‘It’s your favourite again, sir. These Saturdays do come around with an increasing regularity,’ Maggie, one of the dinner ladies, said before placing his plate in front of him with a smile.
He didn’t see her smile, a smile that quickly changed into a frown before she turned on her heel and made her way back to the kitchen. He didn’t see anything other than the headline laid out in front of him.
The body of a young woman has been found on The West Shore. Her flatmate is currently assisting the police with their enquiries.
‘Headmaster?’
‘What? Excuse me, sorry. I was miles away,’ he finally said, looking up into the face of Eddie Taylor, the sports master.
‘No problem. There’s a call for you, they wouldn’t leave their name.’ He handed him a piece of paper. ‘If you could phone this number – they said that it’s urgent.’
Chapter 5
Paul
Sunday 10 May, 9.25 a.m. St Asaph Police Station
‘Where is she?’
‘Good morning, sir,’ the custody sergeant said, looking up from the computer monitor perched on the desk in front of him. ‘How can I help?’
‘I’m looking for Christine de Bertrand. She was transferred here yesterday from Llandudno. You wouldn’t let me see her last night but I’m …’
‘Ah, yes,’ he interrupted, pulling a print-out towards him and running his blunt-cut nail down the list before lifting his head. ‘And you are?’
‘Paul de Bertrand, her … ex … husband.’
‘Right. Unusual name, if you don’t mind me saying. French, is it?’
‘No. It’s Chinese,’ he snapped. ‘Of course it’s bloody French.’
‘There’s no need to take that tone here, sir, or I might have to arrange for you to join us.’
‘I’m sorry.’ He placed both hands flat on the desk, staring down at the officer whose tone of voice had dropped along with his professional smile.
Of all the situations Paul had found himself in over the years, this one ranked right up there with the most difficult. But by the look on the officer’s face, if he didn’t moderate his behaviour pretty smartish, he could find himself booted out or, even worse, arrested – neither of which would help Christine’s cause.
He heaved a breath, making more of an effort than he’d made in a very long time. ‘Look, it’s been a bit of a shock, all right. I haven’t heard from her for nearly six months and to get a call like that out of the blue.’
‘Yes, sir. If you’d like to take a seat while I check in with the detective in charge of the case.’
‘I don’t want to see any detective. I want to see my ex-wife,’ he said, his voice rising.
‘All in good time, Mr de Bertrand.’ The sergeant tilted his head in the direction of the chairs lined up against the wall.
The one thing Paul de Bertrand wasn’t, was stupid. With a BA in classical civilization, an MA in late antique and early Byzantine studies and a PHD in Assyriology, he’d quickly learnt that life was a game and, as with all games, there were rules that must be followed. The only problem was he didn’t know which game he was meant to be playing. The throw of the dice. The turn of a card. The positioning of a chess piece. With twenty years’ experience in teaching, he was a dab hand at games. He won some. He lost some and learnt from the experience. This wasn’t a game he could afford to lose.
Sitting down on one of the blue plastic chairs, he scrolled through his choices only to realise that he didn’t have any. The phone call hadn’t said much, only that Christine was assisting the police with their enquiries. If it hadn’t been for the evening newspaper, picked up from the sideboard on his way into supper, he might have been tempted to leave her to her own devices. After all, she’d been the one to walk out on their marriage. No. It hadn’t been their marriage she’d walked out on – it had been him. She’d abandoned him like an old sock and the thing that hurt the most was he still had no idea why. There’d been no indication that things weren’t right between them and certainly no precipitous act like an affair. He’d never even noticed other woman and as for her … he was as sure as he could be that there wasn’t another man involved but as for another woman—?
Removing his glasses, he pressed his hand to his forehead, trying and failing to shut out the morning’s headline that had shouted out in four-inch Helvetica script.
Lesbian Bloodbath in Llandudno.
