Report for Murder

by Val McDermid

“My God, you really can be a bully, can’t you,” said Cordelia crossly to the empty air.

  18

  They parked the car outside Longnor House and marched straight up the stairs to Sarah’s room. On the door a “Do Not Disturb” notice was hanging. Cordelia said curtly, “These notices are supposed to be sacrosanct, but for once we’ll break the rules. After all, she should be expecting us.” She rapped on the door. There was no reply. She looked questioningly at Lindsay, who nodded encouragement. Cordelia turned the handle, opened the door, and stepped inside.

  What she saw made her gasp and turn away, her hand to her mouth. Lindsay caught hold of her and held her tightly. She looked over Cordelia’s shoulder and took in a vision of absolute horror. She said harshly. “We mustn’t touch anything.” Lindsay gently released Cordelia and steered her on to the landing before forcing herself across the threshold. She quickly glanced around, feeling her chest tighten, then spoke commandingly to Cordelia. “Go down to Paddy’s room. Get Pamela Overton here and call the police.” Cordelia stood numbly, seeming not to have heard. “Do it now,” Lindsay cried. Cordelia shook herself and stumbled down the corridor.

  Left alone, Lindsay somehow steeled herself to look at the appalling scene inside the room. She desperately wanted to see if there was anything obvious to explain the significance of what had happened there.

  Sarah Cartwright—or what remained of her—sprawled half on the floor and half on the bed. Her left arm was slashed almost to the bone at wrist and elbow; her right arm had a matching cut, though far less deep, at the wrist. A sheath knife lay on the floor. She had obviously cut herself leaning over the washbasin, for it was filled with a grisly mixture of blood and water. As consciousness had slipped away, she had fallen back and her blood had splashed the walls and soaked the carpet and bed. Lindsay badly wanted to be sick, but from somewhere came the strength to carry on her examination. She moved across to the desk, careful to avoid the blood.

  On the top of the desk was a single sheet of foolscap paper, covered in neat handwriting. It was what she had half-expected to find. Across the top was written in block capitals, “To anyone who has an interest in the death of Lorna Smith-Couper.”

  The message continued,

  I want to say first of all that I am sorry for all the trouble that I have caused, especially to my father, Miss Callaghan, and the school. At the time, I thought I was doing the best possible thing and I did not think anything could be proved. I did not mean to incriminate Miss Callaghan.

  I killed Lorna Smith-Couper. I fetched scaffolding from the squash courts and used it to climb from the kitchen roof to the music room. I climbed in the window and strangled her while she was playing. I knew she would be there because Miss Callaghan told me that morning when we were there together. I did it for my father. I wanted him to get the school playing fields to save his business, especially now I know what people at the school really think of me.

  I thought Miss Callaghan would get off and I’d get away with it. But Lindsay Gordon and Cordelia Brown are coming to see me and I know they were messing about with scaffolding this morning. They must know I lied to Miss Callaghan, and it’s all bound to come out now because I’m the only person who could have climbed up the scaffolding like that. And I couldn’t face prison. I’m sorry for the pain I’ve caused my father. I did it because I love you, Daddy. Sarah Cartwright.

  The tragic waste outlined on the paper angered Lindsay. She turned to look coldly at the body of the young woman. She had not liked Sarah Cartwright, had been irritated by her condescension, but no one deserved to die like this. There was no dignity in this death, only fear and degradation. Lindsay could stomach no more of it. She walked out of the room, feeling appallingly guilty for having been so slow to the truth.

  When she emerged into the corridor, she saw Pamela Overton coming up the stairs toward her. The headmistress looked shaken and walked tentatively like an elderly woman as she approached Lindsay, who took a deep breath, feeling suddenly exhausted. “I’m sorry,” she sighed. “I was too slow. Sarah has killed herself.”

  “Cordelia told me,” Miss Overton said bleakly. “It’s to do with Lorna’s death?”

  Lindsay nodded wearily. “I’m afraid so.”

  “But surely not Sarah? Not one of my girls?” It was an extraordinary plea, thought Lindsay.

  “She has left a confession,” Lindsay replied. “I can’t imagine a worse way to clear Paddy’s name.”

