Dying Truth: A completely gripping crime thriller

by Angela Marsons

‘If we need anything further we know where to find you.’

  ‘At the Waggon and Horses on a Thursday night playing darts, as I already told you.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Kim said, holding the woman’s intense gaze.

  Joanna offered her a smile as she stood, turned and walked away.

  Kim took out her phone as a thought occurred to her.

  ‘Yeah, boss,’ Stacey answered on the second ring.

  ‘Stace, you got the witness reports there from Plant yet?’

  ‘Yep. He dropped ’em in about an hour ago.’

  ‘How many?’ Kim asked.

  ‘Around forty, fifty or so,’ she answered.

  ‘Drop the background checks for now and go through them all, Stace. In detail.’

  ‘Okay, boss, what exactly am I looking for?’

  ‘We now know that Sadie was never on the roof, but everyone heard that she was. It had to have started somewhere. I want to know who was the first to say they actually saw Sadie Winters up on that roof.’

  Seventeen

  Dawson was sure he’d traversed this corridor once already. For the second time, he was passing the mahogany bookshelves holding all the leather-bound Heathcrest yearbooks. He decided that this damn place was fine for people who already knew their way around it. Plenty of signs on the outside of the building but not so much inside.

  If he was honest, he couldn’t wait to get out of the place. The air of privilege was as oppressive to him as the dark wooden beams that bore down on him from every wrong turn he took while trying to get back to the great hall.

  Places like this didn’t sit well with him.

  His own school experience had been in overcrowded classrooms with harassed teachers trying to get through a tight curriculum. He recalled a parents’ evening when he was fourteen years old. His mother had been ten minutes into the conversation with his form teacher before realising they were discussing the wrong kid.

  His worst gripe with private education was the weight of aspiration. In schools like Heathcrest it was assumed that you would amount to something. In his school, it had been assumed that you would not.

  At his school, the focus had been on getting a kid through the basics so they’d be equipped to get a job. Here it was preparing them for a career.

  His career choices had been woodwork, metalwork, mechanic, or bus driver – at a push. Here, he was looking at future doctors, surgeons, athletes, and politicians.

  He thought of his own child, Charlotte, two years old and into everything. He already felt, as her father, that she could be anything she wanted to be. And he would do everything within his power to make her dreams come true. But how the hell could he ever compete with this?

  A movement through an open door caught his attention. He stepped back and took a look. Approximately fifteen lads, aged around twelve, were jogging from one end of the gym hall to the other.

  ‘Come on, Piggott, keep up,’ called the teacher from the sidelines.

  Dawson spied the kid who was half a room length behind the others. The perspiration had stained his blue tee shirt, and his white fleshy legs wobbled as his shorts rode up between his legs. Dawson guessed him to be a couple of stone overweight.

  ‘May I help you?’ asked the teacher, who had spotted him at the doorway within seconds.

  He swiftly produced his identification and introduced himself. ‘Here regarding the incident with Sadie Winters. Did you know her?’

  The man offered his hand, while shaking his head. Dawson tried not to envy the thigh muscles that strained at the navy shorts or the size of his biceps that looked like the man was hiding a football in each arm. He didn’t need to lift his tee shirt to know there would be an impressive six-pack under there.

  Dawson guessed him to be early- to mid-forties and was struck with the sudden vision of this man strolling into the pub in twenty years’ time still wearing clothes that would show off his physique.

  He really should get to the gym more, he berated himself.

  ‘Philip Havers, boys’ physical education and sports coach; and honestly, I didn’t know the young girl at all. I have enough trouble keeping track of my boys,’ he said, glancing at the small group still trotting backwards and forwards.

  Dawson wondered if he’d ever worked at a real school, classrooms stuffed full with thirty or more kids. Having them all running up and down in one room would have been like a herd of stampeding bulls.

  ‘Bloody hell, Piggott, you’re losing ground. Step it up,’ he called out.

  Even Dawson could see the fat kid had lost another half metre.

  ‘Come on, pig, catch up,’ called one of the other kids over his shoulder.

