Hell Hath No Fury

by Rosie Harris

  She also favoured jeans and trainers for everyday wear when taking her two small daughters to school, but neither her shoe size, nor the manufacturer’s logo, fitted with the one footprint they had as evidence.

  Ruth would have liked to eliminate her name altogether from the list of suspects, but since Sara Patterson did drive a small red car she was afraid it might be considered precipitous by Superintendent Wilson, and one thing she couldn’t afford to do was antagonize the superintendent by letting it appear that her investigations didn’t explore every possible avenue.

  Like Deborah Jackson!

  Ruth sighed deeply as she picked up the sheaf of papers relating to the wife of the latest victim. From the information gleaned it would appear that Deborah Jackson was a lady who had some very good reasons for murdering her virile, handsome husband.

  After some initial reticence, Deborah Jackson had made no secret of the fact that her husband was a womanizer. She’d also admitted that this time matters had reached a point between her and her husband when she intended to ask him to decide between her and his latest paramour, a Spanish lady named Martina Carpenter.

  Had one of Dennis Jackson’s discarded mistresses been the mysterious Margaret Maitland who had phoned the Jackson Estate Agency under the pretence of wishing to see over the Willows in Englefield Drive so that she could meet him there?

  That had been the second time that an eyewitness had reported seeing a red car in the vicinity immediately following one of the murders. Only this time they insisted it had been a small car, possibly a Mini.

  Ruth tabulated the various sightings of red cars the vicinity of each murder. The woman who had been in her garden next door in Englefield Drive had claimed to have seen a red car follow Dennis Jackson’s green Mercedes into the driveway of the Willows at around four o’ clock. She had also seen it leave about an hour later, and she thought it had possibly been the same red car that had returned at about six o’ clock.

  They had checked out the times and knew that the six o’clock caller had been June Lowe, Dennis Jackson’s PA. Her car was red, and since the woman was unsure of the make Ruth wondered if the woman had confused the two different cars and thought it was the same one each time.

  So had it been June Lowe the first time? Had she lured her boss to the Willows, knowing it was an empty house, killed him, driven away, and then returned again an hour later on the pretext of telling him his wife wanted him to be home early?

  But why come back? Could it have been in order to assuage her conscience? Or even to make sure he was discovered?

  Perhaps she hadn’t meant to kill him and thought if she raised the alarm, and he was ‘found’ in time, he would be rushed to hospital and recover.

  Remembering the nature of his wounds, and their severity, Ruth thought that was highly unlikely. She gathered up the papers she had spread out over her desk and stacked them up into a neat pile. It was no good. She was getting nowhere, simply going round in circles.

  She picked up her suit jacket, which she had removed and hung over the back of her chair. Perhaps a cup of canteen coffee might help clear her brain. And by then Paddy might be back, and he might have discovered some background link from the four men’s schooldays that might throw some light on to why they had been killed. Even if he hadn’t, then she’d test out her own theories on him, and that might lead to something.

  She felt it undermined her authority having to depend on him so much, but he had grown up in Benbury; he knew things about these people that she didn’t. It also gave him an advantage when he was interviewing suspects. Because he was a local man, they seemed to open up to him more than to her. As if they trusted him. They seemed to be suspicious of her motives, and that put them on their guard.

  As she collected a mug of coffee from the dispenser in the canteen and carried it across to a window seat, she wondered if Paddy thought of her as an outsider. Would he have been more cooperative if she had been a local person, even though she was his superior, she mused as she sat with both hands around the mug.

  She knew it was partly her own fault. The first few days she had been at Benbury he had been almost chummy. He’d gone out of his way to be helpful! She’d rebuffed him. She hadn’t been cool; in fact, she’d been absolutely icy!

  Superintendent Wilson had told her when he’d assigned Paddy as her sergeant that he was the most knowledgeable and experienced CID officer in the Benbury force. She had expected a grim-faced man in his late fifties, not someone only in his thirties who was tall, broad shouldered and handsome into the bargain, with vivid blue eyes and a slow, contagious smile.

