The principal’s secretary shook her head. ‘I have five calls on hold, another seventeen messages from concerned parents seeking reassurance, and three mothers and fathers making their way here right now to speak to him directly.’
He ignored the look in her eyes as she said the words ‘concerned parents’ as though it was his fault. He’d been waiting half an hour.
‘But if I could just squeeze a minute in between—’
‘And get me fired?’ she asked. ‘We each have our priorities in our work, officer. And mine is assisting Principal Thorpe in limiting the damage of recent events.’
He would have liked her priority to be in catching a murderer or making sure no one else got hurt, just like him, but he managed to keep that thought to himself.
He began to wonder if he was going about this the wrong way. He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. He loosened his tie for good measure.
‘Yeah, I’ve got a boss just like it,’ he admitted with a wry smile. ‘Maybe you can help me,’ he said. ‘In fact, you’re probably the best person I could speak to,’ he added.
She tipped her head and smiled. ‘Go on,’ she said.
‘I wanted to ask him about Lorraine Peters,’ he said.
‘Lorraine who?’ she asked, licking her lower lip.
‘An ex-student here,’ he clarified. ‘I wondered if you could tell me a little more about her.’
She stared at him blankly.
He offered her his best smile. ‘Maybe if you could just look up her records?’
She regarded him coolly. ‘Well, officer, you’ve tried flattery, trickery and good old-fashioned charm in the space of three minutes, so I’m giving you ten out of ten for effort,’ she said putting through another call.
This time his smile was genuine.
‘Give me her name again,’ she said, tapping a few keys.
‘Lorraine Peters,’ he said, gratefully.
She typed in the name and shook her head. Nothing.
‘She enrolled early nineties on a swimming scholarship,’ he said, offering the total sum of his knowledge.
She tried again and shook her head once more.
‘No records,’ she said. ‘And long before my time, so I can’t help you.’
Dawson frowned.
‘There has to be something, please try again,’ he asked.
She didn’t hide her irritation at his insistence as her external phone line began to ring again.
‘Sorry, officer, there is no education or attendance record for a girl named Lorraine Peters.’
Dawson stepped away from the desk. It appeared that the girl really had just disappeared.
Seventy-Five
Kim knocked on the door of flat 47a, the home of Monty Johnson.
The name of the occupant and the abode did not sit well together.
Two chains slid back to reveal a dark-haired man in a red-patterned dressing gown over shorts and a tee shirt. A freshly lit cigarette dangled from his fingertips.
‘Mr Johnson?’ she asked, doubtfully.
He huffed and rolled his eyes dramatically.
‘Well you clearly have no news for me if you’re asking me that,’ he said, and flounced back along the hallway to the living room. The open door indicated he wanted them to follow.
Kim had been in these flats before and usually a dark, narrow hallway led to a spacious light lounge with big windows.
The man stood next to the window, ignoring a smoking ashtray. He was clearly lighting one after the other.
Bryant reached towards the ashtray, and Kim offered him a warning glance. His abstinence was more than three years old, but still. He ground the offending cigarette against the ceramic edge, extinguishing it.
‘Why all the interest in Monty’s car?’ he asked, without turning.
His response told them he was not the man they were looking for.
‘Is Mr Johnson here?’ Bryant asked.
‘Obviously not,’ he answered shortly. ‘Now why are all those police—’
‘And you are?’ Kim asked, directly.
He turned, lips pursed at her tone.
‘I’m Monty’s significant other,’ he said, using his fingers to form speech marks around the phrase.
‘Name?’ Kim asked.
‘Rupert Downing,’ he answered. ‘Or Miss Kitty if you come to Nexus three nights a week.’
‘Thanks for that,’ Kim said. ‘Now about Mr Johnson. Can you—’
‘What the hell are they doing now?’ he squealed.
Kim glanced out of the window to see a tow truck parked behind the car.
‘The car is being removed for further examination, Mr Downing; now if you could just sit down I’ll—’
‘Examined for what?’ he asked, with his arms folded.
‘If you sit down I’ll explain,’ Kim said, as her limited well of patience began to run dry.
He sat, like a berated schoolboy, his hands folded neatly in his lap.
Kim sat opposite.
‘Sir, do you have any idea where Mr Johnson is? We really do need to speak to him.’
The man shook his head. ‘Is he in trouble?’
‘Yes, I think he might be. When was the last time you saw him?’
‘Last night,’ he answered. ‘Monty dropped me off at the club and then came home.’ He frowned and glanced outside. ‘At least I think he came home but now that you mention it…’
‘What?’
‘No cereal bowl,’ he said, nodding towards the kitchen. ‘Every morning he leaves his used bowl in the sink with cold water in, as though it’s going to clean itself. A standing joke between us, but there wasn’t one there this morning.’
‘But the car is outside,’ Kim queried.
‘Which is why I thought he’d come home.’
‘You haven’t tried to call him?’
‘Not until those people started to mess around his car.’
‘Why not?’ Kim asked, suspiciously. ‘How did you get home?’
‘I always take a taxi home from the club at around 1 a.m.’
‘And you didn’t wonder why the car was here and he was not?’ Kim queried.
