OK. The same as ever. Of course everyone is still upset about Ella’s death.’

  She stopped, perhaps remembering that they would soon have another death to be upset about. The ever-decreasing English department.

  ‘When you found Rick’s body,’ I said, ‘what did you do?’

  ‘I screamed, I think. Henry was behind me. He didn’t realise what had happened at first. I’d told him about the dummy. I think he thought that’s what it . . . he . . . was.’

  ‘Did you go into the room? Touch anything? This is important for our forensic work.’

  ‘I think I went in. Yes, I touched Rick’s hand. He was cold. That’s how I knew he was dead.’

  ‘What about Henry?’

  ‘I think he came in. I don’t remember.’

  ‘What did you do next?’

  ‘I had my phone in my hand. I was using the torch app. I phoned 999. I didn’t have your card so I couldn’t call you directly.’

  ‘That’s OK,’ I said. ‘What did you do while you were waiting for the police to come?’

  ‘Henry said we should go to the main doors to wait for them. We’d left the gates open. I was only too glad to get away from that room.’

  ‘How long did the police take to respond?’

  ‘They were there almost as soon as we got downstairs. W
e went back up to show them. I felt faint and the woman police officer got me a chair. Then you arrived.’

  The interview room has no windows but I looked away, as if I was admiring the view. ‘Did you kill Rick Lewis?’ I asked.

  ‘No!’ It was almost a shout but it was also a teacher’s voice, shocked that I would dare to ask such a question.

  ‘Was he still bothering you?’ asked Neil, sounding sympathetic. ‘Hanging round outside your house? Pestering you?’

  ‘No. That was all over ages ago. Before the summer.’

  ‘In your diary you said that you were jealous of Ella and Rick,’ I said. ‘Did you still feel like that?’

  ‘I never really felt like that,’ she said. ‘I’d forgotten I’d written that. It was just momentary. That’s what a diary is, a snapshot of how you’re feeling at that moment. It didn’t last. Rick was a colleague. Nothing else.’

  ‘Did you like him?’

  She hesitated. ‘Yes. He was a good boss and a good teacher. He cared about the kids.’ Her voice quivered for the first time.

  ‘Have you any idea who could have killed him?’ asked Neil.

  ‘I told you, it’s the person who wrote in my diary. He said, I have already disposed of one of these creatures. I will fall on the others like a ravening beast.’

  ‘You remember it word for word,’ I said.

  ‘I’m good at remembering quotes. Besides, it’s not the sort of thing you would forget.’

  ‘So who do you think wrote that?’

  ‘I’ve no idea,’ she said, rather wearily.

  ‘Interview suspended,’ I said, into the microphone.

  ‘Is there something suspicious about them being in the school last night?’ said Donna. ‘Could she have killed Rick?’

  We were having a hasty debrief with Donna while Clare took a comfort break.

  ‘We’ve got Hamilton as a witness that they just found him dead in the chair,’ I said. ‘Of course, she could have killed him earlier. It depends what the post-mortem says about time of death.’