  Fate could not have been crueller in allowing pig to form part of the fat kid’s name. Dawson waited for Philip Havers to remonstrate the child who had turned and called out.

  He did not.

  Instead he rolled his eyes in Dawson’s direction. ‘The kid’s all in and this is only the warm-up session.’

  Dawson remembered it well. He recalled pushing his muscles to the limit to try and keep up. He could feel the burn in his legs as though it was happening right now.

  ‘Three more lengths, and will someone give Piggott some encouragement?’ Havers called out.

  The kid who had called out began chanting: ‘Pig, Pig, Pig.’ By the third call, all of the kids were chanting his name.

  Dawson felt the tension crawl into his jaw. Not the encouragement he would have liked to have heard.

  ‘Peer pressure works every time,’ Havers said above the collective chanting. ‘He’s clawed back half a metre already.’

  Yeah, humiliation and embarrassment will do that for you, Kev thought, viewing the scene before him differently to the teacher. The poor kid looked exhausted. His face was red from exertion, and the sweat beads were now lines of moisture trickling down his temples. His mouth was permanently open as he tried to send more air to his lungs.

  ‘A bit harsh?’ Dawson observed, which didn’t even come close to how he really felt.

  ‘Not if it makes him think twice about eating the next cream cake, or two.’

  ‘So, would any of these kids have known Sadie Winters?’ Dawson asked, guiding himself to solid ground. Punching the PE teacher in the face was unlikely to do the case, or his career, any favours.

  The teacher looked around as the boys began their final length of the hall. Piggott’s earlier exertion had caught up with him and he was now paying the price, lagging almost half a length behind.

  ‘Can I talk to any of them?’

  Havers thought for a minute. ‘Yeah, take Piggott, he’s pretty useless at basketball anyway.’

  Before Dawson could respond Havers blew a whistle and began issuing instructions to the boys to bring in the equipment from the edge of the hall.

  ‘Not you, Piggott, over here,’ he called, as the lad hit the wall for the last time.

  The boy looked both confused and relieved as he half walked and half staggered towards them.

  ‘Police officer here wants a word,’ he said, squeezing him on the shoulder.

  The boy’s breathing was hard and laboured as he nodded.

  Dawson looked around ‘Where can…’

  ‘There’s a bench outside the door,’ he said, pointing to the corridor.

  Dawson nodded his thanks and headed outside.

  ‘Here,’ he said, handing the kid a handkerchief from his pocket. The activity had stopped but the sweating had not.

  ‘Thank you,’ he said, mopping his head, face and around the back of his neck before offering it back.

  ‘Keep it,’ Dawson said.

  The kid mopped his brow again.

  ‘So, what’s your name?’ he asked.

  ‘Piggott, sir,’ he answered.

  ‘Your first name,’ he clarified.

  ‘Geoffrey, sir,’ he replied politely.

  ‘Did you know Sadie Winters?’ he asked.

  Geoffrey shrugged. ‘A bit. She wasn’t like the
other girls here.’

  ‘In what way?’

  ‘She wasn’t stuck-up or mean. She didn’t care all that much about girls’ stuff like hair or make-up or jewellery. She was on her own a lot. She didn’t need to be in a group, pointing and making fun.’

  Dawson could hear his disdain for the female species. He had felt the same way when he was twelve and had thought he’d always feel the same way. Boy, did this kid have a shock coming.

  ‘Do some of the girls make fun of you, Geoffrey?’ he asked.

  Geoffrey hesitated before nodding. ‘But not as much when Sadie was around,’ he admitted.

  ‘Did Sadie stick up for you?’

  He nodded and dabbed at his forehead once more.

  ‘Were the other girls scared of her?’ Dawson asked. That wasn’t the impression he’d got from Tilly.

  He shook his head. ‘Not scared of her but she defended me one time when some girls kept pushing me to the end of the dinner line, telling me to miss a meal.’

  ‘What did she do?’ Dawson asked, fighting off his own similar memories.

