This Is a Dreadful Sentence

by Penny Freedman

  Ring me 4 details. Gina

  Turning back to the room he had just left, he put his head round the door.

  ‘Stop press,’ he called, brandishing his phone. ‘Ceren Vural has made contact with the college. Safe and sound apparently. So we may only have one missing student, which is something. As soon as I get more details I’ll let you know.’

  If he had lingered a moment longer before leaving the room, he would have seen Boxer and Kerr exchange another significant look.

  When he called Gina back, she was just about to go off to teach.

  ‘Ceren sent me a letter,’ she said.

  ‘So you haven’t spoken to her?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Any postmark?’

  ‘It was hand-delivered.’

  ‘I’ll need to see it. When can I come and get it from you?’

  ‘I’m teaching all morning and then meeting – someone - for lunch. You don’t need to see it. I’ll read it to you. Dear Mrs Gray, I am safe and I stay with my friends. Please tell the police they not worry for me. Please not to telephone my parents. Thank you that you are kind teacher. Ceren Vural. I’ve read it with errors and all so you can hear it’s genuine. And it’s definitely her writing. So, panic over.’

  ‘When can I pick it up from you?’

  ‘Why do you need to?’

  ‘For God’s sake, Gina. The girl was reported missing. That note may have been written under duress – haven’t you thought of that? We need our handwriting experts to look at it. Is it dated?’

  ‘No, but – ‘

  ‘So, we don’t know when it was written, we don’t know where she is, we don’t know why she disappeared and we don’t know who is holding her. That note is vital evidence and I need to see it. You can either leave it in the department office for us to collect or bring it in to the station yourself this afternoon.’

  ‘You’re being very masterful all of a sudden. You find that goes down well, do you, with women of a certain age?’

  ‘I’m just doing my job, and I don’t know why you think it’s a joke. So what’s it to be? If you bring the letter in, we can do your fingerprints at the same time.’

  ‘My fingerprints! Why?’

  ‘Come on, Gina, you’re not usually slow. We need to know how many people handled the letter – whether others were involved in writing it – so we’ll want to know how many sets of prints there are and it’ll help if we can eliminate yours. We’ve got Ceren’s own from stuff in her room. Have you shown it to anyone?’

  ‘No. I told the International Office and the English staff, and I rang you.’

  ‘So no-one else has handled it as far as you know?’

  ‘No. Oh, well, Annie might have picked it up.’

  ‘Annie? Do you mean it was delivered to you at home?’

  ‘Well, yes. What did you think?’

  ‘I just assumed it was sent to you at work. Does Ceren know your home address?’

  ‘She’s been to the house – David, what is all the interrogation for?’

  ‘And the other students? Have they been to the house too?’

  ‘Yes. I had a tea party. Before Christmas. Yes.’

  ‘Doesn’t it worry you that whoever may have abducted Ceren knows where you live, and has been to your house to deliver that letter?’

  ‘No-one’s abducted Ceren, David. She’s staying with friends. She says so.’

  ‘Why? Why would she disappear of her own accord and then send you such a deliberately vague message about where she is? Why would she want to run away?’

  ‘I don’t know. She’s twenty-one. Boyfriend trouble? I don’t know.’

  ‘Does she have a boyfriend?’

  ‘I DON’T KNOW.’

  ‘I thought you prided yourself on knowing all about your students’ private lives.’

  ‘Well I obviously don’t know everything.’

  ‘And that’s an admission I didn’t ever expect to hear. You don’t know everything. In that case, perhaps you’ll let me do my job and bring me that bloody letter. At your earliest convenience, of course.’

  ‘Certainly, Chief Inspector. Shall we say two o’clock?’

  Scott spent the rest of the morning dealing with the heaped contents of his in-tray, ate a sandwich at his desk, then stood at his window looking out at the station forecourt, sipping a mug of coffee, waiting for Gina. At two fifteen, as he was beginning to get angry – with her and with himself – a remarkable car stopped in the forecourt. An MG Roadster in a distinctive blue-green. He was no car buff but he guessed it dated from the 1960’s. And he guessed, just a few seconds before she emerged, that Gina would get out of it. He watched her as she slid out, waved a casual farewell and strode towards the station doors. Then he looked back at the car and caught sight of the driver as he turned it – a glimpse of thick grey-blond hair and a winter tan. Movie star looks. Who was he? The ex-husband she was still so pally with, according to the daughter? Or someone else he didn’t know about?