How could he have gotten it so wrong? He’d be the first to admit that he found women confusing and Christine more confusing than most. The truth was he should never have looked at her and as for marrying her … He sighed, scrubbing his hand across his jaw. It still rankled that she’d never told him her reason for walking out. One minute they were planning where they were going to spend their holiday and the next, he was staring at empty wardrobes and shoe racks. The letter she’d left had said everything and yet nothing. She’d refused to see him or even answer his calls and, to this day, he still didn’t understand.
Replacing his glasses, he found the custody sergeant focused on him, one hand gripping the phone. He would have laughed at the thought of anyone taking notice of a balding headmaster, but he didn’t find anything remotely funny about the current situation. It was beyond tragic. Ignoring him, he took off his raincoat and, folding it neatly in half, placed it on the seat beside him before glancing at his watch. As headmaster of an exclusive private secondary school, Sunday was his quietest day but he’d still be missed in the refectory at lunchtime. He sighed a second time. The deputy would be more than happy to step into his shoes. He was already nipping at his heels. This situation would only make it worse.
‘Mr de Bertrand?’
The woman standing in the doorway was short and stocky, her dark hair ruthlessly dragged back from her face and secured in a thick plait. He didn’t know what he’d been expecting but it certainly wasn’t her.
‘Actually, it’s Dr. I thought he was going to take me to my … to see Christine?’
‘That’s not how it works … Dr. I’m Detective Constable Gaby Darin,’ she said, her handshake firm. ‘I’ve been in to check on Christine and she’s fine but I’m afraid it’s not possible for you to see her at present.’ She gestured for him to follow. ‘If you could come this way. I have a few questions.’
The room she took him to was small and windowless with only four chairs and a table. It was bare, characterless and cold, the walls painted a dull cream, the floor covered in some wood-effect lino. He sat down on the hard chair offered and wondered about Christine. Was this the type of room they had her holed up in with no home comforts and nothing to do except think? Were they trying to break her, to force her into some kind of confession? For all their differences, he knew murder wasn’t something she’d ever be capable of, even under the most extreme of circumstances.
He shifted his head from where he’d been staring at the wall. ‘So, why can’t I see her? Surely that’s against her human rights?’ he said, leaning forward, his arms folded on top of the table, his eyes unwavering. He was used to dealing with all sorts in his job. In fact, part of his week was taken up with irate parents, underperforming teachers and recalcitrant students. Dealing with authoritarian civil servants was a sideways step as far as he was concerned.
‘No. Her human rights are being taken care of just fine by the PACE Act of 1984,’ Detective Darin said, offering him a thin smile.
‘But what possible threat could there be in my seeing her?’ he replied, tightening his jaw. ‘I wouldn’t expect to be left alone with her or anything.’ He spread his fingers. ‘It’s not as if I’m smuggling anything in. You can search me, if you like.’
‘Oh, don’t be under any illusion that we wouldn’t, Dr de Bertrand – search you, that is. No, the reason you, or indeed any of her family, friends or acquaintances, are unable to see her currently is because of the risks involved.’ She leant back in her chair, crossing one leg over the other, her trouser leg riding up to reveal a glimpse of calf. ‘While I’m su
re you’re a law-abiding citizen, we’ve been burnt by similar law-abiding citizens in the past. You wouldn’t believe the tricks people get up to. As I’ve already said, I’ve been to check on your ex-wife and, apart from suffering from a bad case of boredom, she’s fine.’
‘Did she give you a message for me?’
She widened her gaze. ‘No, and I’m afraid even if she had, I wouldn’t pass it on in case it held some hidden message.’
‘Oh, for God’s sake.’
‘I don’t make the rules,’ she said, lifting her palms. ‘Now, while you’re here, I’d like to ask you a few questions, if I may?’ She only carried on at the sight of his slight nod. ‘Is there anything you can tell us about Christine’s relationship with her flatmate?’
He shook his head briefly, curling his hands into fists. ‘No. Nothing.’
‘Nothing because you don’t want to assist us or nothing because—?’
‘Nothing because I didn’t even know she had a flatmate.’
