by DS Butler
“I’m afraid I can’t remember Beverley,” she said. “I hate to admit it, but there have been so many you see.”
“Of course,” Mackinnon said. “You can’t be expected to remember every single student.”
Mrs. Diamond shook her head. “No, and of course when Joe and Beverley were here I was a science teacher. I had to take a lot of classes, and I’m afraid if a student wasn’t terribly behaved or exceptionally bright, they didn’t get a great deal of my attention. It’s an unfortunate situation, but sadly the truth in education these days. I read something about her in the paper this morning. Wasn’t she quite a high flyer?”
Mackinnon nodded. “Beverley had done very well for herself. She was a literary agent and a very successful one.”
Mrs. Diamond nodded. “Yes, I read that she represented Jacob Jansen. You know, I am quite a fan of his work.” She gave a coy smile and put Beverley’s file down on her desk with a sigh. “It’s funny. You think you can tell which of the students will go on and make a success of their lives, but nine times out of ten, I get it wrong.”
“Were Beverley and Joe friends? Did they hang around in the same group?” Mackinnon asked. “I’m looking for things they may have had in common.”
Mrs. Diamond gave him an apologetic look. “It’s such a long time ago. I’m afraid the school records wouldn’t tell me if they were friends or if they spent time together. I don’t even have records of which students were in the same classes. The only thing I can tell you from looking at these files is that they weren’t in the same form group. But that doesn’t mean they didn’t have certain subjects together. Or whether they were friends out of school.”
Mackinnon nodded. They didn’t seem to be having much luck coming up with connections between Joe Griffin and Beverley Madison. He finished up with a few more questions and then thanked Mrs. Diamond for his coffee and prepared to leave.
Mrs. Diamond shuffled the files together in a neat pile on her desk. She shivered.
“I do hope there isn’t a connection with the school,” Mrs. Diamond said. “It gives me the creeps just thinking about it.”
26
AS SOON AS HE left the school, Mackinnon pulled out his mobile phone and dialled Tyler’s number.
“Go on,” Tyler said. “Give me the worst of it.”
“I didn’t have much luck,” Mackinnon said. “The only thing that could be of interest was a male pupil who hung himself in either nineteen ninety-one or ninety-two. It could coincide with the time period that Joe and Beverley attended St George’s. Another kid died of an asthma attack the same year. Sandra Diamond is going to check the records and get back to me.”
“Nothing else?” Tyler sounded despondent.
“I’m afraid not. She couldn’t remember any of the other children they hung around with or even tell me whether they were in the same classes for different subjects. For all we know, they may have had nothing to do with each other while they were at the school.”
Tyler exhaled. “Great. I knew it. We’re wasting our time.”
“Have we had any luck on the antivenom front?” Mackinnon asked, thinking of the work Charlotte was doing back at the station.
Tyler huffed out a breath that was half a laugh and half a sigh. “Not bloody likely. You were at the briefing. You heard Brookbank tell me he was happy for Charlotte to keep on digging and find out who had ordered antivenom in the last six months.”
“Yes, I heard him say that. Did he change his mind?”
“You could say that. For the last hour, she’s been checking the DWA licences against a list of ex-students and faculty members from St George’s. Honestly, it’s a complete waste of time.”
“Then tell Brookbank.”
“I’ve tried that,” Tyler said. Mackinnon could tell he was speaking through gritted teeth. “Anyway, there’s no point in me moaning about it. It isn’t going to get me anywhere, is it? I’ll just have to work my way through this list and get this stuff out of the way as quickly as possible so we can focus on other possible leads.”
When Mackinnon got back to the station, Tyler miserably handed him a stack of paper. “This is only part of the list,” he said. “We’ve got contact details and last known addresses. We need to ring every single one of them and try to unearth any connections.”
Mackinnon groaned. It was going to be a long afternoon.
***
The day had dragged on and on, and Tyler couldn’t wait to see the back of it. He’d spent most of the afternoon going through information gathered by the teams of uniforms he’d sent out to interview people who had attended the school.
Brookbank was back in the incident room, overseeing the investigation, and Tyler had decided to call it a night. He had worked late last night and was feeling grumpy and irritable. It would only get worse if he didn’t get any sleep.
He took a couple of files with him, planning to make some house calls himself on the way home and make some headway. He tucked a wedge of papers under his arm, scooped up his keys and headed out into the car park.
He threw the paperwork onto the passenger seat and then started the car, turning the heaters on full blast.
He pulled the car out of the car park and on to Love Lane. At the junction, he had to slow the car for a group of after-work revellers who were weaving across the road, wearing stupid Santa hats.
Tyler cursed them under his breath and switched the radio on. As an impossibly cheerful Christmas song blasted out of the speakers, he quickly switched it back off again. He wasn’t feeling Christmassy at all.
Since his wife had left last year, there never seemed much point in rushing home. Tonight it would be just him and a microwave meal for one.
Most of the other officers had homes to go to with families waiting for them, wanting to spend time with them.