  He went down to the foyer to meet her and brought her up to his office.

  ‘Good lunch?’ he asked.

  ‘Stimulating,’ she said curtly, which told him nothing.

  Up in his office, she handed him the letter without a word; he glanced through it and sealed it in an evidence bag. He pulled up two chairs and sat down beside her.

  ‘You understand why we need your fingerprints, don’t you? And we’ll need Annie’s too.’

  ‘I’m sure she’ll be thrilled. When do you want her?’

  ‘As soon as she gets home from school would be good.’

  ‘It’ll be easier for her to come straight from school. I’ll send her a text.’

  ‘Fine.’

  There was a silence. She was refusing to look at him. Was she still annoyed about having to hand over the letter?

  ‘The thing is,’ he said, ‘we’ve found a knife in the library.’

  Now she did look at him.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘We’ve found a knife with Yilmaz’s blood on it hidden in the library. Yilmaz had knife cuts on his arm and face. We’ve always thought that one man kept him in the stacks at knife point while the other rolled them together. We appear to have found the knife.’

  ‘And there are fingerprints?’

  ‘There are. And if they match prints on this letter then we’ll know Ceren’s in danger.’

  ‘Are you going to fingerprint the students?’

  ‘No. We can only fingerprint people who are suspects, or for elimination purposes, as in your case. We do have that pen you gave us, though. It’s got a lot of prints on, as you warned me, some of them, presumably, from this group of students. It’s possible we’ll get a match and then we would be justified in fingerprinting them all.’

  ‘I’ve got something else for you, actually,’ she said. ‘Another board message.’

  He groaned.

  ‘Please, not another. My team think I’m off my head to take them seriously at all.’

  ‘Oh well, if you don’t want to know – ‘

  ‘No, no. you’d better tell me.’

  ‘I can show you.’

  She produced her phone and fiddled with it.

  ‘Look.’

  INSTEAD TO BE GOOD MUSLIM

  HE SOLD THE DRUGS. HE WAS KILLED

  WHY NOT?

  ‘And what nationality would this be?’ he asked. ‘As if I couldn’t guess.’

  ‘Your guess would be right. It’s Iranian. They’re classic errors. The why not question tag and the infinitive instead of the gerund – to be rather than of being.’

  ‘But they know they’re under suspicion. They’re hardly likely to advertise themselves like this, are they?’

  ‘No. Which makes me think –‘ She hesitated.

  ‘Think what?’

  ‘That someone’s playing games with us – with me, rather. Someone’s been playing games all along, I’m afraid.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘Well, look at the messa
ges there have been. I made a list of them, here. Number one: If I would kill him I would be happier – a classic German error that would in the ‘if’ clause. Then we had If the man wasn’t being a drug addict he wasn’t disappearing. Classic again. Turkish this time – misuse of the progressive in wasn’t being and wasn’t disappearing. Then we had The criminal was executed. No errors this time, but it directed us towards the Iranians and could only have been written by someone who had been at the discussion in class the previous day. And now this – implicating the Iranians again. Whoever wrote these knew that I would see the errors and spot the nationality. The question is, is this just a rather macabre game or is the phantom writer the killer?’

  ‘If you’re right, then we should look at which nationalities haven’t been implicated. Logic would point to one of them as the guilty party, unless they’re being very subtle.’

  ‘No Russian, Japanese or French errors as yet,’ Gina said.

  ‘And if we’re looking for pairs of killers, they provide some convenient options. Valery Tarasov and Irina Boklova? Irina’s a big woman. Armed with a knife, she could probably have kept Yilmaz between those stacks. We’re still working on the way Yilmaz was tied up with Anton Tarasov. He may have been involved in his death. Valery could well have had a motive – as could Irina, if Yilmaz was threatening to tell her ex-hisband where she was. Then there’s the French pair –‘

  Gina interrupted with a hoot of laughter.