  The headmistress said nothing. She looked coldly at Lindsay and walked a few steps down the corridor so she could stare out of a window. Lindsay leaned against the wall and closed her eyes. She could not have said how long it was before she heard heavy feet on the stairs and a murmur of voices as Inspector Dart arrived with a group of policemen, some in uniform and some in plain clothes.

  “Miss Overton,” he said gently, “I’m very sorry about this. I wonder if you’d be good enough to wait downstairs while we do what’s necessary? And Miss Gordon—I’ll want to talk to you and Miss Brown when I’m through. Will you wait downstairs with her?”

  “Shouldn’t someone inform Mr. Cartwright?” asked Miss Overton.

  “That is being taken care of,” Dart replied. “Now, ladies, if you’ll just go downstairs.”

  The two women made their way in silence to Paddy’s room. When they entered, Cordelia looked up from an armchair and said shakily, “You shouldn’t have phoned, Lindsay.” She burst into tears.

  Lindsay hurried to her and crouched beside the chair, putting an arm round her shaking shoulders. “How could I know?” she asked desperately. “I thought she was lying to protect him. I didn’t know if she was doing it because she knew he was guilty or because she only suspected he might be. I really didn’t think she had killed Lorna.”

  Cordelia’s head came up. “She killed Lorna?”

  “She left a confession. I think we’d better prepare ourselves for a sticky session with the police.”

  Pamela Overton moved over to them. “Do you mean to say that you may have had something to do with Sarah’s suicide?”

  “We uncovered some new information today. We also discovered that Sarah had lied in her statement to the police. I rang and left a message about an hour ago to say that we wanted to talk to her again. That’s all.”

  The headmistress stared hard at Lindsay. “I had thought you were a reasonably sensitive and civilized human being,” she said. “Please tell Inspector Dart that I will be in my study in the main building when he wants to see me.” She turned on her heel and left.

  Cordelia wiped her eyes and blew her nose noisily. “We really screwed up, didn’t we?”

  “I suppose so,” said Lindsay angrily. “And since I’m now credited with being uncivilized and insensitive as well as just stupid, I’ll put the finishing touches to everyone’s low opinion of me.” So saying, she went to the phone and dialed through to the Daily Clarion’s sister Sunday paper’s copy room.

  “Hello? Lindsay Gordon here. I’ve got a belter for you. Ready? Murder squad detectives were called in today after a pupil at a top girls’ boarding school was found dead. The detectives were already investigating the murder of internationally famous cellist Lorna Smith-Couper at Derbyshire House Girls’ School a week ago. A teacher at the school, Miss Patricia Callaghan, has been charged with the murder, but sources close to the police investigation revealed today that there was some doubt as to whether the killer was still at large. The dead girl was Sarah Cartwright, eighteen, whose father James Cartwright is a builder in the nearby town of Buxton. He is currently locked in a dispute with the school over his proposal to turn the school’s playing fields into a luxury timeshare development.

  “Sarah was found dead in her study bedroom at the school where she was a sixth-former. She had knife wounds to both arms. A keen gymnast and hockey player, Sarah hoped to become a PE teacher. Police said last night there were no suspicious circumstances. No one is being sought in connection with her death. End copy. Note to newsdesk
; the girl left a note confessing to the Smith-Couper murder.”

  Lindsay repeated the process to three other papers, then put the phone down. “Bet you think I’m a real shit, don’t you?”

  Cordelia looked at her. “I couldn’t have done what you’ve just done.”

  Lindsay shrugged, her face a mask. “It’s a way of dealing with what’s happened. A way of hiding, a way of postponing.”

  “It’s your job, Lindsay. You chose it. I certainly couldn’t have. However you cut it, what it comes down to is you doing your job. If you didn’t go about it in a cold-blooded way, I suppose you’d be no use to your bosses.” There was no approval in Cordelia’s voice, only coldness.

  Before Lindsay could reply, the door opened and Inspector Dart came in, followed by the young detective Lindsay had seen with him before. He looked grim, his lean face set in hard lines. He walked over to Paddy’s desk and sat down behind it. The young detective sat down on a straight-backed chair near the door and took out his notebook. Dart said nothing, but continued to glance from Lindsay to Cordelia and back again. Lindsay felt extremely exposed.