  ‘She grabbed my hand and took me back to my place in the line and stood there, glowering at them, until I had my food. And once I’d been served she just disappeared.’

  Dawson suspected he would have liked this girl.

  ‘Did you see much of her around the school?’

  ‘Sometimes I’d see her just sitting in some strange place, on the floor, up against the wall, reading or scribbling in a book.’

  Another mention of the scribbling in a book he’d been unable to find.

  ‘I’d sometimes try and catch her eye, but it was like she was always somewhere else.’

  ‘Was she being bullied?’ he asked, as he’d asked Tilly.

  Geoffrey shook his head, immediately. ‘No, no one would bully Sadie.’

  Dawson was confused. By all accounts Sadie Winters was different to the other girls. She didn’t mix, and she didn’t conform. A definite recipe for being targeted. But this was the exact same response he’d received from the girl with whom she’d shared a room.

  ‘Why not?’ he asked, as Mr Havers appeared in the corridor.

  ‘May I have my student back, officer?’

  Geoffrey stood but Dawson put a steadying hand on his arm.

  ‘Just one more minute,’ he said to the teacher, who disappeared back into the hall wearing a look of irritation.

  ‘I really must go,’ Geoffrey said, glancing at the teacher’s disappearing back.

  ‘Okay, Geoffrey, but can you just explain why the other girls left Sadie alone?’

  He was already edging away.

  ‘They left her alone because of her connections to The Card Suits.’

  ‘Connections? Suits?’ Dawson queried.

  He nodded as he turned to leave.

  ‘Yes, her sister is the Queen of Hearts.’

  Dawson frowned as the kid slipped back into the gym hall.

  What the hell was the Queen of Hearts?

  Eighteen

  ‘So what’s the plan now?’ Bryant asked, glancing at his watch. It was almost five o’clock and they were taking a breather outside.

  True to his word Mitch had packed up forensics a few hours earlier. The bloodied gravel had been removed and a patch of brand new pristine stones dropped in its place. But even without the marker she would have been able to pick out the exact spot of the young girl’s bloodied head.

  So far, they’d spoken to fifteen teachers and not one of them had been able to offer anything useful. In fact, all they’d managed to establish was that Sadie had left one lesson completely intact and had never turned up for the next and no one had seen her in between.

  ‘I want to speak to Sadie’s sister,’ Kim said. ‘We’re getting nowhere with the adults. I want to know more about Sadie, but I don’t want to mention the self-harming to her parents yet. Saffron might have known,’ she said.

  ‘We could always do my appraisal,’ he said, taking her by surprise.

  She hadn’t given it a thought, despite Woody’s prompting.

  ‘Err… not right now,’ she said.

  ‘Why not, we’re clearly not going to see any more teachers and I’m sure getting the address for Saffron Winters can wait for ten minutes.’

  ‘You think that’s how long it will take?’ she asked, raising an eyebrow.

  ‘If you conduct them the way you do everything else, we’ll probably have it nailed in five and still have time for a cuppa.’

  ‘It’s just not the right—’

  ‘Guv, is something wrong?’ he asked.

  ‘No, it’s just—’ she stopped speaking as her phone began to ring.

  ‘Ah, just the person,’ she said to Bryant, seeing Principal Thorpe’s name on the display.

  ‘Stone,’ she answered.

  ‘Inspector, it’s Principal Thorpe,’ he offered, formally.

  She waited for him to continue.

  ‘I’m calling to confirm that alternative arrangements for questioning have been made should you require them,’ he offered, tightly.

  Kim fought back the smile.

  ‘That’s very kind of you, Principal Thorpe,’ she said. ‘And while I have you would it be possible to take down the address for Mr and Mrs Winters?’

  ‘Of course, I have their main address in Droitwich and their holiday home in Snowdonia. Which would you prefer?’

  ‘Whichever address I can find their other daughter, Saffron.’

  ‘Oh,’ he said, surprised. ‘In that case you’ll be needing neither. Saffron Winters is still here, at school, with us.’