  ‘You’re not suggesting Desirée was involved! What? And get blood all over her clothes? I don’t see her as Lady Macbeth.’

  ‘I meant the pair of French speakers – Amiel and De Longueville. Both were getting drugs from Yilmaz, both could have been being blackmailed. It’s possible Amiel was panicky afterwards and Longueville decided he was a danger. So he’s got him locked up somewhere, or he’s given him the money to disappear, or he’s killed him too.’

  ‘I don’t think Denis is a killer.’

  ‘You don’t think any of them are killers, but somebody is.’ Seized by a mounting rage, he went on, ‘Somebody is, and we don’t know who, and I can spin these theories and they’re all quite plausible but there isn’t a shred of evidence for any of it, and it’s nearly two weeks since the murder and we’ve got fucking nowhere.’

  She looked at him.

  ‘I bet you feel better for getting that off your chest,’ she said. ‘I don’t expect you can shout at your subordinates like that. Anyway, you’ve got a weapon and some fingerprints now, so who knows what may happen? Talking of which, perhaps I’d better go and do the deed.’

  When the fingerprinting was done, he walked her to the front doors.

  ‘You haven’t got your bike, have you?’ he said. ‘I noticed you got a lift. Your lunch date, I assume?’

  ‘Oh yes, the precious MG. I did Andrew a service divorcing him really. It meant he could go and live somewhere with a garage.’

  ‘A bit drastic. You could just have moved house.’

  He was treated to a mocking smile.

  ‘We could. How sensible you are.’

  ‘How dull, you mean?’

  ‘Not necessarily. I’m going to get a cab from the rank outside the town hall. I need to be back in college for three o’clock.’

  ‘I’ll walk round with you. There’s one more thing I want to ask you.’

  ‘Oh yes?’

  ‘When I called at your house yesterday evening –‘

  ‘Yes, I’m sorry I wasn’t in.’

  ‘No, my fault. I should have phoned first. But when I called, Annie asked me if I’d come to arrest you. Why did she ask that?’

  She was rummaging in her bag.

  ‘That reminds me,’ she said, ‘I must text Annie about the fingerprinting. Sorry, what were you asking? Oh yes, why did she say that? Well because that’s what policemen do, don’t they? They arrest people. It’s typical Annie – a mixture of melodrama and mockery.’

  She was busy texting. Like a teenager, Scott thought, walking, texting and talking all at the same time. She and Annie were remarkably alike, he realised, and he visualised Annie sitting talking to him yesterday with her poise and her cool amused look. And in his picture, Annie had something behind her head, something that had been on the edge of his thoughts since that morning.

  ‘I noticed,’ he said conversationally, ‘that you had a rather nice ethnic-looking thing on your sofa that I don’t remember seeing before. Is it new?’

  ‘What am I now? Your design consultant?’ she snapped, her eyes still on her phone, thumb still texting. ‘Are you gay, David? Only gay men notice soft furnishings. And I don’t know what you’re talking about. I don’t think I’ve been into my sitting room since Sunday – yesterday was the day from Hell. It’s probably some thing Annie’s bought at a Traidcraft sale at school. She goes for third world products. They make her feel noble.’

  Without saying goodbye, she slid into a taxi and slammed the door.

  23

  TUESDAY: Concessive Clauses

  Annie is still glowering at me in the morning but I don’t care. I have slept well – the sleep of the just, or at least of the woman who is not about to be arrested. I am cheerful as I breeze into College, light-hearted as I pop my head round the door of the International Office and inform Monica, with perfect truthfulness, that Ceren has made contact. By the time I pick up the phone to ring David I am positively euphoric, and when he doesn’t answer I send him a cheery little text assuring him that all is well.

  Sadly, this is as good as the day gets. By five past ten I’ve had a snappy conversation with David about Ceren and found a really horrible message on my classroom board – nasty both in its content and its linguistic incompetence – so I’m in a pretty evil mood by lunch time, when Andrew sweeps through the college gates in that ridiculous vehicle of his and takes me off for lunch.