‘But she still asked us to call you to let you know she was in custody?’ she said, her eyebrows arched.
‘Yes, but … look, Detective, Christine and I have what’s probably termed a difficult relationship. If it wasn’t for needing help with Ruby, I probably wouldn’t even have been told where she’d moved to.’
‘Ruby?’ she questioned, her pen hovering over her notebook.
‘Our miniature schnauzer,’ he said, almost laughing at the sight of her stiffened shoulders. He had enough on his plate already without having the added worry of a child. ‘We agreed during the divorce that I’d have her. She’s an anxious dog and leaving her for long periods of time while Christine went out to work wouldn’t have been an option.’
‘And when was the last time you saw your ex-wife?’
He picked his words carefully while he searched through his head for what to share of the last time he’d seen Christine. He’d run over that meeting many times because of the uneasy feeling that she hadn’t been totally honest with him. He could have sworn by the way she’d examined his face, the deep flush on her cheeks, that she’d still had feelings for him and yet her words were a continual echo of how far their relationship had veered from those dizzy early days.
He cleared his throat. ‘I had to go away to a conference in Brussels at the start of December so I dropped Ruby off for a few days. When I picked her up was the last time.’
‘Okay.’ He watched her jot something down on the corner of her pad, before lifting her head. ‘This conference – it was in relation to …?’
‘My job as headteacher of St Gildas Independent Boarding School.’
‘Right. And how did you find your wife?’
‘Pretty much the same as ever,’ he said, trying not to think about the cloud of freshly washed hair and far too thin face. He’d thought then that she looked tired, under a strain of some sort but nothing that the detective needed to worry about. ‘I didn’t stay long. She’d already brought Ruby down. I don’t know if you know much about dogs, but she was leaping all over us. Probably over-excited at having us back in the same room. The woman from the ground-floor flat came out to see what all the commotion was, and I left soon after. We haven’t been in touch since.’
‘Okay, thanks for that. We’ll catch up with the neighbour later to see if she remembers your visit. So, that was the last time you were in touch?’
‘Yes, apart from sending cards at Christmas and birthdays.’
She studied him for a moment, her face relaxing into the glimmer of a smile. ‘I know this must be difficult but if there’s anything else you can tell us about Christine that would have an impact on the investigation and perhaps help her …?’
‘There’s nothing to tell. She’s the most mild-mannered of people. I don’t understand what could have happened but I’m one hundred per cent sure she’s not guilty.’
The detective underscored something twice on her pad before continuing. ‘You’ve probably seen the newspaper headlines this morning. Care to comment?’
‘If you’re asking me if she’s gay then it’s an emphatic no.’ He pushed away from the table and stood to his feet.
‘Please sit down, Dr de Bertrand.’
‘Why? Am I under arrest or something?’
‘No, you’re free to go. But I had thought you’d like to assist us in finding the truth,’ she said, not breaking eye contact. ‘If there’s any information that you think might have an impact on our investigation, I do suggest that now’s the time to tell us.’
He sat down abruptly, brushing his hand over his head, his bright blue eyes steady. ‘I can’t even begin to guess at what happened but the one thing I do know is that Christine would never … She’s not gay, all right. We had a very healthy sex life and there was no suggestion, ever, that she didn’t enjoy being with me.’
‘What about other men?’
‘Excuse me?’
‘Other men either before, during or after your relationship broke up?’
He opened his mouth to speak only to close it again but not before dragging air into his lungs from the suddenly claustrophobic room. While he could fully understand why the question needed to be asked, it was still a kick in the ribs. He wasn’t completely sure how or why their marriage had descended into the final farce of those last few weeks but those dark days, the worst days of his life, weren’t something he could discuss. One minute he’d thought himself the luckiest man alive and the next … the next he’d been deserted and facing a letter from her solicitor seeking an immediate divorce due to ‘irreconcilable differences’. He still had no idea what those differences could be but it was laughable to think that another party was involved. Surely, he’d have known. Surely, he’d have sensed some change but there’d been nothing to indicate she was anything other than blissfully happy.
