The Crossing

by Christina James

  “Oh?” he said.

  “Your daughter Kayleigh was worried about a pyjama case and insisted that your brother Ivan retrieved it from the house – against specific police instructions not to go in, I might add. We wanted to bag it because it was contaminated, but your daughter wouldn’t give it up until her attention was distracted by someone else. Subsequently, one of my officers opened it up and found that it contained a very large sum of money. Can you tell me how it got there, or perhaps I should say, where it came from?”

  Bob Grummett’s mental agility barely exceeded his daughter’s. His eyes flickered as he struggled to make up a plausible excuse. Finally he shrugged.

  “That’s Kayleigh for you. Always been a bit of a hoarder. I suppose she just saved it up out of her wages. We’ve no time for banks in our family.”

  “I see,” said Tim. “Thank you. Both your daughters are all right, by the way. They’re staying with your neighbour.”

  Again Bob Grummett looked blank. Eventually he tried an uncertain smile.

  “That was good of Peter,” he said.

  Chapter Ten

  TIM WAS LATE getting into work the following morning: an unheard-of circumstance before Sophia was born, but now he quite often forgot the time when he was playing with her. As he dashed up the stairs to his office, he felt philosophical about this minor delinquency – after all, he’d been at work in Boston until almost midnight the night before – but he’d barely reached his desk when Andy Carstairs came across to tell him quietly that Superintendent Thornton was looking for him. Andy’s demeanour indicated that the Superintendent was not in a good mood.

  “There’s someone with him,” he said to Tim. “I think he wanted to introduce you to her.”

  Tim sighed. He made his way to the Superintendent’s office without benefit of the cup of coffee he’d promised himself and tried to peer discreetly through the small, square glass window in the door. He could see the back of a woman with long yellow hair seated opposite Thornton at his desk.

  “Ah, Yates, come in!” Thornton made an exaggeratedly sweeping gesture with his right arm. “We were wondering where you’d got to.”

  Feeling at a distinct disadvantage, Tim opened the door and walked as smartly as possible into the office. He debated whether to offer an excuse and decided against it. It would be outrageous if Thornton had been discussing his timekeeping with this woman.

  She turned to look at him. She had turquoise-blue eyes set in a rosy round face and her buttercup-coloured hair was crimped in light waves. She was dressed in turquoise, too. She looks like a mermaid, Tim thought.

  “Sit down, Yates. Ms Trotter has to go in a minute: she hasn’t got all day. I understand you haven’t met?”

  “It would be surprising if we had,” she said. She had a lilting voice. Welsh? Wondered Tim. “I’ve only been in post for a couple of weeks.”

  “Ms Trotter works for the Crown Prosecution Service, Yates,” said Thornton. He smirked at her. “As I said, DI Yates was at the scene last night. We’ve not had a chance to catch up yet.” The last sentence was delivered in a darker tone of voice, with a thunderous look at Tim.

  Tim stretched out his hand.

  “Melanie Trotter,” she said.

  “I’m pleased to meet you. I think I can guess why you’re here.”

  “No need to guess, Yates, we can tell you. Ms Trotter has come to find out if there’s a case for prosecuting someone for the Dowdyke disaster. What’s your preliminary assessment of the matter?”

  “I think we should wait for the coroner’s report, sir. There are some things that have yet to be investigated.”

  “Such as?”

  “Such as whether the warning system was faulty. If it was, the railway company might be liable. But we also need to know that Ruby Grummett followed all the correct safety procedures.”

  “Ruby Grummett being the crossing-keeper?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “You’ve seen her? What does she say?”

  “She was pretty shocked last night. I’m returning to interview her later this morning.”

  “Good, good. So your initial view is that there is probably not a case to prosecute?”

  “I wouldn’t say that, sir. As I mentioned, I think we should wait for the coroner’s report.” Tim considered mentioning the pyjama case of money and the side investigation that he’d asked Andy Carstairs to carry out, but decided not to. He’d tell Thornton about it, of course, but not while Melanie Trotter was there. He knew the CPS of old. They were terriers, often pursuing cases that the police themselves believed to be too flimsy, then getting the force a bad name when the judge threw them out. The turquoise mermaid didn’t look like a terrier, however.