  When she’d learnt that he was a bachelor she had let him know, right from the start, that she held the higher rank, and that she was his boss. She didn’t want him to think he could chat her up as he might any rookie policewoman. Now that she knew him better she realized that he was far too much the professional to think of doing such a thing.

  He’d been quick to read the signs, she’d say that much in his favour. When she’d declined to even have a coffee with him when they were on duty, his manner towards her had changed immediately. He’d remained courteous but distant. There was absolutely nothing she could fault in his manner, but she suspected he wasn’t going out of his way to draw on his local expertise, even though he must know that it might make their job a whole lot easier if he did. He seemed to respond to the superintendent more than he did to her!

  She frowned and took another mouthful of coffee as a germ of suspicion circled in her mind. Was that deliberate, she wondered. Was Paddy trying to make a point, trying to show Superintendent Wilson that he would have made a better detective inspector than her, and that he should have been promoted?

  She drained her mug of coffee. She couldn’t let that happen. Her career was on the line; her ability to prove herself depended on the way she handled this case.

  It was imperative that she had Paddy’s full cooperation; essential that they worked as a team in solving the Benbury murders, she decided grimly.

  She would have to convince him that teamwork was in both their interests. She would start by changing her attitude towards him, she resolved.

  NINETEEN

  Detective Sergeant Paddy Hardcastle left Benbury Secondary School feeling satisfied yet mystified by what he had found out. The headmaster had been most helpful. He had introduced him to Mr Perks, the head of history, an elderly man on the point of retirement, who had been a teacher at the school for over twenty-five years. Mr Perks had been able to give him a great deal of useful information about the four men who had been murdered.

  As he entered Benbury Police Station, Paddy didn’t go straight to the CID office, but made his way to the canteen. Although he’d already had a coffee during his visit to Benbury Secondary School, he wanted time to sit and think about what he had learned before passing the information on to Inspector Morgan.

  It irked him that he had to hand over the information he had gleaned to someone else and let them make the decisions as to what action should be taken. With his qualifications, and length of service, he should have been made up to inspector, and then he would be the one in charge of this investigation, he thought irritably.

  It was all very well Inspector Ruth Morgan talking about team spirit, but she would be the one to receive all the accolades when they solved the case!

  Not that there had been much success so far, but he was quietly confident that with the new evidence he’d just collected it would only be a matter of time before the culprit was apprehended.

  Inspector Morgan was a nice enough person, quite attractive in a way, but she wasn’t local, and as someone born and bred in Benbury he felt he had a greater empathy with the people who lived in the town than she did.

  And it was all very well Superintendent James Wilson having a man to man talk with him about giving her his full support, and saying that he was relying on him to help her to settle in, but he wasn’t the one who had been cheated out of his rightful promotion. With
out his local knowledge, inspector or not, she’d get nowhere!

  He wouldn’t have minded if Inspector Morgan had been a little more friendly. He knew she was new to her rank, new to the police force if it came to that, but she didn’t have to make it quite so obvious that she was his superior. Some of the inspectors he’d worked with before were as matey as you like when they were out in the car. They’d laugh and crack a joke, exchange gossip, and even share a packet of fish and chips with you. They knew you’d not let them down in front of the super, or when you were doing interviews. They knew they could rely on you to show the correct deference, call them sir, and all that sort of thing, when it was appropriate to do so.

  Ruth Morgan acted more like a headmistress than a colleague. It was as if because she wasn’t in uniform, with an insignia on her shoulder to show her rank, she constantly had to impress on him that she was his superior.

  He wondered if she was a feminist. Or a lesbian, even, the way she sat so prim and straight in the squad car as if she was afraid that if their knees touched, or his hand brushed against hers, he might suddenly rape her.

  If she was more relaxed, if her mouth was less hard and grim, and her dark eyes lost that suspicious look whenever he spoke to her, she might be quite attractive. It would certainly make working together a whole lot easier!