‘I can’t answer about before we got together but, to the very best of my knowledge, she was faithful throughout our marriage,’ he finally replied. ‘And, before you ask—’ he removed a folded handkerchief from his pocket and started to polish his glasses ‘—so was I. As to other men, after we separated and then divorced … who knows. But by then she was entitled to sleep with anyone she liked, and I certainly wouldn’t have been someone she’d have contacted with a list of her conquests. She knew how I felt and the one thing she’s not is deliberately cruel.’
‘You say you knew how she felt – how did the separation make you feel?’ she said, staring down at his hands and where he’d balled them around the arms of his glasses.
He extended his fingers before replacing his glasses on his nose and his handkerchief back in his pocket. ‘Devastated, if you must know, not that it has any bearing on anything. As far as I was aware our life was good, better than most. We both loved life at the school. There’s a great satisfaction in watching how children can blossom and grow in the correct environment.’
‘I’m sure. So your wife is a teacher too?’
‘Yes. She taught history to the senior boys before our divorce.’
‘I’ll be frank with you, Mr de Bertrand. The thing that’s puzzling me is, if your marriage was so perfect and there wasn’t another party involved, why the break-up?’
‘Sorry, your guess is as good as mine – that’s the one thing she refused to discuss.’
She settled her pen down on top of her notebook and shifted back in her chair. ‘Okay, that’ll be it for now. We’re about to release the name of the victim to the media but you’ll know it already,’ she said, standing to her feet.
‘Actually, that’s where you’re wrong, Detective. As I said earlier, I didn’t even know she had a flatmate so how on earth would I know her name? While I sent Chrissie cards, to keep the lines of communication open, she didn’t acknowledge them. She could have stuffed her flat to the brim with all and sundry and I’d have been none the wiser.’
‘No, only one. A Miss Nikki Jones,’ she said, her look intense. ‘A former student of yours, I believe, Dr?’
Chap
ter 6
Nikki
2008
Cambridge
Coming to Cambridge University was both the best and worst of decisions.
Nikki hoiked her rucksack up her back and straightened her shoulders, her attention on the large expanse of grass ahead. She was either brave or stupid to think she could cope with the added strain of attending such a prestigious college. But despite her misgivings and yesterday’s five-hour train journey, she’d managed to get this far.
Pulling out the slip of paper from her pocket, for what seemed like the millionth time, she read the directions to the lecture theatre. If she had the nerve, she’d ask one of the other many students bustling around – by the look of them, they all knew where they were going. Her ignorance was mainly down to her reluctance to attend Fresher’s Week. But for someone like her – with all her insecurities – that was never going to happen, her hand instinctively pulling her sleeve down over her wrist. Heaving a sigh, she peered at the red-brick building laid out in front of her before making her way back to the entrance and the porter’s lodge. It would mean she’d be late, the one thing she’d been trying to avoid, but that couldn’t be helped.
‘Hello there, you look a bit lost. Can I be of any assistance?’
She glanced up from the slip of paper into the face of the kind-looking man hovering in front of her and let out a sigh of relief even as colour stole up her cheeks. She wasn’t used to people noticing her – in fact, she went out of her way not to put herself forward in any given situation. But getting a place here was a new start. She had to draw a line under— No. She had to draw a line through the past just as she had to escape from under her mother’s clutches. This was a new beginning.
‘Yes, thank you. I’m totally lost. I’m looking for … the Classics Department.’ She stared down at the paper again, missing his look of amusement. ‘Lecture theatre three.’
‘Ah, what a coincidence. I’m heading that way. I still remember what it was like on my first day too but that daunting feeling soon passes. Give it a couple of days and you’ll be a dab hand at finding your way about. I’m Dr de Bertrand, by the way, one of the course lecturers, so you’ll be bumping into me in one way or the other over the next three years,’ he continued, raising his left eyebrow.
Darkest Night Page 4