He reached for the pack of cigarettes. ‘We’d had a row,’ he admitted. ‘I told him to drop dead and got out of the car.’
‘About what?’ Bryant asked.
‘Cheating, officer. I’m pretty sure Monty was cheating on me. Constantly on his phone, texting and stuff.’
‘And did he answer when you called?’ Kim asked.
Rupert shook his head. ‘No, it went straight to voicemail. I thought it was just him playing the drama queen but there’s something wrong, isn’t there?’
‘Is there any chance he could have gone somewhere for a drink to calm down, maybe had one too many?’
Rupert shook his head. ‘Absolutely not. He was wearing trackie bottoms with a rip at the knee. Monty would never have been seen out in such a state.’ He shook his head. ‘I really don’t understand what this is all about.’
Kim could feel the panic rising within him.
‘Mr Downing, we have reason to believe that Monty was involved in a road traffic incident last night. A very serious incident, I’m afraid.’
‘No, that can’t be right,’ he said. ‘Monty is a very careful driver. Sometimes feels like Driving Miss Daisy, to be honest. I can’t believe…’
His words trailed away as he glanced towards the window. The car was being winched onto the back of the truck, and the front end damage was obvious.
‘Mr Downing, we believe he hit someone,’ she explained.
His hand shook as he brought the cigarette to his mouth.
‘How serious?’ he asked.
‘The woman died,’ Kim said, pushing away the image of Joanna lying on the ground.
Rupert stood and began to pace.
‘No, no, no,’ he repeated, shaking his head. ‘It’s not possible. He always drives so carefully. It can’t be true. He’s never even had a minor accident.’
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Her gaze met Bryant’s and she nodded.
Bryant coughed. ‘Mr Downing, we don’t believe it was an accident.’
‘What are you saying?’ he asked, as his hand went to his throat in horror.
‘We think Monty hit the victim deliberately.’
‘You are out of your minds, officers,’ he said, looking from one to the other. ‘Monty wouldn’t hurt a soul.’
‘Does the name Joanna Wade mean anything to you?’
He shook his head, still reeling from their words.
‘I don’t know that name. Is that the lady that was… that…’
‘Yes,’ Kim confirmed. ‘That’s the woman that Monty hit. She died at the scene.’
‘I honestly don’t recognise the name.’
‘She is… was an English teacher at a place called Heathcrest which is…’
‘I know exactly what it is,’ he whispered, reaching out to the sofa for support. All colour had drained from his face.
‘Mr Downing, what is it?’ Kim asked.
‘Dear God,’ he said to himself. ‘Will that infernal place never let us go?’
Seventy-Six
Kim and Bryant had waited patiently while Rupert poured himself a generous measure of whisky. He sipped, scowled at the burning in his throat and then sipped again.
‘Monty and I met at Heathcrest when we were fourteen years old. I was the new boy having moved into the area.’
‘There was room for you?’ Kim asked, remembering the pregnant couple being shown around, planning years in advance.
‘My father is Lord Rumsey. If your parents are wealthy and powerful enough, they’ll make room,’ he said, taking another sip.
Kim wasn’t sure who Lord Rumsey was, but clearly, he’d been known to the people at Heathcrest.
‘On my second day, I received the ace of spades in my bed.’
Kim frowned.
‘The calling card to join one of the most influential clubs on site,’ he said. ‘Completely expected, of course. I’d been a member of a similar club at my previous school. I accepted, obviously, thinking it would be similar to my old place.’
‘And it wasn’t?’ Kim asked.
‘Good gracious, no,’ he said. ‘Far more rules and regulations that were dressed up as guidelines. But Monty and I soon found out they were not merely guidelines.’
‘Go on,’ Kim said, sitting forward, remembering how they had all been amused at Dawson paying so much attention to these secret societies. She wasn’t laughing now.
‘A very important guideline was no fraternising with members of the other male group. You see, Monty was a Club at that time. The Four of Clubs.
‘We both thought it was a silly rule and ignored it. We were found out and suitably advised, verbally, by our Kings. We ignored the warning and continued to see each other in secret. Of course, we were found out again and the second warning was a little rougher.’
‘You were hurt?’
He nodded. ‘We both were. My punishment was a broken ankle on the hockey pitch, and Monty a dislocated shoulder due to falling down some stairs.’
‘And did the warning work?’ she asked, wondering how far these groups went in enforcing the rules.
He sighed heavily. ‘Not for me but it did for Monty. He was threatened with excommunication from the group. A thought he couldn’t bear. Being part of the elite was more important to Monty than it was to me.’
‘But you’re together now, so…’
‘Oh, it gets worse, officer,’ he said, lighting a cigarette. ‘We went our separate ways. I built my own business trading textiles, which grew into a success over twenty years.’
Looking at their location on Hollytree, Kim found that hard to believe.
Rupert caught her look. ‘And I had a very nice home in Romsley,’ he said. ‘And in that time Monty had achieved career success as a chartered accountant.
‘We met again five years ago, quite by accident, and realised our feelings hadn’t changed. We both had disastrous, failed relationships behind us and suddenly we knew why. Because we’d never been with the right person. We realised that we were meant to be together.’