  He collected a cup of coffee from the machine and was making his way across the room to find a window seat when he pulled up short. He couldn’t believe his eyes. Detective Inspector Ruth Morgan was sitting in the canteen, drinking coffee! She was on her own, staring into space as though deep in thought, and for a moment he thought of edging quietly away, hoping she hadn’t seen him. How was he going to explain away the fact that he was taking time off to drink coffee when she was probably on tenterhooks waiting to find out if his visit to the school had drummed up any new evidence?

  He grinned to himself. She was there drinking coffee herself, wasn’t she? Perhaps she was human after all and under that frozen exterior she was a normal warm-blooded woman.

  Now was the time to find out!

  ‘When you weren’t in your office I wondered if I would find you in here, ma’am,’ he greeted her, setting his cup down on the table. ‘Can I get you a refill?’

  When she hesitated, he said quickly, ‘I can tell you what I’ve found out this afternoon while we drink our coffee, if you like.’

  Again she hesitated, biting down on her lower lip before finally nodding in agreement.

  ‘I take it your visit was worthwhile,’ she commented as he set the steaming mug of coffee down in front of her.

  ‘Yes, it was. The head was most cooperative, but equally important there was a teacher there who had taught all four of the murder victims.’

  ‘Really!’

  ‘He remembered them quite well. It seems all four of them managed to get A-level passes. Out of a class of fifteen there were only six pupils that year who managed to achieve this . . .’

  ‘Six? And four of them are dead . . .’ Ruth’s voice trailed away.

  Paddy took a gulp of his coffee. He was pretty sure he knew what she was thinking. In fact, he’d been thinking much the same himself ever since he’d left the school.

  ‘Could he remember the names of the other two pupils?’

  ‘Not offhand, but he’s promised to let me have the list.’

  ‘When?’ Her tone was sharp, impatient.

  ‘Today if he can find it. All the old records are stored in the basement. He promised to send the janitor down there to unearth it . . .’

  ‘Sergeant Hardcastle!’

  Their conversation was interrupted by a uniformed constable. ‘There’s a Mr Perks asking for you at the front desk. He said he spoke to you earlier today. He says it’s important.’

  ‘I’ll be right out!’ Paddy drained the last of his coffee. ‘Perks is the history teacher I was telling you about. He’s probably brought that list along.’

  Ruth stood up. ‘Would you mind if I had a word with him?’

  Her manner was more conciliatory than it had been since they’d met, so he nodded. ‘Of course! I’ll bring him along to your office.’

  Mr Perks was a thin upright man in his early sixties with iron grey hair and dark bushy eyebrows that framed a pair of intense dark eyes. Dressed in a slate blue suit, light blue shirt with a shiny white collar, and wearing a royal blue tie that exactly matched the handkerchief peeping out of the breast pocket of his jacket, he looked both academic and formidable.

  He greeted Sergeant Hardcastle effusively and at once launched into a description of the contents of the package he was carrying. For a moment he looked irritated when Paddy interrupted his flow of words in order to introduce him to Ruth.

  ‘DI Morgan is in charge of the case,’ Paddy explained, emphasizing the word ‘Inspector’.

  ‘Oh, I see!’ Mr Perks looked a little taken aback. ‘Then I had better go back to the beginning and start again . . . unless you have already relayed the information I gave you earlier today?’

  ‘Sergeant Hardcastle has told me the basic facts,’ Ruth told him, ‘but I’d like to hear it all again . . . in your own words.’

  ‘Right! All four of the men who have been killed over the past few weeks were once pupils in the same class at Benbury Secondary School.’

  ‘How many were there taking their A-levels, Mr Perks?’

  ‘Only fifteen. Most of the pupils left once they had their O-levels. And out of those fifteen who remained there were only six who passed their A-levels. The four men who’ve been killed and two other pupils.’

  ‘Do you think it at all possible that there’s some link?’