Tyler typed the first address into the satnav on his dashboard and followed the directions through the London streets.
The addresses he’d picked out for tonight were all in Whitechapel. The first address was on Bakers Lane. He had planned to make a serious dent in the list tonight. He knew what questions to ask and would be in and out of each address within a couple of minutes.
But Tyler’s high hopes faded when he found there was no one home at the first property. On the way back to the car, he managed to plunge his feet into an icy puddle beside the kerb. He stared down at his sopping wet feet. Could this day get any worse?
He swore under his breath and stalked back to the car, grabbing the list from the passenger seat. The next address was only around the corner, so he decided to leave the car where it was, seeing as he had found a parking space, which were as rare as hens’ teeth around here.
He walked around into the next street, his right foot squelching noisily in his shoe.
The next name on his list was Troy Scott, who lived in a ground floor flat. Tyler smiled when he saw that the light was on in the hallway.
At least this one wouldn’t be a complete waste of time.
He rang the doorbell and waited, but after thirty seconds, he grew impatient and rapped on the wood-panelled door.
Still no answer.
He could see the outline of a Christmas tree through the net curtains. The coloured lights were flashing on and off in a garish display.
Tyler leaned against the railing and peered through a gap in the curtain into the bay windows.
He could see someone inside.
A man was sitting in front of his computer, ignoring him.
Tyler hammered on the door as loudly as he could, drawing the attention of Troy Scott’s neighbour in the flat above him. He gave the woman a thumbs up sign. She scowled at him and closed her curtains, but Tyler had achieved his aim. The man sitting at the computer had finally noticed him.
Tyler stamped his freezing cold feet, trying to keep warm as he waited for the door to open.
27
I’D BEEN ONLY SECONDS away from making my move when I heard the doorbell. The panic thr
eatened to overwhelm me at first, and I stood in the hallway with my heart thudding in my chest. It took a few seconds for me to realise I needed to find a hiding place. Fast.
I quickly ducked inside the cupboard under the stairs. It was cramped and filled with junk. I could only hope that whoever was at the door wouldn’t stay long.
My hands were shaking uncontrollably as I attempted to put the cap back on the needle. The door to the cupboard was only slightly ajar, letting in a thin sliver of light. It was so dark I knew I could easily make a mistake and stab my finger. Then it would all be over.
Finally, I managed to replace the cap, and I let out a shaky relieved breath. I set the syringe on the floor next to a tatty old pair of trainers and crouched down next to a half-inflated football and a cricket bat.
The doorbell rang again.
Go away, I thought. He can’t hear you.
When I had snuck in through the back door, I had seen Troy Scott sitting at the computer. He had headphones covering his ears and was moving his head in time to whatever music was playing. I’d taken that as a sign that things were going to go smoothly. I had imagined myself walking up behind him quietly, puncturing his skin with the syringe at the very last moment.
It should have been perfect. It would have been if some idiot wasn’t ringing the doorbell.
I was starting to get a cramp in my leg and got up from my crouched position, trying to flex my foot without making any noise. Whoever it was would give up soon, and I willed myself to relax.
After a few seconds of silence, I thought the person at the door had gone away, but I wasn’t so lucky. The sound of loud hammering on the door made me flinch back into the shadows.
I heard the wheels of Troy Scott’s chair moving against the hardwood floor as he finally noticed there was somebody to see him.
I held my breath as he walked straight past my hiding place towards the front door.
I should have pulled the cupboard door closed properly behind me, but I couldn’t do anything about it now without him noticing.
I heard the rattle as he opened his front door, and then I heard a voice say, “Are you Troy Scott?”
There was something about the man’s voice that set my nerves on edge. A terrifying feeling of dread welled up inside me. I didn’t understand why, but somehow I knew he was a threat.
“Yes,” Troy Scott said, his voice betraying his irritation. “What do you want? If you are selling something, I am not interested. I’m trying to work, and you have interrupted me in the middle of a job.”
“I’m not selling anything,” the man at the door replied. “I’ve come to ask you a few questions. I’m DI Tyler, City of London police.”
My breath froze in my chest.
Police.
What was he doing here?
It couldn’t be about me. It was too early. There was no way they could have figured it all out yet.
I tried to move closer and peer out of the small gap, but I couldn’t see either of them from my hiding place.
I wrapped my arms around my midsection, trying to control my trembling. It had to be a coincidence. Yes, that was it. He was probably here about a stolen bike or a lost mobile phone… But even as I tried to reassure myself, I knew deep down there was no way a detective inspector would be here about a lost mobile phone.
Troy let him inside, and as they both moved down the hallway I got a glimpse of the detective inspector. I bit down on the inside of my mouth so hard I tasted blood.
I recognised him.
I’d seen him outside the hotel.
He was medium height, perhaps five-foot nine at a guess, and he was of slim build. He looked about warily as he entered the hallway. His eyes skimmed across the cupboard door, where I was hiding, and I could have sworn he looked straight at me.