This should have been the point at which he told her they lived happily ever after, and there was a part of her that wished he was. It was like watching a film for the second time and hoping for a different ending.
‘So, we got together and for a couple of years our life was idyllic, perfect. We set up home together in a wonderful old chapel in Shipley and finally began to enjoy life.’
‘Until?’ Kim asked.
‘Three years ago, after we appeared together in a newspaper article for our charity work with an AIDS foundation. From that moment everything changed. Suddenly every one of my business loans was called in. I lost three major clients who collectively represented seventy per cent of my business. A few months later Monty was audited, and irregularities were found in VAT submissions made to HMRC on behalf of some global, influential customers. His reputation was destroyed overnight, along with his career.’
‘What happened next?’ Bryant asked.
‘We limped along for a few months, selling our possessions to pay bills. Sold our lovely home with negative equity because we couldn’t find the monthly mortgage payment but were forced to declare bankruptcy eighteen months ago anyway. We can’t get a mortgage, credit card, anything.’
‘And you think someone was behind all this?’ Kim asked.
‘No, officer, I think someones were behind all this.’ He shook his head. ‘You really have no idea how deep these bonds and rivalries go. The rules didn’t just apply when we were at school. These ties are for life.’
‘But you were just kids?’ Bryant said.
‘But we swore an oath, sergeant, for life.’
‘And how did Monty react to this treatment?’ Kim asked.
‘It’s destroyed him,’ he said, sadly, extinguishing the cigarette. ‘The club always meant more to him than to me. He still tried to make contact with them, to beg forgiveness, to be allowed back in but they wouldn’t even take his calls.’
‘And who exactly are “they”, Rupert?’ Kim asked.
‘Very important and powerful people, Inspector,’ he said, standing. ‘And I think I’ve said enough, so if you don’t mind I need to try and find Monty before—’
‘Mr Downing, are you still so afraid of these people that you won’t offer us any names at all?’
‘Officer, I am far more terrified of their power than I am of yours. I have lost my business, my career, my home and possibly the man I love because of an oath I made over twenty-five years ago. Now I’d like you to leave.’
Kim stood and followed him along the hallway. ‘But we have crimes that are happening now, Mr Downing, children are being hurt at that bloody school,’ Kim said, frustrated.
This man had names and he wasn’t prepared to give them up.
‘You could help us if you chose to stop living in the past.’
He smiled wearily as he opened the front door.
‘You should remember, Inspector. That the past never stays in the past.’
Seventy-Seven
‘So, you think he’s being a bit overdramatic or what?’ Bryant asked, as they reached the car.
Kim gave it a little thought. ‘Not sure. Could be coincidence that everything went wrong at the same time but then again…’
‘You don’t care much for coincidences, do you?’ he asked as they got into the car.
She took out her phone and held out her hand for the photograph they’d asked Rupert for before he’d pretty much thrown them out.
She studied it. ‘Don’t you think there’s a sadness to this man?’ she asked.
Bryant glanced at it before putting the key in the ignition.
‘I think you’re projecting,’ he said. ‘After what Rupert just said about him.’
‘Maybe,’ she said, and yet she detected an air of hopelessness around his eyes. There was a smile on his lips that didn
’t touch any other part of his face.
‘What is this need to belong to some kind of group?’ Bryant asked.
She shrugged. ‘Human nature. The need to belong is among the most fundamental of all personality processes. It spans all cultures. There are many psychological theories and even an evolutionary opinion.’
‘Our ancestors?’ Bryant asked.
‘Back in the day belonging to a group was essential to survival. People hunted and cooked in groups so it’s kind of ingrained in our DNA,’ she said. ‘If you consider that we all belong to some kind of group whether it’s family, friends, co-workers, religion. There’s a need to be part of something greater than ourselves.’
She paused for a minute before continuing. ‘And for the kids at Heathcrest it’s probably even more important. They’re away from friends, family and every group they’ve known. The instinct to re-form must be quite overwhelming.’
‘A bit too deep for me,’ Bryant said. ‘Just not sure our guy was as deeply affected by excommunication as his partner would have us believe.’
Kim glanced at the photo and silently disagreed. If the need to belong wasn’t so fundamental to psychological well-being people wouldn’t feel severe consequences of not belonging.
She took a photo of the photo with her phone and sent it to Stacey. And then followed up with a call.
‘Got it, Stace?’ she asked, when the detective constable answered the phone.
Stacey hesitated, and Kim heard her hit a few keys.
‘Yep, got it. That’s our driver, Monty Johnson?’
‘It would appear so. And you’ll never guess where he went to school.’
‘No way,’ Stacey replied.
‘Find out what you can about him from the records but first circulate this photo as widely as you can. We need to speak to this guy and find his connection to Joanna Wade.’
Silence was the response.
‘Stace, you listening to me?’
‘Sorry, boss. No, I was just listening to the radio. Just heard a transmission. A patrol car has already found Monty Johnson and—’
‘Fantastic. Tell me where and we’ll get right over.’
Dying Truth: A completely gripping crime thriller Page 22