  “I think that’s a perfectly sensible suggestion,” she said, turning on him the full force of her smile. “Just keep me in the loop, if you would.”

  “Certainly,” said Tim.

  She stood up, smoothing down her pencil skirt as she did so, and leant across the desk to shake hands with Thornton.

  “Thank you, Superintendent, it’s been a pleasure to meet you. And you as well, DI Yates,” she added, as Tim opened the door for her.

  “Not your run-of-the-mill CPS person,” said the Superintendent when it had barely closed on her. He appeared to have found something intensely satisfying about the encounter. He stared into space for a couple of seconds.

  “Will that be all, sir?”

  “Eh? No, Yates, that isn’t all. You’ll keep her in the loop, as she asks, of course, but I wanted to see you about something else as well. I’m being pestered to look at cold cases again. Do you have anyone to spare who can do some preliminary work on this. What’s Armstrong up to at the moment? I suppose she’s helping you with the Grummett woman.”

  “No, actually, it was Juliet’s – DC Armstrong’s – night off last night, sir, so I asked PC Tandy to help me interview Mrs Grummett. I’ve asked her to meet me at the Pilgrim Hospital again today.”

  “Oh. Shaping up, is she? I must confess I didn’t think too much of her when Boston cajoled me into accepting her transfer.” He lowered his voice. “I don’t like fat girls.”

  It was on the tip of Tim’s tongue to say he didn’t like fat girls either, but that Verity Tandy had slimmed down a bit over the past few months. He stopped himself just in time, realising with shame how Katrin, or Juliet, for that matter, would react if they knew.

  “She was very helpful in the de Vries case, sir. I think she has the makings of an excellent officer.”

  “Yes. Good. Well, in that case ask Armstrong to look at some of these, do a bit of preliminary work on them – not too much – and preferably find some good reasons why we can’t open them again. Or just get her to take a token look at one of them. Then I – or she – can write a report and we’ll be off the hook for another year or two.” He handed Tim a thick folder with a dusty buff cardboard cover. Outsize papers and photographs were poking out untidily from it.

  “Don’t you like cold cases, sir?”

  “It’s not a question of liking or disliking them. The fact is, they’re harder to solve. Diminishing returns, Yates. They don’t do anything for our statistics.”

  Tim tried not to grin. He was convinced that if a section could be cut into the Superintendent’s brain a set of Excel spreadsheets would be revealed, filed neatly inside it, all the formulae correctly calculated.

  “And, Yates, don’t tell that Trotter woman anything without running it past me first.”

  Evidently Melanie Trotter’s spell had dissolved within a very short time after her departure.

  Chapter Eleven

  IT WAS ALMOST ten-thirty. Tim had taken Juliet the folder and given her Thornton’s instructions and was heading to his car when his mobile rang.

  “DI Yates?”

  “Yes.” He said. “PC Tandy? Are you on yo
ur way to the hospital?”

  “There’s been a complication, sir.”

  “Oh? What sort of complication?”

  “I was on an early shift with PC Chakrabati this morning, sir – I started at 6 a.m. I told Sarge you’d be needing me at Boston and he said to work the first four hours and then he’d send someone else out to Giash. Just ordinary patrol work. But we were called to the girls’ school about half an hour ago. Someone hanging round, apparently. Several of the girls saw him. It was reported by a mother dropping her daughter off. Sarge says there isn’t another WPC to help Giash to interview the girls at the moment, and he can’t very well do it on his own. Them being girls,” she concluded, rather unnecessarily. There was a tremor in her voice. Surely she can’t be scared of me? Tim thought.

  He sighed, but his reply was friendly enough.

  “Well, it can’t be helped. Stay where you are. Let me know how you get on. We’d barely started on the interview with Mrs Grummett, anyway. I’ll ask DC Armstrong to come with me. Mrs Grummett being a woman,” he couldn’t resist adding. Actually, he was pleased. Verity Tandy had held her own the previous evening, but Juliet was always his preferred partner in tricky situations.