  We go to his local, a dark, malodorous little place of which real ale is the major feature. The food is traditional in a spotted-dick-and-custard kind of way and you’ll not be surprised to hear that I am one of only two women spending their lunch hour here. Andrew orders veal and ham pie and a pint of something called Old Peculier (sic), while I go for potted shrimps and a glass of elderflower pressé. I’ve been having issues with Malcolm in my department about his being under the influence in the afternoons and I have to set a good example.

  When we are settled with our drinks, I present Andrew with a brief resumé of last night’s meeting.

  ‘So that’s that,’ I say, ‘and I haven’t got long, so let’s keep discussion to a minimum.’

  ‘What did you say to Annie about the meeting?’

  ‘Nothing.’

  ‘What do you mean, nothing?’

  ‘We didn’t discuss it.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘She didn’t ask. You know what she’s like. There was no point in raising it if she didn’t want to know. Anyway, I know what she’d have said.’

  ‘Which is?’

  ‘That she’ll give up Art, which we all know she’s not much good at; that she’ll carry on with Economics and with History, though – or possibly because – Miss Porter would like to be rid of her; that she wants to drop Latin because it’s mega-boring; and that if she’s made to give up Drama she’ll leave school.’

  ‘That’s just being histrionic. She doesn’t mean it. I can soon talk some sense into her.’

  ‘Of course. You can talk anybody into anything. That’s what you’re for, but in this case –‘

  At this point our food arrives and I eat a buttery shrimp or two before trying a more emollient approach.

  ‘The thing is,’ I say, ‘for once I agree with Annie.’

  ‘Because, as always, you want to disagree with me.’

  ‘Oh, for God’s sake! Can I point out that this is about Annie, not about us?’

  ‘And can I point out that in your determination to thwart me you’re ruining Annie’s chances of getting a place at Oxford?’

  ‘Andrew, she’s
not going to Oxford. Apart from anything else, she’s not clever enough. Look at her GCSE grades.’

  ‘They weren’t that bad, and you remember Hugo Stott – read Law with me at Oriel? He’s a Fellow now. Our paths cross from time to time. I’m sure I could have a word with him and –‘

  ‘ANDREW!’ I shout, and heads turn in our direction. Throttling my exasperation, I hiss, ‘It doesn’t work like that any more – hasn’t for years. She has to compete in the open market, with people who have twelve A*s at GCSE and predictions of four As at A level. Anyway, she doesn’t want to go to Oxford.‘

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Probably because we were there. She wants to go to York.’

  ‘Why York?’

  ‘Because it’s got a lake, probably. I don’t know. Given her record so far, she’ll be lucky to be offered a place. I’m pinning my hopes on Kirsten Donald, the Drama teacher. She’s rather wonderful.’

  Andrew puts his knife and fork down with a huff of irritation.

  ‘Well,’ I retort, reckless now about being too loud, ‘she’ll be a wonderful person to have on my side and I could certainly do with one of those because, frankly, bringing up Annie single-handed isn’t getting any easier and although you’ve decided to take an interest this late in the day, I doubt it’ll last. You’re obviously at a bit of a loose end at the moment but it only needs another interesting case to come along and we shall disappear right off your mental map again.’

  He pushes his plate away from him and gives me a long look.

  ‘You know, Gina,’ he says, ‘you’re the only person I know who always thinks the worst of me. I wonder why that is.’

  I laugh.

  ‘I can think of several reasons,’ I say, ‘all of them unkind. But I take it that’s an oblique way of giving up the argument? I’ll tell Annie Drama it is, shall I?’

  ‘As long as it’s clear that she’s not doing Drama at university, It was bad enough when Ellie –‘

  ‘She won’t do Drama. She wants to be rich and she wants to feel important. You can count on her becoming a lawyer.’

  I gather up my bag and coat.

  ‘Can you drop me at the Police Station?’ I ask. ‘I have to go and get my fingerprints taken.’

  This is irresistible to the lawyer in Andrew, of course, and he wants to know all about it. He is suspicious about for elimination purposes and says I have to be sure that they destroy my prints once the case is over. I begin to worry that he’s going to insist on coming in with me and kicking up a fuss, but he drops me and drives off. I don’t tell him that Annie has to be fingerprinted too; that would certainly freak him out.