  Nineteen

  ‘Well, this is a bit more acceptable, don’t you think, Bryant?’ Kim asked, as they looked around the room.

  Principal Thorpe had kindly guided them to a spacious reading room adjacent to the library. Despite the falling dusk she could still make out the view of the hockey pitch and tennis courts.

  Bryant whistled appreciatively. ‘Good result even if your methods are somewhat—’

  ‘Imaginative,’ she answered for him.

  ‘Not the word I was going to use but we’ll stick with it for now,’ he replied, taking his seat beside her.

  ‘So, why do you reckon she hasn’t gone home?’ Bryant asked, voicing the question on both their minds.

  ‘I have no clue, Bryant. I’d have thought the family would have wanted to be together. Surely the best place for her is with them at home.’

  ‘Definitely where I’d want to be if my sister had just died,’ he answered.

  ‘Unless this feels like home,’ Kim pondered. ‘The kids spend so long here it may be more familiar to them than their own homes.’

  ‘Could be, but I’d still want to be where my parents were,’ he said. ‘Surely no school can replicate that security and safety.’

  ‘Hmm…’ she said thoughtfully, as a confident knock sounded on the door.

  ‘Come in,’ Bryant called.

  Kim offered a smile to the girl that had barrelled towards her the day before. ‘Please sit down, Saffron.’

  The girl nodded and walked towards them. ‘Call me Saffie, please,’ she said, taking a seat.

  Two words struck Kim immediately. Elegant and confident. From the top of her corn-coloured blonde hair to the tips of her black Lanvin chain-embellished leather boots there was an assured grace to Saffron Winters not present in most sixteen-year-old girls she’d met.

  Kim tore her gaze away from the footwear over which she’d hankered herself but at more than one thousand pounds were well beyond her level of disposable income. Even dressed in a plain cold shoulder tee shirt and light blue jeans there was something about Saffie Winters that demanded attention.

  Her blue eyes were piercing and set in a face moulded by the gods.

  Kim remembered who her parents were and realised this girl had inherited the best of both of them. And clearly Sadie had not.

  Bryant introduced them both before turning genuinely sympathetic eyes on the
girl. ‘Saffie, we’re very sorry for the loss of your sister,’ he said.

  ‘Thank you,’ she said, with politeness but little emotion.

  Kim wondered if it had all sunk in yet. It had barely been twenty-four hours.

  ‘You didn’t want to go home?’ Kim asked, gently

  She shook her head. ‘I’m busier here,’ she said simply.

  Kim would have liked to explore the reasons for that further but decided to push on. She had some tough questions to ask.

  ‘Were the two of you close, Saffie?’

  She gave the question serious consideration, before shaking her head. ‘We were once but not so close any more.’

  ‘So, you didn’t spend much time together?’ Kim continued.

  Saffie shook her head.

  Kim tried to understand an environment where the sisters boarded and schooled together but spent little time in each other’s company.

  ‘We’re hearing the word troubled a lot in relation to your sister. Would you agree?’

  There was no hesitation. ‘Yes, officer, I would agree. I don’t think she had any friends.’

  And yet you still spent no time together, Kim thought.

  ‘She preferred her own company,’ Saffie said, as though reading her thoughts.

  ‘She liked to write, apparently,’ Kim said. ‘Poetry,’ she added.

  Saffie looked surprised. ‘Did she? I didn’t know that.’

  ‘Her English teacher thought she had a talent for it.’

  Saffie nodded but Kim detected an air of impatience or disinterest in her expression; all too soon it was gone.

  ‘Saffie, where were you when Sadie was on the ground outside?’ Bryant asked.

  ‘I was in the music room,’ she said.

  Exactly where Principal Thorpe had said he was going to fetch her from half an hour ago. She seemed to spend a lot of time there.

  Kim had the uneasy feeling there was something lacking from this exchange. She’d felt more genuine emotion radiating from Joanna Wade than she was detecting right now from a blood relation.

  ‘Saffie, were you surprised when you heard that Sadie had jumped from the roof?’