  “Thank you, sir.” She sounded as if she’d been forgiven for some misdemeanour. Perhaps she is scared of me, thought Tim. I can’t imagine why.

  “Keep me posted,” he said again. “Good luck!”

  Chapter Twelve

  THE STIFF SCHOOL secretary escorted Verity and Giash to the headteacher’s office and asked them to wait. She offered tea in such an abrupt way they felt obliged to decline.

  Richard Lennard entered the room a good quarter of an hour later. He pointed his nose at the ceiling and walked in rather an affected way, without looking at the ground. Verity put him down as vain immediately. She didn’t like vain men.

  “PC Tandy?” he said, stretching out his hand. “Thank you for helping with this business. I’m sure it’s all a fuss about nothing, but obviously we can’t be too careful.” He ignored Giash.

  Verity blinked, half flustered and half annoyed. She regretted that she hadn’t stood up when he’d entered the room. Having him towering over her made her feel at a disadvantage; and she resented the slight to her partner.

  “Good morning, Mr Lennard. This is PC Chakrabati. I’m sorry, I don’t understand. Surely there can be few things more serious than having a prowler lurking near a girls’ school?”

  Richard Lennard directed a perfunctory nod at Giash and let out a forced bark of a laugh.

  “I’d agree with you, if there is such a person. The parent who reported seeing him, Mrs Painter, is quite a fanciful lady, as is her daughter. And, as you know, when girls get together they’re likely to become somewhat hysterical. To be quite frank, I think that between them they’ve imagined the whole thing. Quite unintentionally, of course.”

  “I see,” said Verity. “We’d like to interview Mrs Painter and the girls anyway. We’ll make up our own minds about how much truth there is in what they say.”

  “I’m afraid Mrs Painter couldn’t stay. She has a job somewhere or other. Of course you may meet the students. Do you want to see them individually or as a group?”

  “As a group is fine. And we’d like Mrs Painter’s contact details.”

  “I’ll ask my PA to write them down for you. I’ll also ask her to fetch the girls.”

  Richard Lennard moved over to his desk and pushed the button on his intercom.

  “Kathleen? Bring in the three students now, if you would.”

  Verity stood up.

  “Just one thing, Mr Lennard. We’d like to see them on their own, if you don’t mind.”

  A frown of annoyance crossed the headteacher’s face, but he was a smooth enough operator to banish it in a second. He continued the conversation without missing a beat.

  “Really?” he said. “I’m not sure that’s advisable. It’s my duty to look after their welfare, in the absence of their parents. I’m not suggesting you would do anything improper, but they might get upset. Someone from the school should be here to terminate the interview if we feel it appropriate.”

  “You’re absolutely correct,” Verity said, as if conceding a point. “And, to follow the rules strictly, that person should be a woman. One of the female staff, perhaps?”

  “They’re all teaching at the moment. I really think . . .”

  “Your secretary, then? Perhaps you could spare her for a few minutes?” Secretly Verity thought if there was one person before whom the girls were unlikely to give way to tears, it would be that sharp-faced woman.

  “We can ask her.”

  There was a businesslike rap at the door. The secretary entered, the three girls following in single file in her wake. Verity watched them keenly. The first was tall and willowy, with long dark hair, very long legs and a shorter skirt than Verity would have thought school rules permitted. The second was dumpy, with frizzy hair and full red cheeks. She, too, wore a short skirt, though it did nothing to complement her saddle-bag thighs and unsculpted legs. Verity felt a wave of sympathy. Turn back the clock a dozen years and she wouldn’t have looked unlike this girl. The third girl was also slender, taller even than the first, but more conservatively dressed. Although she didn’t lack grace, she gave the impression of being very robust: there was a strength and solidity about her. Her hair was so fair it gleamed silver in the artificial light. Verity recognised her immediately.

  “Philippa!” she said. “I thought you’d be taking the day off school today. And I thought you went to Boston High.”