  Finally he broke the silence. He spoke slowly and his deep voice had become a growl. “I hate bloody waste,” he said. “And I hate bloody pillocks who fall for the line spun by the media: that the police are not only woodentops but also corrupt and vicious. You know why I hate them? Because they think they know better than we do how to catch criminals. Usually, they never get the chance to put their crass little theories into practice. Just as well, wouldn’t you say, on the evidence of today?”

  Lindsay said nothing. She felt she deserved most of what was coming, and she resolved to bite on the bullet and not let this man see how upset she actually was.

  “I’ve got what seems to be a confession here. A confession to a murder for which I already have someone in custody. The note mentions you, Miss Gordon, a couple of times. I also have a note found in the girl’s waste-paper bin, which seems to be a phone message saying you intended to call on her after seeing Miss Callaghan. All this suggests to me that you’ve been pissing about with things which are none of your bloody business. Am I right?”

  Lindsay shrugged. He looked expectantly at her, but when he saw there was nothing more forthcoming, he went on. “I’ve one or two questions arising from the confession. You have read it, I take it?”

  Lindsay nodded. “I have, but Miss Brown hasn’t.”

  “For your sake, I hope I’m not going to find your fingerprints all over it. Quote: ‘I know they were messing about with scaffolding this morning.“ Unquote. Now, I want the explanation, please.”

  Lindsay looked up. “It was clear to Miss Overton that since you had already made an arrest that fitted the circumstances, you wouldn’t be looking for alternative solutions. So she asked Cordelia and me to take a look at this business to see if we could come up with anything that would help clear Paddy Callaghan, whom all three of us believe is innocent.

  “I have been a journalist for some years now,” she went on, finding her stride. “I’ve done a fair number of investigations, a couple of which have resulted in arrests. I have qualifications both in English and Scottish law, and I know quite a bit about the burden of proof. If I didn’t, I’d be too expensive a risk for newspapers to employ. I’m not as much of a fool as you seem to think, Inspector. And neither is Cordelia. I thought we might just manage to come up with one or two things that you and your experienced team had missed, especially since people seem to find it easier to talk to us. As for messing about on the kitchen roof with the scaffolding—it was testing a theory that seemed to cover all the salient facts.”

  “Spare me the speeches,” he said caustically.

  She ignored him and continued. “I don’t particularly expect you to believe this, but all week I’ve had something nagging away at the back of my mind. I had a feeling it was important, but it just wouldn’t come to me. I only remembered what it was in the early hours of this morning.”

  Then she explained the sudden realization of what she had seen so briefly the week before. She went on to relate the events of the morning. When she came to the end of her tale, he looked aghast.

  “God preserve me from amateurs,” he said bitterly. “And just how many fingerprints, footprints, and other forensic traces do you think you obliterated this morning? What in heaven’s name possessed you to take the law into your own hands to this extent? Answer me, woman!”

  “I didn’t think there would be anything on the building site. After all, the workmen have been there all week. As far as the rest of it is concerned, I supposed the criminal would have been wearing gloves. It wasn’t a spur of the moment crime, and everyone knows about fingerprints these days. And Chris Jackson made sure she didn’t do any damage to the paintwork. There weren’t any marks on it before, anyway. I checked early this morning when I realized what it was I’d seen last Saturday.”

  “Your stupidity is staggering,” Dart groaned. “That corpse upstairs is a bloody monument to your stupidity. I suppose it never occurred to you to come to us with your information? If you’d done that, I can guarantee Sarah Cartwright would still be alive. Instead, you have to do things your way, and now she’s just a lump of dead flesh. You say the girl lied in her statement. She admits that in her confession. If, instead of phoning to put the frighteners on her, you’d come to me, she’d still be alive. I’ve known that girl since she was in her pram. Now I’ve got to go and tell her father that not only was his daughter a murderer but that because of the sheer stupidity of a couple of so-called amateur detectives, she’s dead.” He shook his head. “Congratulations, ladies. It looks like you’ve got your friend off the hook. I just hope you can live with the price.” He got to his feet and walked to the door. Before he left, he turned to them and said, “Don’t leave the area before the inquest. I think I’ll be wanting you to tell your story to the coroner.”