  Mr Perks looked from Sergeant Hardcastle to Inspector Morgan and back again. ‘I have no idea!’ He regarded them from over the top of his glasses. ‘That is for you to decide. Perhaps this will help.’ He drew the package he had placed on the table nearer to him and began to unwrap it.

  Paddy moved closer, and side by side with Ruth, bent over the table to examine the register that Mr Perks was unwrapping.

  In a typical schoolmasterish way, Mr Perks displayed the list of pupils who had formed the A-level class of 1977. With slow deliberation he pointed out the names of the four victims: Moorhouse, Franklin, Patterson and Jackson.

  Then he pointed to two other names: Gould and Flynn.

  ‘Those two were also A-level achievers,’ he informed DI Morgan and DS Hardcastle as he peered at them again from over the top of his glasses.

  Ruth and Paddy exchanged glances and it was obvious to both of them that their thoughts were running on parallel lines.

  ‘Gould and Flynn will have to be found, questioned and warned,’ Ruth told Mr Perks. ‘We might even consider offering them some form of protection.’

  ‘Yes, I thought that might be the case, which is why I have brought along a couple of school photographs, taken on the last day of term,’ Mr Perks stated.

  Rather like a conjuror producing a rabbit from an empty hat, he produced two framed photographs. ‘This one is a group of the entire class. The other one is of the six achievers.’

  ‘A photograph showing the remaining two . . .’ breathed Ruth in disbelief. This was more than she dared dream about. At last, some concrete evidence to lay before Superintendent Wilson.

  The photographs had been taken sixteen years earlier, and her immediate elation was slightly dampened when she gazed at the youthful faces of the six who had passed their A-levels. ‘Moorhouse, Franklin, Patterson, Jackson . . .’ She spoke the names out loud as her finger moved over the photograph identifying each one. Then she stopped in surprise. ‘Mr Perks, one of these is a girl!’

  ‘Yes. That’s right. Maureen Flynn. She was the star pupil that year. She achieved the highest results of them all,’ Mr Perks stated.

  ‘Did she go on to university?’

  Mr Perks shook his head. ‘Not as far as I know, but I can’t be certain. Her family left Benbury shortly afterwards, and I’m afraid I have no idea what
happened to her.’

  ‘And the other boy?’

  ‘Aah. Now, his name was Gould. Simon Gould. He became involved with cars and motor racing.’ He scowled. ‘Silly young fool! He had an excellent brain . . . leastways, he did before the accident.’

  ‘Accident?’ Ruth asked.

  ‘Yes, he was involved in a serious smash on one of the race tracks. It made headline news at the time. There was something about the car being faulty, and if I remember correctly he sued either the company he worked for, or the manufacturers, for a colossal amount of compensation.’

  ‘And what happened to him after that?’

  ‘I’m not sure,’ Mr Perks said.

  ‘I remember the case. The papers were full of it at the time,’ Paddy said thoughtfully. ‘He was in hospital for months, wasn’t he?’

  ‘For about three months, I believe.’

  ‘I remember reading about his fight for compensation. As you say, he got a very substantial sum, and I think someone told me he bought a garage.’

  ‘In Benbury?’ Ruth asked.

  ‘No, not locally. He felt very sensitive about the fact that he was facially disfigured and moved away from Benbury. He wanted to start afresh where no one would know him.’

  ‘He always was very headstrong,’ Mr Perks commented disapprovingly.

  ‘Maureen Flynn and Simon Gould,’ Ruth murmured thoughtfully. She smiled at Mr Perks. ‘You have been most helpful. Would you mind if we kept these items? I promise you we’ll take great care of them,’ she added quickly as she saw the look of hesitation on his lined face.

  ‘And you will be sure to return them afterwards? They are part of the school archives, you see. The head was rather reluctant for me to bring them here. He didn’t really approve of them being removed from the school premises.’

  ‘We quite understand. We’ll take the greatest care of them and return them to you as soon as our enquiries are completed.

  Ruth left Paddy to see Mr Perks out. When he returned to the office he found she was still studying the photograph of the six Benbury Secondary School students.