  The girl shot her a look of blank amazement. She turned to the headteacher as if asking him to explain. He seemed embarrassed.

  “You’re speaking to Cassandra Knipes,” he said. “She’s our head girl. Perhaps you’ve confused her with someone else?” There was a strained edge to his voice that Verity noted, even as she burned with embarrassment herself.

  “I’m sorry,” she said, addressing Cassandra. “You remind me exactly of a young woman whom I met yesterday evening. You both have very distinctive hair. In fact, you could be her twin. But, as Mr Lennard says, I must be mistaken.”

  The interview had got off to a poor start. Giash threw her a sympathetic look: he’d decided to remain in the background after Richard Lennard’s snub. Verity could see the wisdom of this, though she’d have welcomed some help to dig herself out of the hole.

  “Would you mind staying with us?” Verity said to the secretary. “In the role of responsible adult.” The short, fat girl stifled a giggle. Like Cassandra Knipes, the secretary turned automatically to Richard Lennard for advice.

  “I’ve said it’s OK by me if you have time, Mrs Hargreaves,” he said smoothly, his urbanity swiftly reasserting itself. Mrs Hargreaves clucked her tongue disapprovingly.

  “If you say so, Mr Lennard.”

  “Thank you. I’ll fetch more chairs,” he said, darting with a sudden burst of energy to a pile of wood and steel chairs stacked behind the door. He returned with four and fanned them out in a semi-circle next to the chair Verity occupied. Giash remained standing against the wall.

  “I’ll stand,” said Mrs Hargreaves.

  Lennard gestured to the three girls to be seated and took the last chair himself. Still humbled by her faux pas, Verity didn’t pluck up the courage to remind him that he’d agreed to leave them to it. The interview consequently began in very stilted fashion, constrained both by Kathleen Hargreaves’ cold stare and Richard Lennard’s slippery smile.

  “I’m PC Tandy,” Verity said. “Let’s start with your names. I know Cassandra’s now.” She smiled at Cassandra, who looked down at her feet.

  “I’m Leonora Painter,” piped the short, fat girl.

  “Isobel Baxter.”

  “Now tell me about this morning. Were you walking to school together?”

  “No,”
said Isobel. “Cassie and I were walking together – I usually call for her on my way. Leo’s mother brought her in the car. When we came round the corner, there was a man hovering near the school gate. Leo’s mother had parked on the other side of the road. She flashed her headlights at us so we went over to speak to her. She told us to get in the car with Leo. She said the man was behaving strangely and we shouldn’t try to get past him.”

  “How was he behaving strangely?”

  “He was walking up and down by the entrance to the drive, muttering to himself,” said Leonora. “And he was wearing a long, dirty mac.”

  “A dirty old man in a mac,” said Isobel. “That’s what Mrs Painter thought.”

  “Did he do anything else?”

  “You mean . . . expose himself, or something?” said Cassandra tentatively. Mrs Hargreaves’s face darkened with disapproval. It said plainly that Cassandra should know nothing of such things.

  “Yes, that, or anything else at all that any of you found worrying,” Verity continued.

  “Not really,” said Isobel.

  “No,” said Cassandra.

  “Mum and I just got a feeling about him,” said Leonora defensively.

  “Did he speak to any of you?”

  All three girls shook their heads.

  “Had you ever seen him before?”

  “No,” said Leonora and Isobel, almost in unison.

  “Cassandra?”

  “I’m not sure. There was something familiar about him – but from the past, if you know what I mean. From a long time ago. Almost as if I dreamt it.”

  Verity nodded.

  “Well,” said Richard Lennard briskly, “PC Tandy isn’t here to listen to your dreams.” He turned to Verity. “The bell’s just rung for the next lesson. If they hurry, they’ll get to it in time. I don’t think there’s anything else you need to ask them, do you?”

  “Not now,” said Verity. “But we always take reports of this nature seriously. Mrs Painter was right to bring it to your attention.” She smiled at the girls. “I’m going to give you each one of my cards. My mobile number is printed on them. I want you to call me if you see this man hanging around again. Is that OK?”