  The policemen left the two women alone. Lindsay stared unseeingly out of the window. After a few minutes, Cordelia got up and put her arms round her. Lindsay half-smiled and said, “One of us better ring Gillian and get her to set the wheels in motion to get Paddy freed. Why don’t you do it? I don’t think I can face it right now. I should have listened to you.

  “I’m really sorry about all of this. I’ve not done you any favors, have I? Not to mention that poor, tortured kid. Me and my big ideas. I’ve made a right balls-up of this from start to finish.”

  Cordelia kissed her forehead. “Don’t blame yourself. She chose to kill Lorna. You didn’t make her. Everybody seems to be forgetting that side of the story. And she chose to kill herself rather than face up to the consequences. She’d have sat back and let Paddy be destroyed if you hadn’t acted. And in spite of what Dart said, I’m not so sure they’d have taken you seriously if you’d gone to them. They’d probably have accused you of wasting police time. So don’t go blaming yourself.”

  Lindsay sighed deeply and turned her face away. “I can’t help feeling responsible for the way things have turned out. That’s clearly what Pamela Overton thinks as well as Dart. And Cartwright. How’s he going to feel? She was all he had. Oh shit . . . why does everything have to be such a mess?”

  19

  There was no champagne to welcome Paddy Callaghan back to Longnor House on Sunday morning. After the due process of law had been carried out, Gillian drove Paddy back from the remand center. Cordelia had cooked a lavish Indian meal, and when Paddy walked through the door she was greeted with hugs, kisses, tears, cold lager, and the aroma of curry spices. After the emotional reunion, Lindsay walked over to the main building to tell Pamela Overton Paddy was back. The headmistress hurried off immediately to see Paddy in her rooms and Lindsay, who now felt even more uncomfortable in her presence, took the opportunity to file an exclusive story on Paddy’s release, complete with interview, to the Clarion.

  After she had dictated the story, she spoke to the news-desk. “Lindsay here, Duncan. The copy for my exclusive on the girls’ sch
ool murder should be dropping on your desk any minute now, I’ve left a number where you can reach me if there are any queries.”

  “I’ve just got it in front of me now, kid. Not a bad piece of work. Mind you, you’ve taken long enough over it; it should be good. When do I get you back working properly again?”

  “If you gave me a job instead of shifts, you’d know the answer to that. I’m supposed to be in on Wednesday at one o’clock. So I’ll see you then.”

  “Give you a job? I’d never see you then! I must be paying you too much as it is if you can afford to spend a whole week gadding about in England.”

  Lindsay laughed. “I’d rather be suffering from an old slave driver like you than doing what I’m doing right now. I’ve not had a proper night’s sleep since I left Glasgow.”

  Duncan’s voice had a chuckle in it. “That was always your problem, Lindsay, mixing business with pleasure. See you Wednesday.”

  Lindsay sat in the headmistress’s study, smoking quietly and turning over the events of the last week yet again. She forced herself to think about the horrors of the previous day. Now that the first shock had subsided, she was able to think more objectively about Sarah’s suicide and her confession. It struck her that the confession was remarkably bare of essential detail. There was nothing about Paddy’s duffel-coat toggle, something known only to the murderer, the handful of people who had actually seen the body, Paddy, and the police. In itself, that was hardly world-shaking, thought Lindsay, though it would have made sense for Sarah, in the flow of her confession, to have said something like, “I made the garrote with the cello string I took from Music 2 in the morning when I was there with Miss Callaghan, and a toggle I took from someone’s coat in the cloakroom at Longnor.”

  Lindsay began to feel faint stirrings of disquiet. The girl hadn’t explained how the window catches could easily be opened. It was Lindsay herself who had fleshed out the method of the crime to the police; ironically that would render Sarah’s “confession“ all the more credible to them. Also, of all the people who had fallen under Lindsay’s suspicion, Sarah was one of the least likely to know how long Lorna was to spend in the music room before she went on stage, for she had no involvement with the musical life of the school.