“I’ve just got a few questions for you,” DI Tyler said. “Can you confirm that you attended St. George’s School from nineteen eighty-seven to nineteen ninety-two?”
They walked into the sitting room. From my position, I could just see the detective as he sat down on the sofa, but I couldn’t see Troy.
“Yeah, that’s right. Do we have to do this now? I’m in the middle of a project. I have to make tonight’s deadline otherwise I’ll let my client down.” Troy’s voice sounded bored.
“It won’t take long.” The detective pulled out a notebook and pen. “You have probably heard about it in the news. There have been two murders recently—”
“All that stuff about The Charmer?” Troy interrupted with a definite mocking tone. I could picture his smirking face.
“The victims went to St George’s.”
I raised my hand to my mouth.
I could just imagine Troy’s relaxed shrug as he said, “Well, I would guess a lot of people went to that school over the years.”
“Yes, you’re right, of course,” the detective said. “But I was wondering if you remembered anything about your time at school that could be relevant. Perhaps something that only seems significant now in light of recent events?”
“Not really,” Troy said. “What sort of thing do you mean?”
The detective stared in Troy’s direction, and I must have imagined it, but I was sure that I could see dislike on his face.
“What is it you do for a living, sir?”
“I am a website designer, and I was in the middle of working on one right now for a very important client actually, so if that is all, I’d like to get back to it.”
“No, Mr. Scott, that isn’t all,” the detective said, and he stood up so suddenly I felt sure he was going to rush into the hallway and tell me the game was up.
But he didn’t.
He had spotted something in the corner of the sitting room and jabbed a finger in its direction. “What the hell is that?” he demanded.
“What?” Troy Scott said. “Oh, you mean my snake?”
I exhaled slowly and realised I’d been holding my breath. The detective had seen the corn snake that Troy kept in a tank in the corner of his living room.
“It’s harmless,” Troy said. “I’ve kept them ever since I was a boy.”
For a moment, the detective said nothing. I could almost hear the cogs turning in his brain. My plan for tonight was about to change drastically.
I glanced around the small cupboard for something that I could use as a weapon. My fingers closed around the solid handle of the cricket bat. I lifted it silently. It would have to do.
“Right,” the detective said, nodding to himself and sitting back on the sofa. He flipped open his notepad and wrote something down. “There was an incident at the school back in nineteen ninety-one. A boy hanged himself. Can you tell me anything about that?”
“Kevin,” Troy said. “Yeah, I remember that. It was Kevin Cooper. He was in the same year as me. I’m not sure what I can tell you about him. It was just before the exams, and I guess he decided it was all a bit too much.”
The detective scribbled something else on his notepad. I chewed on my lip and couldn’t help wondering what he was making a note of.
“Did anything else out of the ordinary happen that year?”
“No, not that I remember,” Troy said.
My hand tightened around the handle of the cricket bat.
“Okay,” the detective said, getting to his feet again. “That’s all the questions I have for you for now.”
He walked back out into the hallway, raking his hand through his grey hair, and Troy followed him.
At the last moment, the detective turned around and said, “Oh, yes, there was one more thing I wanted to ask you about. Were you aware of any bullying at the school?”
I could see them both clearly now, and I saw the flash of hesitation pass over Troy Scott’s face. So did the detective.
“It’s nothing to worry about. We all did things when we were kids, didn’t we?” The detective smiled and shrugged. “Sometimes things can go a bit too far. But you can tell me. You’re not going to get in any trouble
for something you did back then.”
“Well,” Troy said hesitantly, looking uncomfortable.
He was going to tell him something. I couldn’t let that happen.
“I wasn’t really involved. It wasn’t my fault.” His voice cracked. “You see, there was…”
But Troy Scott never managed to finish his sentence. I slipped out of the cupboard, raised the cricket bat above my head and smashed it down hard against the detective’s skull.
28
MY HEART WAS RACING, and my hands were so sweaty that the cricket bat slid from my fingers and dropped to the floor.
I stared at the detective sprawled out at my feet.
No. No. No. That wasn’t supposed to happen. It wasn’t part of the plan.
It wasn’t my fault. I didn’t want to do it, but I had to. Troy Scott had been about to ruin everything.
I’d been so dazed by what I had done, I’d momentarily forgotten why I’d come here.
I blinked and jerked my head around to see Troy Scott staring at me with his mouth open.
Corn snake boy was too dumb to move. I would have thought that in a situation like this self-preservation would have kicked in and he would have taken the opportunity to run.
Perhaps he was in shock.
He didn’t move at all as I walked back to the cupboard, scooped up the syringe and began to approach him.
“Who the hell are you?” Troy demanded, finally finding his voice as I closed the distance between us.
So he didn’t recognise me. I had expected as much.
He should have been less concerned with who I was and more concerned with what I was about to do.
I slid the cap from the syringe, and with one quick movement I stabbed the needle in his thigh, pushing down the plunger before he even had a chance to react.
